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San Sebastian was just gorgeous. Go there. Now. Or if you want to wait until 2045, we’ll have our summer retirement home there and you can stay with us.
We stayed in a great little hotel in the old part of the city that was very close to the beach. The food was fantastic, the people were friendly and the city is beautiful. I am absolutely in love with San Sebastian. MC is in the midst of writing a post, so I’ll let him give more details, but I just had to shout my love from the rooftops for a few moments…
-cuptastic
This post finds us once again revisiting the beguiling walking habits of Spaniards. As you can see from previous posts, this is truly a major point of concern for us; one which we are driven, if not to rectify before leaving this glorious country, at least to understand in greater depth.
Today we made a big leap toward the latter, as we had the revelation that the seeming unconscious tendencies of Spaniards to walk in quite possibly the most annoying ways possible are exactly that: unconscious. Rather, they are the result of natural selection induced by the Mediterranean climate and the physics thereby associated.
Allow me to rise out of my overly complex Hawking chair and speak frankly: basically, we figure it works like this: Spain is freakin’ hot for most of the year, right? What don’t you wanna do when it’s hot out? Move, right? Well, at least not rapidly. So that means for the last, I dunno, 10,000 years, Spaniards have been moving slowly so as not to break a sweat and stain the armpits of their very classy silk blouses, making today’s Spaniards really, really slow.
Now, if you recall from your 8th grade science classes—you know the ones that introduced you to physics through the then-seemingly-cool metaphors of the Spinning Bicycle Wheel and the Mousetrap Car (ok, Mousetrap Cars are still cool)—things that move tend to build up inertia and continue to move in the manner in which they started moving. And the faster things move, the greater their inertia, and hence, the more likely they are to keep going in the same direction (this is, of course, a very dumbed-down, graphic designer’s explanation of physics, and assumes that there are no forces acting to counteract the initial force). At any rate, the converse would be (other than a classic shoe), that slow moving objects are more easily diverted from their paths. Hence, rapidly moving Americans are able to maintain a steady course and speed down the right sight of the sidewalk, whilst slower moving Spaniards are subject to the same forces that cause the Spinning Bicycle Wheel of yore to wobble and fall over. Thus, slowly ambulating Spaniards are more prone to non-linear courses of travel, thereby resulting in their continual incursions into our comparatively straight vectors.
This phenomenon is exacerbated by the physics of mass and gravity, which, we have come to realize, helps explain the tendency of ambulating Spaniards approaching from the opposite direction to suddenly veer into us and attempt to pass on the right, while those traveling in the same direction will pass on the left with as little physical clearance as possible. As an additional result of the aforementioned Mediterranean natural selection yielding ever-more-slowly moving Spaniards, said Spaniards are also generally smaller folk, as smaller folk tend to not get as hot. That also means that compared to larger objects, they’re less dense. 6-foot-plus Americans, on the other hand, are, in the case of Al, very hot, and of me, very dense, which means that together, our collective mass exerts a fairly strong gravitational pull. The smaller, less dense Spaniards are helpless in the face of these physical forces and since their slow-moving speed precludes them from having significant inertia to avoid being affected by our mass, they are thereby drawn to us in one capacity or another.
To put it plainly, we’re just too damn attractive and they just can’t help themselves.
Now, if we can just figure out how their sense of scale became so distorted as to think that a mother, her child and a stroller can fit through the personal space between Al and me (which, although we ARE Americans, is only about 3–6″), that would complete our scientific analysis of the crowd behaviors of the Spanish. I’m sure additional time in the field will yield further clarification. Stay tuned.
-bdmc, Ph.D.
Our house back in the States finally closed on Wednesday and the new owner took possession immediately (we’re still debating whether she really has ownership yet though…you’re welcome, Tom).
It’s a little surreal to be completely homeless. We had four great years there, replete with a near-total overhaul of the joint to the point where we knew each and every nuance of her ol’ bones; we were on a first-name / know-your-drink basis with the bartender of the local dive bar (conveniently located two doors down) and super-chummy with a squad of great neighbors (G.E.S. Forever! Rap Tor Lux Lucis! (coat of arms forthcoming)). But fate couldn’t be escaped and it would have happened eventually anyway. At least this way we got to blow the dividend check on world travel (hey, it’s better than our alternative strategy of a truckload of coke and taking over Client #9’s, uh, service providers…) Honestly, once the offer went in and we got past the inspection, it was pretty much a done deal in our minds; the closing was just a formality.
We have, however, been on the look out for the perfect replacement place, and we think we’ve found it:
Just kidding. That’s the Palacio Real in Madrid, one of the umpteen palaces throughout the country at the king’s disposal. This one is so big (it’s the largest in all of Western Europe) that it even has its own distinct climate zones: it was cold, windy and raining in the courtyard 5 minutes before this shot was taken outside the side door. Ahh, the power of an unlimited monarch.
-bdmc
The other day our teacher gave us some homework (los deberes in the vernacular), which included writing a summary of our ideal day, so that we could practice our time words and reflexive verbs (good lord, I feel like such a child…”Let’s use our time words!”). Anyway, she was extrapolating on the explanation and said (in Spanish), “For example, for me, I get myself up, I have breakfast with Brackpeet, da da dadda dah…”
When she noticed the entire class giving her a quizzical look she restated the sentence, this time with more enthusiasm (and yeah, that whole “speak louder and they’ll get it” thing isn’t limited to obnoxious Americans). For further clarification she turned to me and said (again, this is all in Espanish), “Or for you, it could be Anheleena Holee…”
Me (in English): Oh. OHHHH. “Angelina Jolie”! Si, Si, Si, I get it now (in a chorus with the rest of the class).
