Thursday, July 12, 2012
Marta's Invisible Friend Present
She got a choreographed Backstreet Boys Dance by 4 Spaniards and an Australian. It, of course, included a small bit of stripping.
Typical Spanish Ladies
Marta, the girl on the left, insisted I use that title. Please read it in a thick and very quick accent.
(From left to right: Marta, Blanca, Pilar)
(From left to right: Marta, Blanca, Pilar)
Weather
The Spaniards keep complaining about how hot it is up here. I've been quite comfortable and wondered how much I apparently acclimated in DC. Then i check the temperature and am surprised to find that it is actually pretty close to perfect.
I mentioned it to one of the Spaniards, asking for confirmation that it is certainly warmer than this in Madrid.
"Sure, sure," she said. "But Spaniards, we have to complain about the weather you know."
Ah, yes, of course!
I mentioned it to one of the Spaniards, asking for confirmation that it is certainly warmer than this in Madrid.
"Sure, sure," she said. "But Spaniards, we have to complain about the weather you know."
Ah, yes, of course!
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
My Schedule/Excuse
I have composed so many blog entries in my head and I have several photos to organize, but they keep us hopping! Here's the schedule:
8:15- Wake up call (I get up earlier since I share a bathroom)
9:00- Breakfast
10:00-2:00- 1:1/ telephone/ conference/ presentation sessions
2:00- Lunch
3:30-5:00- Siesta
5:00- Group Activity
6:00-8:00- 1:1/ et cetera
8:00- Group Meeting (skits, etc)
9:00- Dinner
10:30- Queimada/Dance Party/Pub Trivia/et cetera
~12:30-2:00- Bed
Granted, I could blog during siesta time, but I've also been doing sink laundry, apartment flood stuff, and making a present for my "invisible friend" (like Secret Santas).
Oy! At this rate, I will certainly need a vacation from this vacation! :)
8:15- Wake up call (I get up earlier since I share a bathroom)
9:00- Breakfast
10:00-2:00- 1:1/ telephone/ conference/ presentation sessions
2:00- Lunch
3:30-5:00- Siesta
5:00- Group Activity
6:00-8:00- 1:1/ et cetera
8:00- Group Meeting (skits, etc)
9:00- Dinner
10:30- Queimada/Dance Party/Pub Trivia/et cetera
~12:30-2:00- Bed
Granted, I could blog during siesta time, but I've also been doing sink laundry, apartment flood stuff, and making a present for my "invisible friend" (like Secret Santas).
Oy! At this rate, I will certainly need a vacation from this vacation! :)
A Sample 1:1
We do five 50-minute 1:1 sessions a day. My third one today was with Pilar. We discussed animal rights, kindred spirits, travel, her home town, education traditions between cultures (they call all of their teachers by their first names!) while walking through the nearby forest. We also ran into the hotel dog, Satan, and he took quite a liking to Pilar.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Excursion to Cazorla - The Views
(The app I use to post always changes the photo order, so I won't try to explain much here. Nearby village, small tour, tapas at a bar, lovely weather.)
Monday, July 09, 2012
Sunday, July 08, 2012
And After
What do adults do after drinking flaming 90 proof alcohol?
Lay in the parking lot to see the stars, of course.
Lay in the parking lot to see the stars, of course.
Telling Tales Out of School
This particular PI group has quite a few repeaters, both Anglo and Spanish. As such, the MC, Christine, told the Anglos that if any of us could assist with providing entertainment, it would be much appreciated. "They've heard all of my stories and jokes!" she exclaimed as she started making the rounds among us Anglos on the bus ride here to see what each of us could offer.
When she came to me, I told her I would be happy to tell some stories, or help with any other entertainment needs. "I teach theatre," I told her, "So I'm used to this sort of thing."
"You teach theater?" she asked, apparently incredulous at her luck. I nodded. She grasped my arm, "You are my new best friend."
She approached me last night at dinner to see if I would help with the skit tonight. As I said, I'm happy to do that sort of thing. I haven't been asked to tell a story yet, but as I watched Christine call on a few other Anglos to tell a story or two last night, I wondered about my own repository. I have my favorite stories, all of which I've tested and told many times in front of many groups of students. But I am looking at my stories from a new perspective here, and I wonder if they will be as entertaining. Sometimes I forget how many cultural assumptions I make.
For example, we were doing an icebreaker activity the first night where we interviewed another person and then introduced him/her to the group. One of the questions we had to ask was "If you had a time machine, what time period in history would you go back to?"
One of the Spaniards stood up to introduce his Anglo. "If she had a time machine," he said, "she would go back to the time of Queen Elizabeth the First."
Like a chorus middle-schoolers when they hear the loudspeaker call someone down to the principal's office, the Spaniards all called, "Ohhhh!" The speaker winked at them from over his notes and said, "Yes, I think this is because she must want to see the fight with Spain."
Their reaction caught me off-guard. Sure, everyone knows QEI, but her name doesn't usually evoke cat-calls in America.
And so I've been thinking over my stories, trying to see them from the Spanish perspective. Are Turkish Baths exotic here? Does the term "Lead Poisoning" get lost in translation? I know they have KFCs in Spain, but would they get the joke about "Extra Crispy and Original Recipe"? The monkey story will probably do well, mostly because I shape the story around my own behavior and personality, but would young Spanish adults get the video game references that I know young American adults get?
It is an interesting exercise, testing my stories for cultural assumptions and international appeal, and I am curious to test some of them out.
When she came to me, I told her I would be happy to tell some stories, or help with any other entertainment needs. "I teach theatre," I told her, "So I'm used to this sort of thing."
