Obama Interns with Spanish President Zapatero

Whether Barack Obama wins the presidency tonight or not we can rest assured that he gained an invaluable experience working for Spanish president Zapatero as his intern in La Moncloa.

Spain and its government is once again the butt of the joke for the fake news network The Onion. Bush, according to the Onion, was seriously thinking of placing Spain, alongside Iran, Iraq and North Korea, as one of the nations that form the "Axis of Evil."

I'm not a surveyor but based on most of the people I've talked to, I can say that Spaniards are predominantly for Obama, even if many of them can't make heads or tails out of the Republican-Democrat political distinction. But there are McCain supporters, one group even having the catchy name "Spain for McCain."

However, when it comes to teaching at a school, I believe strongly in keeping my political views to myself. Everyday the students put me on the rack, barraging me with questions and comments like, "Your for Obama aren't you. Come on Michael, tell us who your voting for. We here don't like McCain. We think Bush is stupid. I know your voting for Obama."

Yes, I've been getting this everyday, even a little from teachers.

And there was alot to say about this comment by Barack Obama in one of the debates. I was seeing the debates in an auditorium full of Spaniards and Americans at Casa de las Americas, an organization dedicated to creating cultural exchanges between Spain and the U.S. This comment made the room erupt with laughter and applause. Notice the expletive McCain repeats twice while Obama is speaking. But hey, for all I know McCain may be right.



This morning a tear came to my eye when I read in El Pais that over 75% of Americans registered to vote. The more I know that our next president will be elected by the will of our country's people, the more proud and happy I'll be.

Let's see what some of the Onion's most distinguished pundits have to say about Obama's internship.

Pinkity-Pop goes Spanish Pop

As serious as can be, I was reading the anguish and despair of Miguel de Unamuno's Tragic Sense of Life. Suddenly, from the coffee shop's TV, I hear what sounds like the soundtrack that bubbles out of Barbie's pink convertible as she rides through a three year old girl's imaginary Malibu. It's Nena Daconte's new hit in Spain, "Tenia tanto que darte" (I had so much to give you). At first, I was annoyed--as if some baby girl stole the cookies from my table. But it's too unabashedly cute and sugary to be dismissed. Those "tenia tanto"s that she keeps childishly cooing have the sound of some kitty from a Japanese cartoon show. That and those grinding punk power chords makes it a song to be loved, albeit in an ironical manner...of course. With a taste like a big lump of pink, chewy bubblegum, you'll soon be infected by it. You'll be thinking in light-bright colors for days.

Linguistic Politics in Regional Schools

Here is an article from the newspaper El Mundo, one of the three major newspapers of Spain (it's generally targeted towards a moderate to right-of-center audience). The article is by Manuel Romero and it appeared in today's edition (October 28, 2008). It was on the front page, next to a giant picture of Obama and the news of the attempted assasination. It should shed light on the heated education controversy over teaching classes in regional languages like Catalan and Gallego.



The following translation is my own.





The Textbooks of Catalonia and Galicia ridicule those who speak Spanish
The publishing house Castellnou identifies Martians as speakers of Spanish; Anaya turns to vignettes with clear racist content, and Xerais presents Castellano as an invading language.

A Catalan language manual says that “the Martians speak in Spanish” and a textbook of Galician literature claims that talking Castellano is “as if Michael Jackson made himself pass off as white.”
A large part of the Catalan and Galician textbooks accomplish, to the greatest extent possible, that there will be no scorn satisfied unless it comes with its dose of ridicule.


The use of Spanish is prohibited in all the teaching cycles of these two communities, but that is no obstacle for the native language manuals to battle it out against the Castillian language. They do this as if it was against a rival or a foreign enemy that needs to be ridiculed in front of their students.


Some Catalan texbooks that teach with the Castillian language constantly repeat formulas not too innocent, like the inclusion of certain articles that generate unanimous laughter among the students.


An example of this is the use, in a 3rd year manual of ESO (Secondary Compulsory Education) of the Catalan language from the publishors Castellnou, of this series of stories called The Martian men speak Spanish and the Martian women have no chest?


It's chosen so that students can complete exercises in the textbook that lend themselves to ridiculing Spanish and those students who use it, students who will no doubt be considered Martians. This is just a small sample of their linguistic pedagogy.


The continous references to Spanish as the language of the empire and the repeated allusions to Franco's regime is reflected in numerous vignettes and photographs that mix language and politics in school textbooks.


Another way they refer to the Castillian language transforms it into a foreign language, next to the official Catalan. Frequently, Spanish is presented solely as the language spoken by immigrants from Latin America.


