For me, the journey to Oviedo started nearly six years ago when a boy I liked in high school sent me a song to listen to. The song was called Oviedo by Blind Pilot and I fell in love with it instantly. The music was lovely and the lyrics captured my imagination. I didn’t know how to pronounce the song name and the word didn’t come up in the lyrics, so I googled it to figure out what it was. I soon realized Oviedo was a town in Spain and I instantly wanted to go one day.
Flash forward 5 years to me finding out I was granted the Fulbright to Spain, I started to make a list of the places I wanted to go. #1 was the church in Borja where the woman “fixed” the painting of Jesus (see link) and #2 was Oviedo, due almost completely to Oviedo by Blind Pilot and my high school boyfriend. (Thanks, Jay, for the life goals!) I’d initially planned to go to Oviedo earlier (much like I thought I’d already have gone to Borja right now), but plans change. So finally, on Thursday, directly after school, Alison and I hopped on a bus to Oviedo. It’s about six hours from Logroño, so we settled in for the long haul. We arrived a little after 10 and were tired of sitting, so we checked into our hostel and decided to go for a walk. Alison had studied abroad in Oviedo two years ago so she knew where to walk to see the best known statues and streets and architecture. I was in awe, playing Blind Pilot on my phone while walking through the streets, finally having the moment that 17-year-old Jordan dreamed of. We turned to see the famous cider (or “cidra/sidra”) street, where the server’s pour the cider from way above their heads, the thought being that the air makes the cider taste better. They then hand the glass directly to you and you’re supposed to drink it right away. That’s not really the way I drink, so I kept forgetting to take it from their hand – and yes, every time you empty your glass, they come and fill it by pouring it way above their heads (while looking straight forward). The cider flavor definitely changed the longer it sat, getting sharper and more sour the longer it sat. I actually prefer the cider after it was sitting, but you gotta drink it the way it’s drunk culturally. Because a bottle split between two people (with some cider wasted do to the splashes) was less than three euro, so we figured we’d try a couple different cider places. The second place we went definitely ended up being the biggest adventure. We knew instantly when we walked in that it was a different kind of place as everyone was singing. Alison and I are making a podcast as our side project, so I thought I’d get some background noise (the singing) recorded on my phone. As I walked closer to the loudest part, three older gentleman beckoned me over. I was hesitant, but also didn’t want to miss out on whatever they wanted to tell me, so I slowly edged over and they began to talk and sing to me different things all at once. I beckoned Alison over because I assumed this would not be a quick conversation. And boy oh boy was I right. They explained how to drink the cider, we talked about Rioja, the rules of singing in different bars in Oviedo, what Alison and I were doing in Spain, their kids, and eventually their town. That’s when things got a little weird. This next part of the story has some strong language in it, so soft-hearted folks should skip ahead. Before I go forward, I should explain one piece of Spanish translation. If someone asks you if you “know” somewhere, it’s the colloquial way to ask if you’ve been there. Okay, onward. The little old gentlemen asked us if we’d been to their town and when we said no, they said “well you know the expression about our town” which, obviously, we did not. Then they said the expression and both Alison and I turned red and looked at each other in shock, not because we didn’t understand but because we did. One of the gentlemen asked, in English “you know what that means right?” And before Alison and I could assure him we did indeed understand we were just not interested in hearing any more he goes “those who do not know the town, you must f*ck.” Both Alison and I were super uncomfortable then, but luckily the men headed out, but not before asking me to take a picture of them with my phone. Ohhh Oviedo. Alison and I finished our night with one more cider place and then games of Pocket Farkle in our hostel. And that was our first 6 hours of the trip to Oviedo. The rest of the weekend passed more uneventfully. Hildie, Marie, and Hildie’s friend from Oxford, Elliot, joined us Friday and we got settled into an airbnb, and enjoyed more cider. On Saturday, Olivia joined us and we took ourselves (guided by Hildie and her phone) on a free walking tour of Oviedo, enjoying learning about the history of such a cool city. I went back to the airbnb early and was able to FaceTime my mom who was at the D3 Cross Country national meet, which I enjoyed every moment of. In the evening we feasted and finished our night by watching Guardians of The Galaxy 2. On Sunday, Elliot and I decided to find Jesus — or rather, find the statue of Jesus located on the top of a hill near our airbnb. We ran uphill for nearly an hour and were SO close, but had to turn back for timing before making it to the statue. I then took Olivia to the bus station and the rest of us headed back out in the rental car Elliot was driving. We affectionately called the beige car Black Betty and encouraged her small frame up hills as she lugged five people plus luggage when she was probably more built for a maximum of four. Because we were driving we were able to stop at a stunning hilltop monastery and gorgeous lakes on the way back to Logroño. Despite being squeezed into a middle seat for six plus hours, rental cars definitely have their benefits. I felt like I had a fairytale come to life after dreaming about that city for so long. Oviedo (the song) has come to life and I have a new appreciation for each of the lyrics. I think it will always be one of my favorite songs, and now I have stunning city imagery to go along with it. ***to Blind Pilot fanatics: I have no way to confirm Oviedo was written about this particular Oviedo, but high school Jordan was sure about it, so please don’t ruin it for me now
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In the most cliché abroad way possible, I cannot believe how fast time is going here. I’ve reached that classic stage where I have less to blog about as things settle down, but more pressingly, way less time to sit and blog about it. Never fear though, I have a couple more blogs half written that I intend to publish over the next week, including one about my trip to Oviedo last weekend and one about the intricacies of grocery shopping in Spain. I also may to a second adjustment blog or just a teaching update. We’ll see
