Culture Clash

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BEACHES IN SPAIN: MINIMAL CLOTHING REQUIRED

Every beach in Spain is a topless beach. Either that, or I get dragged to only topless ones.

So, I have this hang up. I am a firm believer in "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." For example, I eat lunch at 2 like the Spaniards do, I speak Spanish and occasionally utter a phrase in Catalan, so on and so forth.

Yet I have this other firm believe: "When in public, wear clothes." I dunno. Maybe I'm just being a stubborn American in that regard.

So, I get to the beach and feel overdressed in a swimsuit (yes, it IS possible to feel overdressed in a swimsuit. I know, crazy, right?) Mostly because women of all ages, regardless of how they look with or without a swimsuit, have a tendency to not wear bikini tops. The little kids have a habit of just not wearing clothes. It's a very... liberal culture.

That's really all I have to say on the matter. I don't disapprove of them not wearing bikini tops, it just came as a shock...a repeated shock which happens over and over again.

Speaking of shocking:

EXPLOSIVES REVISITED

Terrassa had a huge festival this weekend. Which I didn't know about. Actually, let me rephrase. I didn't know about it BEFORE I got off the train in Terrassa on Monday, but I would have to have been blind, deaf and completely oblivious to miss the floats, huge crowds, and random reenactments of medieval Spanish life, complete with firing of guns right next to my ear without warning. Oh, and gymnasts. How the gymnasts plays into it isn't clear to me, but that's okay.

Point being, once again, Spain had an excuse to blow things up. Yeah, you thought Americans were big on fireworks. No. If America is big on fireworks, Spain is the crack cocaine addict of fireworks.

And they take about as many precautions with fireworks as crack addicts do with the object of their addiction. Now, call me a stickler, but I believe that fireworks can be dangerous. I mean, they explode. Do I really need more justification than that?

Thus, I think there should be some regulations aroung them. Don't get me wrong, Spain has lovely fireworks, and I love looking at them, but they should consider changing some things regarding safety. Like, I probably shouldn't be able to feel the shockwave reverberations of the firework explosions on my skin. Cars right next to me probably shouldn't have their alarms go off as a result of the fireworks. Smoke probably shouldn't permeate the streets of the town for the rest of the night. The fireworks probably shouldn't be RIGHT over my head. I mean, it was gorgeous. But I spent half the time being like...am I gonna die?! I mean, these were huge. And RIGHT THERE. Being fired like 500 feet away. I dunno. Kinda dubious to me.

I took some pictures of the fireworks. It looks like I zoomed in to get a better photo. I didn't. These are just me pulling out my camera and taking a picture. Yeah, they were THAT close.

From 2009-07-10 Barcelona (2)

Other than that, all I have to say is I'm coming home in 11 days! Which makes me sad but also super excited. Bittersweet.


On a side note, Spain was one of the first countries to legalize gay marriage, which I know from my work in social innovation (because homosexuality is innovative? I have no idea. It comes up a lot though.) But it really sunk in when I went into a bakery, and this is what I see:

From 2009-07-10 Barcelona (2)

Yes, there are indeed two men on that wedding cake topper. But don't worry, they had women covered too:

From 2009-07-10 Barcelona (2)

and lets not forget the heterosexual couples now:

From 2009-07-10 Barcelona (2)

Super adorable. I was like, if Barcelona and San Francisco were people, they should meet.

Also, another slide show! These are photos I took at the Terrassa Technology Museum, photos from the coast off of Mataro or la Range, something like that...near Llavaneres. Yeah, it's all Greek to me too (or rather, Spanish/Catalan...whatever). Very beautiful. And some other photos of fireworks, food, etc.

View all

Get your own

Nothing Says Solstice Like Incendiary Devices

I know all of you enjoyed your summer solstice.

Wait, WHEN is the summer solstice, you ask? June 23rd. Duh.

It's okay, I understand. Most years, I really could care less about the summer solstice. Just like most Spaniards could care less about when Thanksgiving is. However, the Spanish care a whole lot about the Summer Solstice, because it heralds the festival of San Joan (St. John the Baptist).

SAN JUAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Perhaps you are wondering how the Spanish celebrate the solstice?

