Family Tradition

First, a word of gratitude to those who have given me life: to my mom, who carried me and bore me; to my dad, who taught me through play and who has always missed me fiercely; to both my parents, who raised me and love me; to my sisters and wide generous family, who have grown with me and looked after me; especially to my grandmothers, who encircle me and give me a strong foundation; and to all the friends who have passed through my life and stayed or left their mark.

Now, it’s possible our family tradition of celebrating birthdays to abandon has become a bit exaggerated over the years. Maybe the day is worth remembering, but whoever decided that a birthday includes the weekend before, the week of, and the weekend after…should be properly thanked. The celebration of my 24^th vintage was a roaring success and I’m grateful for the opportunities I had to gather my dear ones around me.

It all began the night of Thursday the twelfth, when I took a long overnight bus to Madrid. I had been once before to the Spanish capital, but with three more years under my belt and a couple good friends in the area, I decided to be more ambassador than tourist. Luckily, a new acquaintance from my Catalan class is originally from Madrid, and as I was asking her logistical transport questions, she graciously offered to host me for my first day. This is more than token: she was home visiting friends and family and celebrating her birthday, and in the midst of it, she managed to find time to meet my 8am bus, feed me breakfast, provide amenities for freshening up, and guide me around downtown. We returned home at midday (remember, 3pm Spanish time) and ate a fantastic lunch with her parents who are originally from Galicia in northwest Spain. Thus lunch included octopus and hake, a very popular and succulent fish. The meal was incredible and the company better, and throughout the day I got to visit the historic center, the main Plaza del Sol, the Royal Palace and Cathedral, a free exposition on women in painting, and the rooftop of the Royal Academy of Fine Art. On top of it all, it was the Madrid city festival, La Fiesta de San Isidro, and there were many special events and people dressed in traditional Madrileño outfits eating churros (think elephant ears but in ropes) and chocolate.

In the evening I collected my bag and went to stay with Alberto, a techie friend who I know through my roommate from last year, Victoria. We spent the weekend visiting: the Thyssen Museum, which is right across from the famous Prado Museum and is a fine and varied collection; the large Retiro Park; the Telecommunications Palace, where all mail used to be sorted; the Rastro street market; and not to miss the late Madrid nightlife. It was exhausting and fun, a great visit to a great city. It’s true what they say: the downtown feels like a small town.

I returned from Madrid on Monday just in time to ready myself for a presentation at my host Rotary club, Condal. The meeting was jovial, and I added some of my own Catalan-Spanish jokes to win over my table of businessmen. I had been a bit intimidated by the prospect of this meeting, because at the Christmas dinner with this club it seemed there were nearly a hundred members. However, at the dinner last Monday we filled three tables and there was a friendly family atmosphere that put me and David, the other scholar, at ease. Here we are with Club President Casajuana.

During the week I also had the chance to visit Vic, a small town in the mountains north of Barcelona.

I went with a colleague from my masters program, and the visit was part professional part leisure. Back in January, we attended a presentation on Catalan sociolinguistics by two professors teaching at SUNY-Buffalo, and there we made contact with a couple researchers in the area. The one teaching in Vic—who has written about the motivations of foreigners learning Catalan, my proposed thesis topic—invited us to come visit the campus, the town, and have a coffee. After about four months now, we finally took advantage of the offer! We also managed to visit on the same day as an English doctoral student, and so we were allowed to tag along on her scheduled visits. This included a presentation about the Catalan educational system and a visit to the local center for Catalan classes. It was all interesting, and what a stroke of luck! The first presentation helped put many things in perspective. For example, you might have the impression that Catalan is a minority language; while technically true, it should not be considered a small language, as there are more Catalan speakers (13.5 million) than Greeks (11.8), Portuguese (10.5), or Swedish (9.3). As I’ve referenced before, the population of immigrants in Catalunya has soared in the last 10 years, increasing from 2% in 2000 to 15% in 2008. Surprisingly and likely thanks to the all-Catalan educational system, children of immigrants use Catalan (over Spanish) up to 86% of the time when interacting with friends, watching TV, or reading books. This is quite an amazing recovery and regeneration for a language that, only a generation ago, was banned.

