These kids are learning something...

So the week before Thanksgiving I did a lesson with many of my classes about where the holiday came from and what it entails each year for Americans. The day after Thanksgiving when I saw one of my really great classes for the first time after the lesson, they all walked in with drinks and packages wrapped in foil. I asked them jokingly if there was a bake sale today, and after laying out everything on their desks, they told me they made me gâteaux (cakes) to celebrate Thanksgiving. Brilliant! If there was one thing they could have taken away from my lesson, it was that the holiday is mainly centered around food.

I was totally shocked by how organized, need I say awesome, this surprise was. Not only did they make a creme filled cake, melted chocolate cupcakes, nutella cake, and caramelized cake bites, they had a supply of drinks, plates, forks, and even Purell for everyone's hands (swine flu is starting to pick up in France, so they didn't want any of that ruining the celebration). Awesome gesture from kids I've only worked with since October.

Turkey Day, French Style

Thanksgiving. Thanks-giving. Giving thanks. While the intended purpose of this day is seemingly very obvious, I’ve never really made an event of saying what I’m thankful for. Sure, my family has always gathered and been very grateful for the great time and great food we share, but we’ve never had the Norman Rockwell image of gathering in a circle around the steaming turkey to say our respective thanks. In an attempt to make this year’s Thanksgiving as authentic and traditional as possible, we decided to enact this fabled tradition, and what came out of it was thoroughly unexpected and more meaningful that I could have anticipated.

From day one, the American assistants were all determined to take the Thanksgiving holiday international and show the world how we did it. The basics were all covered. Turkey, check. Potatoes, both mashed and sweet, check. Stuffing, check. Pumpkin and other pies, check. We also encouraged all guests, including our various international friends, to bring a favorite dish from their Thanksgiving meals or from their home countries, so needless to say the food was aplenty. Between the second (or in my case, third) helpings of main dishes and the unveiling of the desserts, we decided to have our Norman Rockwell moment. So around the living room we gathered, and each person in turn said something they were thankful for. There were the traditional thanks to the hosts of the party and to the Americans for inviting everyone and introducing them to one of our traditions, but hearing some of the things that people chose to be their point of thanks was truly refreshing. One person gave thanks for there still being people as welcoming and open as all those in present company that made the evening possible, while another gave thanks for the sheer diversity that was able to assemble (in addition to the list of nationalities mentioned in my previous post, we added Bulgarian, Greek, Jamaican, and Algerian to the mix). Still another thanked not only those present, but his family back home that made it possible for him to be in France for the semester. One person even gave thanks for simply being alive to enjoy an evening like that, having just recently lost a close friend.

Hearing things that were at once so honest and so simple gave me a newfound sense of appreciation for the Thanksgiving holiday. And ironically enough, it was due in large part to being away from everything that I am usually thankful for that helped me realize this.

As for myself, I was thankful not only for everyone here that made this Thanksgiving-away-from-home possible, but for the fact that we all will walk away from our experience here with friends scattered across the globe, willing to welcome us if ever we’re in the neighborhood.

1/2 of our Thanksgiving spread. The appetizers and desserts took up their own tables.

Melting Pot

Being that Montpellier is a big university town, and being that I’m in a program that attracts people from around the globe to teach their respective languages, I’ve had plenty of opportunities for cultural exchange. One thing I’ve noticed from these interactions is that no matter how cliché it sounds, I’m still amazed that people from different countries really aren’t all that different. For example, at any given time in our group of friends, you could look around the room and see one or more of the following nationalities represented: American, French, British, Australian, Austrian, Maltese (yes, it’s a country- look it up), Mexican, Canadian and el Salvadorian. And that’s just the core group. But despite the geographic diversity, we always seem to find that one twenty-something is the same as the next. We are never at a loss for conversation, laughs, stories we have in common from home, a desire to eat good food, or a love for travel and exploration. Of course, there are the moments when we hit a cultural roadblock (like not knowing the slang specific to a certain country) or an “oh my god” moment (like when I found out that prefects actually exist in British schools, not just in Harry Potter), but these always make for a laugh and in the end.

