My course started yesterday, but we met our new English learners today. A collection of people from the area, these were generally wealthier than the average gaditano, as all eight had computers at home. One of the girls in the group likes Manowar, for those who remember my semi-obsession with the ridiculous heavy metal band…
I learned that it is no longer PC to say “brainstorm.” Apparently, the epileptic community was offended, since that term is “appallingly similar to what occurs during a seizure.” Therefore, we have been instructed to use the term “thought shower” instead. I’m not making this up.
My hosts are great: an Irish girl who speaks Gaelic and Spanish and her Spanish boyfriend Jimmy, who also speaks Spanish. We generally talk in Spanish, which is good for me. Jimmy doesn’t have a job. But it’s cool because no one does: the unemployment rate in Cádiz is 44%.
Instead of subtitling the movies (like the US does), Spain shows American movies, dubbed, on about a three month delay. So Señor y Señora Smith just came out and it’s pretty big here. And I watched El Simpson today, but it just wasn’t the same with a slick talking Hispanic Homer that sounded just like the Hispanic Brad Pitt, Morgan Freeman, and Bruce Willis all do. Apparently, however, the Spanish can recognize the voices of their favorite actors: the same guy dubs Eddie Murphy in all his movies. He’s terrible. As is the voice for Will Smith. The whole “black thing” doesn’t really translate too well…
I teach tomorrow for the gaditanos for the first time. Today I taught a bunch of Brits how to play Texas Hold’em in an 8 minute session to warm up for tomorrow. They seemed to like it. But I almost volunteered “playing strip poker” as a possible reason for wanting to learn to play poker when there was an awkward silence. But I decided better of it.
31 August 2005
29 August 2005
Real Madrid v. Cadiz CF
To get fired up about the game, I watched an at times inspiring, at times campy movie last night called Reál: La Película: a movie by Real Madrid TV about Real Madrid. Of course, I was not without my bucket of popcorn (salty but not buttery) and my refreshment: but unlike every theater save one in Chicago I’ve been to, I had a beer. That was enough by itself to make me enjoy the perspective-lacking movie, but the intense soundtrack of powerful neo-classical pieces and nasty goals did their part as well: I was ready to go buy me a ticket for the game.
With a little bit of American can-do attitude and a lot of cash, I went searching early this morning. I took a taxi to the stadium at a few minutes after nine in case scalpers were selling tickets early for cheaper and the price would go up closer to game time (although sometimes it’s in reverse…) After noticing the streets were mainly empty, I asked a couple of men if they knew where I could get tickets.
“For the game?! Hahah, you cannot get tickets, young man.” Knowing that they probably meant “tickets are too expensive, but could be had at the right price” I said “gracias” and had breakfast.
The Spanish have two of three meals down - lunch and dinner are excellent - but their breakfast is terrible. It consists of caffeine-laced coffee and a sandwich roll. Sometimes the roll has jam on it, oftentimes jamón, and at its best, has a tomato paste or olive oil. In any case, it doesn’t quite hit the spot. After breakfast, I asked the guys who served me where I could get tickets for the game. Again, laughter ensued, but this time I was told to “look for a big man” who might have tickets. I thanked him for the tip, which might could have been useful.
Around the plaza I looked around, asking a few others where to get tickets. Most of them weren’t sure/laughed at me, but one gentleman offered that if I came back between 12 and 1, I would have a better chance then. Thinking that the game started at 12, I didn’t think that much of an option. But he was right, at 9:30 in the morning, there wasn’t anyone around the stadium. Typical Andalucians, I guess…
I returned to my hostal, thankfully, in time to remove my stuff before it was confiscated (apparently my little note in Spanish saying that I went to the game wasn’t good enough) and checked my email to see if a last second attempt to get the book I needed for the course was successful (it wasn’t). Now that it was 11:15, I figured I would have a better chance, but when I arrived at the stadium, it was empty and there were just a few more people around. This time, though, I would be lucky. Sighting two men hanging out by a car, I asked if they knew anywhere I could get tickets.
“How many do you need?” he asked. I knew I was in at that point. He came in at 200. I thought I could talk him down to 150. No, this is a big match and the ticket was 94 face value. I ended up paying 250.
