When In Spain, Do As the Spanish Do

Today is my 7^th day living in Spain, and I’ve gotten over the shock of Whoa-I’m-actually-in-Europe long enough to make some observations of daily life here in Ávila.

Mass

Probably the thing I’m most thankful for here in Spain is that I live about 2 minutes from a little parish named San Antonio. Not only is it nearby, but it’s also run by Franciscan friars and has a 8pm Mass every day!!! I think I may stay here in Spain JUST FOR THAT! It’s been a great blessing to go to daily Mass though I’ve noticed some interesting differences:

•  Communion lines are a fiasco! There is no organization whatsoever. Whoever gets out of his pew first, gets to the front of the line!
• Most people stand during the consecration and whenever the Blessed Sacrament is in procession. Thus, I’m not really sure why they have kneelers.
• The Apostles Creed is recited instead of the Nicene Creed.
• No chapel veils! I assumed that because Spain is a primarily Catholic country that most women would wear mantillas, but I haven’t seen one yet!

Churches

The churches here are gorgeous! My favorite, architecturally, so far has been the cathedral in Segovia. It’s an absolutely huge Gothic beauty of a church! There are probably 15 or so chapels and churches here in Ávila along with the cathedral, and not a single one is a minimalist, modern atrocity! Of course, any building containing Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament is a place of prayer, but it’s so much easier to pray when you’re surrounded by lovely mosaics and statues rather than abstract modern art or blank walls.

la catedral de Segovia

Food

The staples of the Spanish diet seem to be bread, meat, pasta, rice, and more bread! Every so often, I’m blessed with some fruit, yogurt, or ice cream, but most of the time I’m eating bread and meat. Thank goodness that I walk almost everywhere; otherwise, I’d bloat up like a balloon!

 Clothes

I’m living among very stylish people, which makes me wonder if I stick out in a crowd. Even the elderly are dressed well. I can’t tell you how many old gentlemen I’ve seen sitting on park benches, dressed in suits and fedoras, smoking pipes or cigars with a cane in hand. Most of the young people wear the latest styles, though I’ve seen some to which I’m not accustomed (harem pants).

Streets

The streets here are very narrow and often cobble-stoned. It’s often difficult to walk side-by-side with someone on the sidewalks because they’re also very narrow. Something that has become a great frustration for me is that the names of the streets are found on plaques connected to buildings. Instead of having a street sign at every corner or intersection, you have to search for the street’s name on the surrounding buildings. I’ve gotten lost more than once because I couldn’t figure out which streets I was on!

Bars

Something that’s reminded me of home is the prevalence of bars and taverns. Each barrio (neighborhood) has at least a couple, but I’m beginning to loose count of how many there actually are in this city. The bars are also different from those in the U.S. You can order a coffee, a beer, a shot of liquor, a sandwich, or all of these in one bar!

Coffee

European coffee is so much better (and a heck-of-a-lot stronger) than any American coffee, but people drink it differently. It’s usually served in a small mug and saucer with a tiny spoon for mixing in sugar. There are no refills! You can have it with milk (café con leche), which is very creamy and resembles an American latte – but better! I’ve also taken it with ice because it’s very hot and dry here in the afternoons. You simply mix in the milk and sugar into the mug and dump the mug’s contents into a glass with ice.

Beer

I haven’t tried any beer yet, but it amazes me that people will drink alcohol at any time of the day! I usually have a cup of coffee at the local bar around 8:30am, and there are people who come in for a shot of liquor. I have another cup of coffee around 3pm, and there are people enjoying a beer. I walk past a bar in the evening, and there are people having a couple beers or bottle of wine. I asked a friend about it, and she explained to me that alcohol here in Spain is often cheaper than water, so if someone’s thirsty, alcohol’s the way to go!

 Bathrooms

I’ve already experienced the great injustice of paying to use a public restroom in Italy, but I didn’t realize that the same occurs in Spain until a couple days ago. Imagine my outrage when, upon finally finding the aseos, I learned that I needed to scrounge up some change! How inconvenient, especially for something as necessary as that! What are these Europeans thinking? This would never fly in America, I can tell you that! There would be rioting in the streets!