So, a weekend in Madrid, a Rotary presentation, an enlightening visit to Vic, and then with the B-day approaching, the week culminated in a Southern belle-themed dinner Saturday night. Although I as a Midwesterner perhaps cannot create an authentic evening in the old South, I certainly gave it my best shot. On the menu we had: biscuits, sweet potato fries, chicken salad, delicate cucumber sandwiches, zucchini fritters, peach crumble, apple pie, and sweet tea. I had pearls, white gloves, and a parasol just for the occasion. Friends came from all the diverse groups I know and we had plenty to eat, a birthday cake at midnight, and drinks on the upstairs terrace with a view of Barcelona by night. It was the perfect ending to an excellent birthday week. As I began with thanks I will end: to all those who have made this year successful, entertaining, bearable, and lovely.

A Few More Reasons About Why I'm Here

At times, when I happen upon an unplanned weekend, with no roommates in sight and no ideas in mind…I take it. Because even though it may seem dreary, at the ripe age of twenty-three, in the lively city where I live, to stay in Friday and Saturday night, I know it’s only a rest, and that I need it.

The call of schoolwork is relentless, that much you know. Now, as people inaugurate springtime and prepare for the end of classes, invitations come raining down as well. My Friday commitments included a Royal Wedding Brunch to celebrate the nuptials of Prince William and Kate Middleton. Although I am not in the least a royalist, I played along with a classmate and wedding enthusiast who hosted the brunch. It gave me a good excuse to bake muffins and scones, sit around a pot of tea with friends, and toast mimosas. We were also accompanied by our token Brit, also a classmate, who added class and accent to our light-hearted gathering.

Saturday was a business day: I attended my host Rotaract’s meeting in the afternoon, which was followed by a short special-topics conference. The issue at hand was protocol and was lead by the president-elect of Rotary Condal, my host club this year. We covered scenarios from within Rotary, but mainly discussed points of business, international, and social protocol as a means of welcoming guests and making them feel comfortable. I can empathize with that: sometimes when I’ve arrived late to presentations because of my afternoon classes, I’m relieved to know that someone has already explained and apologized on my behalf. Some concepts were new, and overall the conference was a good refresher on what I can expect in my interactions and what others are expecting from me. Here, on the left is Luz, president of Rotaract Condal; and in the middle Señor Riquelme, president-elect of Rotary Condal.

Sunday was primarily dedicated to reading, but in the middle of the sunny afternoon, with hints of barbecue wafting up to my window, I gave in for a bike break. I just signed up for bicing, the municipal bike share program that complements bus and metro. It costs 35 euros for the year, and allows me to essentially rent a bike from point A to point B for free (for a half hour, but you can have it up to two hours total). It’s extremely easy to use: there is a bicing station just down the street from me, where I scan my card and pick up a bike. Then I ride down the bike line over to the beach, where I can pedal around for a few hours. Whenever my time is up, I return the bike to any of the numerous stations, sit on the beach for ten minutes, and return to check out another one. It is a nice escape from walking, which seems inefficient, and the metro, which can be very tiring.

In the evening I was invited to the Spring Festival of Hospitalet, one of the Barcelona bedroom communities, by one of my classmates who is from the area. We went to the tabalada, where groups of drum players march through the town square, and then watched the correfoc. The word means “the running of the fire” in Catalan and involves groups of people, dressed up as devils, lighting and spinning around with firecrackers. Kids, covered from head to toe with hats, hoods, scarves, and gloves, rush in and dance with the fire-devils, a bit like Fourth of July with devilry. The devils take off, group by group, to run through the center of town, and the drum players follow them. The whole scene is vivifying, and you can only imagine how it is for all the Catalan children that grow up dancing and running with fire.

This week I have an intensive course in Psycholinguistics taught by a visiting professor from Concordia University, Montreal. The class and his teaching have already proven excellent, and even though I’m not taking the course for credit, I’m glad to attend. What I find so inspiring about linguistics research is the continual discovery that every question I have ever pondered about language has actually been explored and expanded. Why don’t I remember things as well in Spanish? Why am I plagued by these weird switches between languages, when a French word will come out in the middle of a Spanish sentence, pronounced with a Spanish accent or formatted like a Spanish word? Why is it difficult to feel genuine in French when expressing emotions or opinions? Language is, in a phrase, so much more than a tool. Use it wisely and playfully!

