First week of work, a boat ride, lots and lots of sun

Have I mentioned that it's hot? It's really, really, really hot. The rumor is that yesterday was, in fact, the hottest day in Barcelona for thirty years. It was in the mid 90s. So, it's hot. Baking your skin into crispy bacon, hot. Melting your leather sandals into your feat hot (seriously. I didn't even realize that was possible, but, my feet are now 2/3 feet and 1/3 black coloring melted off of sandal). The heat would be more bearable, perhaps, if there were many places with AC, but unfortunately AC is not typical here. This heat is unusual so most buildings are not equipped with it-- plus, it's an old city with old buildings, so central air would be a huge hassle to put in everywhere. In our classrooms at school, with the exception of the high school science lab where we have been clustered together the last week for meetings, grateful for the recirculated air. Yesterday there was a lovely grill heated up outside the cafeteria to make us a "barbecue" lunch-- and the smoke and heat served to make the already pretty toasty cafeteria into a toasty hot-box.
Also the walk from the tram line (which we take from the metro line, from the center of the city) is all uphill so by the time we get to school we are all a coated with a thin sheen of sweat.
But, other than baking myself silly in the heat, things have been lovely. Had an orientation week that went well, learned a lot of stuff about my new school. Seems like a great place! Hung up paper successfully in my classroom, with a limited amount of tears and crooked lines. Moved furniture around despite the roasting heat. Ate lots of really good lunches provided by the school. Met lots of great teachers, admins, etc. It's going to be a good school year, I think.
Hopefully, though, the temperature will cool down just a tad. I'm going to melt into a little Beka Puddle. And it's hard to teach fourth grade if I'm a Beka Puddle.
This week I also discovered a beautiful and amazing local public gym and pool that was the nicest public pool I think I've ever seen. You do have to pay for it-- but it is the quality of an urban "club" pool-- five floors of gyms, saunas, pools,'hydromassage', etc. Snazzy. And they have these all over the city! I'm going to go get a monthly pass today.
Yesterday the school treated all the teachers to a little cruise around the harbor here on a catamaran. It was a lovely view and enjoyed some nice sangria. When climbing out to sit on the ropes at the front of the boat, the wind blew up my dress and everyone saw my underwear. Classy move at a meet-the-staff-and-talk-to-your-bosses event. I also thought I was perhaps going to throw up, as the ride was surprisingly bumpy. But I didn't! I consider that a personal success that I made it through the journey without vomiting in front of all of my new co-workers. I think I turned a few shades of green, though.
Then- dinner at an Indian restaurant! Pretty good food- very spicy-- which was good because as great as the food is here, it is definitely NOT spicy. The Spanish (and Catalans) don't really do spicy. So it was nice to have a little heat in the food...although it meant that I proceeded to get EVEN WARMER throughout my body.
I promise in the next post I will shut up about the heat.
Here are some photos of the boat trip and new co-workers. Also, a photo of the mosaic mural outside of our school.
Also- in some other news- I have now successfully been able to find our tiny street in the tiny, cavern-like streets of the old city by myself, at night, on two occasions. On only one of these did I get briefly and hopelessly lost.
In some less-then-lovely news, I saw my THIRD robbery this week. This time, it was a German tourist (who was dressed very much like a tourist) whose wallet was snatched out of his backpocket. Amazingly, he (the tourist) jumped out of the metro and grabbed the robber around the neck and succeeded in getting his wallet back! Earlier in the week someone was robbed directly in front of our apartment-- we heard someone yell and then the thump thump thump of someone running, very fast, down the street. Then every person in the buildings on either side of our street stuck their heads out and started shouting "thief! thief! thief!" as he ran down the street. No one caught him but it was good to see how collectively everyone reacted. The down side, though, was that after the robber was gone our neighbors across the street (whose balconies across the tiny street are almost close enough to touch) started shouting horrible racist epithets after the guy. And then two older couples on two different balconies proceeded to have a lengthy and horrific conversation about "damn immigrants" that was directly focused on Middle Easterners. I will not repeat here the unbelievable derogatory terms that were bandied about. Let's just say-- it was a moment that I wished that I understood LESS Spanish.