Our winning trivia team, code name: "Maltese Magic"

On another note, I’ve come to appreciate even more how we as Americans have a very different view of our cultural identity than others. For example, I am 50% Greek, 25% Irish, and 25% German, but I consider myself American through and through. However, after talking to two full-fledged Greek people since being here, they don’t quite understand what that means. When I said to them, “Oh I’m half Greek,” they first asked if I speak Greek, then proceeded to demand why not when I admitted that I only knew a few words, then one even tried to tell me I wasn’t “Greek” because I did not know all the ins and outs of Greek life. Despite still practicing typical Greek traditions with my family each year, apparently I didn’t have that intangible and essential gene built into me that made me “Greek.”

It seems that by saying you are of one origin or another, to them that hinges more on having an undying loyalty to said country and its way of life, rather than a simple appreciation for where you come from, as do most Americans. All Americans have gotten the “What is your background?” question that asks what percentage of each “old country” a person is, but for most other citizens of the world, this question is redundant. In short, modern Americans are mutts, and we love it. Let's be honest: where else can you simultaneously claim the right to celebrate Greek Easter (complete with lamb and baklava) and St. Patrick’s Day (complete with green beer and shamrocks) as legitimate parts of your heritage?

What the what?

So the other day while returning from a bike ride with a friend, we saw a group of joggers, one of which was wearing the typical short runner’s shorts, a long sleeve t-shirt…and a scarf. Riddle me this: why is the scarf at all necessary in that case? Clearly it was warm enough to be wearing shorts, and the scarf was in no way a “sporty” design. There may also have been tassels. It's unclear. I was too bewildered to notice all the details. Let me know if you figure this one out...

More Observations

After several encounters with this same situation, I have finally come to realize that in Europe, if someone tells you your destination is not walkable, 9 times out of 10 it most certainly is. Whether you’re feeling athletic or are trying to save money on public transportation (both of which have applied to me at some point), saying that you are walking to a given location will often draw looks of bewilderment or hurried advice on which bus or metro lines to take.

On a similar note, many French people seem to find the idea of commuting utterly perplexing. While this idea is common to most Americans and even the more metropolitan Parisians, many people from smaller towns do not grasp the concept. For example, I work in a small town in the South of France called Nîmes, but chose to live in the livelier, younger, and more entertaining Montpellier which is a 25 minute train ride away. No matter which end of the train journey I find myself on, the first question from people who learn my situation is always, “Why?!” I guess things like this seem normal when you hail from a country where an hour commute to work, a 5 hour commute to school, and a sometimes 10+ hour ride to vacations is not unheard of. Gotta love the Europe.

High Above Barcelona

If there was one city to end our trip on that would throw a completely new perspective into our view of Spain, it was Barcelona. After the commercial Madrid and the typically southern and Andalusian Granada, Barcelona proved to be the most European feeling city of the trip, with large boulevards and stone buildings reminiscent of Paris. However, the culture could not have been more different from other cities in Spain, or Europe for that matter.

Barcelona is on the Mediterranean coast of northern Spain in a region called Catalunya. Catalunya stands out as an area of Spain very distinct from the rest of the country. The primary language here is Catalan, not Spanish, so all signs are either bilingual (Catalan and Spanish) or trilingual (Catalan, Spanish and English). One of Barcelona’s most striking features is its architecture, which was heavily influenced by the work of Antoni Gaudi. Gaudi’s buildings can be found throughout the city and are actually the center of several very touristy bus trips in Barcelona, but his (almost) crowning achievement is the temple of the Sagrada Familia, or Sacred Family. I say almost because Gaudi died in 1926 after being unexpectedly hit by a tram during the construction of the temple (as if anyone expects to be hit by a tram). With the creative genius behind the structure now gone and work still to be done, construction continued for a time under the direction of other architects but ultimately ended long before its completion. The task has been taken up once again by the city of Barcelona, so the temple is constantly under construction as visitors go to and fro admiring what currently stands.