April Crazy

So much to report on!

If the period of craziness from March through early April did not bring me to nervous breakdown, then I can survive anything. It was truly a feat of coordination, complemented by some gracious extensions on the part of professors and coordinators. Now, let’s see if I remember it all step by step.

Mom and Dad arrived Thursday morning in Paris at the end of March. I actually arrived in town after them, and we met at the hotel, each glad to see that the other made it okay. From our spot on Boulevard Pasteur, we visited the Luxembourg Gardens and lunched in a crêperie, typical of Brittany where I taught last year. Then we took the train out to the suburbs to have a fantastic visit with family friends who have often dined at our house in Michigan and were glad to host us on their home turf.

The next day we left for Orléans, about an hour train ride away, to stay with another French family we know. It was great to catch up with them, and we played with the kids, walked along the Loiret river, and visited the manor where Leonardo daVinci lived out his last days in Amboise. The house is filled with is designs and the gardens contain the actual structures, so it’s like a mechanically sophisticated playground.

I finally managed to tear Mom and Dad away from their vie en rose and woo them over to Barcelona. After a first-night feast of paella (a rice and seafood dish), they spent the week visiting and enjoying the view of Montjuic from their vacation apartment terrace, and I spent the week scurrying from visit to Catalan class to masters class. One highlight of the week was my presentation to the Rotary club Barcelona Les Corts, which hosted me and my parents for Wednesday afternoon lunch. I was proud to introduce myself a bit in Catalan to this bilingual club, which then continued with a presentation on the Chinese economy and closed with a debate. It was, I think, the most challenging Rotary presentation I’ve given, between translating for my parents and trying to follow the quick and heated discussion about economics in Spanish. I responded to several tough questions, including the overarching theme of this year, why do some Americans refuse to institute national social security programs? Anyone with comments, please post. My response always contrasts historical precedents limiting government power, which is seen as the problem, with contemporary European perspective, which sees government as a mechanism of the solution.

I wish I had had more time to play the tour guide, but in the end I think the only real problem was my stress level. Unfortunately it only got worse when we rented a car (and I’m waiting for years to pass so we can laugh about this) and drove through insane Barcelona traffic and poor signage to get out of town. We did happen upon a fantastic seaside tavern for lunch, where somehow Mom lucked out with roast duck and Dad and I ended up with fish sticks. But the weather and coast were beautiful and we had the chance to see the Greek ruins of Empuries, an ancient trade settlement.

From there we stopped by Figueres and Girona before spending the night at Luz’s family’s house—the villa in the photos from last fall. It was worth the complication of the car rental just to wake up and look out through the arcades of the second balcony towards the mountains across the valley. Oh, the peace of the countryside.

After a return to Barcelona, a final afternoon walking around the old part, and an evening view of the city from Montjuic (the hill-park near my apartment), their final day in the city came to a close. We had dinner with my flatmates and a friend at my current pick of tapas restaurant, El Glop. Although we meant to get to bed early, and had to get up at 5am the next morning to leave for the airport, somehow the city just calls you to stay. We made it home at midnight.

I think this is one of the most important lessons I’ve learned this year: how to let time slip through my fingers. I like to be in control of my own schedule, and when I have set ideas about how things will come to pass, it’s difficult and disappointing to see them changed. But the Spaniards have this way of staying on and on, never mind the time or the cold or the tiredness. I commented on this a year ago when I attended the April Fair in Sevilla: during twelve hours of eating, drinking, dancing, and talking, my Spanish friends never once got bored with themselves or tried to create an agenda to pass the time. Time passed all on its own. Although I’m not by any means a pro, since September I’ve learned to let this happen, to stay until the conversation runs out, and if it never does, so much the better. To watch time as the hours pass and enjoy the people who surround you while it happens.

Am I Crazy?

