Turning water into diamonds...

There are little things, little moments each day that bring pure happiness into our hearts. They are the moments that are often passed by or are even easily forgotten when we don't pay close enough attention. These are the moments that help us make it through when there are inevitable rough patches but they are also the moments that make each and every day incredibly special.

There is a quote from Paulo Coehlo's book The Alchemist that says something to the effect that: when all your days start running together and each day seems the same as the next, it is because the person has stopped taking the time to notice all the good things that happen in their life on a daily basis.

With my 9 year old cousin at the beach a few days ago, there was beauty evident all around us, but my cousin showed me something even more special that I would have never found on my own.

She showed me how to turn water into diamonds.

While wading through the ocean waves, she cupped her hands and with the slightest movement threw the water into the air. I watched and saw as the arc of water droplets turned into "diamonds" before my eyes. With the sunlight glistening over the water, each droplet produced a tiny rainbow and shone as brightly as a diamond.

I think kids have this innate ability to find the beauty all around them and as adults, we sometimes need to be reminded.

This is a lesson I've learned before, but that I have been reminded of time and again while spending time with my family in Venezuela.

God has blessed me with so many of these good moments and I am so grateful for each of them.

So my unsolicited advice for today...
Catch your breathe, and close your eyes. You are here in this moment, and there is beauty all around you.  Maybe turn some water into diamonds.

Fighting for oil

I knew things like this had been going on, but it was a bit of a shock to the system to be a part of it personally.

At the supermarket again today, someone called out that a shipment of cooking oil had just arrived.

Within a matter of seconds people have thrown themselves to the floor. The cooking oil can no longer be seen from beneath the numerous bodies that cover it.

From far away they look like bees swarming around a hive. Each person is as desperate as the next to get their hands on a bottle or two of oil.

Up close, they are just as vicious. Elbows swing and sting my side. I fight to get my hands on a bottle, without regard for the person next to me.

As I see my grandmother hold up two bottles of Mazeite cooking oil, I feel a sense of relief and satisfaction come over me.

The battle was over, and we had won.

As my heart rate slows, the adrenaline wares off, and a harsh dose of reality sets in.

What just happened?

I'm not sure why I lunged. But I knew I had to. It was instinct that provoked my movement. There was no thought process involved.

In reflection, on the car ride home, I try to think  of something…. anything…. to compare this experience to. I stretch to make a connection.

The only thing that comes to mind is Black Friday.
A mob of parents surrounding the newest toy or gadget to have been advertised on the market.


A mob of parents surrounding the newest shipment of food to have arrived at the market.

A pirate's life for me…

I remember distinctly being scolded by my best friend's mother for trying to buy a pirated DVD while on a trip with her family to New York City. I must have been about 14 years old, and for the life of me, I couldn't understand what I had done that was so wrong.

She told me that the DVD I found in there would most likely be blank and that I would have wasted my money. I somehow trusted the man on the street corner selling me a DVD of a movie that was still in theaters. I relished in the idea that only I would be able to watch a movie at home, that everyone else would still have to watch in movie theaters. 

I was reminded of this memory today in Venezuela while attending my French class (Yes, I'm taking a French class while in Venezuela… it's a bit confusing, I know). One of my classmates said that he had the original copy of a French movie that my professor had mentioned. My professor stopped and looked at the student in shock. "You have the original copy? Did you buy it here…. in Venezuela??" 

He answered yes to both questions, 

and the rest of the class seemed to hold their breathe for a brief moment in unified disbelief. 

This shock may seem strange, but in Venezuela, pirated copies of movies are the norm. In fact, it is much more common to find a movie in its pirated form than to ever get your hands on the original version. 

You will find pirated versions sold in stores, just as you would find the original version in a store in the States. Though one girl pointed out, that buying the pirated version in a store is preferable to the street corner because you can return the DVD if it does not work.

So while my trust of the man selling DVDs on a street corner may seem strange, in another part of the world…. distrust might seem stranger.

In my next post, I hope to talk about driving in Caracas. Another subject, where rules seem almost made to be broken.

While shopping at the supermarket in Venezuela...

It was today while watching my Ata (grandmother) shop at the supermarket that I finally understood. Never again would I criticize my mother for the way she hoarded food (or really any other goods) at our house.

It was experience that had taught my mother to be this way. It was the everyday scarcity of food and basic goods that Venezuela and its people faced.

My grandmother stockpiled the things she could find, while shaking her head and saying "Es que ahora en este pais, no se consigue" towards the items that were no longer sold or had already run out.
In this country, you can't find anything.