I could probably write a novella about the symbolism and genius behind the architecture of this church, so I’ll attempt to keep it short. The inside of the church takes the columns necessary for roof support and models them after the trunks and branches of trees that reach up to the ceiling, which itself resembles the leaves of a forest canopy. The outside features three façades, all detailing different stages of Jesus’ life: the Nativity, the Passion, and the Glory. The Glory façade is the only of the three still unfinished. Biblical scenes and moments in the life of Jesus are carved into the stone on the outside of these façades, including the arrival of the three kings to the manger, Judas’ betrayal of Jesus, and Jesus’ death. The current plan is to have the remaining work finished on the church by 2026, the 100^th anniversary of Gaudi’s death.

As I mentioned in the previous entry, my quest in each place I visit is to make it to the highest point the city has to offer. In Barcelona, the obvious high point is Mount Tibidabo, lying just north of the city center (Friends fans will know this name from “The Story” used often by Joey). After a metro ride, a walk up a winding road (which could have been a bus, but we were on a budget), and a rickety funicular, we arrived at the top of Tibidabo. To be found here: an old church perched atop the summit and an amusement park. How those two things seemed like logical next-door neighbors is beyond me. Nevertheless, stepping inside the old church, hearing the winds high above the city swirling outside around the dome and realizing that I was the only person towering above a city of over a million people was a pretty cool feeling. The views from the mountain were well worth the journey as they gave a glimpse of all of Barcelona’s major buildings and neighborhoods stretching all the way to the shores of the Mediterranean.

Another great moment for me, the eternal Olympics fan, was making it to the Montjuïc Park, site of the 1992 Barcelona Summer Olympics. The facilities set atop the hillside park are still in use for a variety of other events, sporting and entertainment alike, including European football (soccer) championships and Bon Jovi concerts (who knew?).

So there we were, 10 days, 3 cities, and more than a handful of adventures later and our grand tour of Spain was coming to a close. Exhausted but satisfied, we returned to Montpellier to get some sleep and let our bank accounts recover for a while. At least until the next trip.

Check out the entire collection of my pictures from here and the rest of my time in France on my Picasa page: http://picasaweb.google.com/johncmcgowan

Granada: God Save the Nun Cookies

The next stop on our voyage through España was the southern city of Granada. Brief history lesson: Spain was originally conquered by the Roman Empire, followed by Muslim invaders, and recaptured slowly for about 800 years by the Catholics. Granada was one of the last Muslim strongholds in Spain until 1492 when Boabdil, Sultan at the time, sold the city to King Ferdinand for a handsome price. Late that night, Boabdil gave the keys to the city to Ferdinand’s forces and the next morning, the residents awoke to church bells instead of the rooftop call to morning prayer. “Granada” is Spanish for pomegranate, which is the symbol of the city.

That being said, Granada is an extremely diverse and beautiful city with much history. Within a few blocks from each other, there are Arabic, Jewish, and Gypsy quarters, not to mention the center city commercial district and a mountainside gypsy colony (see below). The different types of architecture and culture that meet inside the city, as well as the mountains surrounding the entire city, make it a picturesque and striking sight. And that doesn’t even include the paella and sangria, which was the best we found anywhere in Spain. We spent Halloween in Granada and our hostel put on a very impressive party, featuring traditional decorations and costumes, as well as homemade paella in a huge dish and sangria in a giant cooler. Delicious.

One of the most impressive sights in Granada is the Moorish palace on the hill, La Alhambra. Built while Granada was still in Muslim control, the architecture is unique from any castle I’ve ever seen, with intricate and detailed décor throughout. La Alhambra was also the place where King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella gave Christopher Columbus permission to embark on his journey that would lead him to discover America. With the conquering of the city and the discovery of America, 1492 was a pretty big year for Spain.

