It’s the little things

If there’s one thing that shows my true American-ness it’s got to be my love of peanut butter.

It all comes down to the fact that I consider it a kitchen staple, much like milk or bread. With peanut butter you can have a meal. It works with bread, with fruit, by itself. And it’s totally tasty and pretty nutritious to boot.

But in Spain you might as well be talking about frog eggs or something. Peanut what? they say. How do you eat that? They don’t really get it.

So it’s become something I always bring back with me after a trip home, or ask visitors to bring me. I like the natural stuff, just peanuts and oil, and maybe some salt. In desperate times I’ve been known to make it myself (try it! all you need are a bunch of peanuts and some oil and a good ol’ stick blender!). And most recently I resorted to buying it at the natural foods store where a tiny jar costs the equivalent of well over $5.

And tonight a student who was just in the U.S. brought me a jar, though I had barely mentioned the word to him. He brought natural, too. I couldn’t be happier.

Gone.

Thank goodness.

I was furious when I saw a pantallazo (or the city government’s latest foray into big bucks from advertising) erected right in my neighborhood, in front of a city-run cultural center. These beasts are ugly and invasive no matter how you look at them, but in front of a historic public building? Come on now. I was not the only one who complained about the pantallazos, though. Within several months people started reporting the removal (or relocation?) of these suckers. But mine continued to stand.

And then on Valentine’s Day I received the most wonderful gift. I happened to pass by the Centro Cultural Galileo, as I sometimes do on my way to work. I could see the base of the pantallazo surrounded by workers from down the block. My heart sped up and I grabbed my camera:

But in the following days I returned to the site and the monster was still there, rotating through its ads for mobile phone companies and expensive cars. Not until today did I see that it was finally gone. Forever.

On Morocco

This is a long overdue post about our New Year’s trip to Morocco and some of my thoughts and impressions.

Why am I writing about Morocco in a blog about Spain? Basically because I believe that Spain and Morocco have a lot to do with each other. Because I would argue that, in an ideal world, more Spaniards would travel to Morocco, especially those who disdain the “moros.” To spend time in Morocco is to open your eyes and your mind to Africa, to Arabs (and Berbers), and to Islam. I found it to be a place that benefited me greatly in terms of cultural education.

Here’s a list of things that I noted about our week in Morocco.

1. There are people, everywhere at all hours. I don’t just mean in cities. I mean walking on the side of the highway, carting materials from one place to another, working or looking for work. Or just outside their houses. I remember my sister’s description of Nairobi as I tried to conjure up an image of it myself: “tons of people, all the time.” Where were they all going, she always wanted to know. Upon reflection, it seems to be an aspect of a developing country. The people are out and about because that’s where life is—not in the house in front of computers and television like in so much of the rest of the world.

2. I became enamored of the way people dressed. Many men wear a djellaba, a long, pointy-hooded cloak. At first it reminded me a bit of the KKK, but I soon changed my mind. Djellaba come in all sorts of colors and materials and seemed like the kind of thing that is totally comfortable and good for any season. I also found the Berber women’s dress in the villages we visited in the High Atlas very stylish in its own right. They wear all sorts of scarves in their hair, skirts, sweaters, and socks, that are wonderfully colorful.

3. One of the loveliest things I saw on the whole trip were the communal ovens of Xauen. We spent a day and a half wandering around this tranquil town in a perpetual downpour. But we didn’t mind: the entire medina is painted in an amazing celestial blue that makes you feel like you are walking through a fairy tale. And we’d frequently cross paths with people carrying loaves of bread covered with dish cloths on wooden boards. We wondered where they were all going until we finally saw one descend into a low doorway. We peeked in, and there was a man tending an oven, pulling out freshly baked loaves from the hearth and putting more in. It was almost certainly the nicest thing I saw on the whole trip.

4. The way vehicles move around the country is astounding. First you’ve got the trucks, which aren’t very long but are loaded about 50 feet high with stuff. Mind-boggling. But really the preferred form of transport is donkey—with or without a cart. On the side of any road you’ll see lots of people riding donkeys loaded with whatever goods they might be transporting: olives, oil, vegetables… In general, you’ve also got a good number of people who drive the latest BMWs, Mercedes, and what have you, and then everyone else, who drive 20-year old Renaults with horrible engine problems. There are also plenty of motorbikes and regular bicycles thrown into the mix.

5. The way drivers move around the country is, simply put, suicidal. We drove on many many two-lane roads. Moroccan drivers, especially taxis and big buses, like to play a game on these roads called “get out of my way or else.” We found that oncoming traffic rarely respected any sort of rules about overtaking, and frequently had to slow down in our direction for an overtaking driver in the other direction. It’s a wonder that there aren’t more accidents, but we decided that since everyone more or less drives in this chaotic manner, it sort of works itself out.

6. Our first morning in Morocco we found ourselves in a riad in the center of the medina in Marrakech. Imagine our surprise when, in the pitch black of 5 in the morning, we suddenly hear a very plaintive, and quite loud, wail. And it continued for a good 15 minutes or so. We quickly got accustomed to the prayer ritual and the way the town megaphone would crackle to life about five times a day

7. Seeing women in headscarves (and possibly more body-covering garments) becomes completely normal, as does seeing significantly more men than women everywhere. But women have their presence, especially at the markets.

A week is not a very long time in the end, and I think when we left I sort of felt like I was finally just getting used to the way everything worked. I’ll just have to go back.

Of Presidents and Prime Ministers

You wouldn’t know it, but Spain also has important elections this year–in fact, the real thing (no such thing as primaries here) takes place in only three weeks. In the past weeks, Madrid’s streets have filled with the faces of the right- and left-wing candidates for prime minister (Rajoy and Zapatero, respectively) on light-post banners, on phone booths (see picture), in the metro, on the highway… As for the advertising I’ve seen, the left-wing PSOE has been doing much better than the right PP, mostly because PSOE ads are EVERYWHERE.

Yesterday, a huge vinyl ad appeared on the entire façade of a building on Gran Vía. It features photographs of the top three ministers of each party sitting in a congressional session. The top row is the PSOE, smiling and animated, and below them are the three representatives of the PP, frowning and lost in thought. And in between the two rows of photos the slogan: No es lo mismo (It’s not the same). I think it’s marvelously clever, personally. Or maybe I’m just on an advertising kick because I now teach a class at an advertising agency?

It’s a little less exciting than what’s going on at home (most of my students seem to agree with that statement), but it’s still got entertainment value.

Madrileños: Go to New York and SHOP!

Autobombo II

You’re all going to think this site is just about self-promotion nowadays, but I promise you it’s not. I have several posts in the works (and many more in the ol’ cabeza), but too little time these days to actually get anything up. So until then, I’ll link you to my first-ever book review. It’s the English translation of a book by a famous Spanish journalist, and therefore in keeping with the end of this blog.

Autobombo!

My favorite Madrid blog (in Spanish, of course, since you already know my fave in English) has published an interview avec moi! Check it out.