Saturday morning, early, the parents left, and I got back to some assignments I’d left hanging during their stay. I made studying an Olympic sport over the next three days as I turned in paper after paper and studied for a high-pressure exam in one of my favorite courses this year, Advances in Second Language Acquisition Research. [Essentially, research has focused on how age of learning affects your success in your second language, and how this factor is also affected by others such as aptitude, motivation, and learning context. For example, my accent and grammar in French can be very good because I’m highly motivated and expend a lot of effort, and I have 100% aptitude for learning things like grammar rules and sound-symbol relationships, but it will never be native because I started learning French late and as a foreign language. My proficiency and fluency improved enormously when I was immersed in French studies in Strasbourg.]

I had to be organized and quick because Tuesday evening two dear French friends of mine arrived from Brittany. It had been a year since I’d seen Julien, a very close friend from my Strasbourg days who never lacks for words, and so you can imagine the conversation. After a good late-night catch-up, I sent them off on their own the following days so that I could study, finish some projects, and go to class. They were good sports, but when I could finally join them when my vacation started Thursday afternoon, I felt a complete decompression. As you can tell, Barcelona never stops, so there is more to visit and do than even I can finish this year, but we gave it a good try.

Saturday morning we left in Julien’s car, headed north for my first French road trip. The scenic drive along the Costa Brava allowed us an afternoon dip in the Mediterranean at Roses, where Julien fished (he’s taken up wet suit-snorkel-harpoon-under-water fishing) and Sebastien and I napped on the beach. After passing through the Languedoc, we stopped in Auvergne 100km south of Clermont-Ferrand to camp for the night. Just off the highway we found a small village with a small river just perfect for “savage camping,” as it’s called in French. We set up the tent, built the fire, organized our supplies and enjoyed the afternoon’s catch. The night was cold, but clear with a full moon. Couldn’t ask for more.

Sunday was a long day of driving, and we arrived late in the evening at Julien’s house outside of Rennes. The week unfolded perfectly, without any prior organization on my part: I spent a day at the house, then a day at the seaside in Dinard, where Julien and I went fishing at low tide. The high tide that evening was exceptional, splashing up on the beach terrace, to the surprise of many small giggling children.

The next morning I took the bus to Pontivy, the town where I taught last year, and visited some of my favorite people and places. All the teachers were surprised to see me, and I had a wonderful long lunch with some of them and met others later for coffee, in between walks along the canal. I had time to reflect on my year there, which I hadn’t given much thought to since I left. There is no room for complaining: even though I thought of life in Pontivy as calm, by the end of the year I was surrounded by friends and had a trove of memories. The whirlwind of a summer and settling into Barcelona last fall had separated me from that time, and it was good to think over it again and spend some time with the people who made it so special.

I came back to Rennes the next day, visited the art museum, and sunned in the Parc du Thabor which was all a-flower. The weather was incredibly nice all week, and I got my first suntan of the year in Brittany! I was a little sad to leave the region Friday morning, mostly sad to leave friends there. Julien has been hired by an international hydro-engineering company and will start work in September in Oman. The news came as a surprise to me, although I had helped him correct his English CV. I can’t believe the gall of some friends: I move to Europe to be near them and then they move even farther away, or worse, to the US!

I left Rennes and arrived in Paris, where I stayed with Antoine and his family for Easter weekend. The irony here is that the family is Jewish, and for logistical reasons I hadn’t been able to attend the traditional Seder meal earlier in the week for Passover. And there I was for Easter instead, eternally grateful that we still got to have an Easter egg hunt, that I could talk with my family over Skype, and that my Easter 2011 included a special afternoon trip to the Louvre. Irony continued to plague me though, as during this Jewish holiday wheat and yeast are prohibited, and we were relegated to eating matzah (unleavened bread, like a cracker). What is a Frenchman without his baguette? They were all good sports, though, and breadless meals were full of clever conversation and debates and, later, cards. I found Pit, the stock market card-trading game, to be the perfect outlet for this boisterous bunch.

On Monday morning I began the long trip back to Barcelona, first by train to a town near Lyon, where Luz’s family picked me up, and we continued by car to Girona. After stopping by the warehouse and picking up lots of organic goodies from Luz’s mom, we returned home by train. I was flat-out exhausted, but feeling rested, relaxed, and removed from the stress of the previous month. It should be much smoother sailing from here until the end of June—I hope!