The textbook of the Catalan Language published by La Galera, for 3rd year primary students, shows a world map with all the languages that Catalan children can hear in their streets. Spanish finds its origins in countries like Colombia and Ecuador, not in Spain, and is presented on the same level as Arabic, from the Moroccan immigrants, or Urdu, of the Pakistanis.


In Galicia, the treatment given to the Spanish language in their school textbooks is not much different. The manual of Galician Language Literature for 2nd year Bachelor Students, by Anaya, shows Galician citizens that have Castellano as their maternal language or as their language of choice in social relations.


The textbook, designed for 17 year old students, includes in their pages a comic strip with clear racist content. One vignette, known as The Galician Voice, shows a man that describes the following argument: “Speaking about the problem of standardizing the languages in Catalonia, I have pride in being Galician and speaking only Castellano.” The person he's talking to responds: “Then it's like Michael Jackson, who is black and makes an effort to be white.”


Racist humor is prohibited in majority of democratic countries. In this case, it has a educational mission. The manual from the publishing house Anaya justifies it by presenting the Galician language as a victim of Spanish. According to the manual, the linguistic process in Galicia leads to “the substitution of Gallego over Castellano, and this can only occur through an appropriate linguistic politics.”


The manuals pass on to students, in repeated forms, the idea that it is the Castillina language that threatens the Gallego language and that its speakers are found at a clear disadvantage and are its victims.


The linguistic conflict is presented to students in a very visual manner in the manual for 1st year Bachelor students from the publishing house Xerais. It includes a traffic sign in Spanish with sprayed-in corrections, turning it into Gallego. Furthermore, the bottom of the front page of the textbook also blames the Spanish language: “The pressure of Castellano not only has consequences on a social level, but also a lingustic one.”

A Chunk of Spain--The Spanish Tortilla

Tortilla de patatas, Tortilla espanola, Spanish omlette--some of the names given to what I think is the national dish. I'm a fan. A "bocadillo e tortilla" (Spanish omlette sandwich) is my food of choice at the canteen (or very small cafeteria) at school. I put ketchup and mayonnaise on my sandwich. By the way, mayonnaise is a very popular condiment to put on your fries, perhaps more so than ketchup.

Sometimes I buy my tortilla pre-made from the supermarket. I pop it in the microwave and cut my self some slices. It is a joy to eat because it is truly a comfort food. Nothing dangerous. Very simple taste that calls for any occasion: breakfast, lunch, tapas, dinner or snack. Most of all, everyone in Spain eats it. I must stop before I start writing an ode to the stuff. So exited! I found a video on how to make it by scratch. Learn with me my readers:

I Pledge Allegiance to the Divided States of Spain

The past week I've been giving talks on the American High School. After being at a Spanish high school for about a month, I can say the differences are quite telling.

(Pre-World War II students do the Bellamy salute after the Pledge of Allegiance. I wonder why no one does the good-old Bellamy salute anymore...;-)

The mornings are especially different. No homerooms. Each classroom has its own tutors, which would be sort of their version of a homeroom teacher. This tutor, usually any teacher assigned a classroom, takes care of giving that classroom its announcements or handling administrative matters with the students. But these issues are usually handled quickly in between classes or at the beginning of the school day.

Now here's a big difference--a student will stay in one classroom for the whole school day (with breaks for lunch and recess). That means that its not the students who migrate every period from one classroom to the next--it's the teachers, to their often great dissatisfaction. When I tell them that in the States teachers usually have their own rooms, which they can decorate to their own liking, a sharp "really!" is followed by general words of regret bemoaning the state of things. This means that classrooms are comparatively more bare and less decorated than in the American classroom. This also means that its usually the teacher that is late. Understandibly, of course, knowing he has to carry paperwork, perhaps a CD player or other school materials

So the school is organized into different grades (from 1st to 4th) and these grades are then divided as well (A, B, C, D). So one period I'll have to find room 3D (third here students, D section), and the next period I'll go to 1C. There are no lockers, because the students keep everything in their desk. And although there's a bell, it usually does not ring.; teachers have to make sure they keep an eye on the clock during prep-periods. There's one advantage to this system--keeping students in class after the period is over is a punishment that works alot better.

Let's look a little closer still. The day begins, and unlike American schools there are no loudspeakers, which means no official announcments. Look around a Spanish high school. Something's missing--no Spanish flag. Students do not take any pledges in high school. The fact that American students have to rise and recite the Pledge of Allegiance every day is strange and ridiculous to most Spaniards. This points to something ingrained in the Spanish character: its divisiveness. One of my fellow cooperating teachers told me that a Spanish teacher who puts a pin of the Spanish flag on her clothes could get labeled a rightest conservative, or even a fascist. There are many flags in Spain, and unlike our state flags these symbols carry deeply-rooted, nationalistc meanings.

