Sadness and Architecture

Sadness
After spending the last two months in Piedralaves, I left my house in the Spanish sun, leaving my pool, my neighboring horses, and all the people of Piedralaves who I had no idea what they were saying. I will be back in mid-August for a couple of days spending time with the owner and his family. But it will not be the same since it's no longer my house all to myself and to my few esteemed guests. I left the house to a large French family, the brother and niece's of the owner. We overlapped our stay by 18 hours, and instantly the house was transformed and was no longer mine. When my friend and I left the long driveway of the property, I felt a tinge of sadness for everything I gave and received from this little Spanish house in the sun.
This is one of the things I left behind.....33 bottles of wine over the kitchen cabinets (don't worry mom, I had help drinking this).
Architecture
Contrary to popular belief, I'm still an architect. I felt an obligation since I'm in Spain again, to see the building that revolutionized (btw, this is a matter of opinion) architecture in 1997. Frank Gehry's Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. But I'm not going to get into the details of the project, enough has already been written about this project (plus, Frankie has been copying himself way too much lately with his designs). Instead, here's a few pictures of the aforementioned revolution.
Front elevation. But I can't help but think that Jeff Koons Flower Cat sculpture dominates the picture and steals the show.
titanium clad goodness

Sphincter balls on a stick.
Sunset reflection
He's a cat that always steals the show, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

The Circus has come to Town

Everybody loves a circus. Especially when you get to see such things as a piranha show or Spain's youngest clown. Well, the circus arrived last week in Piedralaves and with no other forms of entertainment out here than Spanish cow-tipping, we were quite excited. However, the 12 euro price of admission pissed down on our excitement. So instead we took photos of the Piranha Show trucks and a bunch of their posters. So instead of going to the circus, we went to a Barbarella-esque 1970's art show. We did see a bunch of carni's (remember the Simpson's episode) leaving their trailers, but no bearded ladies or general body manipulated freaks. And don't worry mom, I haven't joined the circus.
Is it me, or do clowns still freak you out? Ronald McDonald reeks of child molestation.
Spain's youngest clown. I wonder if this kid will have a normal well-adjusted to society life when he gets older.
I especially like the bleeding times roman font in 'Pirana'. And who thought of putting a turtle in this creatures of death shot.
I don't understand why this scene is happy with a smiling chick with a snake wrapped around her. Even the crocodile is happy.....
while in this shot, this girl is petrified. And how does this art piece succesfully attract the target market of pre-adolescents?.....oh, wait. now i understand their marketing plan....
This girl looks like she's boogie boarding on a giant snake floatie. This artist reeks of Stockton, California.
See what I mean by Barbarella. She looks just like Jane Fonda...and I'm not just speaking of the crocodile.

He's a one-man freak show, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

My Life as a Peasant Farmer in Piedralaves

tranquilo Everyday, I wake up bright and early (if you call 10 AM early) to tend to the chickens and milk the cows and (what chickens? there are no chickens, and I don't even drink milk). Usually after breakfast, I work the land (I need to cut the grass maybe once a month) which is back breaking work (this is sort of true since it takes 2 or 3 days to mow the lawn...more like machete-ing a jungle).
my neighbor 'tusocks' feasting on some tasty weeds
During this time, I usually see my neighbor Juan and his lovely dog Yeti (bastard dog won't stop barking at me), and we discuss the latest events and our simple life here in the country (half the time...no, most of the time, I have no idea what he's saying). I then usually head into town to the bread store and the farmer's market, exchanging bread, vegetables and other food items with the fresh eggs and milk that I collected earlier in the morning (or maybe I use the euros that I just withdrew from the ATM across the street). At around 2:30 PM, I take a siesta after a long morning of work (work is sort of true since I'm sort of working on a film......but the siesta part is definitely true). Afterwords, I take the herd of cows to the field to graze, and to the stream to drink (this is a whole new level of bullshit......at this time, I usually do cannonballs into the pool). At the end of the day, I'm quite exhausted from a long day's work (sitting in the hot sun drinking sangria around the pool can wear a guy out). After a hot shower, I cook a hearty meal and watch the sunset over the hills with a glass of vino tinto (this is possibly the only truth in this entire passage). At night, I retire around the fireplace reading classic literature pieces (not even close, it's been watching the EuroCopa every night, especially with España winning it all....a por ellos!). Two or three times a week, I head into town for my only connection with the outside world, using this revolutionary new invention, the internet information superhighway (what can I say, things come really slow out here). On the following day, I follow the same routine (did I mention I've also got a cleaning lady? I'm a spoiled bastard) as a simple peasant farmer here in the Spanish countryside.
my field of blood, sweat and tears, the piscina
my other neighbor, sueño

He's a little bit country, and a little bit rock n' roll, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

