One of my former choir conductors, with whom I only had the pleasure of working with for one weekend but whose words I will never forget, was struggling to produce the dynamic contrast he was looking for from the choir during rehearsal one day. He told us that we had mastered singing at a regular volume, and that we were able to maintain a slightly louder volume as well as one that was slightly quieter, but that real music was not created within the boundaries of that comfort zone. We were trying to dial up and down the volume from within our voice box, but he told us that that is not where music lives. We weren’t finding the highs, and we weren’t feeling the lows.
The Spanish culture encourages you to find your highest of highs, even if it means sometimes crashing to your lowest of lows. If you hit a lower low, it lets you feel it, but there is too much vibrancy all around you to stay down for long. I am finding daily life to be bigger and more open than that of my life back home, and I want to experience the freedom and vitality that I see all around me.
Although it is difficult to understand and be welcomed into the culture as a newcomer, I have been assured that I will find my way in. I was speaking with a local Spanish student earlier about the some of the coldness I have felt upon trying to break into the Spanish culture, and she told me not to worry –that the doors would soon open. I told her that I can see why Northern Spain has been given the reputation of being colder than the South, but she told me that the Northerners are only reluctant to open the door to newcomers in the beginning, because they let you find your own way and test the waters on your own first before they let you in. Once you’re in, the door closes behind you and you are safe: a part of the community.
That being said, I am slowly warming up to the people here as they warm up to me. They generally refuse to shake my hand, constantly reminding me, “We kiss each other here,” followed by, “You must be American.” Handshakes are beginning to feel very forced and unnatural. Things that are seeming more natural every day include: eating a donut for breakfast that you dip in to a mug full of pure melted chocolate (and when you finish the donut, you just drink the chocolate straight out of the mug…how are the girls so skinny here again????), swallowing the tiny bones of fish during lunch (they are plentiful and unavoidable), and eating eggs for dinner. I am not even getting that out of breath when I climb the monstrous hill that leads from the university to the dorm anymore! While on my run a couple days ago, though, one particular caballero could tell that I needed some encouragement, so he clapped for me as I sprinted up the last leg of the climb. ¡Gracias, señor! If not for your help, I would have passed out. However, upon reaching the lobby of my dorm, the receptionist thought I might need medical attention, as my face had turned an alarming shade of purple.
Despite the progress made with community overall, us USC kids have unfortunately encountered one sure-fire way to be kicked out of said community instantly: being caught using a USC umbrella. The colors of our university are the same as the Spanish flag: red and yellow. You would think that that might help you blend in to the surroundings. But, make no mistake, we are in Basque territory. Our friend Julián learned the hard way that the Spanish colors do not go over well here in the Basque country, when someone came over to him while he was using his umbrella and told him, “Mejor te mojes,” meaning, “It’s better that you just get wet.”
Upon this realization, I decided to stick to my black umbrella and look for the things that really make this city light up (as the Sun often does not –the rainy season is no joke). One aspect of the city’s culture of which I am growing increasingly aware, most likely because I have grown up in the States where being young is viewed as being beautiful and being old is viewed as being somewhat useless, is that the elderly members of community do not stop living their full lives simply because they have aged. I am so inspired by all of the older couples power-walking hand in hand by the river, laughing late into the night at the cafes, or even dancing in full swing at the bars during the early morning hours. All ages celebrate life. I guess the glitz of Hollywood did get to me a little back in the States…I hope to eventually stop viewing my 30th birthday as the end of time.
The Spanish community and all its vibrancy were in full force Saturday night when I went to a Maná concert with my friends Cathy and Aisha at the Bilbao Exhibition Centre. Maná is a Mexican rock band that I have listened to and loved for years. I have been to a decent number of concerts, from Britney Spears to Bob Dylan and everything in between, and never in my life have I experienced so much positive energy in one arena. Every member of the audience was singing along, dancing, waving their hands in the air and screaming in excitement. Cathy, nuestra Mexicanita, could not control herself any time the band gave a shout-out to Mexico, but the entire audience was truly appreciative of the music, and the electricity of the group did not disappoint. Laura, mi hermana, I did a little dance dedicated to you during “Me Vale.”
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| Cathy, Aisha and I at the BEC (Photo courtesy of Cathy) |
I am beginning to understand the green, hilly landscape of Bibao a little more each day. I am blogging today from my new favorite park (there are many here to choose from) a few minutes away from the university, filled with kids playing by the fountain and watching the ducks float by, couples walking along the winding paths, and friends gathering under the trees. Everything is green. I am also getting used to the sun’s rising later than I am accustomed to, and decided to capitalize on this fact by taking a run before my 9:00 AM class, while it was still quite dark outside. I started my run around 7:15, when la ría was lit by street lamps and the fading light of the moon, and by the time I finished, the sun had risen and I was completely ready for my day. I felt like I had woken up with the city. It was beautiful.
All in all, miraculously, this week had more successes than horrendous mistakes. Minor victories include keeping a tight hold on my second jar of peanut butter (my first jar was stolen from the fridge down my hallway within twenty-four hours of purchase…I think Spanish girls I live with knew that the American girl put it there) and booking a trip to Barcelona for the second weekend in October. One major highlight was when one of our program advisors, Jon Franco, took all of the Southern Californian kids to get some much needed Mexican food, where we all drenched every bite of our lunch in hot sauce (Spain is not big on spicy foods) and fully enjoyed the margaritas he insisted on buying us before full-on sprinting to our afternoon classes. The margaritas were much stronger than we anticipated, and we stayed much longer than we should have at the restaurant, licking the hot sauce off our fingers. However, the biggest victory of the week came when Kelsey and I were busy getting lost downtown when we stumbled upon a restaurant called, “Foster’s Hollywood.” AMERICAN FOOD. I have never screamed so loud in my life. We ran to our booth, absolutely giddy, taking an hour to decide to what to order and vowing to return with all the American students next week. Yes, I want to experience everything Spain has to offer, but on that particular day I just could not stomach the idea of fish bones stabbing my throat as I swallowed my lunch. That chicken caesar sandwich was definitely a high point of the week.
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| FIGHT ON! USC kids at El Charro Loco (Photo courtesy of Jane) |
That music conductor from high school told us that we needed to sing in the same way we have to life. He told us that he lived his life from one to ten. When he was high, he was the happiest man on Earth. When he was low, he hurt like hell. He let himself experience every emotion and sensation in between. He let himself feel everything. He told us we could continue singing, and continue living, between a four and a six, because it was comfortable there. We would sound fine. Good, even. But he asked us to let go and sing with everything that was inside of us, everything from one to ten, and see where the music would take us. I’ll keep you updated as dare myself not to be afraid to take chances and live life every day to its fullest here in Spain. Besitos.
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| Amigos hanging out in the plaza (Photo courtesy of Amarilis) |
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