(Respectively, a flag of Catalunya and the flag of the Basques)

The name we give to the "official" language of Spain, Spanish, is a name not easily recognized by most Spaniards. The name might make them uncomfortable. They call it "Castellano," which situates it historically and geographically in the center of Spain, where the Kingdom of Castile spread the language many years ago. There are three home-grown languages in Spain other than Castellano, each with their own heavy nationalistic baggage: Euskara (the language spoken in the Basque country), Galego (spoken in Galicia) and Catalan (spoken in Catalunya). These are bona fide languages, mind you, not merely dialects. On top of this language stew, you have dialects of Castellano spoken throughout Spain. For instance, native Spaniards teaching at my school often joke about the difficulty in understanding the accent of speakers from Andalucia.

There's also some recent history that darkly shades the divisive nationalism. Under the 36 year regime (1939-1975) of dictator-general Francico Franco, languages like Catalan and Euskara were outlawed. All of Spain had to come under the rule of Spanish and the center of Spain which it represented. After the fall of the regime and the start of the democratic-republic, the repressed languages and nationalities came back to reassert themselves. Today, one of the hot-button political topics in Spain is the teaching of languages like Catalan, Galego and Euskara in public schools. They each soon became the official languages taught at the school in their respective regions. Many parents and politicians protest that their kids come out of public schools barely knowing Castellano.

So that leads us back the United States. During my talk on the American high school the teacher would interupt me to say, "See class. Do you see how Americans are so patriotic and how much they love their country. Don't find it odd that they salute the flag. They feel proud of their flag." She would do an aside and say, "But in here it means nothing." She would say this with such bitterness that it hits me, and I suddenly feel just how sensitive the issue of nationalism and patriotism is in Spain. There's also the mixture of pride and self-consciousness that comes with knowing that Americans and the United States have become the shining example of patriotism.

I do love my country. I think patriotism is an essencial, important value. But our patriotism was grown out of a very different history than that of Spain, forged as it is by the mottos like e pluribus unum and novus ordo seclorum. I still don't know of a country as strangely diverse as Spain, diverse in a way different from our so called melting pot. Even though it will give politicians, nationalist and even parents a world of headaches, Spain's divisiveness, which can be colorful and profoundly fruitful, is just one of the reasons I'm enchanted by this country.

Single Hot Out of the Oven--Some Flamenco Pop with Melendi's "Un Violinista en tu Tejado"

This song is really big right now in Spain. It'll give you an idea of how Flamenco pop sounds like. In this case, amazing. The icon on the top right corner of the screen indicates Spain's version of MTV (although they get MTV and VHI here as well). Here's a link to the homepage of the television station where you can stream all the latest hits and some old ones, too--http://www.los40.com/.

Without furthur ado, Melendi's "Un Violinista en tu Tejado" (a fiddler on your roof). The song is, by the way, the number one hit on Los 40's countdown.

The Blood of May

If you wander through the gallaries of the Prado museum in Madrid you're likely to encounter these two paintings in the same room by one of Spain's master artist--Francisco Goya.



(The Second of May 1808)

The painting depicts the beginning of Madrid's popular uprising against Napolean's forces, which was occupying Spain in 1808. The event begins the six-year long Spanish War of Independence. Under the pretense of conquering Portugal and dividing it up with the Spain crown, Napolean craftily moves his troops into Spain with hardly any resistance. When Napolean removed Charles IV and the royal family out of Spain and into France, that was the last straw for many Madridleños. Commoners took to the streets in protest against French rule. The professional army, with Mameluke mercenaries as depicted above, charged against the angry commoners and the people fought back with clubs, kitchen knives, stones and whatever else they could find.


Goya points to no central focal point. The painting's composition is chaotic. Any sense of balance spins out of control. It is thrown out of balance at its very center--by that attack of red paint which depicts the slain mameluke sliding off his white horse. There's an anominity, a facelessness in the violence. Even if Goya might be commemerating the bravery of the commoners, he no doubt understands the grimness and utter lack of heroic glamour in the event. This is far from Delecroix Liberty Leading the People.