Price Check, Aisle 3

From this photo taken in a Spanish supermercado, either one of these two questions comes to mind:
Q1: In Spain, where do you find The Simpsons?
A1: Usually in between a bunch of Filipinos.
Q2: In Spain, where do you find Filipinos?
A2: Usually watching The Simpsons.
I knew with a name lake Renato José, I had to have some Spanish blood in me....obviamente, mi cuerpo tiene sangré con chocolaté...
Feel free to add your own questions to this posting. Hopefully on my next trip to the market, we can find out where other ethnics hang out.

his blood is filled with dulce de leche, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

Spanish Pride

Sunday night was a big night for the country of Spain. In the EuroCopa 2008 (fútbol tournament that takes place every 4 years), they defeated Italy in penalty kicks to advance to the semi-finals. I've been following the EuroCopa every night (not that I have any other entertainment options out here) and have been routing for Spain throughout the tournament. But for Spaniards, this win is especially sweet since they've had a long history of collapsing in the quarterfinals, and in soccer, Italy is a perennial powerhouse and are the defending World Cup Champions.
Cesc Fabregas celebrates after scoring the winning goal in penalty kicks
But what was more interesting for me was witnessing the game with a friend of mine in a small bar in Piedralaves. It's interesting to see how people from a small Spanish pueblo react while watching the game. For one thing, there were a lot of exaggerated hand and body gestures when the call didn't go there way (I'm guilty of this as well....quite fluent actually), and of the 25 people in the bar, only 3 were female, yet they were the most vocal and expressive of the bunch. They also looked like they were missing a few teeth and could easily kick my ass. There was one old, smelly guy who was supposedly the millionaire of the town who was in love with my friend. He tried to woo her by saying sweet little nothings, but since she doesn't speak any Spanish, his pick-up lines were wasted. I understood most of what he said, but he wasn't my type.
Iker Casillas making a save during an Italian penalty kick
The guy standing next to me kept praying and kissing his necklace. I thought it was a cross he was kissing since catholicism dominates here, but it was actually the coat of arms of Spain as his pendant. He was so used to Spain self-destructing that during the penalty kicks, he couldn't bear to watch the TV. But everytime Spain scored, he gave me big high fives, then started kissing his necklace again and praying. When Cesc Fabregas scored the final goal, he gave me such a big hug, that his perfume of eau de countryside farmshit transferred onto my clothes. But it was all good. Everyone left the bar happy, and it's always a highlight to be in a country when their national team does well. Especially watching it in a small town where everyone knows each other. So next up is Russia on Thursday, and if they win that, it's off to the finals on Sunday. Podemos! (We can! is the slogan that the TV channel broadcasting the EuroCopa came up with). Just for the record, they've been saying Podemos! throughout their broadcasts with annoying frequency. The only correlation I can think of is when people in the Bay Area say hella. Me molesta la palabra hella.

Puede! (He can!), Dónde está Che Pelotas?

Slow News Day in Piedralaves

Things happen slow here in Piedralaves....no really, I mean slllooooooooowwwww. So there's not much to report here other than the weather has been complete shit.
Another cloudy day. I think I'm in Scotland.
Yesterday's biggest news was that I hit a rush hour traffic jam of about 100 sheep on the dirt road I was jogging on. It was bumper to bumper moving at about a walking pace, but cleared up just past the oak tree interchange.
In other news, I learned some Spanish colloquialisms. When you walk by someone's farm and say 'hola' or 'buenos dias', they usually say 'adios' instead of 'hello'. I remember someone telling me this earlier. But I'm still not sure if it's true or they just want me to keep walking and go the fuck away. Also, I've learned that Spaniards love saying the word 'coño' when frustrated. It's a deregotary term for the female genitalia much like the 'c' word in english. Everyone says it. I've even heard a few 80 year-old ladies yelling it. I guess old habits are hard to break.
Another thing I learned is that if you ask for directions, no one ever tells you exactly how to get there, but they sort of point you in the right direction and then tell you to ask someone once you get closer. One time I had to ask five different people directions for something two blocks away. And this is in a town of maybe 100 people....aye coño
token religious photo
token religious figure, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

The Rain Got Me Again

Well the weather is finally changing for the better. After a cold and rainy May, it's been mostly sunny the last couple of days, an I've started to fill the pool with water.
This photo was taken at the beginning of the week after an all too common rainstorm. The pool is being filled as we speak.
But Mother Nature had to show me who was in charge.....The other day I was walking home from the market after purchasing some groceries. On the way back home, a 2 km walk from the market, it started to drizzle. The skies ahead didn't look so promising, so I decided to run home through the countryside before it started to rain. It was a bit difficult running with my messenger bag filled with groceries, and also being tired from doing a run earlier in the day. But I made it home just in time before it really started pouring. However I was presently surprised to find the large container of yogurt that I bought exploded in my bag while running home. My bag now smells like a giant frutas del bosque (fruits of the forest) cheescake. Thank you Mother Nature for the freak weather patterns due to homo sapien global burning.