No se consigue. How many times had I heard that phrase since I arrived 4 days ago?
It must have been close to a hundred by now.

When they had the extra large version of some item, for example laundry detergent or powdered milk, my grandmother quickly snatched it. Her rational… "Después no se consigue."
Later when we need it, we won't be able to find it.

Life had taught my grandmother, just as it had taught my mother, to save and stock up for the days when food was hard to find.
In Venezuela, it happens often and in recent years, that scarcity seems more pervasive than ever before.

In moving to the United States, a country where shortages of any good are virtually unheard of, it's hard  for my mother to shift a mentality that has been molded and learned over decades.

Save, stock pile, and conserve.
Porque después… no se consigue.

A picture of the front of El País newspaper today in Caracas.
The yellow portion across PAÍS reads "8 page edition due to the paper crisis."

A fascist uprising in Sevilla?

Since arriving in Sevilla…
A specific symbol has stood out. A certain reappearing word written on park benches and building walls.
Can you guess what it is? I'd be willing to bet that you won't.


The swastika.

"Nazi"


I felt confused the first time I saw a swastika drawn small on a park bench. I thought I was somehow looking at it wrong. I must have been getting my symbols mixed up.

But then there was a circle with a line drawn over it in a different color. Someone had come later to change its original intention.

There was no mistaking what I had seen - a swastika, an ancient and once benign symbol, that will forever bring to mind the atrocities of WWII after its adoption as an emblem by the Nazi Party during that time.

Swastika and Nazi graffiti in Sevilla is not nearly so pervasive as I make it seem, but the symbol and the word are written often enough to be noticed.

There is however a hopeful counterbalance to this.

Every time I have seen a swastika drawn, an unknown hero has drawn a "no symbol" over it.
Every time I have seen "Nazi" written, a "no" has been written above it.

Seen on the side of a building close to my house.

You are probably wondering the same things I was at this point...
What are these Nazi writings about? Are there Nazis today living in Sevilla, Spain?

I do not have a perfect answer but this past weekend I got closer to uncovering the truth.


Saturday evening, my roommate (Gabby) and I walked to the center of the city to meet our friend Josema. Josema was running late and called to apologize, saying that he could not get through one of the streets because of all the protesters.

We had no clue what he was talking about because we had not seen any protestors on our way over. Once Josema arrived, we asked him to explain, and instead, he showed us.

Just around the corner we saw a group of about 60 people visibly upset. They were chanting something over and over.

In front of the group there were policemen dressed to the nines in combat gear. More police continued to arrive and further up ahead seemed to be a separate crowd. The second group was still too far away for me to see clearly.

As I continued listening to the closest group's chants, their words became clearer.

FUERA FASCISTAS DE NUESTRA CALLE!
FASCISTS GET OUT OF OUR STREET!

I realized the crowd further ahead was not just any crowd, they were fascists.
And the police were readying themselves to break up a possible battle.

The atmosphere was picking up life. If the scene had been chaotic before, it was now frenzied. A highly trafficked tourist area had been taken over by two groups with polar opposite ideology. Neither willing to back down.

Spectators lined the now blocked off road and I had to get closer to the action.

I made my way through the crowds to see exactly who these fascists were and why they had manifested.

There were about 150 students to this group. That seems like a lot, but it's really very small in comparison to the hundreds of non-fascist students/teachers/families who marched a few days earlier.

The fascists' chants rang loud and clear. "Resignation, minister of education!"  "Dimisión, ministerio de educación!"

Their signs read "For Public Education," "Por La Educación Pública."

This group was also upset about the budget cuts to education. They were simply protesting 2 days after the rest of the country had.

They call themselves La Repuesta Estudiantil which translates as The Student Response.

Josema explained that La Repuesta Estudiantil  did not protest at the same time as the rest of the country because the other protestors would have turned on La Repuesta Estudiantil  for being fascist. Conflicts between the two groups had occurred before.

It is an odd situation since both groups are seemingly fighting for the same cause.

To understand this phenomenon, you need to understand Spain's history.
Spain lived under the repression of a fascist dictator for almost 40 years. General Francisco Franco ruled Spain from 1939 until his death in 1975. Today, almost 40 years later, memories from that period are still fresh and many wounds remain unhealed.

While most Spaniards adamantly reject the notion of fascism retaking its old central role, some outlying factions whisper for a return to Franco's Spain.

It's not hard to see why the majority becomes so agitated at the slightest mention of fascism in Spain, let alone at a manifestation of their presence.

Now, I'm going to ask you to scroll back up and take a closer look at the pictures of La Repuesta Estudiantil. 

What do you notice about the faces in the crowd?