(The Third of May 1808)
Hauntingly iconic, this painting is on the grand masterpieces you'll see at the Prado. This is the aftermath of the events of the second of May. Anyone known to participate in the uprising was captured and, in the early morning hours of the third, executed. The man in the center kneels down, with a brilliant light from a lantern making him almost glow. The light seems tranfiguring, like a halo on the white-clothed martyr. But this reading soon becomes disrupted. The light is being used by the soildiers to efficiently kill their victims better. The middle figure spreads his arms in a Christ-like pose. It is a gesture both of appeal and defience. It seems to scream out, "Behold, my humanity!" The firing squad seems mechanical. The repetition of the soldiers postures tells us that this appeal will not be answer. After this groups gone, another one will replace it. And, like the mechanical grinding of gears, perhaps the same pathetic scene will play itself out again (as it has ever since).

The brutality of war was hardly shown more honestly, more realistically, or more dehuminizing before Goya. Have a look at most paintings on the slaughter of the innocent by Herod's army. Following neo-classical traditions, the composition would be ordered, dignified in its indignation and balanced in its brutality. "Allthough it occured, the brutality you witness is in the annals of history and now is to be contemplated," they seemed to say. A sense of future justice, a sense that maybe the wrongs will be righted again, seemed to be the message of these dignified tributes to injustice.

(Peter Paul Ruebens' Massacre of the Innocents)

But Goya seems to parody, in the most serious way, just how dehuminzing and unglorious violence is. There's no sense of redemption. That light that shines on the middle of the figure does not burst from a cloud, nor does it shine forth from angels--it belongs to the soilders who are going to make the kill.

The Christ-like gesture is also quite historically ironic. Here are a group of working class people who fought for their liberty against a foreign ruler--an emperor. Similarly, the Parisians rose against the aristocracy and their king. It was, just like the Spanish, in the name of liberty. Now Napolean returns the favor to Spain on behalf of the new French Empire. Napolean could defend himself, saying he was deposing decadent Bourbon rulers and replacing it with the more modern, liberated and culturally superior French society. He does have a point. Yet I cannot help but be reminded of Karl Marx ingenious quote--"History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce."

The setting of the scene is the mountains of Pricipe Pio in central Madrid. Every day I go to work, my metro passes by this hill. This year is the bicentennial of the events of the second and third of May. All over Madrid, cultural events are being held in honor of these events. One of the products of this commeration is Jose Luis Garci's new film Sangre de May, which I saw. In brief, educational but overlong and poorly structured. Here's a trailer for the film.

You Say Flamenco, They'll Say Camaron

In one of my first days at my high school I asked what Spanish musical artist I should listen to. The name "Camaron" always came up in every class. He is the crown jewel of the flamenco singing tradition. He's one of those artist so renowed that if you gave a free association test using the words "flamenco singer", Camaron's name would probably be given instantly all over the world.

I want to sing flamenco by the end of my one-year trip here. He would probably be the best place to start. Geographically to the contrary, when I was walking the narrow streets of Toledo yesterday and heard shopkeepers softing wailing those flamenco laments, it felt as if I had one foot in the deserts of northern Africa, where I might chance to find a call to prayer being wailed from the minarets of a mosque, and the other foot on the sandy hills of Spain. An old saying says that Africa begins south of the Pyrenees (the mountain range on the border of France and Spain). When you leave the cosmopolitan confines of Madrid you see plains streched out as far as the eye can see with just a few trees spread here and there. It's landscape is a close cousin to the deserts that lie just south of Spain in Morrocco. When Italians wanted to film their westerns in Europe, they picked the central regions of Spain (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly was filmed in Spain).

Analucian flamenco gives off the same feelings as the landscapes of Spain--that in-betweeness, the feeling of not being European nor African.

The song you'll listen to is the immensly popular "Como el Agua" (Like Water) by Camaron de la Isla (His full name in English is "shrimp of the island"). He is accompanied on guitar by that other master of flamenco we met before, Paco de Lucia. Camaron popularized flamenco and gave it a new form that was very digestible for a global audience. Traditional flemenco music before Camaron (and really ever since)is very raw and its roots are deep in the lower-class villages and countryside of Andalucia. One day I'll take you, my fellow readers, to Andalucia where we can discover this Spanish tradition together.



(On the left is Camaron and on the right is Paco de Lucia)

Here, by the way, is a authentic example of raw, passionate traditional flamenco. The kind of flamenco sung is called Soleá (I've yet to know the difference between the styles). It is sung by a master of flamenco singing--José Menese. Notice how less digestible the music would be to say an average American listener. I put my vote for Menese, but you be the judge.