I miscounted and he, like a good scalper, wasn’t about to let me know. But I didn’t realize that until later when it was too late. I’ve decided to think that I payed 200 for the ticket and lost 50, rather than paying 250 for the ticket. Nonetheless, since I thought I might be looking at 400, it was a steal.
After trying to get in through a few gates (I did find the Real Madrid team bus that I saw in the movie last night) I asked someone what time the game was. “Nueve de la noche”: 9 o’clock. Right. I mixed up the numbers when I saw the poster: it said 21:00, not 12:00. That’s why I couldn’t find any scalpers at 9 in the morning, and that’s why there wasn’t anyone at the stadium 45 minutes before game time (I’m not really sure I was thinking about anything other than that I had just procured a ticket).
In any case, I returned at 8:15 for the game, looked for my seat for a half hour (there´s no such thing as sections; the seats are numbered 1-300 straight across the side of the stadium) and finally found it, on the second row, even with the penalty box, on the side that Real Madrid would warm up on.
Now I´m officially a Cadista - Cadiz soccer fan - because the woman next to me told me so. But I was just as saucer-eyed and camera-flashing as everyone else when David Beckham was practicing no more than 15 feet away. I tried to get pictures but none of them turned out well. He was a big ham - kept smiling, waving, and clapping at the fans, he was thanking everyone for coming out.
As far as the game itself went, Ronaldo broke through for Real Madrid early on, 4 minutes into the game. The fans had the wind taken out for much of the rest of the first half. But in the second half, everyone seemed to sense something was happening, and after controlling the pitch for much of the first 15 minutes of the second half, Cadiz finally broke through with an equalizer. The crowd erupted. It was pure ecstacy. You've never seen anything like it if you've only been to american football games. An explosion of sound.
But unfortunately, with about 10 minutes left in the game, Robinho, the young Brazilian transfer, created his fifth scoring opportunity and dumped the ball off to Raul, who delivered the game-winner. It would be a loss for Cadiz, 2-1, but no one went home losers: they were back with las estrellas, the big boys.
With a little bit of American can-do attitude and a lot of cash, I went searching early this morning. I took a taxi to the stadium at a few minutes after nine in case scalpers were selling tickets early for cheaper and the price would go up closer to game time (although sometimes it’s in reverse…) After noticing the streets were mainly empty, I asked a couple of men if they knew where I could get tickets.
“For the game?! Hahah, you cannot get tickets, young man.” Knowing that they probably meant “tickets are too expensive, but could be had at the right price” I said “gracias” and had breakfast.
The Spanish have two of three meals down - lunch and dinner are excellent - but their breakfast is terrible. It consists of caffeine-laced coffee and a sandwich roll. Sometimes the roll has jam on it, oftentimes jamón, and at its best, has a tomato paste or olive oil. In any case, it doesn’t quite hit the spot. After breakfast, I asked the guys who served me where I could get tickets for the game. Again, laughter ensued, but this time I was told to “look for a big man” who might have tickets. I thanked him for the tip, which might could have been useful.
Around the plaza I looked around, asking a few others where to get tickets. Most of them weren’t sure/laughed at me, but one gentleman offered that if I came back between 12 and 1, I would have a better chance then. Thinking that the game started at 12, I didn’t think that much of an option. But he was right, at 9:30 in the morning, there wasn’t anyone around the stadium. Typical Andalucians, I guess…
I returned to my hostal, thankfully, in time to remove my stuff before it was confiscated (apparently my little note in Spanish saying that I went to the game wasn’t good enough) and checked my email to see if a last second attempt to get the book I needed for the course was successful (it wasn’t). Now that it was 11:15, I figured I would have a better chance, but when I arrived at the stadium, it was empty and there were just a few more people around. This time, though, I would be lucky. Sighting two men hanging out by a car, I asked if they knew anywhere I could get tickets.
“How many do you need?” he asked. I knew I was in at that point. He came in at 200. I thought I could talk him down to 150. No, this is a big match and the ticket was 94 face value. I ended up paying 250.