Though Oviedo happened first, I’m going to write about Thanksgiving. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel spending Thanksgiving away from my family for the first time. I don’t necessarily believe Thanksgiving is an end-all-be-all, especially for historical (and present political) reasons, plus I don’t love when events are centered around eating as much food as possible. But I do value family time and gratitude pretty highly, and those things are what Thanksgiving has come to mean for me. I know gratitude is ever-present as long as you are aware and thinking of it, but I was missing my family a little bit more than usual these past two weeks as I taught my kiddos about Thanksgiving in the United States. A few of my friends and I decided we’d have Thanksgiving dinner together on Thursday night and Lily, a good friend of my from the states (who’s family often spends Thanksgiving with my family anyway) was supposed to be arriving in time for our dinner, so I was feeling pretty good until the day of Thanksgiving. First of all, Lily’s flight had been delayed, so she would be traveling all day on her own on Thanksgiving and arrive Friday. Secondly, the Thanksgiving lesson plan did not go well at all. For two weeks the Thanksgiving lesson plan had gone really well. I’d been impressing upon them that we don’t eat chicken, we eat turkey, and trying to begin explaining the nuances of Native American/Settler relations while still being age appropriate. But on Thanksgiving, the kids in each individual class saw the photos I was showing of previous Thanksgivings with my family and told me I a) was uglier with short hair or b) looked wayyy better with long hair. [cue John Mulaney talking about middle schoolers]. Now, they’re just kids. It means nothing. And they’ve all seen pictures of me with long hair from other presentations and never said a word. Plus it probably would have helped if I’d washed my hair recently. But jeez, that’s not what you want to hear when you’re already a little bummed to be away from people who you love. I tried laughing and asking why they felt that way, to try to have a conversation about gender assumptions (i.e. why do you think all women should have long hair?) but it didn’t go all that well either and I moved on. The kids then pretended to throw up any time I showed them a picture of traditional Thanksgiving food. Again, they’re just kids – the oldest is 12 or 13. But this hadn’t happened at all with any of the other villages in any age group, so it took me by surprise. At first I didn’t mind much, but then it just gets to be too rude and impossible to explain what any of the food was. Again, I tried to take the time to talk about what respecting another culture looked like and how if they showed me food they liked, I’d never make throwing up noises, even if I didn’t like it. I even explained that I didn’t even like all of the Thanksgiving food, it’s just traditional. But alas, they did not care. When I got home, I started my brussels sprouts and bacon recipe for Thanksgiving dinner and watched Project Runway. Giuliana, one of my roommates, came in and watched with me (she’s studying fashion design) so that was really nice. I was also able to call my brother and talk to him for a bit to wish him happy birthday and Happy Thanksgiving. I even FaceTimed into Thanksgiving lunch/dinner with my parents, Lily’s parents and brother, and one of my dad’s good friends for a minute. I was asked what I was grateful for and easily responded “for being in Spain!” to which my dad responded “yeah we’re grateful you’re in Spain too!” Har har Dad. I was missing my family a little more at that point, but my brussels sprouts were done and it was time to walk over to Hildie’s (Hildie and Marie were hosting) with Giuliana, who was about to enjoy her first Thanksgiving. Once at Hildie’s I needed to reheat the bacon (though usually the sprouts and bacon are cooked together, I’d done it separately for the two vegetarians). Hildie put it in their oven, which is the size of a microwave. After a few minutes she took it out right in front of me, and me, being the complete idiot that I am, grabbed it with my bare hands thinking it had just been taken from the microwave even though I *knew* it was an oven. The bacon was in a ceramic bowl, so I didn’t want to drop it to the ground (plus, the bacon was necessary to the meal) so in addition to seared chicken and veggies, I had a seared hand. I’m not writing this as humorously as I’d tell it, but trust me, I’m laughing at my imbecility. I’ll let you know when I can hold a pen or unscrew caps again. Despite that fiasco, the meal was amazing. Hildie made incredible artichoke dip, some of the best mashed sweet potatoes I’ve ever had, and even though I was aching for some of my dad’s deep fried turkey, the chicken Hildie had found and cooked was delicious. And yes, despite how much I told my kiddos we ate turkey, and NOT chicken, we ate chicken. But turkey is hard to find here, so I’ll give us a pass. My brussels sprouts weren’t quite as good as my brother’s and mom’s, but they were solid too and all in all it was an amazing meal. We went around and said what we were grateful for, and I was overwhelmed with how precious a moment it was: three Americans from various states, one Argentine, and one German giving gratitude over a Thanksgiving meal. We also argued about Columbus, made fun of one another, and I got in trouble for bringing up politics – so it was nearly exactly how Thanksgiving at home would have been. We finished the evening by watching The Holiday while eating apple crisp and whipped cream (thanks Hildie) and sweet popcorn (thanks Marie) I fell asleep about half an hour in, but enjoyed it nonetheless. All-in-all, though it was different and didn't feel like the lazy Thanksgiving I'm used to at home, I had an incredible day and was definitely not lacking in any love or in the feeling of family. I'm grateful that home has never been associated with one location for me, but rather home is where the people I love are (although, yes, that infuriates me most of the time, especially because people look at you weird when you answer the question "where are you from" with "oh, wherever my family is") and I'm grateful that family has always been extended far beyond blood ties and is always growing. And, of course, I am beyond grateful for the opportunity to be in Spain, for the people I've met and friends I've made, the ability to travel easily, and all of the new experiences I'm getting to have. With friends like these, how could I feel anything less than at home? (Although - Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this, the English Muffins would seriously help) Much love and Happy (late) Thanksgiving to all those at home and abroad! |
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November 2018
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