"You teach theater?" she asked, apparently incredulous at her luck. I nodded. She grasped my arm, "You are my new best friend."
She approached me last night at dinner to see if I would help with the skit tonight. As I said, I'm happy to do that sort of thing. I haven't been asked to tell a story yet, but as I watched Christine call on a few other Anglos to tell a story or two last night, I wondered about my own repository. I have my favorite stories, all of which I've tested and told many times in front of many groups of students. But I am looking at my stories from a new perspective here, and I wonder if they will be as entertaining. Sometimes I forget how many cultural assumptions I make.
For example, we were doing an icebreaker activity the first night where we interviewed another person and then introduced him/her to the group. One of the questions we had to ask was "If you had a time machine, what time period in history would you go back to?"
One of the Spaniards stood up to introduce his Anglo. "If she had a time machine," he said, "she would go back to the time of Queen Elizabeth the First."
Like a chorus middle-schoolers when they hear the loudspeaker call someone down to the principal's office, the Spaniards all called, "Ohhhh!" The speaker winked at them from over his notes and said, "Yes, I think this is because she must want to see the fight with Spain."
Their reaction caught me off-guard. Sure, everyone knows QEI, but her name doesn't usually evoke cat-calls in America.
And so I've been thinking over my stories, trying to see them from the Spanish perspective. Are Turkish Baths exotic here? Does the term "Lead Poisoning" get lost in translation? I know they have KFCs in Spain, but would they get the joke about "Extra Crispy and Original Recipe"? The monkey story will probably do well, mostly because I shape the story around my own behavior and personality, but would young Spanish adults get the video game references that I know young American adults get?
It is an interesting exercise, testing my stories for cultural assumptions and international appeal, and I am curious to test some of them out.
Saturday, July 07, 2012
The Hotel
Just a few shots of the hotel, the front-gate fountain, and the deer who hangs out in the shade nearby...
Roommates
The venue for this session of PI is a hotel with two levels of rooms built around an open courtyard. We were assigned the rooms automatically, and I wasn't too surprised to find I would be sharing with another Anglo. We were reassured that although we would be sharing a bathroom, we each had our own room. Samantha and I were dismayed, though, to find that the door opened directly into one of the bedrooms, and the access to the second bedroom was only by walking through the first. I didn't know which would be worse - to have to cross through someone else's bedroom anytime you wanted to come or go, or to have someone crossing through your bedroom. Oy.
After a few moments of polite and indecisive deliberation, I told Sam I would go ask Nadia and Christine, the PI-ers in charge, whether there were any other room options. Sam seemed nervous to ask. "They worst they can do is tell us we can't switch," I pointed out as I headed out the door.
We found Nadia and Christine in the midst of trying to get everyone into their proper rooms, so we took seats in the lobby to wait our turn. As we waited another girl, Kelly, came in looking upset. "They put me in a room with a boy!" she whispered, agitated.
When Nadia came over to deal with us complainers, we took our turns. Nadia declared Kelly's situation more dire - Kelly was obviously upset about the pairing. "I don't have any brothers and I've never had a male roommate before!" she said. "It's just too uncomfortable,."
"Yes," Nadia said, "but you have separate bedroom doors, right? So you are only sharing a bathroom."
"Yes, but..." Kelly trailed off, her misery fighting against her courtesy.
I smelled an opportunity. I had already gathered from the conversations around us that the hotel was full with our group, and I also knew that having my own private bedroom was important to my enjoyment of the week.
'I can trade with you," I offered Kelly. "I don't mind sharing a bathroom with a boy."
"Really?" Kelly and Nadia both asked, Kelly relieved and Nadia with disbelief.
"Sure!"
And that is how I wound up roommates with a guy named Jason. :)
After a few moments of polite and indecisive deliberation, I told Sam I would go ask Nadia and Christine, the PI-ers in charge, whether there were any other room options. Sam seemed nervous to ask. "They worst they can do is tell us we can't switch," I pointed out as I headed out the door.
We found Nadia and Christine in the midst of trying to get everyone into their proper rooms, so we took seats in the lobby to wait our turn. As we waited another girl, Kelly, came in looking upset. "They put me in a room with a boy!" she whispered, agitated.
When Nadia came over to deal with us complainers, we took our turns. Nadia declared Kelly's situation more dire - Kelly was obviously upset about the pairing. "I don't have any brothers and I've never had a male roommate before!" she said. "It's just too uncomfortable,."
"Yes," Nadia said, "but you have separate bedroom doors, right? So you are only sharing a bathroom."
"Yes, but..." Kelly trailed off, her misery fighting against her courtesy.
I smelled an opportunity. I had already gathered from the conversations around us that the hotel was full with our group, and I also knew that having my own private bedroom was important to my enjoyment of the week.
'I can trade with you," I offered Kelly. "I don't mind sharing a bathroom with a boy."
"Really?" Kelly and Nadia both asked, Kelly relieved and Nadia with disbelief.
"Sure!"
And that is how I wound up roommates with a guy named Jason. :)
Friday, July 06, 2012
Arrival at PI
I fell asleep very quickly last night, thanks in part to the black-out curtains in the hotel room, but woke suddenly and completely up at about 11:30. When I fell back asleep again I was thoroughly out until the wake-up call at 6:00.
I dressed for the day, ate the breakfast I had purchased the night before, and headed to the rendezvous point for Pueblo Ingles.