The faces are almost exclusively those of young men.
It's even in their name - The Student Response.
They appeal to students, to the youth... and that is very frightening.

Spain is enduring a severe economic crisis, with youth unemployment reaching a record 56.1% in August this past year. (source)

My hope is that youth who are searching for something to believe in, or even just looking for something to do, will not be tricked into joining groups like this. Groups that hide behind a facade of virtuous ideals.

La Repuesta Estudiantil may look very attractive to someone who does not know any better.

And according to La Repuesta Estudiantil's website (http://www.respuestaestudiantil.org), their movement is growing. Referring to last Saturday they reported that several young people who saw their demonstration and heard their slogans joined their group in protest and wanted to learn more about the group's motives and mission.

"Varios jóvenes que vieron nuestra manifestación y oyeron nuestras consignas se unieron, muy interesados por los motivos y la puesta en escena de la misma." (source)

The situation is eerily similar to how the Nazis gained power in Germany. And while, I did not find the exact source of all the Nazi graffiti in Sevilla, I witnessed the battle incarnate between the forces of fascism and antifascism at work.



As a reflection, I want to say something to the effect that the whole experience has been eye-opening. And even though this is true, I think it has been more than that. It has expanded my understanding of the world and served to fuel my infinite curiosity.

I hope in reading this blog post, I may have been able to share a little bit of that feeling with you.

And now, I'd love to hear from you all about any experiences that have done this for you.

:)

Until next time,
& to many more adventures,

xx
Gaby

A protest in pictures... "Huelga General Educativa"

Throughout Spain yesterday, October 24, 2013, students and teachers alike left classrooms empty, taking to the streets as protestors.

Activists were responding to a controversial law that cut government spending on education and introduced several reforms to the Spanish educational system. 

The Ley Oragánica para la Mejora de la Calidad Educativa (Lomce), better know as "Wert's law," was introduced by Spain's Minister of Education, Culture, and Sport - José Ignacio Wert.

The law was then ratified by Spain's Congress of Deputies, controlled by the right-winged Popular Party (PP), in May of last year.

Protestors yesterday chanted "Que no queremos pagar su deuda con la salud y la educación!"

"We don't want to pay off your debt with health and education!"

Spain is (and has been) facing a serious economic crisis and Wert's cuts to funding for education as well as health care is in response to Spain's precarious financial situation.

The following are pictures I took in Sevilla, Spain.

The week before the strike. Outside Universidad Pablo de Olavide.
Huelga General Educativa "Educational General Strike"

EDUCATIONAL GENERAL STRIKE OCT 24
Demonstration (Rally) at 6:00 P..M. Parlamento - Plaza España 

Thursday, October 24, at 6:30 P.M.

Los jóvenes.
The youth. 

Así como los mayores. 

"En Defensa De Una Universidad Publica. No Al Recorte."
"In Defense of a Public University. Say No to Budget Cuts."

"Wert-e a la mierda."  a play on the spanish phrase "Vete a la mierda" which literally means go to shit, but better translated is closer to our "Go to hell!"
....."Go to hell Wert!"

"Fuera Fascistas De Nuestras Clases"
"Get out of our classrooms fascists!"

The green and white of Andalusia's flag can be seen everywhere in this picture.
 Luckily for these marchers in Sevilla,
green has been the chosen color for protestors against education cuts across the country.

All photos were taken on my iPhone, so forgive me for the quality!


Also, I thought I should mention that I know this post is different from most that I've done but I didn't feel like I could rightfully give my opinion on a subject I still know very little about.

I will say however that I am in full support of any group exercising their right to assemble and I'm so glad I was there to witness a little bit of Spain's ongoing history.

Until next time
& to many more adventures,

Gaby

"Los ricos, los viejos o los extranjeros"

Bullfighting.

I've heard over and over since I've been in Spain what an important event this is culturally for the Spanish.
Bullfighting is ingrained in Spanish culture... a stereotype emitted just as frequently as the importance of flamenco, and tapas.

The problem with this theory is that from what I have seen, bullfighting is not nearly so important to the Spanish culturally as we think. The Spanish themselves will say how important it is to Spain culturally, as if this were a phrase they practiced reciting since elementary school, but actions speak louder than words.

When asked about bullfighting, the stock answer I have gotten from Spaniards is almost always the same... "I went one time but never after that." They then typically make a hesitant face and shrug their shoulders saying, "It's really not for me."

So then, if most Spaniards I have talked to have only gone to a bullfight once in their life, how is this "cultural event" able to survive? And maybe a more poignant question – Is bullfighting even still relevant to Spanish culture?