A hot day in Sitges

On Saturday, a journey to Sitges by the Mediterrean sea...a beautiful city with unbelievable charm and cuteness, slightly besmirched by the billions upon billions of mostly naked vacationers. Wait- correction- quite besmirched indeed. I don't think I've ever seen so many shiny tanned chests of both gender varieties. Also, lots and lots of tiny, tiny, TINY bathing suits. Mostly tiny bathing suits on men, which, honestly, are really not that attractive. Even if said man has a nice body, I really don't need to see the whole kit-and-kaboodle whilst I'm trying to eat my lunch. If you get my drift. Anyhoo..very nice location, far too much European skin...but all in all, a lovely day. We were there for a lunch with our new school director and all the new staff. The food was amazingly delicious-- and absurdly plentiful. We started the meal with serving after serving of tapas, which was followed by a paella and dessert. So as the naked, shiny, men milled around us, we waddled home stuffed with food.
Also it was hot. Very hot. Baking-in-bright-blazing-sun hot. I know, I know, I was planning to move to Chennai, India, who am I to complain about heat? And we spent the summer roasting in 95 degree East Coast humidity. But somehow the hot here is...hotter. I can't explain it. In the shade, it's quite comfortable, but the sun has a burning hot force that makes your skin feel like it's going to crisp and fry right on your body. Perhaps it is because there is little humidity so there is no thick coating between us and the sun-- it's just bright, blazing, glaring sun.
And the buildings in Sitges being all white probably doesn't help.
It's also been pretty hot in Barcelona. Today is better, but Sunday and Monday we roasted to the point of melting in our tiny little un-airconditioned little pod of an apartment. In the old streets, our building is only a few feet away from the other side of the street, so there isn't much space for breeze to blow in. So, at the moment, I am sitting here on the coach with the fan pointed directly at my face. It's actually pretty comfortable, as long as I don't move away from the fan's direct blow.
Also started orientation for new staff this week! More on that later. The school seems great and all is well. The only hitch at the moment is my typical inability to hang paper on the bulletin boards in my classroom. Seriously- I have some sort of cutting/paper hanging/stapling learning disability. It's a serious issue. No matter how hard I try, I can't even hang the darn things straight. I can try and try and try- but the posterboards or paper are ALWAYS CROOKED. Or I manage to make it straight and then promptly tear a big giant hole right in the middle. Or I run out of matching border EXACTLY in the middle, leaving a big yucky looking empty space. I don't know how other teachers do it. I gaze with sad envy and the gloriously elegant and clean-looking walls and posters of my fellow elementary school teachers. It's like they all took a How To Decorate Your Classroom Without it Looking Like a Small Tornado Ate All of The Wallpaper And/Or Chewed up the Desk class that somehow I missed.
All of my former students can attest that this is, in fact, the case. I remember my former student Fadwa once standing at my desk, one hand on her hip, holding up a metal spatula she had just found in an assorted pile of stuff on my teacher desk. "A spatula? Rebekah? Why on earth is there a spatula on your desk?" And, honestly, I had no answer. She shook her head at me and sighed. I'm hopeless. Truly hopeless.
And Michael Zimmerman, my former co-teacher, often despaired at my inability to hang things in not-crooked ways. I would try so hard to hang the paper right- trying to align the edges and everything- and he would look at what I had done and sigh and say (in his always gentle and nice Michael-Zimmerman-way), "It's all right. Why don't I just do it?"
I really am a good teacher. Really. I just can't hang things right. It's a special disease that I suffer from. I don't know what it is- but it seems incurable. Perhaps someone could give me a special tutorial someday? Teach me? Help me?
Anyway. Here are some pictures of Sitges. No pictures of crooked paper-hanging, sorry.

New home!!!