One of the smart aspects of this program is their use of locations. Because they want the Spaniards to be fully immersed for the week, PI partners with resorts that are as remote as possible. Thus it was a six-hour bus ride(made a bit longer by road construction) to our destination in the mountains of the southern Jaen province for the week.
The countryside was that irresistible mix of landscapes that seem so familiar and yet are just not the same as home. Here the rocky farmland with hills and quasi-mountains (Rockies snobbery ahoy!) reminded me so much of the parts of Colorado and southern Utah I drive through, and yet the colors were not quite right. The fields are more of a hazy yellow than the brilliant gold and green at home, and as we climbed in altitude and the vegetation changed to olive groves of khaki patch-work ground and sage-green polka-dot rows of such irregular-shaped trees, I realized that the colors of paintings like this are exactly right.
The drive had enough narrow switchbacks that Christine, the MC, passed out Dramamine as if it were candy and the driver received much applause as he squeezed the bus us through several perilous positions between trucks in the other lane and the cliff's edge. We arrived, though, at a lovely-looking hotel-resort and immediately headed into the restaurant for a multi-course lunch.
It's siesta time now, but I spent my time sorting out some rooming issues, unpacking, and, of course, blogging. I need to head out to activities soon, so I shall sign off for now and bring you more details later.
I dressed for the day, ate the breakfast I had purchased the night before, and headed to the rendezvous point for Pueblo Ingles.
One of the smart aspects of this program is their use of locations. Because they want the Spaniards to be fully immersed for the week, PI partners with resorts that are as remote as possible. Thus it was a six-hour bus ride(made a bit longer by road construction) to our destination in the mountains of the southern Jaen province for the week.
The countryside was that irresistible mix of landscapes that seem so familiar and yet are just not the same as home. Here the rocky farmland with hills and quasi-mountains (Rockies snobbery ahoy!) reminded me so much of the parts of Colorado and southern Utah I drive through, and yet the colors were not quite right. The fields are more of a hazy yellow than the brilliant gold and green at home, and as we climbed in altitude and the vegetation changed to olive groves of khaki patch-work ground and sage-green polka-dot rows of such irregular-shaped trees, I realized that the colors of paintings like this are exactly right.
The drive had enough narrow switchbacks that Christine, the MC, passed out Dramamine as if it were candy and the driver received much applause as he squeezed the bus us through several perilous positions between trucks in the other lane and the cliff's edge. We arrived, though, at a lovely-looking hotel-resort and immediately headed into the restaurant for a multi-course lunch.
It's siesta time now, but I spent my time sorting out some rooming issues, unpacking, and, of course, blogging. I need to head out to activities soon, so I shall sign off for now and bring you more details later.
Thursday, July 05, 2012
Bienvenidos!
Thanks to the empty seat next to me (hurrah for flying on a major holiday!), I actually kinda slept on the flight last night! Of course, the sleeping meds probably helped as well. Plus the lack of sleep the night before. Yay for exhaustion!
It was fitful, but it was enough sleep that I actually felt somewhat coherent when we rolled into MAD a little before noon. I collected my bag (yay!), went through customs, and trekked alllllll the way across the airport to the Metro (seriously - how far away could the Metro be and yet still be in the same building? It's like the opposite of JFK's set-up), and found my hotel with only a little help from my iPhone's compass (as I said, it was about noon, so I couldn't rely on my wilderness skills).
Oh, man. The hotel.
So, the last time I stayed in Madrid, I stayed in a hostel. It was perfectly fine - brightly painted bunk beds, 10 to a mixed-gender room, bathrooms down the hall, open windows for a breeze from the street below, lots of hippies, you know - typical hostel.This time my mom offered to use some of her Marriott points to put me up.Here's my room:
Between the real bed, the air conditioning (currently set to 20 degrees), the free wifi (hello Platinum Member Perks!), or the bathroom all to myself, I may never be able to go back to a hostel again.
Fortunately, Jason and I seem to have moved up into the next tier of accommodations, since we barely glanced at the 1-Euro-symbol listings in the guide books. I'm actually pretty excited for all of the places we're staying on this trip, which I think sets us up well for an enjoyable trip overall, creatures of certain comforts that we are.
After a shower and a change of clothes I headed out to the Welcome Reception for Pueblo Ingles. I arrived about 90 minutes late (the shower was well worth it), just missing lunch but just in time for the general introduction to the program and the flamenco demonstration:
The reception was for three different PI programs all happening at the same time this week, so it was hard to get a good sense of my particular group. Overall it seems to be an older crowd than last time, but I like the looks of a lot of them.
Adam, the PI person giving us the rundown, mentioned that this group of Spaniards will be interesting - apparently there are 10 or so grad students from Madrid doing this program as part of their Master's study; and with the economy such as it is, businesses are really only sending their top people to these kinds of programs. Adam pointed out that these business-people may be even more intimidated than others because they are so accustomed to being in situations where they are in control and where they are very good at what they do. Spending a week immersed in a foreign language, then, makes them feel veery inadequate.
We got a rundown of the daily schedule, which sounds like it hasn't changed from when I did this program before. Adam noted that the meals may sound late in the day to us (being served at 9, 2, and 9), but they will seem quite early to the Spaniards. It's a cultural compromise.
Speaking of meals, by the time the reception wrapped up and we bade each other farewell until the morning, I was starving. I hadn't eaten since dinner the night before, and I'm not sure how many hours ago that was. I started walking towards Sol, keeping an eye out for possible meals.The weather was really nice - not too warm and with a good breeze to keep cool. The streets were busy, but not crowded, and I enjoyed wandering around a city with no particular agenda. I turned a corner and saw this view:
which, as such views do, suddenly reminded me that I was in Europe.