Wait, that means you must have been talking about “Brad Pit”.
You mean “BRAAAD PIIIITT”?
Teacher: “Si. Brackpeet!”
Me: “No (gesturing with my hands to emphasize the two words), Brad. Pitt.”
Teacher (now in frustrated English): “Oh, ok, fine: ‘Braaaaaaaaad Piiiiitt’”, augmented with an arm pump and an ‘Oh yeaaaaah’ (both uttered in the most nasal Midwestern American accent possible—the kind that makes Al sound like a dulcet-toned angel), and a glare at me that said, “See! Look what you made me do! You made me sound like a dumbass in front of the whole class!” She then blushed, gathered her materials with overwrought theatrical gusto and humorously stormed out of the room.
It was hysterical.
So today, we’re reviewing the homework and I used the wrong verb to describe watching TV and she corrected me, to which I responded, “you watch TV how you like, and I’ll watch it how I like,” tongue planted firmly in cheek.
Much to the glee of my classmates, she subsequently refused to answer any of my questions for the rest of the class.
At the end of class as the students were packing up their things she was asking who would be leaving this week and after confirming with the two who were, she turned to me and asked, “This is your last week too, no???”
At least I got 5 weeks out of the program before they caught on…
-bdmc
I’ve been pretty absent from the blog lately, mostly because MC spins a pretty good yarn and I don’t bring the funny quite like he does.
Also, I’ve had my nose buried in Spanish books because I have my second test on Friday and it seems as if it won’t be quite as easy as the first one.
We are, however, doing a tour on Thursday of the royal palace in Madrid and possibly going to Valencia this weekend, so I’m sure we’ll have some stories to share. The royal palace was the place where I had my first “holy carp!” historical moment. I was fourteen and it was my first trip to Spain. We were doing a tour of the palace when I looked down at the floor and it occurred to me how many people, famous or not, had walked in the same exact spot where I was walking. So many Felipes y Carloses, Hapsburgs and non-Hapsburgs had stood exactly where I was standing. I know, it’s sort of a duh moment, but you have to remember I was fourteen. And, it was the moment that got me really interested in history. So I always enjoy touring the palace and I’m excited for MC to see it for the first time.
We’re also in the midst of planning a trip to Valencia, so we’ll let you know if that happens. I have never been to Valencia and two very important people in our lives studied there, so we’re excited to finally see it. And, of course, I will let everyone know how my test goes on Friday. I know none of you will be able to sleep until then. Just try not to think about it.
Oh, and I would like to thank MC for giving me his disease. I went running this morning and for almost the entire run I was translating American songs into Spanish. Thank goodness I’ve been listening to Andrew Bird and not Hall and Oates.
-cuptastic
I don’t know why, but for the last four weeks, I’ve had nothing but crappy mid-80’s / early 90’s pop songs stuck in my head. And I don’t even listen to mid-80’s / early 90’s pop songs. Not only that, but while they’re up in there, I keep trying in vain to translate them to Spanish…to no avail.
Some examples:
• Rich Girl by Hall & Oates
• some crappy song by that Canadian girl with the French name…Avril something
• Paradise City by GnR (not exactly the worst thing ever, but after 35 times of only the first verse it gets a little old; thanks to Peter for that one)
and many more…
It could be because we don’t have any radio or tv here to distract us, or it could be that Spanish reflexive verbs are slowly driving me crazy and these are the symptoms manifesting themselves.
“Tu eres una chica rica y se has ido demasiado lejos, por que no es importante…”
Ayudarme por favor….
-bdmc
We had a small victory today: we finally got oncoming Spaniards to pass us on our left as we were walking down the sidewalk.
It is a bizarre phenomenon that, despite the fact that the Spanish—like Americans and most other Europeans—drive on the right-hand side of the road, they feel compelled to try and pass you on the inside (right side) when approaching from the opposite direction on the sidewalk. For the past four weeks, we have gone from gracious accommodation to disbelief that this activity wasn’t an isolated incident to stoic immovability to a subtle lateral tracking to the right, which today, finally forced the oncoming Spaniard to reconsider his approach and veer off to the left at the last minute. A small victory, but a key win in the challenge to bring some order to this Mediterranean chaos!
Viva la Revolucion!
P.S. These are the fun little games you play when you’re otherwise completely enamored with a country and a people. Whee!
-bdmc
Madrid has been in a hot drought for an extended period recently, so much so that on the first day of school the director made a point to tell us that we need to be judicious with our water use. Well that all became a big fat lie this week, as it’s been cold and raining every day since Sunday, and it’s supposed to continue thru next week. I’m happy for the Spaniards, in that now they can continue washing their sidewalks every night with a firehose—as is their custom—with a bit more confidence that it won’t be the last time, but if we’re going to have to keep putting up with this crappy English weather, I demand that the English language follow in suit!
-bdmc
What I learned today: Nada and nata.
Nada as in “he swims” and “nothing” and “nata” as in “cream“.
All together now: Nada en nata o nada!
(Hey, no one’s making you read this crap.)
-who else?
“The gentle reader will never, never know what a consummate ass he can become until he goes abroad. I speak now, of course, in the supposition that the gentle reader has not been abroad, and therefore is not already a consummate ass. If the case be otherwise, I beg his pardon and extend to him the cordial hand of fellowship and call him brother.”
-Mark Twain