I miscounted and he, like a good scalper, wasn’t about to let me know. But I didn’t realize that until later when it was too late. I’ve decided to think that I payed 200 for the ticket and lost 50, rather than paying 250 for the ticket. Nonetheless, since I thought I might be looking at 400, it was a steal.
After trying to get in through a few gates (I did find the Real Madrid team bus that I saw in the movie last night) I asked someone what time the game was. “Nueve de la noche”: 9 o’clock. Right. I mixed up the numbers when I saw the poster: it said 21:00, not 12:00. That’s why I couldn’t find any scalpers at 9 in the morning, and that’s why there wasn’t anyone at the stadium 45 minutes before game time (I’m not really sure I was thinking about anything other than that I had just procured a ticket).
In any case, I returned at 8:15 for the game, looked for my seat for a half hour (there´s no such thing as sections; the seats are numbered 1-300 straight across the side of the stadium) and finally found it, on the second row, even with the penalty box, on the side that Real Madrid would warm up on.
Now I´m officially a Cadista - Cadiz soccer fan - because the woman next to me told me so. But I was just as saucer-eyed and camera-flashing as everyone else when David Beckham was practicing no more than 15 feet away. I tried to get pictures but none of them turned out well. He was a big ham - kept smiling, waving, and clapping at the fans, he was thanking everyone for coming out.
As far as the game itself went, Ronaldo broke through for Real Madrid early on, 4 minutes into the game. The fans had the wind taken out for much of the rest of the first half. But in the second half, everyone seemed to sense something was happening, and after controlling the pitch for much of the first 15 minutes of the second half, Cadiz finally broke through with an equalizer. The crowd erupted. It was pure ecstacy. You've never seen anything like it if you've only been to american football games. An explosion of sound.
But unfortunately, with about 10 minutes left in the game, Robinho, the young Brazilian transfer, created his fifth scoring opportunity and dumped the ball off to Raul, who delivered the game-winner. It would be a loss for Cadiz, 2-1, but no one went home losers: they were back with las estrellas, the big boys.
27 August 2005
The Ultimate Consumer in Europe's oldest town
Today i made a truly remarkable discovery in this, the oldest town in Europe, with tiny streets, dilapidated buildings, and rustic charm: a gigantic uber-department store/movie theatre/discount retailer/grocery store rolled into one: el Corte Inglés. This place has everything: toys, electronics, clothes, furniture, 5 restaurants, a bookstore, a candy store, a magazine store, i mean everything. Then, attached to it is a gigantic retailer/grocery store (think a slightly higher class wal-mart) that's integrated with the other parts. Oh yeah - I forgot the movie theatre on the 2nd floor: with 10 screens, it shows about 80 movies a day. And it's all Americanized: I was giddy with excitement, feeling like I was in "ultimate consumer" paradise...
Although finding the store was a great accomplishment, the more remarkable thing about my experience at el corte ingles was that I actually didn't buy anything there. I went looking for three things: a charger for my cell phone, a program for my Palm that has all the maps of Europe on it, and a book that I need for my course teaching English. Sadly, I found none of them. I bought the charger on ebay, decided not to buy the maps, and (mom you can skip the rest of the sentence and move on to the next paragraph) am probably out of luck with the book, which was the only thing I really needed to start my course on Monday.
If anyone has ridden in a car with me, you know that I have not only a terrible sense of direction, but a penchant for not listening when directions are given to me, wanting to appear like I just needed a little steering in the right direction. In reality, I need someone to hold my hand through the process, probably draw me a map, and then give me a phone number to call when I get lost. So you can imagine what happens when I attempt to do this in a foreign language...
Spanish television strikes again: now i'm watching a reality-tv show where they just shot a lion with a tranquilizer and watched it vomit all over the cage. Sorry "Jackass"- I think this show's got you beat in the ridiculous quotient....
Tomorrow I wake up with the Cadistas (fútbol fans) to mill around outside the gates of the soccer game and eventually purchase a ticket to the game for €400, only to find out it's for next week's exhibition game against the minor league team. Next week, I'll find out that the ticket just gets me in the grounds, and doesn't even let me past the gates so I can actually see the game. But it'll be cool - I wore my Cádiz soccer jersey today and caught the approving eye of many elderly men around town, and that's gotta be worth something...