My goals in every city I visit is always to make it to the highest point, whether it be natural or man-made. In Granada’s case, the highest point was the mountain on the north side of the city known as Sacromonte. Sacromonte straddles the remains of the old city wall atop the hill, around which a village of gypsies have dug out caves in the mountain for housing. Yes that’s right- gypsy colony living in the mountains. Naturally, I decided that climbing this mountain for sunset would be an awesome thing to do for my “get to the highest point” quest, and so began the trek through Gypsyville. We began following the roads up through the civilized part of the city, after which we took to the winding dirt paths that ran through various gypsy front yards. We came across one such gypsy who, after looking extremely confused as to why a few Americans were racing the clock to climb the mountain at sunset, asked us for a cigarette. Being confident enough in my Spanish after a few days in Spain to respond, I told him “No fumar. Lo siento.” What I tried to say was “I don’t smoke, sorry.” What came out was, “You’re not allowed to smoke, sorry.” Good thing I continued running after that. Needless to say, we made it to the top for an awesome sunset.

One of the biggest surprises in Granada came in the form of cookies. Made by nuns. Secret nuns who never show themselves to the world. We were given the tip by the guide on our walking tour and decided to check it out. We followed the signs to the “dulces” (sweets) and entered the small foyer of a stone building. Inside: one chain connected to a bell on the wall, an intercom, and a turnstile window. After following the directions posted outside the window and communicating via intercom with the nun inside, we suddenly saw the turnstile revolving and out came our bag of cookies, guided by one solitary nun-hand. Unsure what to do with the money, we signaled that it was on the turnstile already, after which Sister Mary Mysterious turned the window back and disappeared forever. Experience: awesome. Cookies: delicious. Thank you, baking nuns.

Final stop: Barcelona.

The Road to Madrid

So we just got back from our grand tour of Spain, and let's just say it was not without its hiccups and adventures. I’ll break the trip into three posts, one for each city we visited. Teaser: this account will detail our encounters with Spanish royalty, gypsies, and cloistered nuns who bake for a living. And away we go…

The first city on our itinerary was Madrid. We started our trip with a three-legged train journey from Montpellier to the Spanish capital, but during the transfer to the second leg, things went awry. Three of our five travelers made it through the ticket checkpoint to the platform when we realized we were missing two others. I left my stuff with my two friends on the train and went back to see what was up; when I didn’t see them anywhere, I went back to check if they had made it to the train. However, as I got up to the platform, I saw the train doors closing and it pulling away from the station. Yes, there I was, no passport, ticket, wallet, or clothing besides what was on my back.

As it turned out, one of our friends had lost her ticket and another had stayed back with her as she searched, leaving the three of us to see the remaining two off as they continued our vacation alone. After speaking with several train station officials, making a few calls to our friends on the train, and arranging the transfer of all my money and documents at a stop down the line, I was once again with the essentials and on the way toward Spain, albeit still without any of my clothes.

An unexpected night in Barcelona and a bus ride to Madrid later, we were finally on track again. Madrid was full of great museums and sights to see, including the Museo del Prado and the more modern Reina Sofia, which houses rooms of Picasso and Salvador Dali paintings- both amazing.

The Royal Palace and cathedral just next door were both beautiful and really interesting to see Spanish heritage and history in person. The one downside of Madrid was that it seemed very commercial and lacked that strong sense that you were really in Spain...

…until we met royalty. Yes, we were as surprised as you probably are now. Walking down the road one day, we came to a crowd of people gathering on the street. We had our Argentinean friend we met in our hostel ask a woman in the crowd what was going on and soon learned that Princess Letizia was on her way to do a Red Cross fundraiser appearance. Once the princess arrived and we had taken a few pictures, we noticed a line of excited looking old ladies forming and decided to jump in and see where it would take us. We waited for a few minutes until the next thing we knew security was searching our bags and escorting us across the road to meet the princess. Now, being someone who loves learning languages and never wants to be “that obnoxious American who only speaks English,” I was determined to speak Spanish to her. The meeting went as follows:

Me: Hola, Princesa.

Princesa: (speaking in rapid Spanish, of which I only understood the word “donde”)

Me: (“Oh god, what did she just say? I hope this is right…”) Los Estados Unidos….

Apparently this was the right response to what must have been “Where are you from?” because she proceeded in English to welcome me to Madrid and wish me a good trip in Spain.

“Conversation” with the Princesa: check.

Next up: adventures in Granada.