As I wandered, though, I started to fall into my bad habits where I get so hungry that I lose my appetite. I caught myself thinking that I could just skip eating altogether and get something in the morning, and immediately put a stop to that by 1) drinking some water and 2) going into the first place I passed that looked decent and getting a salad. It was nothing remarkable, but I was glad for it.
My blood sugar and hydration levels moving back towards normal, I continued wandering. I found a grocery store and picked up some bread and yogurt for breakfast tomorrow, then wandered some more. About the time I started to get a little hungry again, I picked up a falafel pita "take away" and headed back to the hotel. I need to meet the bus early tomorrow morning, so it's early to bed tonight for what I hope will be the first solid and thorough night's sleep in a while.
P.S. Traveling again means using my portable keyboard again, which means the occasional duplicate letter (the keys are a bit sensitive). I apologize in advance for the misspellings or formatting issues in the weeks to come!
It was fitful, but it was enough sleep that I actually felt somewhat coherent when we rolled into MAD a little before noon. I collected my bag (yay!), went through customs, and trekked alllllll the way across the airport to the Metro (seriously - how far away could the Metro be and yet still be in the same building? It's like the opposite of JFK's set-up), and found my hotel with only a little help from my iPhone's compass (as I said, it was about noon, so I couldn't rely on my wilderness skills).
Oh, man. The hotel.
So, the last time I stayed in Madrid, I stayed in a hostel. It was perfectly fine - brightly painted bunk beds, 10 to a mixed-gender room, bathrooms down the hall, open windows for a breeze from the street below, lots of hippies, you know - typical hostel.This time my mom offered to use some of her Marriott points to put me up.Here's my room:
Between the real bed, the air conditioning (currently set to 20 degrees), the free wifi (hello Platinum Member Perks!), or the bathroom all to myself, I may never be able to go back to a hostel again.
Fortunately, Jason and I seem to have moved up into the next tier of accommodations, since we barely glanced at the 1-Euro-symbol listings in the guide books. I'm actually pretty excited for all of the places we're staying on this trip, which I think sets us up well for an enjoyable trip overall, creatures of certain comforts that we are.
After a shower and a change of clothes I headed out to the Welcome Reception for Pueblo Ingles. I arrived about 90 minutes late (the shower was well worth it), just missing lunch but just in time for the general introduction to the program and the flamenco demonstration:
The reception was for three different PI programs all happening at the same time this week, so it was hard to get a good sense of my particular group. Overall it seems to be an older crowd than last time, but I like the looks of a lot of them.
Adam, the PI person giving us the rundown, mentioned that this group of Spaniards will be interesting - apparently there are 10 or so grad students from Madrid doing this program as part of their Master's study; and with the economy such as it is, businesses are really only sending their top people to these kinds of programs. Adam pointed out that these business-people may be even more intimidated than others because they are so accustomed to being in situations where they are in control and where they are very good at what they do. Spending a week immersed in a foreign language, then, makes them feel veery inadequate.
We got a rundown of the daily schedule, which sounds like it hasn't changed from when I did this program before. Adam noted that the meals may sound late in the day to us (being served at 9, 2, and 9), but they will seem quite early to the Spaniards. It's a cultural compromise.
Speaking of meals, by the time the reception wrapped up and we bade each other farewell until the morning, I was starving. I hadn't eaten since dinner the night before, and I'm not sure how many hours ago that was. I started walking towards Sol, keeping an eye out for possible meals.The weather was really nice - not too warm and with a good breeze to keep cool. The streets were busy, but not crowded, and I enjoyed wandering around a city with no particular agenda. I turned a corner and saw this view:
which, as such views do, suddenly reminded me that I was in Europe.
As I wandered, though, I started to fall into my bad habits where I get so hungry that I lose my appetite. I caught myself thinking that I could just skip eating altogether and get something in the morning, and immediately put a stop to that by 1) drinking some water and 2) going into the first place I passed that looked decent and getting a salad. It was nothing remarkable, but I was glad for it.
My blood sugar and hydration levels moving back towards normal, I continued wandering. I found a grocery store and picked up some bread and yogurt for breakfast tomorrow, then wandered some more. About the time I started to get a little hungry again, I picked up a falafel pita "take away" and headed back to the hotel. I need to meet the bus early tomorrow morning, so it's early to bed tonight for what I hope will be the first solid and thorough night's sleep in a while.
P.S. Traveling again means using my portable keyboard again, which means the occasional duplicate letter (the keys are a bit sensitive). I apologize in advance for the misspellings or formatting issues in the weeks to come!
Wednesday, July 04, 2012
JFK
Flight #1 was accomplished with little incident other than my neighbor inviting me to come visit him on Ghana. He must have meant it since he had to repeat it a few times before I understood - he had a thick accent and I have a hard time hearing people over airplane noises.
I am in hour four of my five-hour New York layover. And thank goodness it was a long one! It turns out that because my flight to Madrid is through one of Delta's sub-companies, Air Europa, I has to go back to the ticketing counter to get my boarding pass. Which was in a different terminal. Which, this being JFK, meant I had to exit the airport, cross a few streets, and take the AirTrain subway to get to the right desk. Then I had to wait an hour for the Air Europa ticketing agents to start work, and then I got to go through security again where the guard was very suspicious of my Jawbone speaker and ran my bag twice without ever making eye contact or acting even somewhat nice.
Hold on, everything's beginning to suck. Let me take a swig of water.