Although finding the store was a great accomplishment, the more remarkable thing about my experience at el corte ingles was that I actually didn't buy anything there. I went looking for three things: a charger for my cell phone, a program for my Palm that has all the maps of Europe on it, and a book that I need for my course teaching English. Sadly, I found none of them. I bought the charger on ebay, decided not to buy the maps, and (mom you can skip the rest of the sentence and move on to the next paragraph) am probably out of luck with the book, which was the only thing I really needed to start my course on Monday.
If anyone has ridden in a car with me, you know that I have not only a terrible sense of direction, but a penchant for not listening when directions are given to me, wanting to appear like I just needed a little steering in the right direction. In reality, I need someone to hold my hand through the process, probably draw me a map, and then give me a phone number to call when I get lost. So you can imagine what happens when I attempt to do this in a foreign language...
Spanish television strikes again: now i'm watching a reality-tv show where they just shot a lion with a tranquilizer and watched it vomit all over the cage. Sorry "Jackass"- I think this show's got you beat in the ridiculous quotient....
Tomorrow I wake up with the Cadistas (fútbol fans) to mill around outside the gates of the soccer game and eventually purchase a ticket to the game for €400, only to find out it's for next week's exhibition game against the minor league team. Next week, I'll find out that the ticket just gets me in the grounds, and doesn't even let me past the gates so I can actually see the game. But it'll be cool - I wore my Cádiz soccer jersey today and caught the approving eye of many elderly men around town, and that's gotta be worth something...
26 August 2005
Day 2 in Cadiz
Although I slept most of the day, I still managed to get a few things done today: namely getting a cell phone. You can now call me at (+34) 686-002-678 and it's free for me... so, for example, if you have skypeOut, you can call me for about 2 cents per minute, and i won't pay anything either... sounds like a deal, huh? just wait 5 years when we'll all be talking for free... Yeah, so I just found out that that part isn't actually true: I exhausted my €7 balance in an hour's time. Not understanding what happened, I looked around on the website and found out that 2 cents per min is only for Spanish landlines; cell phones are €.22 per min. I guess we'll have to wait a while for cheaper communication on cell phones...
I was listening to my mp3 player as I was walking down the street after dinner. Specifically I was listening to the trailer music from the movie Troy, a typical Hans Zimmer knockoff type piece. I couldn't hear anything but the rousing score, and I just couldn't help but think that I was Achilles and everyone on the street was about to attack me, but I had ridiculous fighting skills and could take them all... then I couldn't help but think I was a little strange, and I changed the song...
The nudity epidemic continued today - between halves in the Liverpool soccer game (which you can watch for free, while the Cadiz home team games cost money to watch on TV; no wonder everyone here's a Real Madrid fan: you can actually watch their games...) the guy at the internet cafe switched it to rabbit ear TV and sure enough there's another topless woman. This is local tv, not even cable - I can't help but realize the US is so much more conservative than Europe....
I chat with every old man I can to find out whether it's possible to get tickets for the Cadiz-Real Madrid season opener on Sunday... I keep trying to translate the word 'scalper' with phrases like "one who sells tickets illegally on game day" but it doesn't seem to work out too well... An old man at my hotel who speaks in a raspy, thickly accented Castillano, said something about €500, and that's what I saw on the internet. I told him how you could go to a Yankees game - our equivalent of Real Madrid - for 30 bucks and he just about had a heart attack imagining seeing a soccer game for that cheap. In any case, I'm just going to show up at the stadium with lots of euros and hope I can get in...
I was listening to my mp3 player as I was walking down the street after dinner. Specifically I was listening to the trailer music from the movie Troy, a typical Hans Zimmer knockoff type piece. I couldn't hear anything but the rousing score, and I just couldn't help but think that I was Achilles and everyone on the street was about to attack me, but I had ridiculous fighting skills and could take them all... then I couldn't help but think I was a little strange, and I changed the song...