First.
How is this practice able to survive?
I've gotten varied answers from different people.
A professor of mine proclaimed the cultural importance of bullfighting to Spain in class, but then he was quick to say that he had only ever gone to one event in his life. He said the one time he went the vast majority of the people at the spectacle were tourists all there taking photos.
I asked him why bullfighting was considered of such cultural importance if those actually participating in and patronizing the event were not Spanish.

He sat there and thought for a bit but then responded that the truth was bullfighting was probably on its way out. The youth, and he pointed to us in the class, are not very interested in it, and more and more the practice is on the decline. For example, he said, bullfighting is banned in Catalonia and Barcelona.

A girl in class spoke up and said that one of her Spanish friends told her that only "los ricos, los viejos, o los extranjeros" ("the rich, the old or the foreigners") go to bullfights.

"Los extranjeros"
This confirms a sad reality I had already seen on my own. Tourists in Spain believe that to have really experienced Spanish culture before leaving Spain they have to go to a bullfight. A phrase I’ve heard a disappointing number of times reiterates the sentiment: "How can I say I studied abroad for 4 months in Spain, and never saw a bullfight?"

The truth is, there really is this invisible but tangible pull to see a bullfight in Spain. I too have felt the attraction though I’ve promised myself I’ll never succumb to it. I think it’s mainly curiosity but there is also this strong association foreigners attach to Spain with bullfighting, so that if you don’t see one you feel as if you are missing out on something.

I'm here to tell you...you are not missing out on anything. There are so many more worthy and beautiful things that are much more representative of Spanish culture to be spending your time on.

So what about "Los viejos" and "Los ricos"?
When talking with my host mom, Loli, she confirmed there was definitely a bigger audience for bullfighting with the older crowds. And it sounds like its specifically older men.
As for the rich, I can't say definitively from any of my own personal experiences but bullfighting is an expensive sport, so it also makes sense to me that it would also draw a wealthier crowd.

So at this point, you may be wondering why I'm making such a big hullabaloo about bullfighting, or what exactly bullfighting is....
and if you have never looked into what really happens at a bullfight, I would highly recommend taking the time to look at these two websites:

http://www.stopbullfighting.org.uk/facts.htm
&
http://www.bullfightingfreeeurope.org

“The bull has wet newspapers stuffed into his ears; vaseline is rubbed into his eyes to blur his vision; cotton is stuffed up his nostrils to cut off his respiration and a needle is stuck into his genitals… He is kept in a dark box for a couple of days before he faces the ring: the purpose of this is to disorientate him.” (StopBullFighting.Org) *a quote regarding the bull's pre-fight treatment*


Bullfighting kills an animal for show.
That might be fairly obvious to some of you but I know others may have never realized the bull is actually killed in a bullfight.

As naive as it sounds, before my first time in Spain, I never knew the bull was killed in a bullfight. In fact, until earlier this afternoon, I didn’t know that the bulls from the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona actually got killed after their run too.

The images we are shown when we are younger, if any of bullfighting, are filled with pretty colored flags and movements that almost look like a dance, it would be odd to immediately equate that with death. But death for the bull it is. And there's really no "fight" about it, because it is death for the bull every time.

A logical question to be asking now would be, "How is bullfighting different than killing any other animal we eat for food?"
I would argue that the answer is not in the result; rather it is in the intention -
One act kills with the intent to provide nourishment as food, while the other act kills with the intent to provide entertainment.

How anyone can derive pleasure from an other creature's pain is beyond me, and it's part of the reason I've taken such a strong stance against this practice. As an animal, the bull has absolutely no say in what's happening to him, he has no option left but to fight the unfair fight for his life against the matador.

So, is bullfighting still relevant to Spanish culture?
My answer has to be no. Thankfully, there seems to be little interest in the practice among most Spanish nowadays. But tourists retain the misconception that there is and so continue to patronize the sport.

If you come to Spain enjoy...
the calmer pace of life,
the mid-day siestas,
the balance between work and play,
musicians on the street,
the tapas with friends late at night before spending the rest of the night with them in the city,
if you're in Andalusia go see a flamenco espectáculo (sooo worth it!),
walk EVERYWHERE,
laugh until your stomach hurts and your eyes are lined with tears,
then look around at where you are and smile because you are there....

But don't be tricked into going to a bullfight to find spanish "culture."

You'll find what I argue is a more authentic and beautiful spanish culture, just about everywhere else.

I've given a whole lot of my opinion on this blog post, so don't let me be the only one gabbing, please let me know your own thoughts!!

To new experiences and many thoughts,
xx
Gaby