Maybe you're thinking some family bonding, a large dinner...you know, those staple traditions of human festivities. Well, yes and yes.

If you really want to know, San Juan is basically like a frat party all across Spain.

You think I am joking. No, I am not. On San Juan, there are bonfires in the streets of Terrassa, hogueras seven feet tall. Firecrackers (petardos) exploding all through the night, in the streets, by your feet. It both looks and sounds like a war zone, except people are walking around nonchalantly (or staggering around, depending on their state of sobriety) like nothing is wrong.

You know how, in the Bay Area, or in Michigan, or just in the US in general, we have to go to a body of water to observe fireworks? Drive 15 minutes, something like that? Well, the Spanish don't believe in pesky fire regulations. I literally sat out on the patio and watched fireworks (fuegos artificiales) emerge from behind buildings. In the middle of a city of 200,000 people. No water for miles. Even as I type this, there are still firecrackers going off in the streets.

On the news this morning, I got to watch the whole nation of Spain do the Walk of Shame. On the beaches, it looked like a shipment of beer bottles had capsized in the water and thousands of bottles had drifted ashore. There were bottles everywhere. We got to watch the volunteers cleaning the beaches prod people into consciousness who had passed out and laid comatose on the beach for the night.

It's sort of oddly amusing to be living in a country that has the ability to outshine college parties.

COCA. AND NO, NOT COCAINE.

Sort of like we have turkey and pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving, the Spanish have food that is special for San Joan/San Juan/ St. John the Baptist. The first food is called coca. For those of you who know who to say various drugs in Spanish (why you know that, I don't want to know), you already know that "coca" is also the word for cocaine. Moreover, the word "coca" is part of Diet Coca Cola, my one true love, but that's beside the point. So, my boss at work (Carles. Awesome guy. Super funny.) was explaining San Juan to me, and he basically says to me, "And we eat coca. No, I don't mean this kind," And then he mimes snorting cocaine. In his office. Right after discussing important benchmarks for Spanish social welfare. Like I said, kind of an awesome guy.

But yeah, coca is also a very delicious type of pastry. There are five kinds...and I only know how to say three of them in English. There is

• Coca Brioix (that's Catalan. No clue what it is in English, or Spanish)
  
• Coca de nata (I don't know if this is Spanish or Catalan)
• Coca de xocolat (Catalan for coca of chocolate)
• Coca de fruta (this is especially for San Juan. The others are a year-round thing, but this kind is for the solstice) Oh, and that's Fruit coca, for those of you who don't speak Spanish
  
• Coca de crema (Cream coca. Or creme coca. Both synonyms for DELICIOUS)
  
• I think there are actually others...but I have no idea what they are. As you can tell, I'm not exactly an expert here.
  

So Montse insisted on buying three of the five kinds for me to try. Long story short, I am now a coca addict...in both the pastry and beverage sense. The coca de fruta is AWESOMENESSSS, and the coca de crema is deliciousness. I am currently fighting the urge to sneak some from the fridge. So good.

They are basically pastry bread with things inside. Chocolate, cream, fruit, straight up bread, any way you do them, they are amazing. Check the pictures:

From 2009-06-24 Barcelona (2)

Left: Coca of some unknown, but delicious, variety; middle, coca de creme; right; coca de fruta...don't worry, we only bought have of one, so we didn't actually eat all that ourselves.

This is a whole one:

From 2009-06-24 Barcelona (2)

It's the one with colorful things on it. Those would be fruta. I am salivating just thinking about it...

Speaking of sneaking food, I have decided I am now the Ladron de Melocoton (Peach Thief). For two reasons:

1. It rhymes. Best reason ever.
2. I have this unfortunate habit of eating all the peaches I can find.

Spanish peaches are rather excellent. And I have a strong, strong sweet tooth. Strong here defined as Superman strong. Chuck Norris strong. Think of the strongest thing you can, and that is my sweet tooth. So, when I see peaches, those peaches are mine.

Apparently I'm turning into a fruit klepto. But I do pay for them...actually, lies. Montse pays for them, and I eat them. But she told me I could eat what was in the fridge. She probably just didn't think I'd eat every single peach in her fridge.