 Weather

The climate here in central Spain is very dry. It’s only rained once since I got here, and there aren’t many other chances for rain according to the weather reports. It becomes very hot (80-90 degrees Fahrenheit) during the afternoons, but because there’s no humidity, it feels much more comfortable than you’d think. Still, most people sit in the shade or nap during the hottest parts of the day.  

People

I've only been here a week, but I'm definitely observing some differences. Probably the most notable difference between Americans and Spaniards is that Spaniards are much more comfortable with physical touch. For example, upon meeting someone for the first time, you kiss both cheeks (beginning with the left). You also do this with friends and family members - even just people you happen to know. I see people do this all the time! From the point of view of a primarily German-no-touching-American, it's a bit bizarre, and I'm still getting used to doing it myself. 

Borkowski's Pond

           My father told me once that people from the city, deep down, longed for the green grass, cornfields, and wide-open places of the country. Oh sure, those people who built brand new houses in the middle of fields, once owned by old farmers whose land had been in the family for generations, wanted to be there rather than the city. Problem was, we didn’t want them and their snooty town-ness around us. As much as they tried to fit in, their designer jeans, too-bright smiles, and new cars didn’t blend well in rural Wisconsin. The ones who really stuck out were the business people from Chicago. Sick of the rat race in the Windy City, they wanted a simple “northern getaway.” The ones who stuck around past late fall got exactly that: icy winds from Canada gusted and soon

brought snow, which drifted so high that the expensive SUV often ended up in the ditch.

            I remember the first time that I ever saw an SUV. Growing up as a scrappy farmer’s daughter, the only vehicles I ever saw were beat-up Chevy pickups, families’ minivans, and the occasional teenager’s souped-up station wagon. My father’s family had been farming the same land since Great-Great Grandpa Schultz had come over on the boat in 1905. We took great pride in our heritage as people who worked the fields to provide for our dairy cows. My father used to say when I was little, “Ellie, some people think that milk and cheese come from a store, not from our cows. Can you believe that?” Of course I couldn’t. I had no idea that people saw the world so differently than myself.

The summer that our neighbor, Jim Borkwoski,  decided to finally sell his field property my daddy volunteered my brothers and I as free labor. We helped him with stone-picking, mowing the ditches, and clearing  the treelines of brush. Borkowski would let us younger kids ride in the tractor cab with him if the day was especially hot. One such day, while we were driving along Otter Road, a huge, green monster of a vehicle almost sideswiped us. Its driver had taken that curve along the crick too fast but had the nerve to blare on his horn, as if a tractor on a country road was an unexpected sight. As soon as he had passed and Borkowski finished grumbling about “those damned city slickers” who “can’t drive worth a s***,” I asked the old farmer about that strange truck. Borkowski scowled, his weathered face crinkling up like a dried apple. “That was an SUV, Ellie. A big waste of money if you ask me.”

Being six or so at the time, my natural response was, “Why?”.

Borkowski chuckled, “Because, kiddo. City people always need something that’s bigger, better, and faster than what they already have. They’re never content to go slow and steady like us farmers. That SUV is a waste of money because it’s something that they don’t really need or want.”

“Well, what do they want?”

“Heck if I know! I still wonder that myself.”

Old Man Borkowski, a ‘Nam vet and retired farmer, wasn’t much to look at what with his crooked back, weather-beaten features, and balding head, but he always seemed a lot wiser than he let on. I had a lot of respect for that old-timer, however cantankerous he could be.  Not long after his son, Mikey, had died,  Borkowski decided that he had had enough of a hard life and deserved a rest. The stubborn Polack had struggled to keep things going as best he could with his nephews and cousins – first selling the cattle and farm equipment, then leasing the fields to relations, later demolishing the old barn and sheds for scrap lumber. Finally, he gave in and sold the whole 150 acres for real estate. I think it killed a part of him to do that, but he really had no choice because none of the locals were willing to take on more work than they already had.

