What a pity, but, Adios!

Sometime floating in and out between September 25th and September 26th, 2010


Spanish for the Day:

When you ignore someone, particularly when you hear them and don’t wish to respond (like with cat-calling) the Spanish say ‘To make like the Swiss’

This comes from when the Swiss moved into Spain in a rather large group, and the Spanish men would chase the Swiss women about trying to get their attention, because the Spanish men love tall blonde women. However the Swiss women for the most part would ignore them.

So next time someone’s bugging you, make like the Swiss and ignore them.


Bad.

So I was sitting in a café at 6:30pm, when I received a text about Nachos in Algorta (which is a short metro ride from Areeta, where I am staying). These Nachos were to be had around 8:00pm.

No problem, thought I, I’ll just tag my computer along.

Wrong.

We got to nachos at 8:30, and after I had a second helping and two or three slices of pizza after (and I hadn’t missed lunch, I’ve been eating a lot recently) we decided to swing by a sports-bar to catch a bit of the futbol game.

No problem, it’s a bit inconvenient, but I’ll tag my computer along. It’ll be what two hours in a bar? I can hold on to it for that long.

Wrong.

At the bar I met three or four rather enthusiastic women who I began to converse with, they are locals, and a few of them were hard-core fans of the local team and we were talking about the game itself, it was a rough one. And then I told them I was into directing, and they told me that they were actors. They asked where I was from, I told them Idaho, they didn’t know and I used the second response I’ve learned to use ‘It’s close to California.’

They love California.

They want me to show them L.A. sometime.

They want to know if I know their friends in New York.

They want me to direct them in Hollywood.

I tried to explain that I am a stage sorta guy, and not a film guy, and that I don’t I really have a gig directing yet, but they were a few Kalimotxo in, and I don’t think they got the point.

They took me and a few of my friends out for a night on the town.

This was wild, among my friends, Paul and Brianne, my Spanish is the best.

This is not saying much, because my Spanish is ‘Fatal’ (Not deadly, but very bad.)

So there was a good deal of translating on both parts for me.

That was actually very fun. But I still have this damn lap-top.

Now it is four oh fucking four in the AM and we are still out.

I’ve been toting this ‘Comfortably Light’ netbook to every bar on the way.

It’s raining tonight and the bars are stupid crowded. (They normally are usually C-student crowded, but not tonight. Tonight stupid crowded.)


As such, I have stepped outside to enjoy a whole 2ft radius to myself and decided to update my blog.

A lot of people keep asking me what I am doing, or what I am writing or where I am from.

It’s rather interesting and nice. Someone just tried to speak Basque to me, for a bit.

Um, interesting thing about the language, written it looks very harsh, but spoken it sounds like melted butter. Very mumbly and slurry. And now I am being accosted a bit, but there are some kind girls standing up for me, or at least distracting the accosting party.

Now allow me to be clear about something for those of you who are not familiar with Spanish Culture. It is now 4:40 in the morning, and there is no threat of the city going to sleep.

There are as many people out milling about, still bar-hopping, as there are a 11:30pm on a Thrusday night in Moscow.


This next message is brought to you by ‘Rachel, The Sister of the Princess’

‘Ftgjkyhjklfunjmbhghbjfrbpvp[[p[[:’


The self proclaimed sister of the Princess is one of the girls who is more or less protecting me right now. Kind of. She asked if she could help, and I figured there wouldn’t be any harm.
It wasn’t and she told me I needed to keep that very important message in my work. Shortly after she departed but not before initiating that terrifying kissing ritual, that I need to get over.

However, by my reckoning a sister of a princess must be a princess too, and so I have been kissed by a princess. Ain’t that good luck, or a sign for getting three wishes or something?

Maybe I’ll turn into a prince.


I have attracted quite the crowd now.


I also have met a Young Philosophy Teacher at the local Highschool, who is very friendly, but a little disappointed that I don’t study philosophy. A compliment I reckon. I believed his story about being a philosophy teacher, because he had the composed teacher sort of look going on, and the wild sort of hair that only young philosophers (and a few older ones too) like to wear.


Another person is a young radical Basque punk, with the Mullet. He insisted that I was staying in Basque country and not Spain. He was actually rather nice, and not at all aggressive or angry or what-have you, so no one needs to worry about me. They’re just really proud out here, and honestly I’m safer from a Basque attack in Basque country than anywhere else. (Don’t bomb where you eat, and they love to eat.)


Dancing.

To be fair it rained today/tonight, so all the pubs were over crowded.

I don’t know if any of you have been to that dance club in Pullman, but there is a spot on the dance floor where dancing doesn’t happen so much as people awkwardly trying to move to the music as other people shove their way through.

This has been every dance club I’ve been to tonight.

My back has become sore long before my feet or legs have even warmed up.

Now I am a little guy, even in Spain I’m rather short, and usually it’s not a problem for me.

But in these environments I have a tendency to get pushed around a lot. A lot.

Sometimes, particularly after drinking, I will try and stand my ground.

It’s a bit rude, I know, but a short skinny kid can only take so much pushing around.

Usually when I stand my ground, however, I get pushed even harder by a particularly aggressive larger man. This sort of situation never ends well for me. Fortunately the club is crowded enough that I have some time to breath.

And they call this dancing.


At 6:30 Am...I just found a live action Asterix show.
This might be the best night here so far.


This kid needs sleep.


Now I just was on my way to a cafe to update my Blog, and drink some fine Spanish coffee, no wine after last night, thank you, when I ran into the Festival of Snails. A big basque street food festival where one can eat all the snails they like for tips. I didn't really know how to go about asking, or buying these snails. So I was terrified to try. It looked like everyone was closing up, and the festival was winding down, so I began to walk away.

Then something struck me.

I was literally walking away from a cultural experience, a life experience, because I was afraid ask someone 'Can I buy your snails.'

So I turned around, walked up to the nearest little stand, and tried to get someone's attention.

My stomach turned, I'm still terrified to interrupt people particularly if I can't speak their first language (Basque) or even their second language very well.

But I did it, and it turns out their for tips.

I ate three snails, which were not particularly tasty, but like clams, the little ones are better.


Between this and last night, I've taken quite the hammer to that wall of fear I think.

And I've got a year more to take more pieces down.

How exciting and absolutely terrifying.

Perfect.



Kishpike Out.

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