For now, that is all. I am going to go either a) try to avoid stealing coca from the fridge, or b) try, fail, and then steal coca from the fridge.

In Which I Conquer Barcelona

Originally, I was going to get all photo-y in this post, you know, explain some of the photos in my slideshow, but then my life turned into a vortex of busy, so that isn't gonna happen. But the fact that I wanted to do that kept me from posting this for over a week. Oops.

On with the post.

A couple Saturdays ago, I decided to do something completely out of character.

On a typical weekend, I hide in my house/dorm/lair of chaos, spend an inordinate amount of time of the computer, listen to music, go running, basically stay within a nice little comfort zone.

But no. Not this Saturday. This Saturday, I decided to do what people would expect me to do in a foreign country, on a weekend, with time on my hands.

I took several maps, a guidebook, a camera, a train ticket, and enough euros to feed me for a month (literally. I took all the euros I have which I will use to feed myself for a month). And then, I went where several million tourists have gone before.

I took on Barcelona.

So, I get off the train at the Plaza de Catalunya. And step directly into the aftermath of the gay pride parade in Barcelona. There were a lot of men in spandex. Screaming songs in what might have been Catalan. Could have been Spanish, or even English, but they weren't exactly enunciating, so hard to say. After getting over my initial confusion, I pulled out my map in true tourist style, and then proceeded to wander around aimlessly like an idiot for twenty minutes. Where did I end up?

SUPERMERCADO: LABERINTO O TIENDA A LA ARMADA?

(Supermarket: Labyrinth or Shop in the Style of the Spanish Navy?)

Yeah. My inner shopaholic compass disregarded the map entirely. I was vaguely aiming to find the Museo Picasso. I ended up inside a megamall.

Now, you probably looked at this title, and thought...what?

Exactly. That was what I was thinking in this mall.

It was a lot like every other mall I've ever seen. So I won't comment on that. What made this mall VERY unique is that it was blessed with a fortitude of emergency exits, elevators, escalators, and bathrooms.

There just wasn't any way to actually leave the building without setting off alarms.

After a half an hour of getting lost in the mall's grocery store, cosmetic aisle, bookstore, candy store, purse section, and pet's mart, I found my original entrance and ran to it like someone lost in the desert runs to an oasis.

Clearly, in response to the recession, the Spanish have decided to retain consumers in their stores by making it physically impossible for the consumers to leave.

After escaping the Labyrinth of Shopping Death, I spent another half an hour wandering around Barcelona, taking lots of photos and generally making quite the tourist of myself. At one point, I look up from my map on a whim, and what do I see?

BIG, RUSSIAN, ONION DOMES

I had no choice. My inner Russian was like PIROSHKI! (I was going for like EUREKA or MOTHERLAND! in Russian...but I don't know those words. So I'm going with piroshki, which is a type of Russian pastry. Very delicious). Point being, I immediately stopped my aimless wandering and pursued my inner Russian.

Turns out, it wasn't a Russian dome. In fact, the entire building was the Catalan Music Hall of Barcelona. So, actually it really, really wasn't Russian. Whatever, beside the point. I got to look at the outside of it and then I was thrown out of the actual building by people who said I needed "tickets" to get in. What are these "tickets" of which they speak? Yeah, they were sold out of tickets to get in, so I was like, forget it, I'll just take pictures and move on. So I did move on, to the

MUSEO PICASSO

Which is awesome. I'm just gonna say, I'm fond of Picasso. Not so much his abstract work, but some of his earlier works. My favorites: Mujer con mantilla, Rosas, and The Guernica (which is abstract. I like to contradict myself).

Fyi, Guernica is definitely not in the Museo Picasso. Which I knew already. It's hanging in the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, but a tapestry copy of it can be found in the foyer of the UN Security Council. Bush had the painting covered before the UNSC voted on whether or not to support the Iraq War. Why would Bush do something so nonsensical? Well, he never really liked Iraq...OH, oh, you mean why would he cover the Guernica. Well, it's a very illustrative painting on the horrors of war that Spain suffered during the Spanish Civil War and what would ultimately be part of WWII. I find it interesting that a painting can have so much power and influence, even decades after the artist has died.