Raising Ravens--Discovering Spanish Cinema

Power to Pedro Almodovar, but he's such the cinematic rock star that his fame gets in the way of the great tradition of Spanish Cinema. Sidestepping the absolute genius that was Luis Bunuel* we make an unpardonable leap on to Ana Torrent, the childhood star of what's often called The New Spanish Cinema. Spain fell in love with her adorable little face--the face that always seemed to be both way beyond its years and to distill all the sadness of childhood in one glance. The history of Spanish cinema seems to always award Victor Erice's El Espiritu de la Colmena (The Spirit of the Beehive, 1973) the recognition of jump-starting Spanish cinema and bringing it out into the art-film spotlight.

It's a beautiful film that takes place during the Spanish Civil War in an isolated village on the dry, vast plains of Spain. The film Frankenstein is brought and shown to the village and leaves a deep impression on the shy six-year old Ana. Her sister takes Ana deeper into her imagination, telling her that Frankenstein is a spirit that can be found if she summons him. The film is a meditative, unsentimental view into the world of childhood. Ana's parents are distanced from each other--the father spends most of his time studying bees and the mother daydreams about a far-off lover who she writes letters to. Ana and her sister's imaginative play seems to be the way they cope with the strained family drama at home.

Steeped in symbolism, enigmatic, deliberately slow and a possible allegory for Franco's regime (aren't most important Spanish films during the regime?) the film is unfortunately too artsy for its own sake. It's mysterious simplicity, that pondorous stiffness, I'll call it the Antonioni pose, that all the characters have, and the long, static shots might have made the film en vogue when it premiered but it lacks the childhood liveliness needed to make it a great film. Want to see a great film with Ana Torrent? Please see Carlos Saura's Cria Cuervos (Raising Ravens, 1976).

(Iconic scene from El Espiritu de la Colmena)

This has a much darker vision than El Espiritu de la Colmena , perhaps it is one of the darkest visions of childhood in all of cinema. Where Espiritu was meditative and simple, Cria Cuervos is convuluted and probingly psychological. Ana's beloved mother dies and she and her two sisters must live in the stern, unloving home of her father, a high-ranking military officer (probably an allegorical stand-in for Franco). The film begins with Ana silently placing a glass of poisoned milk on her father's nightstand. While making love to his mistress, he chokes and collapses stiffly on top of her. Now the sisters must live with their aunt who is possibly even colder than their own father.

The film is seen through Ana's eyes. We go in and out from Ana's memories to the present. The dead mother is still a very real presence in Ana's life. Ana's imagination often summons her and she comes and talks to Ana. It becomes clear that Ana does not really understand death, but is nonetheless obsessed with it. In a memorable scene she imagines herself jumping from a tall building in Madrid only to fly when she makes the leap.

Listen closely to that pop song that is ingenously used throughout the movie and in the film's trailer. It captures Ana's childlike concepts of death and loss. Cria Cuervos is directed by that most underrated of Spanish directors, Carlos Saura. He is best known for his exploration of the music and dance of Spain, especially Flamenco (1995). A personal favorite is his tribute to that passionate invention of Argentina, tango, titled appropriately enough, Tango (1998) (Tango also boasts one of the most superb jobs of cinematography ever done by that master of light and shadows Vittorio Storaro).

(Trailer to Cria Cuervos)

(*Not familiar with Luis Bunuel? I must refer you to the shocking surreal classic Un Chien Andalou (1928), a silent film co-directed with Salvador Dali, and The Exterminating Angel (1962), a film using my favorite dream-inspired plot device--a group of upper-crust socialites have dinner at the home of Señor Edmundo Nobile. After dinner they find that they're inexplicably trapped inside the room [mind you that nothing is locked]. They must use a little bit of absurd dream-logic to escape the home. The complete films of Un Chien Andalou http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cKVZ6pkeEk and The Exterminating Angel http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXbRVgUZGZ4)

First Day--the stereotypes

(A photo of the school from its website.)

What does your average high school student in Madrid think about us Americans. Their answers may suprise you.

I work in the Institute of Secondary Education (I.E.S.) Parque de Lisboa in the suburb of Alcorcon just south of Central Madrid. (Interestingly, primary schools are called colegios or "coles" for short, and high schools are called institutos.) It is about a 45 minute commute from my barrio (i.e. neighborhood) of Ciudad Lineal in Central Madrid. I wake up at 6:50 a.m., walk just two short blocks through the dark morning streets, and climb down the steps that lead to my metro stop. Madrid, it must be said, has one of the most sophiscated metro systems I have ever seen. It is clean, relatively safe, and is well-connected to just about any location in Central Madrid. For example, it can take me just twenty minutes to get from Ciudad Lineal at the far northeast corner of the city, all the way to Puerta del Sol which is at the heart of Madrid.