The nudity epidemic continued today - between halves in the Liverpool soccer game (which you can watch for free, while the Cadiz home team games cost money to watch on TV; no wonder everyone here's a Real Madrid fan: you can actually watch their games...) the guy at the internet cafe switched it to rabbit ear TV and sure enough there's another topless woman. This is local tv, not even cable - I can't help but realize the US is so much more conservative than Europe....
I chat with every old man I can to find out whether it's possible to get tickets for the Cadiz-Real Madrid season opener on Sunday... I keep trying to translate the word 'scalper' with phrases like "one who sells tickets illegally on game day" but it doesn't seem to work out too well... An old man at my hotel who speaks in a raspy, thickly accented Castillano, said something about €500, and that's what I saw on the internet. I told him how you could go to a Yankees game - our equivalent of Real Madrid - for 30 bucks and he just about had a heart attack imagining seeing a soccer game for that cheap. In any case, I'm just going to show up at the stadium with lots of euros and hope I can get in...
Llego a Cadiz
As I was walking past the giant Cathedral after a pleasant paella dinner in Cadiz, I watched a little girl, no more than 5 years old, bend down to pick up a full bottle of lemon-flavored fruit juice, as almost any kid would do. If you remember SqueezIts, that's what it looked like - a clear plastic bottle of fruit juice that you could squeeze to get more juice out. As suddenly as she stopped to pick it up, however, her Spanish father snatched her by the hand, cursed at her in Spanish, and kicked the bottle away, which seemed slightly more flexible after the kick than it did at first.
Astonished by her father's abrupt and angry reaction, I examined the bottle more closely to see what the big deal was. It was then that I realized it wasn't a "El SqueezÍto" but a condom, filled with urine. I couldn't contain myself and started laughing out loud, albeit to the glare of her father, who probably assumed I left it there, waiting for that moment...
There's something about Europe that I'm sure many of you who've been are aware of, but I was not: nudity is apparently commonplace and accepted. I was walking past a woman's boutique when I noticed a "Invisible" push-up bra advertisement. Apparently, the manufacturer deemed it necessary to demonstrate just how invisible the bra was - and sure enough, it was invisible: I didn't see any bra at all, only a woman's exposed bust. Stunned, I continued on, only to find out that even ads that, unlike the bra ad, didn't have to show nudity to demonstrate their product (like a body lotion ad - the US agencies typically highlight legs rather than chests) had the model showing off her bare breasts. And it went on and on; I saw a topless girl at the beach, the tabloids have full frontals and aren't even in the sealed plastic wrappers that keep 14-year old eyes out. Naturally, I would assume that this exposure to nudity would make the adolescent males more mature and polite towards women, but remembering some of my friends' stories of Italian boys, I guess that's not the case...
Someone needs to tell me that I'm not a tourist - I'm actually living here. Because I'm tipping like one, and it's killing my wallet. Everytime someone does something nice for me, I have to tip somewhere between 30 and 50%. I tipped 3.12 on a 3.87 taxi ride today because the driver was speaking slowly and using words I could understand to tell me his love for the fútbol team here, and since I like the fútbol team as well, I gave him the nearly 50% tip. I gave my taxi driver that helped me find a hostal the change from a €10 bill. The taxi cost €4-something. It goes on and on, but in general, I'm just being appreciative when everyone's nice to me for butchering their language. I guess I should learn that they're just more patient and polite here...
Now it's time to get ready for my fantasy football (American style) draft - which starts in an hour and a half (3AM my time) because my jealous friends have tried to stop me from winning for the third time by scheduling it for a time when they knew I would be in a brand new city in Europe that most likely didn't have internet. After learning that I would get internet starting Sunday, they rescheduled the draft from the weekend following to tonight. But I have prevailed. I found a place that had internet and was open 24 hours (a luxury hotel), paid my €12 for the 24 hr access and €7 for the cab, and even found a current-converter in a store where a Chinese woman who spoke neither Spanish nor English somehow told me that they definitely did not have any current-converters for UK to Spanish current.
Tomorrow - when I wake up - I'll go to the beach (sorry Chicago - Cadiz has got you beat with the whole beach in the middle of the city thing) and maybe even a run...