Anyways, it rocked. There were paintings. Picasso was a friggin genius.

So, at this point I'm like, okay, I've had enough museums and walking and being lost for one day, I'm going to go home.

Or not.


...BARCELONA HAS TWO TRAINS???...AND TERRASSA HAS TWO STOPS? ...shooooooooooooooooooooot...

Yeah. Definitely took the wrong one. But it's okay. Only had to walk an extra half an hour and spending an inordinate amount of map bonding time. But I made it!

THE END

Spanglish

So, everyone makes fun of Engrish, or failed translations from Chinese to English. Well, let's just say mistranslations are a universal theme. Check it out:






I don't even know what that says. And no, I didn't cut it off. It just ends as "under the." I saw this, and I had to take a photo.


Yes, that's right. For those women who must radiate sex appeal, there is now SEX, the shoe brand for streetwalkers. After all, everyone wants that "Chic day feeling fashion trendy cool sexy shoes night." And now, you can have it written on the soles of your shoes.

Although, for the record, I like the shoes. It's just the soles that I question.

I'll be posting more Spanglish as the trip goes on. You should see the T-shirts people wear.


On that note:

WHAT MUSIC TO NOT PLAY IN CLASSY RESTAURANTS

The Spanish have a problem. It's call the "Playing Inappropriate English Music in Fancy Situations" syndrome.

Examples:

• My dad and I are eating at a nice tapas bar with Xavier Marcet, when "If You Seek Amy" by Britney Spears comes on.
• I'm walking by a classy bar in the middle of the afternoon, and "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry is playing
• I'm buying a sandwich from a pijo (snobby) sandwich place, and "Right Round" by Flo Rida comes on. I try not to laugh when the lines start coming: "You spin me right round baby right round, when you go down, when you go down down."

Now, when I say classy, I mean these places are trying hard. You know, I'm sure they're going for the trendy, chic American pop music flair. Problem is (and I'm sure non-Spanish speaking Americans do it with Spanish music) these people have no clue what these songs are saying. But I do. So I can't laugh, or people will want to know why I'm snickering at nothing. And I don't really want to insult their musical selection. At least, not to their faces. :)

Okay, major blog post dump today. I had accumulated a lot and then not posted them. So, have fun?

Things I Learn as a Consulting Firm Intern

Can I just say how proud I am that the title of this entry rhymes? Sorry. Just had to throw that out there.

So, it turns out that when you spend 8 hours a day reading articles, you learn a lot. Here are some of the most interesting/unusual things I have learned;

• While investigating programs for the elderly, I learned that "dementia" is defined as "mental confusion". Somehow, I feel like they were missing a few components to that definition. At least, I hope they´re missing something. Because if not, you could say that I'm pretty demented right now. "Mentally confused"...as opposed to what? Physically confused? As in, I thought that was my leg, but actually it's my arm? What other kind of confused is there? Well...maybe existentially confused...okay, clearly I'm spending too much time thinking about this. Moving on.

• While researching immigration policy, I read in depth about how to make a Molotov cocktail...just to clarify, the Molotov cocktail wasn´t part of the immigration policy itself.

• I also learned, in a meeting with my boss, that I´m basically seeking to construct a solution to all major social welfare issues for the state of Catalunya, who is our client. No pressure. Just me and Carles. Taking on the crises of Spain.

• The White House has created an Office for Social Innovation! Which they refuse to publish anything about. Thanks, White House. Thanks a friggin lot.

• Turns out Google Books can get you articles for free that you would otherwise have to pay 60€ for. Suck on that, OECD!

• While talking with Roc and Xavier, I discovered that the Spanish kiss both cheeks, the Argentinians kiss only one, the French kiss three times, and then Roc joked that in Catalunya, where I am right now, they kiss five times. Ha ha. I almost thought he was serious. If he had been, I would have been like, no. No, they don´t. Not when I'm around.

On a side note, took a nap today (today being Friday) for two hours. Woke up feeling awful. Went into the kitchen, ate a donut-shaped peach (melocoton), and it was like panacea. Magic. Sooo goood!!!

I then proceeded to eat two more of them. Oops.