(One of the many metro entrances in Madrid)

I got to my first class at the razor's edge of 8:30, just making it. Trying to create the best first impression, I walked firmly and proudly into the Spanish equivalant of an 8th grade class--1st year students. My motivation was one that is often recommended: walk in a room as if you were the host of a talk show. I let out a booming "goodmorning" as I strode across the room to my colleagues desk on the other side. Carrying my Samnsonite computer bag, I placed it decisively on the desk, letting out a louder "goodmorning" to recieve the appropriate class echo. Every seasoned teacher (which I'm yet to be) knows that the first day is one big elaborate mind game, letting students know that you are a prescence to be reckoned with. Since my teacher was not yet in the room, I took that time to go around the room shaking hands, asking for the student's names and what they did during the summer. A useful maxim for a teacher to carry in her pocket is to know that the dual task of establishing good personal and collective relationships with students is the key to classroom management.

The demographics of all the classes I saw that day are quite diverse. If I gave you a class picture of a average classroom in the United States and another from Madrid, perhaps you would not tell the difference. Students with pale skin and red hair, Morrocans with dark skin, central American students, and even asians are just some of the diverse outer features of my classroom. This diversity points obliquely to one of the current hot button issues in current Spanish politics--the recent influx of immigrants.

The teacher (keep in mind that I am an English teacher's assistant) came in the room and introduced me. Without knowing beforehand, she asked me on the spot to give a short charla, or talk, for the rest of the period. I hit my palms together, smiled assertively and introduced myself to the students, saying my name, what was my position in the classroom for the rest of the year and where I was from.

I have lived in New Jersey for over 14 years and it is still difficult to say anything broad and definitive about the Garden State. To me New Jersey is one large suburban bridge between Philadelphia and New York City, the Jersey turnpike being its spinal cord (those from central Jersey must forgive me). It is home to Atlantic City, the shallower and tackier little brother of the already shallow and tacky Las Vegas. Of course, I didin't say all this, I just referred to "the cities." Almost all the students knew about New York, and a handful have heard of Philadelphia. But if you mention the 76's or Allen Iverson, the boys will know that even more.

(The New Jersey Turnpike headed towards New York. The beauty of my state monument brings tears to my eye.)

I gave this class the same short speech I gave all the classes that day: "I know I'm going to learn alot about Spain and you are going to learn alot about the United States. But what I think you don't know is that I'm going to also learn about my country because I'll be seeing through your eyes. Each and everyone of you can help me look at my country in new ways."

I went on to talk about stereotypes. I asked them what did they think were the stereotypes of their country. They gave me blank faces. My cooperating teacher said, "Well, of course, we can all dance and sing flamenco." She mockingly rolled her wrist and stomp her foot in that iconic flamenco gesture. One of the students piped out, "But that's all in the south. Those are southern things," referring to the fact that flamenco originates and is deep rooted in the culture of the southernmost state of Andulcia. Another student said that people think they are all bull killers, a comment that reminds one of that deeply traditional ritual sacrifice of bulls that is as controversial as ever in Spain. Recently their were animal rights protest against the festival Toro de la Vega, where the villagers of Vega performed their annual tradition--the villagers chased and tortured a bull around the village and ended the tradition with the ripping of its testicles, which were paraded joyusly around the village (:-(). I told them that a stereotype about the Spanish people is that they all sleep too much and they're not hard workers, a stereotype that I know is not true but which is reinforced to the world by the Siesta.

"But what about stereotypes about my country. What comes to your mind when you think about Americans," I asked the class.

"I see a fat man eating a hamburger," one female student said. This was a popular stereotype across all the classroom that day. We eat out for all meals and are addictive to fast food. Our diet consists of hamburgers, hot dogs and pizza. Unfortunatley, we cannot doubt that there is a shred of truth to this.

("I'll gladly pay Tuesday for a hamburger today")

"Your people are very rich," was another popular response. The dominace of our celebrity culture definitely gives off this impression. We are, for now, the richest country in the world. But we know that disparities of wealth are very wide and the face of poverty hangs like a cloud below even the tallest of our skyscrapers.

As one very young student put it:"Americans are, como se dice.....like they are better than everyone."

Me: "Arrogant?"

"Yes, they are very arrogant."

I think this stereotype is key. It points to the double-edge feature of the American character: our unbounded optimism and our sense of superiority, our steadfast confidence and our self-satisfied view of ourselves.