I got an unremarkable dinner on the other side of security, chatted with the parents, and read for a while. I am not especially looking forward to the flight, but I am looking forward to starting Pueblo Ingles and I'm very much looking forward to sleeping in a Marriott tomorrow night. Not a youth hostel! In a real bed! With my own bathroom! Thanks, Parents!
Okay, 40 minutes to go. Guess I'll read some more, or just enjoy the use of my phone while I can. See you on the other side!
I am in hour four of my five-hour New York layover. And thank goodness it was a long one! It turns out that because my flight to Madrid is through one of Delta's sub-companies, Air Europa, I has to go back to the ticketing counter to get my boarding pass. Which was in a different terminal. Which, this being JFK, meant I had to exit the airport, cross a few streets, and take the AirTrain subway to get to the right desk. Then I had to wait an hour for the Air Europa ticketing agents to start work, and then I got to go through security again where the guard was very suspicious of my Jawbone speaker and ran my bag twice without ever making eye contact or acting even somewhat nice.
Hold on, everything's beginning to suck. Let me take a swig of water.
I got an unremarkable dinner on the other side of security, chatted with the parents, and read for a while. I am not especially looking forward to the flight, but I am looking forward to starting Pueblo Ingles and I'm very much looking forward to sleeping in a Marriott tomorrow night. Not a youth hostel! In a real bed! With my own bathroom! Thanks, Parents!
Okay, 40 minutes to go. Guess I'll read some more, or just enjoy the use of my phone while I can. See you on the other side!
Ready
The last two days have been filled with running errands, last minute-shopping, booking hotels and tour tickets and a rental car, researching train/ferry schedules, and packing. Many of these events took longer than necessary because I managed to get incredibly off-course almost every time I drove somewhere. I was using my iPhone's GPS, of course, but I actually managed to overheat it. Mid-drive it suddenly shut down, telling me angrily when I booted it back up that it had to cool down before it would be useable. While it was cooling down I was attempting to drive from Alexandria to Potomac Yard. A bad idea sans-map, since suddenly the surrounding buildings looked familiar. Too familiar. Yup, there in front of me was the IHOP that's next to Jason's apartment building. I had managed to drive myself home instead of waaay over there (points to the right) where I was trying to go.
This all bodes well for navigating a car across coastal Spain, doesn't it? Regardless of my lack of navigation-skills, I am now officially certified to drive in Spain (and a whole lot of other countries too):
We did take advantage of the pseudo-weekend last night by going out to dinner, but since neither of us brought our phones you will just have to take our word for it. We wanted Cafe Rio, but they were still closed due to lack of power so we settled for this hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese place nearby. Jason had taken me there last summer as well, and it was just as tasty as before, if a bit hot inside with the lack of air conditioning.
After a quick run to the grocery store (and a futile search for ice cream), it was back to the apartment to finish packing. My bibliophilia lost to my packing frugalities and I did this:
in order to reduce the guidebooks to this:
I'm still probably taking more than I need to, and I'm sure I will regret not bringing at least one item. But everything fits into my suitcase, backpack, and purse with enough room to squeeze in a spare duffle bag just in case I buy a rug. Or a lantern. Or a poof or three. Or other practical goods like that.
Spain, here I come!
This all bodes well for navigating a car across coastal Spain, doesn't it? Regardless of my lack of navigation-skills, I am now officially certified to drive in Spain (and a whole lot of other countries too):
We did take advantage of the pseudo-weekend last night by going out to dinner, but since neither of us brought our phones you will just have to take our word for it. We wanted Cafe Rio, but they were still closed due to lack of power so we settled for this hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese place nearby. Jason had taken me there last summer as well, and it was just as tasty as before, if a bit hot inside with the lack of air conditioning.
After a quick run to the grocery store (and a futile search for ice cream), it was back to the apartment to finish packing. My bibliophilia lost to my packing frugalities and I did this:
in order to reduce the guidebooks to this:
 |
| (the packet on the left is what goes) |
I'm still probably taking more than I need to, and I'm sure I will regret not bringing at least one item. But everything fits into my suitcase, backpack, and purse with enough room to squeeze in a spare duffle bag just in case I buy a rug. Or a lantern. Or a poof or three. Or other practical goods like that.
Spain, here I come!
Sunday, July 01, 2012
Apocalypse Now!
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! THE SECURITY SYSTEM HAS DETECTED A FIRE IN THE BUILDING! PLEASE EVACUATE THE BUILDING IMMEDIATELY! DO NOT USE THE ELEVATORS! EXIT THE BUILDING IMMEDIATELY USING THE STAIRS! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"
This announcement by a surprisingly friendly-sounding automated man's voice over loudspeakers hurtled me out of deep slumber at 4:20 AM this morning. I heard the door to Jason's room open as he flipped on the lightswitch for the living room. I was startled first by the blinding light and second by the fact that everything was blurry - I couldn't even see Jason standing not ten feet away from me.
"My gosh," I thought, "Smoke! The apartment's filled with smoke!"
And then I recalled that I was going by glasses this weekend instead of contacts. I groped around on the floor next to the couch, found my glasses, and discovered that the room was not, in fact, filled with smoke. It was, however, filled with a few more pulses of the bright, white flashes of emergency lights.