On the Way to Work

So. Maybe you are wondering what Spanish punctuality looks like. Put it this way. The workday starts at 9. I get to the office at 9:05, and the cleaning lady has to let me in, because the receptionist, who is PAID to be there at 9, still hasn´t arrived yet. By 9:15, it´s just the receptionist and me, chilling. No one else there.

On that day, I was like oh, okay, everyone's having an off-day. Nope. That's basically the story of every morning.

I´m not saying the Spanish fail at being punctual. I´m saying the Spanish have a different definition of punctual. I happen to prefer their definition to the American definition, where people say to be there at 9 and they really mean show up at 8:45.

In other news, I literally saw the blind leading the semi-blind today. Some blind women was guiding this man with an eyepatch down the street while I was walking to work. I found it sort of interesting, considering Mom always says that Dad and me are the blind leading the blind. No, Mom. The example above is of the blind leading the blind, and fyi, they looked like they were getting along just fine. So ha.

Oh, and do any of you know Gaudi, the famous architect? Familiar with his famous building, La Pedrera? It´s on my way to work. No lie. I walk by it everyday to and from the office. I´m gonna get some pictures of it on Blogger one of these days. It´s just kind of funny that in the same way the Orinda Theater was on my way to school, this famous monument that people come from around the world to see is chilling on the streetcorner next to my office. Life is strange sometimes.

Demon Coffee

Espresso is dangerous.

BACKGROUND

Getting up at 7 for work is hard. I know, some of my more experienced readers (a.k.a. my family members who have worked for decades) are gonna read that and say, “BAH! When I was young, I used to get up at 4 a.m.! Then I would trek uphill, in the snow, both ways….” Yes. I know. Getting up at 7 still makes me tired. Which is why coffee was invented.

NESPRESSO. DRINK OR ILLEGAL DRUG?

So, I get into the office the other day, and at about 10 I start lagging. Having not consumed my normal, near-toxic amount of Diet Coke, I was starting to feel a wee bit tired. So, I go to Laia, our lovely receptionist/assistant consultant and ask to buy some Nespresso. She says sure (in Spanish, vale) and offers me the stronger stuff. Before then, I had only tried the regular espresso, but I figured hey, why not? So she hands me the strong stuff. The Café Negro. Hereafter I will refer to it as El Negro Diablo. The Black Demon. Or the Demon Coffee.

I actually made the espresso machine work by myself without breaking it (yaaaaaaaay competency in acts of daily living!) and made a cup of respectable coffee. I go back to my desk to drink it.

I have to warn you now. I am actually not sure if what I drank was extremely strong coffee (‘strong’ as in ‘Chuck Norris strong’) or a weaker cousin of crystal meth. If anyone was wondering how the Spanish smuggle drugs into the country, I think it’s in packets of coffee. Which consumers unwittingly buy and then drink.

In a matter of minutes, I go from a bit tired and slightly non-functioning to hyper beyond belief and unable to perform any higher cognitive functions. Suddenly, I have the uncontrollable urge to giggle at anti-discriminatory policies in the European Union. Yeah. Then I want to giggle at the thought of giggling at anti-discriminatory policies in the EU. However, there is just one problem. I have a co-worker who sits in spitting distance of me, and I was 90% sure that if I started laughing hysterically at nothing, she will think I am completely psycho.

So, when the laughter inevitable broke through, I feigned a coughing fit. Three separate times. Which did not go unnoticed; she started glancing over at me periodically like I was a particularly interesting animal at a zoo. Then I tried drinking water to disguise my mirth, and finally I had to resort to biting my tongue to keep myself quiet. Of course, I could really do anything about the uncontrollable feet twitching, but I figured that since she couldn't see below the desk, I was safe.

If everyone thinks I'm insane by the end of this internship, I will blame the Demon Coffee.

What does Demon Coffee look like?



It comes in decorative, deceptive packaging.

From Barcelona

It comes in many pretty, beguiling colors. Like candy.

From Barcelona

There is a lot of it. That wall? Completely made up of boxes of coffee.

From Barcelona

You see the lines right below this text? The blue ones in the picture? That's a genome made of coffee. Yeah. I think that's what my genome looks like.

From Barcelona