Here are pictures of our new apartment- on the little street "Calle de Menoc"-- in the Ribera neighborhood, near Parc de la Citudella and the Arc de Triompf (obviously the one in Barcelona, not the one in Paris, ha ha). We love love love our new little home, with its character features, such as a high ceiling and original tile floors. We even have a little balcony to hang our laundry from and put out a few plants! The street it's on is too narrow for cars to pass, but there is moto and foot traffic. The area around our apartment seems to be a mix of a North African, Pakistani, and Latin American community. Right around the corner from our place is a huge playground where yesterday about a million kids were playing, shouting to each other in a cacaphony of different languages. On our street there are a few little markets for frutas y verduras, (fruits and vegetables!) and even a Uruguayan bakery right across from our building. The area about four blocks south of us, El Born, has more bars and restaurants and such. We're also just a twenty/ thirty minute walk from the beach! And the Santa Catarina market isn't far.
In these pictures you see the view of the living room/dining room with the skinny door to the bedroom visible. I forgot to take a picture of the kitchen, which is just around the corner. It's pretty tiny...and with just two little burners, no oven, but it's actually more roomy than our ridiculous slanted-ceiling kitchen in Vancouver! So we'll make do. In the kitchen there's a laundry machine! Yay!
Yesterday we made the first trip to the new place with our luggage, navigating the many steps up and down into the metro carrying our suitcases. Actually, I should correct that statement: Michael did most of the lugging up and down the steps. Yes, I know, I shouldn't let the man do all the work-- the feminist in me knows not to just let him carry everything. But, honestly, I couldn't even lift one suitcase even up one step. You can say it. I'm a wimp. I have no upper body strength at all. I'm lucky I can carry my head around on my shoulders.
But Michael grabbed on to our two fifty pound bags and ran like mad up and down several flights of stairs. It was impressive.
Now just a few more trips today and we'll be all moved in!
Meanwhile, today is our last Spanish class! It's been great, but an interesting challenge. My Spanish is, ahem, a bit worse than I thought it was. All the sweet Costa Ricans would nod and smile and have conversations with me as if I wasn't making a total fool out of myself when I opened my mouth. But, apparently, there is a lot I don't know. A LOT. And the Ticos were being mighty generous to pretend that I wasn't speaking like a two year old. Perhaps they were laughing at me after I left the room? "Ha ha, that Rebekah, she thinks she makes sense but she really doesn't make a lick of sense. Ha ha ha." Let's hope they weren't thinking that.
Also, now there are so many words that I used in Costa Rica that sound very formal and exceedingly polite to the Spanish. Our Spanish teacher actually did a little imitation of me saying "Quisiera" at a restaurant in which he pretended he was a cutsy little girl batting her eyelashes. Quisiera means "I would like"-- very similar, I thought, to "je voudrais" in French, but apparently the meaning here in Spain is more like-- "If it would please you to possibly honor me with this thing that I'm asking for?" (not an exact translation, but that is the gist). In Spain, it is perfectly okay to say to a waiter, instead, "I want this!" or even "Give me this!" ("Quiero esto" "Me pone un cafe...Me da un barra de pan", etc) And yes- for those of you who speak Spanish- you can use "poner" to mean "give me this" even though the exact translation of the verb is "to put." "Put this in front of me" I guess is the idea. But you only use that sometimes, depending on the situation. More commonly, I think, "Me trae" is used, meaning "bring over to me." Or I could be wrong about that. As I mentioned above, Rebekah's Spanish is that of a not-too-verbal toddler. So what do I know?

Some photos of Gracia fest

Here are some photos of the Gracia fest- going on this week. Each street sets up decorations designed by the people on the street and made of simple/recycled materials. Pretty cool stuff. Also, our Spanish teacher Jorge is in one of these photos, explaining to us the history of Gracia and the festival.

More later. Too sleepy to write more now.

Some photos

Here's a shot of an incredible mansion we stumbled upon while wandering on Saturday. Also- a nice old poster in front of nice old building.

Yesterday- ate Pan Tomat at a cute bar in La Ribera with anchovy olives and a small torta.

Last night- watched Spanish TV and realized we could understand next to nothing. Then realized it was because most of the channels are in Catalan, which we understand not at all. Occasionally when someone is speaking Catalan there are words that jump out that I recognize, because of its relationship to Italian and Spanish, but overall I can't even get the gist of what people are saying. Tried watching the Simpsons in Catalan which was an exercise in confusion.

There were a few shows in Spanish, but they speak so quickly here I get lost! But we did find a show in which people being interviewed were from Latin America and right away both Michael and I understood almost every word they were saying. Hmm. Apparently they speak more slowly in Latin America-- and of course we're also more used to that accent.

Yesterday, at the Bar in La Ribera, the waitress walked up and began speaking rapid Catalan to us. When we stared at her blankly, she told us in English, "Oh. I thought you were Catalan." Which we took as a compliment, of course. But we spoke back to her in Spanish, just to confuse things even more.

La Comida

Let's talk for a moment about food. When we came to Barcelona the last time, for our honeymoon, we somehow managed to eat poorly at almost every meal. How did we manage to eat bad food in Spain for six straight nights? I haven't the slightest idea. I will say, though, that we stayed that time near the most touristy area and ended up in places that probably cater mostly to tourist crowds. Always the kiss of death, food-wise.

So, I'll say this: when we said before that the food of Barcelona was a disappointment, we were wrong. Yes, the Biggest Food Snobs Who Ever Lived can admit that they might have been, perhaps, quick to judge a whole city.