On a note of closure. I told the students about the exciting times that are ahead for my country. "There is going to be a very important election", I said. "Does anybody know who is running for president?" Most of the students answered correctly: Barack Obama and John McCain. Talking with my teacher after class she told me that in the newspapers in Spain, American politics gets as much or more coverage than the politics of her own country. Obama is perhaps more a celebrity than Spain's president Zapatero. It's hard not to feel like my country rules the world when I could follow our elections perfectly by opening the pages of El Pais or El Mundo.

Spain's "Imagine"

This popular song in Spain by Rosario came out in the Summer. It's called "No Dudaria (I Don't Doubt)." It's a poignant ballad about trying to forget our collective memory of violence for the sake of redeeming the happiness of life. The voice of the song promises never to do violence. With the act of cleansing her memory she does not doubt that she will be able to laugh again. (Sounds clunky in prose I know, but the lyrics are simply beautiful.) The song is a cover orignally written by the singer's brother, Antonio Flores (written in 1980). Antonio died young at 33. Mourning the death of his mother, he passed away just 14 months after her because of a drug overdose on the 30th of May, 1995. "No Dudaria" has become something like the "Imagine" of Spain.

Cultural Orders from the City of Madrid

(In the sleepy hours of a Spanish afternoon, I lay sleepy yet wide awake, annoyed that I'm not a a real madrileno and can't sleep the afternoon away)

The city of Madrid says, "Look into my eyes. You are getting sleepy....Okay, why aren't you in bed? It's three in the afternoon! "

Mike says, "But I don't nap. I'm guess I'm too American. I always need to be up and about until the sun shuts down and says, 'go to sleep!' I'm just not used to it."

Madrid: "Well, okay. If my people are partying the night away and your either sleeping alone or you find yourself mister tired grouchy-head on my morning streets, don't say I didin't warn you."

Almost everything useful is closed: banks, hardware stores, department stores, retail shops, book stores, you name it. Sure, restuarants are open. You can get a bite to eat. And if your a tourist, you could take a visit to the museums. But if you need a pair of shorts, or a lightbulb, or maybe you need to put some money in the bank...sorry. Try again after five. Or maybe try again tomorrow morning, if you need to cash in a check. Well, you my friend are in the Siesta zone. It's the Spanish time of day from two to five in the afternoon where you can eat your traditional 2 o' clock lunch, spend time with your family, and/or take that long needed nap to get you ready for those long Spanish nights.

Non-nappers beware. Enter Spain at your own risk. I am, unfortunately, one of these non-nappers. Keep in mind that the average familer dinner is served around 10pm. Today, in my freshman class, I told my students that Americans eat dinner at six. They laughed. Completely ridiculous for them. A light dinner should be taken anywhere after nine, nine being the earliest. A midnight dinner is common. Walk out of your apartment at midnight and do not be suprised if you see mothers riding their babies in strollers eating ice cream. The night is always young in Madrid. Madrilenos have their energy recharged after a long power nap and can take on the night in full-stride. I can't.

Curiously, every bedroom in Madrid is equipped with a large metal curtain that can be lowered to block away sunlight. If anyone ever wants to make an authentic Spanish dollhouse, these metal curtains are a must for any madrileno action figure (and don't forget the carton of cheap red wine).

Dining-Out, Spanish Style

DRINK

Calimocho

50% Red Wine (preferably inexpensive)

50% Cola

Served cold, on the rocks. It's a refreshing drink popular in Spain. It's especially popular among the Spanish youth. Walking across a college campus lawn, you may see hordes of Spanish students talking loudly, mixing up cartons of cheap, 1 euro red wine with coke. Good mix for the resourceful drinker on a tight budget.


FOOD

Bocadillo de Jamon Serrano (Sandwich with Mountain Ham)

Jamon Serrano is a tender and chewy type of ham adored by the spanish people. It's a dry-cured ham served in raw, thin bacon-like slices. When I taught my first freshman class in Spain and told them about me having this typical lunch dish for the first time they got really excited. Smiles of recognition and nods of approval points to the universally acknowledge truth that spaniards are obsessed with ham. Best of all, it cost about 2 euros to buy at most local Madrid restaurants.

A Little Flamenco Music from a Master

This is Paco de Lucia, one of Spain's most notable flamenco guitar players. Here is his immensly famous number "Entre Dos Aguas (Between Two Waters)." It was used to great effect as something of a theme song to Woody Allen's new film Vicky Christina Barcelona.