25 August 2005
Sevilla at night
After an extended delay at the London airport that consisted of 1) Iberia Airlines not telling us the gate until 20 minutes prior to departure, prompting a stampede of Brits and Spaniards to an inefficient and worthless bottleneck checkpoint; 2) Everyone in the aircraft (i´m serious) watching the safety demonstration while I read my newspaper; and 3) while taxiing on the runway, a loud screeching/clunking sound that i swear was the airplane wheels running over a large metal pipe, forcing us to stop the plane while the stewardesses ran around the airplane like decapitated chickens and did nothing to assuage our fears, we finally took off without much fanfare and left the dreary English countryside for the Andalucian sun.
Sevilla was exactly like I imagined Spain would be like: narrow, cobblestoned alley-streets with soft yellow lamps lighting the way for Vespas, walking tourists and the occassional French Connection/Bourne Identity car chase scene going past. I´ll have a picture tomorrow from right outside my hostel, but this computer won´t let me put anything up. I walked around at about 11 pm, and most of the restaurants had tons of people sitting outside in tables, drinking wine and eating tapas. Most of them, however, were tourists, from Spain or otherwise. I even ran into a girl I went to high school with, but I turned down her offer to come party on the river with a bunch of other exchange students because it seemed like a token invite and her description of where to go consisted of ¨someplace down by the river¨. I wasn´t too confident that my carrier pigeon sense of direction was capable of finding her, since I couldn´t remember her name either...
My room is the size of a standard broom closet, and yet somehow there´s a sink in it.
I also managed to swing a hot shower with good water pressure down the hall, and despite a tube of shampoo puncturing itself and then after making a hole in the ziploc bag that was supposed to prevent this from happening, proceeded to leak all over my clothes...
Tomorrow I´ll look around the city for a current converter (despite my mom buying three for me, none of them work) and then head for Cadiz...
Sevilla was exactly like I imagined Spain would be like: narrow, cobblestoned alley-streets with soft yellow lamps lighting the way for Vespas, walking tourists and the occassional French Connection/Bourne Identity car chase scene going past. I´ll have a picture tomorrow from right outside my hostel, but this computer won´t let me put anything up. I walked around at about 11 pm, and most of the restaurants had tons of people sitting outside in tables, drinking wine and eating tapas. Most of them, however, were tourists, from Spain or otherwise. I even ran into a girl I went to high school with, but I turned down her offer to come party on the river with a bunch of other exchange students because it seemed like a token invite and her description of where to go consisted of ¨someplace down by the river¨. I wasn´t too confident that my carrier pigeon sense of direction was capable of finding her, since I couldn´t remember her name either...My room is the size of a standard broom closet, and yet somehow there´s a sink in it.
I also managed to swing a hot shower with good water pressure down the hall, and despite a tube of shampoo puncturing itself and then after making a hole in the ziploc bag that was supposed to prevent this from happening, proceeded to leak all over my clothes...Tomorrow I´ll look around the city for a current converter (despite my mom buying three for me, none of them work) and then head for Cadiz...
24 August 2005
The Adventure Begins
I've arrived in London Heathrow airport for the first day of my journey. I have a 4 hour layover here before I get on Iberia flight 4143 to Sevilla. The plane ride was uneventful; I was just happy I wasn't sitting in the middle of 12 Jamaican tourists who hadn't showered for the duration of their 6-day vacation in New York...
I knew I was in England when we dropped out of the cloud cover and it was foggy and raining. That made me happy. We also flew over some part of London that I'm going to pretend was Wimbledon or something else famous, because it looked just what I thought London was supposed to look like.
One interesting thing about this airport is that all the employees are of Arab descent, instead of hispanic or black, as they are in most of the American airports...
more updates to come...
I knew I was in England when we dropped out of the cloud cover and it was foggy and raining. That made me happy. We also flew over some part of London that I'm going to pretend was Wimbledon or something else famous, because it looked just what I thought London was supposed to look like.
One interesting thing about this airport is that all the employees are of Arab descent, instead of hispanic or black, as they are in most of the American airports...
more updates to come...
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