This time- we have been quite pleasantly surprised. And that's an understatement. In three days, we've already dined quite well, and have barely spent any money at all. Our dinners have consisted of bread, cheese, and olives at home, topped off with lovely sparkling cava and bright fresh fruit. Cava is cheaper here than water! We've had two lunches out at restaurants. The first was a tapas place with my new co-workers. There, I had one of the tastiest things I've ever eaten: tiny little fried fishes-- Pesadito Frito, to be exact. Perfectly seasoned and fried. Like a fishy little french fry, but softer. Once, long ago, I ate little fried fish like this at an incredible restaurant with my parents in Italy. I don't remember even what city it was in- but I remember those fish. I've been looking for them ever since. Who would have guessed that would be hiding in Barcelona!

But yesterday was our Blow Your Mind meal-- at a little restaurant in a beautiful square in the old city, called La Candela (the restaurant, not the square). Wow. I've included here a picture of my main course-- part two of a "Menu del Dia" which included also carrot soup, coffee, wine, and dessert. This plate you see pictured here was hands down one of the best things I've ever eaten. That fish- called Lumpino- was perfectly cooked-- tender, flaky, buttery, perfectly salted, and with a hint of some kind of herb. AMAZING. The risoto on the left has langostines in it and tastes like ooey-gooey heaven.

For dessert? A 'bombe chocolate'-- sort of like a Fondant cake. Chocolate cake with the richest, creamiest, most wonderfully dark goo inside that melts to the plate when you cut it open. I think I might have almost wept when I took a bite. And I don't even like chocolate cake.

What's particularly amusing is that half way through this glorious meal, it dawned on me that Michael and I had, in fact, eaten in the same restaurant the last time. Maybe they changed chefs? Maybe the warmer weather has made us more inclined to like the food (our last visit was in January)?

On the Not Such Great News front: saw a group of young men try to rob two older British men on the metro yesterday. They didn't get anything, but the men were pretty shaken up. A word of warning to visitors to Barcelona-- try not to look like a tourist. And avoid large groups of young men who suddenly push against you for what seems like no reason.

But I must say the Barcelona metro is amazing! So easy to use and speedy. So clean! Fancy! Reminds us very much of the newer trains in the Paris metro.

Some pictures from yesterday's long walk

Yesterday we began the tricky process of looking for an apartment here in Barcelona. To this end- we wandered through many different neighborhoods, trying to get a sense of each. Some are quite elegant, such as the majestically beautiful Gracia, with its Art Nueveau detailing; others are simpler and quieter, with hints of old Spain in the occasional "garden house" that appears in the midst of brick apartment buildings, such as Horta-Gordinando and Vallcarca. The Eixample is fancy with high-end stores and restaurants, and the "Ciutat Vella" contains the neighborhoods of El Ravel, El Gotico, La Ribera and El Born. Sants, Poble Sec, and Montjuic head towards the hills with areas that are a mix of fancy and quaint. At this point we're hoping to live in either the hill neighborhoods of Horta-Gordinando, Vallcarca, Montjuic, or Sants. We of course love Gracia but it's out of our price range, I believe. Another nice area we're exploring today is near the Natural History Museum, just north of the Old City. We're looking at an apartment near there today.
In the midst of our all exploring yesterday, we climbed both up and down the hill that contains Park Guell, designed by Barcelona's favorite son, Gaudi. The park itself was mad with tourists; some paths were almost impassible due to streams of people. Luckily we found a way to escape that insanity and, at the same time, end up slightly lost on some winding paths that seemed to be rather not paths at all. When we did pop out of the park at last and find a road, we discovered an amazing neighborhood (maybe part of Horta-Guidardo? Not sure) that containing tiny streets of little garden homes, that reminded me, most of all, of Havana, Cuba. Sort of funny but it actually took me a moment of reflection to figure this out. I stared at the buildings and thought to myself- "Golly. This looks so familiar somehow. It reminds me of somewhere." And then-- aha!-- I realized, yes, this is the famous "Spanish" architecture that was transported to Latin American cities such as Havana, Granada, Nicaragua, and others. Reminded also a little bit of Alejuela, Costa Rica. I've included some pictures here. The first is of a funny door knob that was begging to be photographed. Then, a garden home from the hill area. Also, two photos of Gracia- one of the street and one of a building with these elegant stained glass-window porches. Also included here is a view from the hills, down a little skinny set of stairs. The hill neighborhoods are full of steps going up and down- not unlike Montmontre, in Paris.