Although he sold the acreage, Borkowski couldn’t bring himself to leave the place entirely. After fifty-or-so years of working the same fields, he remained tied there by memories and a sort of loyalty. He kept the little white farmhouse and surrounding property, refusing to be forced into a nursing home, which I think was best; the nurses there probably would have gotten fed up with his grumpiness. Mikey’s wife and kids moved in with him, leaving their house on the east side of the pond. He bellyached for a week or so, claiming the need for peace and quiet, but we all knew that he needed someone to keep an eye on him. Besides, grieving is lonely enough without making yourself lonely.

Within a year or so, several families had purchased lots and built houses on Borkowski’s property – that is, what used to be his. My brothers and I secretly wished that no one would build on the other side of the pond, but all of those hopes were shattered by Ms. Jane Carter, a newly divorced attorney from Chicago.

Though I had many reasons for disliking the woman, much of my prejudice against her was because she chose to build her gigantic house in the back field west of  the pond. Because Borkowski had known my father since he was “a helluva lot smaller than you,” the crotchety farmer had allowed my siblings and I, along with a few other neighborhood kids, to trek through the pine woods and use the pond. Damn, but I was furious when I learned that we couldn’t go there anymore.

Borkowski’s pond was one of my favorite places.  Its murky, spring-fed water was chilly until late July, but my brothers and I would be there once school let out in May, sometimes pushing each other off the creaky dock when we weren’t attempting to catch frogs or bullheads with old fishing nets. August was always the “swimming month” in my family since it was at that time that the sun was usually the hottest, and it felt wonderful to swim after working in the garden, mowing the lawn, or helping with hay chopping during a particularly humid day. If Borkowski’s nephew, Andy Epson, hadn’t cleared away the cattails every spring, there probably wouldn’t have been any space to swim with everything grown up like the surrounding marsh.

Ms. Jane Carter moved to our area the year I turned ten, some time around deer season. I remember because the day she moved in, Borkowski stopped by to meet her. He wasn’t a very social person but tried to be friendly to the newcomers anyway. He had gone bow hunting the day before with Andy, so there were two bucks strapped to the top of his truck. Now this is a common sight for country folk. We didn’t so much as blink an eye, but Ms. Jane Carter hadn’t gotten the open season memo. 

She was a rather skinny woman with sharp features and a beak-like nose that poked out of her face. Her pale complexion was contrasted by her inky-black hair, which she always wore pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, while her glasses sat perched at the end of her nose. She had a shrill warble of a voice, and her expressions were very much like her clothes: severe, professional, and tailored.

As soon as she and Borkowski had exchanged some-what friendly greetings, Ms. Jane Carter caught sight of the deer. She swooped down on the old man like a bird of prey. Shrieking and flapping her arms, Ms. Jane Carter demanded an explanation.

“Who the hell do you think you are, bringing those ANIMALS on my property?! You can’t just go around killing animals and bringing them here!”

Borkowski, though a bit shocked, responded in kind, “Ma’am, it’s deer season, for Pete’s sake! It wasn’t my intention to get you all riled up. I just came back from hunting and -.”

“I don’t care what season it is. I want you to take those animals off of my property this instant!” Her voice cracked with emotion. According to Borkowski’s retelling of the incident, she was one of those people who believed hunting was a sin.

I won’t go on to describe the rest of their conversation as I heard it retold by my father, but suffice it to say that it didn’t leave a good first impression on either Ms. Carter or Borkowski. He finally left, deer in tow, and Ms. Carter kept a lookout the rest of the day for meddling neighbors. We all did our best to be pleasant if we saw her out-and-about, but most people kept their distance after hearing about her temperamental behavior from Borkowski.

Several weeks later, my father and I were out deer spotting one evening in our woods bordering Otter Road when we heard squealing tires and scraping metal. Once we got closer to the road, we saw an SUV half stuck in the crick bed, spinning its tires for all it was worth.