In the end, he's gonna get you, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

The myth of sunny summers in Spain

Since I returned to Spain from Morocco last month, it has rained everyday in northern Spain except for the first week of May. So much for the myth of Spain being warm and sunny. This global warming thing that's screwing up the weather patterns of the world sure is throwing a monkey wrench in my goofing off.
Photo of the church in Piedralaves. I hope these women are praying for some sun.
The rain did give me this perfect rainbow on my front porch though. It be really nice if it gave me a pot of gold at one end.
He's a non-stop rainstorm of smoothness, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

After a week in Piedralaves, heading to La Alberca to teach English

A sign on a building letting you know that you´ve arrived in Piedralaves. If you´re in a car, 30 seconds later is a sign letting you know that you´ve left Piedralaves.
So I had this wonderful week in Piedralaves. Typical Spanish countryside of warm sun, bottles of vino tinto, and siestas everyday. Today, I had to make the move to Madrid to start this English teaching program just outside of Salamanca. The unfortunate part is that I don´t have a car and have to rely on public transport to get to Madrid from Piedralaves. The really unfortunate part is that I had to walk 3 km uphill from the house I´m staying in Piedralaves to the bus stop. The really really unfortunate part, is that of all days, this morning was the day that it started to rain. Super-duper unfortunate was that no smart Spaniard would pick up a dripping wet backpacker trying to hitch a ride to the bus stop. So by the time I got onto the bus, I was soaked. Puta madre.
He´s just as silky smooth, wet or dry, Dónde está Che Pelotas?

A Quick Pit-Stop in Barcelona and a Sneak Peak into Next Month's Peasant Life in Piedralaves

Left Marrakech, Morocco and made a quick pit-stop in Barcelona for a couple of days. Spent one of those days hiking up Montserrat, a mountain about 1 hour outside of Barca.
The monastery high up in the hills of Montserrat


Pek, one of Jessie´s old dog friends before he moved to Barça with his owners. Unlike my dog, he doesn´t mine carrying shit on his back
A tiny hermito (refuge) high up in Montserrat
After Barcelona, I headed to Piedralaves for a week. It's a tiny pueblo in the countryside, about an hour and a half outside of Madrid. I'm here with the father of a French friend of mine who I met last year while volunteering at the Tibetan Refugee Center in Kathmandu, Nepal. He's showing me the ins and outs of his country home (turning on power, turning on water, land maintenance, and most importantly pool operation and maintenance). The house is 2 km from the main town (and about 15 km from internet....how will I survive without Vitamin I) and is located in a wide valley. The entry to the house is a long dirt driveway flanked by trees. On the property there are newly planted fruit trees, flower beds, and a 2 year old olive garden (still needs another 3 years to bloom). The house has 4 bedrooms, 4 baths, a separate workshop, a parilla (barbecue hut), and let's not forget la piscina.
Mi casa nestled in the hills, for 1.5 months starting in June
A green field next door
So I basically have this big-ass house for a month and a half starting next month on june 1st.....all to myself.......I am resigned to the fact that I will be one or a combination of possible things. Leading a peasant life tending the land (mowing the lawn, planting and watering, etc.), being a cabana boy (cleaning the pool and tanning my speedo-clad body), and also working on my own projects (a book and/or a film). I will either become Henry David Thoreau in Walden, Ernest Hemingway in Cuba, or Jack Nicholson in The Shining, or a combination of all three. But I'm not completely isolated (feel free to visit though, so I don't go crazy. My neighbors are this old guy Juan Gonzalez and his dog Yeti. Nobody around here speaks English (yeah, I think it would be a good idea for you to visit), so I'm anticipating my Spanish to improve greatly. There's also lots of cows and frogs to keep me company, and a bonus of a cleaning lady stopping by once a week.
One of my neighboring cows. This one I call Marta
Over the last couple of days, me and Philippe (the owner of the house) have been working the land. A couple days ago, at about 2:30 PM, while mowing, I started to get in the groove of working, when he shut me down for siesta. It's an unwritten rule that you can't make loud noise during siesta time (about 2:30 to 5:00 PM) since the neighbors are taking their siesta. I have to remember that Spanish time is not necessarily getting the work done, buy not pissing off the neighbors when they're napping.
Yesterday I transformed this pool from a green mucky, frog and beetle infested, smelly swamp, into a newly painted lovely piscina that I will appreciate a lot more than any other pool when I jump in it in June, since I scrubbed it completely clean by hand. I think that was a run-on sentence.
Starting June 1st, this will be my peasant life.....care to join me?

He's muy popular con la gente en el campesino, Dónde está Che Pelotas?