We kicked into high gear. We knew what we needed to do, and evacuate the building immediately wasn't it. There are other necessities! I dashed to my closet to get a bra and some non-pajamas as I listened to the sound of hangers sliding back and forth across the metal bars in Jason's closet. Sure enough, he emerged a moment later dressed far to nattily for 4 AM in navy and white stripes and sandals (perhaps the Gentleman book includes a section on what one wears for an evacuation?). We took turns using the bathroom and gathering the necessities. I grabbed my purse and added to it my iPad, iPhone, a charger, a bottle of water, my passport, and a pack of gum (Gah! Morning breath!) . We stood for a moment in the hallway, scanning the apartment for anything we may have missed, then locked up and headed for the stairs. Yes, taking the time to gather belongings ran contrary to every piece of emergency evacuation training I've received or given, but I regret nothing. It took less than five minutes, and now we were ready for life on the apocalyptic streets among looters and rioters and youths.
Nine stories down we exited onto the street with surprisingly few other evacuees. The emergency doors let us out right next to the main doors, and we saw a few people standing far too casually in the lobby. Where was the panic? Where were the firemen? Where were the flames?
We went back inside. The elderly Asian woman at the front desk called out, "Sorry! No emergency! Someone was smoking in the stairwell."
Well then.
We joined the other evacuees in the elevator back upstairs. It took both of us some time to fall back asleep, thanks to the abrupt wake-up and ensuing adrenaline surge, and getting up for church in the morning was much trickier.
Still, we were grateful for the apartment not burning down last night. Moreover, we were grateful for the apartment being cool. The hot topic at church today was the power outage, and many more people than we had realized were suffering through this heatwave without air conditioning or refrigeration.
The power outage was cause by the adventure of Friday night. We had just turned in for the night when there was a sudden wave of the sound of wind and rain outside. We went out onto the balcony and watched as a hurricane-like storm blew through the neighborhood - thunder cracking, lightning constantly flashing, sheets of rain, and such high winds that we had to shield out eyes from the blowing dirt debris. The trees and street lights and plastic construction sheets whipped all about, and we watched the wind make patterns out of the rain on the pavement while an escaped large silver exercise ball alternately bounced and flew down the street. Within moments we were both soaking wet from the rain blowing sideways onto the balcony, but it was enchanting - we didn't want to stop watching.
The storm abated after about 40 minutes and we turned in for the night. The lights had flickered off for about five minutes, but we slept well in the cool artificial breeze.
We were lucky. In our errand-running this weekend we saw tree after tree blown down or cracked in half by the storm. Some ripped down power lines, some fell onto cars, some crashed into houses. We not only enjoyed full power, we went shopping, two movies, and out to dinner at Southside 815.
Still, thus far this summer my home has been flooded, my homestate is on fire, my current home-city was besieged by a record-breaking heat wave and "one of the most destructive complexes of thunderstorms in memory", and my home-away-from-home was evacuated in the middle of the night.
I expect the locusts to arrive at any moment.
This announcement by a surprisingly friendly-sounding automated man's voice over loudspeakers hurtled me out of deep slumber at 4:20 AM this morning. I heard the door to Jason's room open as he flipped on the lightswitch for the living room. I was startled first by the blinding light and second by the fact that everything was blurry - I couldn't even see Jason standing not ten feet away from me.
"My gosh," I thought, "Smoke! The apartment's filled with smoke!"
And then I recalled that I was going by glasses this weekend instead of contacts. I groped around on the floor next to the couch, found my glasses, and discovered that the room was not, in fact, filled with smoke. It was, however, filled with a few more pulses of the bright, white flashes of emergency lights.
We kicked into high gear. We knew what we needed to do, and evacuate the building immediately wasn't it. There are other necessities! I dashed to my closet to get a bra and some non-pajamas as I listened to the sound of hangers sliding back and forth across the metal bars in Jason's closet. Sure enough, he emerged a moment later dressed far to nattily for 4 AM in navy and white stripes and sandals (perhaps the Gentleman book includes a section on what one wears for an evacuation?). We took turns using the bathroom and gathering the necessities. I grabbed my purse and added to it my iPad, iPhone, a charger, a bottle of water, my passport, and a pack of gum (Gah! Morning breath!) . We stood for a moment in the hallway, scanning the apartment for anything we may have missed, then locked up and headed for the stairs. Yes, taking the time to gather belongings ran contrary to every piece of emergency evacuation training I've received or given, but I regret nothing. It took less than five minutes, and now we were ready for life on the apocalyptic streets among looters and rioters and youths.
Nine stories down we exited onto the street with surprisingly few other evacuees. The emergency doors let us out right next to the main doors, and we saw a few people standing far too casually in the lobby. Where was the panic? Where were the firemen? Where were the flames?
We went back inside. The elderly Asian woman at the front desk called out, "Sorry! No emergency! Someone was smoking in the stairwell."
Well then.
We joined the other evacuees in the elevator back upstairs. It took both of us some time to fall back asleep, thanks to the abrupt wake-up and ensuing adrenaline surge, and getting up for church in the morning was much trickier.
Still, we were grateful for the apartment not burning down last night. Moreover, we were grateful for the apartment being cool. The hot topic at church today was the power outage, and many more people than we had realized were suffering through this heatwave without air conditioning or refrigeration.
The power outage was cause by the adventure of Friday night. We had just turned in for the night when there was a sudden wave of the sound of wind and rain outside. We went out onto the balcony and watched as a hurricane-like storm blew through the neighborhood - thunder cracking, lightning constantly flashing, sheets of rain, and such high winds that we had to shield out eyes from the blowing dirt debris. The trees and street lights and plastic construction sheets whipped all about, and we watched the wind make patterns out of the rain on the pavement while an escaped large silver exercise ball alternately bounced and flew down the street. Within moments we were both soaking wet from the rain blowing sideways onto the balcony, but it was enchanting - we didn't want to stop watching.