A South Jersey Yankee in Madrid

PROLOGUE: ARRIVAL

I got to Madrid on the 8th of September. It's now been 13 days since I left the great state of New Jersey. Looking through the window of my Scandenavian airline I saw what could have been expected of the landscape--the rough, red and gold tinted desert earth that covers the fields of central Spain. The undergrowth is grows sparsely, bleached white by the hot Spanish sun. Long, poplar-like trees (their name escapes me) rise like spears. Spain's flag seems oddly appropriate to the colors of Madrid's landscape and city.

(The colors of a nation, the colors of a city)

The airport was hot. I slugged my 80 pound suitcase, my laptop bag stuffed with my computer and books, and a bookbag filled with, of course, more books across the entire terminal searching for a place to exchange my money. I grinned a wry smile as I saw smoking booths as I got off the departure gate. People were cramming in like clowns in a car to get their fix. I got to the exchange place--1.50$ for every euro. Needless to say, it hurts. Watching 100$ turn into somewhere around 60 euros is sobering.

(It's a funny kind of money. One euro comes in a coin. So does 2 euros. Change isin't chump change anymore in Europe)

Sweating, with a tight fistfull of monopoly-like money Europeans call euros, I rode with my cabby to my hostel. He played some flamenco-fusion music for the first half of the ride and then switched to a talk-radio program debating loudly about Spain's economic crisis. On cue, while driving through the outskirts of Madrid, I see half-built residential buildings naked and exposed with construction cranes idly waiting for orders. In Spain, a construction bubble was rising and rising, and the bubble just blew. No doubt, my fellow yankees have something to do with this economic crisis. But hey, that's globalization for you. If a business coughs out a cold in the U.S., that cold will spread.

I got to my hostel--Ole Hostel (cab ride--25 euros). I pushed the buzzer, walked two strenuous flight of stairs, and went through my first of many notoriously dark, European stairways. Lights don't stay on in European stairways--they flash off after a minute or two. If you go to Europe and you are afraid of the dark--wait to you get in one of these stairways.

(This picture of "the hostel" is deceptive. The room only had two bunks and the picture makes it look as if there's more space where the camera person's at. The camerman must have been on the fatal edge of the balcony to take this picture)

Hostel's are great places to meet people all over the world. The problem was, I had one year of my life in three heavy bags. I went into my two-bunk room (it looked sort of like a dollhouse version of a army barrack). I could hardly make the zippers of my suitcase wink open--they're hardly was floor space. In all, not a place to stay for a long period. Take advantage of a hostel if you have a light-weight bag and if you have no problem having no privacy. (Issues of privacy were aggrevated by the fact that I shared my room with a French and a Iranian woman, but of course this has its perks). It only cost 17 euros for the night. I had the half-baked idea of staying in a hostel comfortably (until October) while I would find a place. But the expatriots in the hostel (people staying in Madrid for the long haul) were all busy posting ads and looking feverishly for habitaciones. Their anxiety spread and I got in on the act. A slow day of sleeping off jet-lag and a short night of drinking with my fellow hostel-mates ended. The next day I moved into my temporary dorm at the Universidad Nebrija, payed genorously by the folks at Fulbright

GOALS OF THIS BLOG

Tommorrow, September 22nd, I'll be starting my first official day as a teacher's assistant at the Parque Lisboa high school in Alcorcon, Madrid. I recieved my Fulbright scholarship around June and for a full-year, till June 21st, I'll be working and living in Madrid. I'm a naive and inexperienced traveler. I've never been to Europe. I'll write about Madrid, Spain and Europe as if I was a bright eyed, little boy, knowing hardly anything about the day-to-days of this most cosmopolitan continent and city. I hope this will be an accurate and entertaining record of a life lived in Madrid. I hope I will soon take courses at a university in Madrid and so far I have an interest in studying the works of the Spanish 2oth century philosopher Jose Ortega y Gasset. I leave you with what I think is a great speech by Gasset on Spain, History and the task of thinkers everywhere:

"History is today to Europe the first condition of its cleansing and its possible resurgence because everyone can have their own virtues and not those of others. Europe is old. You can not have, can not even aspire to have the virtues of youth. Its virtue is in being old, that is, its long memory, its long history. The problems in their lives are at levels of complications that require solutions also very complicated, and these problems can only dealt with through its history, otherwise there would be an anachronism between the complexity of their problems and the simplicity and youthfullness without memory that I want to give their solutions. Europe has to learn in history something not found in a standard of what you can do, history does not foresee the future but has to learn to avoid what not to do. So it always is reborn from itself, avoiding the past. For us this is history, to liberate us from what was. Because the past is a revenant and if you do not dominate it with memory, refreshing it, he always turns against us, and eventually strangles us."

Jose Ortega y Gasset--Concept of History