“Well, I’ll be darned, Ellie. I think that’s Ms. Carter,” exclaimed my father.

Upon our approach, we found this to be true. She looked rather shaken up but determined to get herself out of the predicament alone. Waving us away, she called, “I’m just fine, thank you.”

My father wasn’t convinced, since all she was doing was digging her vehicle deeper into the mud. “Ms. Carter, my truck’s parked a mile or two up the road. I’m going to leave my daughter here with you while I get it and a good-sized chain to get you out of there.”

Despite all of her protests, my father simply shrugged, patted me on the shoulder, and asked me to keep her company. “See if you can calm her nerves,” he suggested. “I’ll be back soon.”

Seeing that my father was serious, Ms. Carter turned off the monstrous SUV, leaving the headlights on, and sat back in her seat without acknowledging me. I didn’t know what to say except, “Pretty night, ain’t it?”

I guess that wasn’t the right thing to say at the time because she turned to me, her features all scrunched up in a frown, and then began to cry.

Awkwardly, I handed her my pocket hankie, which she accepted and blew her bird nose. “Don’t worry. My daddy will be back soon.”

She sniffed and gave me a small smile, which softened her face a little. “I’m not accustomed to having people help me. I like to take care of my own things in my own way.”

“Oh, I understand that, ma’am, but it’s always good to know when to accept people’s help too. Don’t city people help each other?”

She began to cry again. Not knowing what to do, I patted her shoulder and introduced myself. “My name’s Ellie, short for Elvira. Your name’s Ms. Jane Carter. Borkowski told us back when you first moved here. He said you don’t like deer.”

She laughed a little and hiccupped from her tears. “Thank you, Ellie. I’m sure I didn’t make myself very welcome for the outburst, did I?”

“No, but you sure gave us something to talk about!”

She laughed even harder and asked me about myself. I told her lots of stories until my daddy came back, including some about Borkowski’s pond. She nodded and smiled, though I don’t think that she understood some of what I told her.

“Well Miss Ellie,” she said, once she was back on the road and had thanked my father, “I’ll know from now on not to drive like a crazy person at night. Thank you for talking with me. Would you like to stop by my house some time and show me around the pond? I haven’t had time to see it yet and would appreciate a guide.”

Beaming, I answered proudly, “I’ll show you all of the best places to find cattails, Ms. Carter!”

She laughed quietly. “And Ellie, you may call me ‘Jane.’”

Summer Movies Satisfy My Cravings!

I have a confession to make: I am a MOVIE JUNKIE! Yeah, I'm one of THOSE PEOPLE: 

• the annoying people in the movie theater who've already seen the film twice before and comment the WHOLE time
• the people who correct you when you try to make witty comments about the latest film ("The Hobbit is NOT the sequel to The Lord of the Rings!")
• the people who go to the midnight premier even though they have to get up early the next morning... and then proceed to go again the next day
• the people who quote various movies ALL the time and don't have the courtesy to explain the reference
• need I go on?

Not surprisingly, the latest summertime flicks did nothing to discourage my addiction - in fact they probably mase it worse! This summer had a particularly impressive list of movies, especially superhero movies! I've commented briefly on each one that I've seen for those who don't mind *Spoiler Warnings*!

To start things off, The Avengers was probably one of THE BEST movie theater experiences since The Lord of the Rings (which is why I went to see it more than once!). I am a huge Marvel fan, and even though I didn't care for Thor all that much and didn't see all of The Hulk, The Avengers was a breath of fresh air for me! I was so concerned that they had hyped up this giant movie project so much that it would be disappointing. Thankfully, I was pleasantly surprised. There was witty humor (thanks to Ironman), exciting action, a good blend of characters, an interesting villain, implied romance, and a tragic death *sniff*. I was very, very impressed and hope that they don't make a stupid sequel just to rake in more money. In fact, what I'd like to see first is a film about Black Widow and Hawkeye's relationship... there was definitely something going on! Besides, they're the only two main characters who don't have their own movie yet!