The storm abated after about 40 minutes and we turned in for the night. The lights had flickered off for about five minutes, but we slept well in the cool artificial breeze.
We were lucky. In our errand-running this weekend we saw tree after tree blown down or cracked in half by the storm. Some ripped down power lines, some fell onto cars, some crashed into houses. We not only enjoyed full power, we went shopping, two movies, and out to dinner at Southside 815.
Still, thus far this summer my home has been flooded, my homestate is on fire, my current home-city was besieged by a record-breaking heat wave and "one of the most destructive complexes of thunderstorms in memory", and my home-away-from-home was evacuated in the middle of the night.
I expect the locusts to arrive at any moment.
Folklife Day 3
Friday was my last assigned day as a volunteer at the Festival. I was originally slated to "survey work," but when I signed in for the day I told the volunteer managers that the AIDS quilt people had requested my help again (which is true) because I can handsew (which is true), but if they really needed me for the survey instead, of course I would be happy to help with that (which is not true).
They were short-handed; the weather forecast was, well, not conducive to getting people to show up for long stretches of free outdoor labor and many volunteers had not checked in as scheduled. And so I was given a clipboard with two different surveys attached to it (one for attendees who had been there less than two hours, one for over two hours), a pen, and the instructions to try get at least 30 surveys completed by the end of the day.
On one hand, I knew this would be good for me. I have very little experience with salesmanship or marketing or survey work other than being the person approached. As such, I have less empathy and patience for those workers than I should. Thus I figured that spending eight hours gathering information from people in the hot, hot sun would be good for me. On the other hand, there is a reason why I have so little experience in that field - I really do not like doing it.
Still, I slathered on another layer of sunscreen, plopped on my hat, and headed out into the festival to look for people as I gave myself an encouraging pep talk: I can do this! I can do anything! They want 30 surveys, I'll give them 90! I will be the best surveyor they've had yet!
I had gone no more than 30 feet when one of the volunteer coordinators came running after me, calling my name. They had just gotten a set of new volunteers, so they were going to pull me from this task and send me over to the AIDS quilt instead. Hurray!
I quickly handed off my clipboard and went to find Audrey. When I walked up to the Market Street tent, I was hailed with open arms: "Amanda! You came back to us!" Everyone there was happy to see me again, and I was glad to see friendly faces and a big stack of panels to fix.
I didn't get through as many as I did Wednesday. The heat was ridiculous, and Audrey and I watched the temperature climb as the day progressed:
By the time the heat index was 112, nobody was working very hard. They even began folding up the quilt early because it was too hot to do all of the tasks at once. The volunteers would go out in waves and clip all of the zip-ties holding the panels down, then return to the shade to hydrate and cool off. Then out everyone would go to fold the panels, then back to the shade to hydrate and cool off. Then out to carry the panels to the storage crates, then back to the shade to hydrate and cool off. And so on.
Still, despite the heat, I was so much happier having work to do than sitting around like the day before. The people working at this booth are such characters that between their antics and Audrey's commentary on their antics, I was entertained the whole day. And, like the natives of 19th-century adventure stories, they not only adopted me into their tribe but appointed me leader. Audrey and I were sewing side by side when Drew called out from across the tent, "Hey, Amanda! I'm heading over to the Beverage Tent to get a smoothie. I'll be back in a few."
"Okay," I said, wondering why Drew was informing me of this instead of one of the actual booth workers, such as Gert, their actual group leader. My confusion was both abated and heightened when, not long after that, Gert herself came over to me and informed me that she was taking a lunch break and would be back soon. Again, this is with Audrey, her co-worker, sitting right next to me. It may be my novelty, it may be my natural air of leadership, it may be that I was simply the most sane of the bunch; but for whatever reason, I ruled over the Market Street tent for the conclusion of my work at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival.
They were short-handed; the weather forecast was, well, not conducive to getting people to show up for long stretches of free outdoor labor and many volunteers had not checked in as scheduled. And so I was given a clipboard with two different surveys attached to it (one for attendees who had been there less than two hours, one for over two hours), a pen, and the instructions to try get at least 30 surveys completed by the end of the day.
On one hand, I knew this would be good for me. I have very little experience with salesmanship or marketing or survey work other than being the person approached. As such, I have less empathy and patience for those workers than I should. Thus I figured that spending eight hours gathering information from people in the hot, hot sun would be good for me. On the other hand, there is a reason why I have so little experience in that field - I really do not like doing it.
Still, I slathered on another layer of sunscreen, plopped on my hat, and headed out into the festival to look for people as I gave myself an encouraging pep talk: I can do this! I can do anything! They want 30 surveys, I'll give them 90! I will be the best surveyor they've had yet!
I had gone no more than 30 feet when one of the volunteer coordinators came running after me, calling my name. They had just gotten a set of new volunteers, so they were going to pull me from this task and send me over to the AIDS quilt instead. Hurray!
I quickly handed off my clipboard and went to find Audrey. When I walked up to the Market Street tent, I was hailed with open arms: "Amanda! You came back to us!" Everyone there was happy to see me again, and I was glad to see friendly faces and a big stack of panels to fix.
I didn't get through as many as I did Wednesday. The heat was ridiculous, and Audrey and I watched the temperature climb as the day progressed:
By the time the heat index was 112, nobody was working very hard. They even began folding up the quilt early because it was too hot to do all of the tasks at once. The volunteers would go out in waves and clip all of the zip-ties holding the panels down, then return to the shade to hydrate and cool off. Then out everyone would go to fold the panels, then back to the shade to hydrate and cool off. Then out to carry the panels to the storage crates, then back to the shade to hydrate and cool off. And so on.