First moments in Barcelona

Last night, around eight o'clock p.m, while waiting for our very delayed flight in the Newark airport, I had a fleeting thought that this, too, was not going to happen. The flight was delayed for mechanical reasons (problems with the landing gear-- never good news!) and there seemed to be little information about if or when we might leave. So we waited. And waited.
And then- at 11:00 p.m- the announcement was made and we boarded. I am pleased to report that the flight went well and the landing gear did, in fact, work correctly. All of us on board were much relieved.
But, let me back up a moment. A few hours before boarding, there was a sudden flurry of activity in the waiting area. As if beckoned by a silent whistle, all of the Spaniards sitting around us leapt to their feet and dashed across the terminal. They clumped in huge mass, shouting and waving and brandishing cameras. Family members waved to each other, children ran out of the hands of their parents. What on earth was going on-- we wondered. Then we saw that the crowd was centered around a young man who sat sheepishly on in the center of the mass. One after another, people snapped photographs standing next to the young man, and he kindly (albeit with a bored expression) obliged. We had no idea who this person was- but, let me tell you, the Spaniards loved him. We quickly determined with some other Americans sitting near us that he must be a soccer player because who else could possibly excite the Spaniards so much and no American would even recognize him? I asked a little boy who was running past us, panting, camera in hand. Turns out he is some guy who plays for Barcelona, apparently a really big star. I don't even remember his name, honestly.
But, in the name of "when in Rome," an American woman and I decided to go over and take our picture with him too, since, why not? He was very nice and didn't seem to mind at all.
Now we are in our lovely, lovely temporary apartment in a neighborhood near Gracia, just below Park Guell. We walked into Gracia yesterday, our jaws dropping as we pointed left and right at the incredible Art Nueveau architecture. Amazing, amazing. Stained glass decorated with curls of color, flowers. Walls painted with women in flowing dresses. Everywhere, wrought-iron balconies and curvalinear detailing on the corners, tops, and doorways of buildings. Will post some pictures later- forget to bring the camera on our walk.
I have, however, included here a photograph of our first meal in Spain-- cava, cheese, olives, and bread in our apartment. Also of course the photograph of me with Famous Barcelona Soccer Guy. Anyone know who he is??

And the universe shakes things up...

I've been reflecting lately on the unpredictability of life. We take such measures to protect ourselves-- put our proverbial ducks in a row so that we can know what will happen first, next, last. We prepare and pack and plan and picture ourselves in a place, in a situation. We make assumptions about what can be expected. We fill our suitcases with the right clothes, the appropriate guidebooks, the family photos. We buy tickets and say our goodbyes. We talk for hours and days on end about the scents, the images, the experiences we are sure to have. We allow ourselves to dream.

And then the universe changes the story.

Now- instead of moving ourselves and our assorted collection of stuff to Chennai, India, we are moving to Barcelona, Spain. The reasons for this change are too complicated to discuss here (I'll summarize and say: bad visa karma), but it is certainly not what we expected even just two weeks ago. For seven months we have dreamed of India. For seven months we have read every book, watched every documentary, ate every meal possible so that we can digest all there was to know about this place we were moving to.

Except, now, we aren't.

And you know what? It's okay. It really is okay. How can one mourn an experience that never was? It's foolish to curse oneself with the countless "what-ifs." Time doesn't move backwards. We cannot undo the past. We cannot rewind three months and do everything differently-- we cannot rewind eight months and tell ourselves to stop dreaming. Life doesn't work that way.

And yet I do mourn. And curse. And doubt myself. And wish that time could go backwards, just this one time. But only sometimes. Most of the time I try to get excited about this new plan- Spain! This is also a great plan! This is also a wonderful place to spend a year or two.

What I learned from the Quakers was: the way will open. The purpose and reason will become apparent. Trust and you shall see. I believe this. I try to believe this. I try to remember that we are, in fact, wonderfully lucky and blessed to have been given this other opportunity-- this grand opportunity to live in Barcelona and work at a wonderful school! I feel that I have been given a gift, a chance to experience something amazing, in the most unexpected way. Life is unpredictable. You were expecting dosas and dal- you are given instead tapas and cava. When life gives you cava-- make...? Well, not lemonade, but certainly something good.

Tomorrow we board the plane to begin our new life in Barcelona. It is not where we expected to be. It is not the country we dreamed of for eight months. But the way has opened and the universe, in her always amusing manner, has sent us down this path.
As the incorrect Spanish grammar of the song says: "Que sera, sera..."