As a huge fan of the Sam Raimi's Spiderman films (except for the third one, of course *shudder*), I was looking forward to a new take on Spiderman, though I didn't expect to be "wowed." And I wasn't, at least not completely. I appreciated the fact that MJ was absent and replaced by Gwen (hurray for goody-two-shoes!). I felt that Andrew Garfield's performance was definitely more emotional and angsty, though there were times when the angst reminded me too much of Peter Parker's "dark side" in the third film! Finally, the Lizard really freaked me out! I didn't expect him to be creepy - I mean, the Goblin is supposed to be Spiderman's #1 Bad Guy, right? - but I actually jumped several times! The techie/computer guys did a good job.

I had been looking forward to the final Batman movie since I made myself watch the second one for the first time. Here's another confession: I have an irrational fear of clowns, and I just didn't think that I could handle the Joker. Thankfully, I faced my fear and experienced one of the greatest movie experiences of all time. However, I had no idea what to expect from The Dark Knight Rises. I'm not a comic geek, so I wasn't very familiar with the storyline (though a good friend did give me a spoiler - thanks M!). I could probably write an entire blog post on this movie, which I may do in the future, but for now I'll say this: Batman was a complete jerk to Alfred, Officer Blake was my favorite, Anne Hathaway did a fairly good job as Catwoman, and the entire time I KNEW that Miranda/Talia was no good! Oh, and I actually felt bad for Bane at the end (despite all of the previous neck-snapping!).

Besides the superhero flicks, I had greatly anticipated Pixar's latest film... and was sadly disappointed. My little sister enjoyed it more than me, probably because I had much greater expectations. She loved the pretty horse, the little girl who shot arrows at bears, and the fairy glowy lights. I cringed at the cliched feministic approach to a girl's coming of age story, reveled in the lush animation and Celtic soundtrack, and cried at the end because I wanted there to be more of... something, especially to the story! Just as Cars 2 failed to meet my expectations, Brave (which was originally titled The Bear and the Bow - who the heck wanted to change that title?!) wasn't quite as inspiring as it could have been. Still, it was enjoyable, just not the same sort of Pixar experience that I have come to expect. Though, I must say that Merida's hair was the best I've ever seen on an animated character!




Finally, I saw The Bourne Legacy - not because I enjoyed the other three movies (I've actually only seen one of them.) but because I had been so impressed by Jeremy Renner's performance in The Avengers. And once again, his character was very engaging. He brought a lot of energy to the movie, which was definitely necessary for an action film. The ending was very abrupt, the script was difficult to follow at times, a chase scene went way too long in my opinion, but other than that it was a fun spy flick. Oh, I must also comment on one scene in particular: due to recent events this summer involving various shootings around the country, a scene in which a group of people are locked in a room and shot down by a colleague was much more chilling than it would have been otherwise. Perhaps, out of sensitivity to the still-grieving families in Colorado and Wisconsin, that scene should have been cut or at least shortened for audiences. Just a thought.




So, why am I such a junkie? Why do I love movies so much to the point that I'm a little compulsive? I, just like all people, love stories, plain and simple. Our lives are stories, stories that intertwine and cross with the stories of others. Some stories are a bit more exciting (The Bourne Legacy), some are more complex (The Dark Knight Rises), some are just fun (The Avengers), and some are tragic (For Greater Glory, see first above poster). The point is that movies may not be factual, but they do mirror something of reality, something we recognize in our own lives... and I think that is what people find appealing and applicable in films. Films are just another medium in storytelling - a more colorful and exciting medium than say radio - but a form of storytelling, nonetheless. The best part about movies is when the stories teach us something or give us a chance to think about something deeper than the special effects or script. Movies have accomplished their purpose when one leaves the movie theater... thinking.

*Note: The film that I mentioned (the first movie poster) but didn't expound upon, For Greater Glory, was the ONE movie that I wanted to see this summer but didn't. Sad day. There wasn't a large release, unfortunately, but hopefully, I'll have a chance to see it once it comes out on video!