Still, despite the heat, I was so much happier having work to do than sitting around like the day before. The people working at this booth are such characters that between their antics and Audrey's commentary on their antics, I was entertained the whole day. And, like the natives of 19th-century adventure stories, they not only adopted me into their tribe but appointed me leader. Audrey and I were sewing side by side when Drew called out from across the tent, "Hey, Amanda! I'm heading over to the Beverage Tent to get a smoothie. I'll be back in a few."
"Okay," I said, wondering why Drew was informing me of this instead of one of the actual booth workers, such as Gert, their actual group leader. My confusion was both abated and heightened when, not long after that, Gert herself came over to me and informed me that she was taking a lunch break and would be back soon. Again, this is with Audrey, her co-worker, sitting right next to me. It may be my novelty, it may be my natural air of leadership, it may be that I was simply the most sane of the bunch; but for whatever reason, I ruled over the Market Street tent for the conclusion of my work at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival.
The Folklife Festival, Day 2 - The Tedium and Inefficiency of Volunteering
Thursday I arrived at the Festival and was directed to the Campus and Community section to work as a stage aid at The Commons, a medium-sized space with a wooden cross-hatch roof and several benches underneath. This is where discussion panels would be presenting throughout the day on the topics you can see listed here:
My job was to "assist as needed." I assumed that meant helping DJ, the sound technician assigned to that stage; Katie, the intern in charge of these particular events; and the various participants who would be presenting. However, aside from fetching DJ an iced tea early on in the day, there was absolutely nothing for me to do. I watched the first presentation, a talk about the culture, language, and music of Old Mines, Missouri. I enjoyed the trivia they noted about the French dialect of the region, and the demonstration of some of their traditional songs:
My job was to "assist as needed." I assumed that meant helping DJ, the sound technician assigned to that stage; Katie, the intern in charge of these particular events; and the various participants who would be presenting. However, aside from fetching DJ an iced tea early on in the day, there was absolutely nothing for me to do. I watched the first presentation, a talk about the culture, language, and music of Old Mines, Missouri. I enjoyed the trivia they noted about the French dialect of the region, and the demonstration of some of their traditional songs:
However, while the topics were interesting, it was still tedious to sit in the sun and the heat for so long. I was glad when DJ shooed me away, telling me to go take a walk and check back in later.
I went to the Castle to use the air conditioning and the restrooms, then wandered around the Campus and Community displays to check out what the various universities were promoting. There was a Test Kitchen with demonstrations; a "dinosaur dig" from the University of Montana; a slew of tech gadgets from various schools; cultural demonstrations (music and dance) from New Mexico, Texas, and Hawaii; and several agricultural displays to talk about sustainability and organic gardening.
I checked back in at The Commons and found that there was still nothing for me to do, so I went in search of the Lead Volunteer for that area. Scott asked me what my interests were so he could find work that I would find interesting. I named a few things, but emphasized 1) I find almost everything interesting and 2) I wanted to go where work is needed rather than somewhere that matches my interests. Scott eagerly shuttled me around to various booths and stages, asking the interns at each if they could use me. None of them had any need for additional help. After four booths I pulled Scott aside. "It sounds like you really don't need me today," I said.
"Well, not right now it seems, but we always get busier at the end of the day," he admitted apologetically.
"That's fine," I said. "How about this? You have my cell phone number. I'll go grab lunch and check out some of the museums and if something comes up I can help with, give me a call." He seemed both uncertain and relieved by this suggestion, but gave me his cell phone number in case he forgot to call me (he did seem unorganized) and scurried away.
I went to the Museum of American History, mostly because it was the closest to me at this point and I yearned for air conditioning. I also dropped by the Freer Museum to see the Peacock Room again, before heading back to the Campus and Community section to find Scott.
I think he still felt badly about not having work for me, and yet he didn't want to just let me go (which I offered to do) because he was certain they'd need me for the end-of-the-day cleanup.
"You know what would be great?" he said. "The Hawaiians just took off for the rest of the day - they have some sort of presentation in another part of town. Would you mind sitting at their stage and telling anyone who stops by that they will be back tomorrow?"
And thus for 45 minutes I did what a piece of paper and a Sharpie could do just as well.
About 30 minutes from the end of the festival, Scott came back over and asked me to go to the University of Illinois tent to assist with their cleanup when it was time. Their focus was on their bio-medical engineering programs. I chatted with the college students who had come along to present their prototypes, which included sculptures to help blind students understand and memorize mathematical principles and formulas, fashionable heels that are compatible with wheelchair footrests, chin-strap styluses for quadriplegics, and hearing-aids designed to look like jewelery.
At the appointed time I helped the people at the tent pack up and store their various wheelchair prototypes and display tables. Then I checked out at the Volunteer Booth and headed home.
It was not nearly as productive a day as the one before, yet this type of disorganization and uselessness is not atypical in my work as a volunteer. I think the Smithsonian was overstaffed (I heard there were over 630 volunteers, although I assume that's cumulative over the length of the whole festival, in addition to their interns, temporary help, and regular employees) and there was not enough organization to sufficiently use the volunteers they had. It is difficult to work with volunteers, yes. Not because they are difficult people or even bad workers, but rather because they are outsiders to your organization and it is hard to set up work for people who know nothing about your expectations or procedures. It is certainly not impossible to do, but it is rare to see a project of this scale use their volunteers effectively.
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