The Political Climate

Spanish required to appreciate the following; no Spanish required 

to infer that Spaniards are not very happy right now.

The Indignados have been camped out in La Puerta del Sol (the center of the city) for several weeks now and don't show any signs of leaving.

And did you know... both political parties in Spain are funded by..... duh duhh duhhhhn.... THE GOVERNMENT??

English Class

I work with several sections of students, one of which is the bilingual section.  Most of these bilingual section students have had English class since primary school and now attend every class in English except for math and language.  In class, they speak English.  Occasionally during recess they speak English.  They still make mistakes, of course, but it's really quite impressive to watch these 12-year-olds in action.

Generally, my job is to go over the speaking and listening exercises in their textbooks, helping them with pronunciation and providing them with a native accent to emulate.  Occasionally I teach an actual grammar lesson, but the teacher is much better at it, so I usually defer to her so I can watch and learn.

Today, however, she was called out of class and asked me to teach Reported Speech.  What Speech, you say?  Yes, that's what I said last week.

Take a moment to note the differences between these two dialogues:
- "Are you happy?" she asked him.
- She asked him if he was happy.

The second is an example of reported speech.  It probably seems like a no-brainer to flip the two, doesn't it?  But I would like to point out that the verb tense of the question changes, as well as the word order... and it is no longer a question.  And you use a different order for a question such as, "Where are you going?"  Additionally, 'may' changes to 'might,' 'can' changes to 'could,' etc.  Complicated stuff.

Luckily, I had introduced the concept with an activity on Tuesday, so I was familiar with the nuances.  Taking a deep breath, I started in.  It actually went quite well, and the students quickly picked up on the differences between reporting statements and questions, etc.  By the time we got to reporting orders and commands, the teacher was back and I handed it over.  She is really fantastic about asking students to apply the information immediately with verbal question-and-response, and after teaching about reporting commands, she began to go around the room, practicing.

The results were comical.

She began with Raul, who was looking at the examples in the book.  "Raul," she said evenly.  "Don't look at me like that!"

Raul's head snapped up and he looked around in utter confusion.  "But I..."

"No, begin, 'Pilar told me....'" Pilar corrected.

Slowly, understanding began to brighten his face as he realized what was going on.  "Ah!  Pilar told me not to look at her like that!"

A murmur arose from the class, who had been equally confused.  They seemed relieved.

Pilar moved on to Javi, a round, sweet boy in the back who is enthusiastic to learn and content to be himself.

"Javi," she asked.  "Will you marry me?"

The class erupted, and Javi's face instantly changed colors.  It was clear he was trying to construct a diplomatic response and having enormous difficulty; meanwhile, the whole class was urging him to say yes.  "Dude, Javi, she wants to marry you!!"

Pilar, not anticipating this response, finally stopped laughing herself.  "Pilar asked..." she crowed.

Relief swept over Javi's face as he burst into giggles.  "Oh!  Pilar asked if I will marry her."

"Would marry, Javi.  Would marry, not will."

"Pilar asked if I would marry her," Javi repeated.

Several students repeated this under their breaths, trying it out.  Angel, a brilliant bundle of constant energy and disruption, rattled off a few jokes in Spanish at Javi's expense.  Pilar silenced him with a look and continued practicing the language with other students.  Despite seeing their classmates' repeated confusion, thinking Pilar was really asking them questions, most of the class mistook the exercise and tried to respond to her statements rather than reporting them, and then they bashfully corrected themselves.  And as it characteristic, Angel's silence didn't last long, and he was soon back to joking.

"Angel," Pilar cried severely. "Shut up!"

He paused in his conversation, thought for half a moment, and flashed a quick smile.  "Pilar said... no, Pilar told me that I must shut up!" he replied, triumphant.

Again caught off guard, Pilar recovered quickly and laughed in spite of herself.  "Pilar told me to shut up," she corrected.  "You must use the infinitive, remember. But this is real life.  Be quiet."

"Pilar said that this was real life," Angel reported dutifully.

Alberto was listening attentively.  "Angel said that Pilar said that this wss real life," he muttered, half to himself.

Jose heard it and grinned.  "Alberto said that Angel said that Pilar said that this was real life," he called out.

Rafa picked it up.  "Jose said that..."

And it was downhill from there.

Now then, after all this, I am happy to report that the 1D students can successfully report what happened today.

Mission accomplished.

Accidental Mantra

Driving in Italy

It's been awhile since I've posted about everyday life... I'll get back to it soon, I promise.  Humor me once more.

So, last weekend I returned to Italy, not because I loved visiting so much over Easter, but because way back in February, I bought a ticket to Milan - a springing off point to visit Verona (to gather Romeo and Juliet material) and Cremona (the birthplace of the Stradivarius).  To do all this traveling, I decided to rent a car, rather than strap myself to the mass transportation schedules.  Plus, I felt that this was the cherry on the top of a sweet, sweet life in Europe.  As it turned out, it was possibly the best experience of the whole saga.  That is to say...

Italy be damned... I just enjoyed driving!

However, you need to know several things before reading the rest of this post.

First, almost all European cars have a manual transmission.
Second, I have driven a stick shift all of... oh, three times in my life.
Third, my adventures usually involve very great amounts of good luck... or very great amounts of bad luck.  Or blessing.  Or grace.  Or whatever you want to call it.

Please take a moment to pause and ponder this seeming difficulty.  Also note:  if you've never had to learn how to drive a stick shift before, you might not fully appreciate the following account, but perhaps you will be better advised for having read it.

My adventures began in the Milan airport, searching for my rental car agency.  I knew ahead of time that I'd have to call them upon arrival because they were not located on-site... but I'd lost my cell phone the week before... and the pay phone wasn't working... and I was short on change anyway.  Luckily, I had no plans for the day.  Arrive, get situated, see what the day holds - that was my game plan.  At last, another rental car agency directed me to a different terminal where I found a working phone.  The Advantage lady told me to meet her at Exit 7.

There are 12 exits.

If anyone had been watching, they would have seen a starry-eyed female of dubious nationality (people mistake my nationality on a regular basis) and a black backpack wandering up and down the rows or doors.  Finally, I located the numbers, and off we went.

As we pulled up, there was a yellow Fiat Panda sitting in the parking lot.  It was the funnest car I've seen in ages.  I froze in sudden meditation. Please let that be my car, please let that be my car, please let that be my car!!!!! 

Oh yes.

It was my car.  I got in the driver's seat and let out a whoop.  This is going to be fun, I thought... now then, how do you get it into reverse??  Five minutes later, the girl came out and laughed as she showed me the trick.  "These are different from American automatics, aren't they?"  Yessss......

I won't bore you with the awful details of those following few minutes.  As it turns out, the emergency brake is another addition Americans don't usually think about.  Safe to say, I was relieved to get on the highway and be at a constant speed.  After a few kilometers of highway driving, my window was down, the music was up, and I was rocking it.

It was a toll road.

And you know what that means.

Six cars deep, start-and-stop, inch-your-way-up traffic.

I put my hazard lights on, said a little prayer - okay, a big prayer - and began to move up.  VROOOOM... screech!  VRROOOOM! *engine dies*  VROOOM.... screech! *engine dies* Thank God I had enormous sunglasses on.  At last, I got up to the toll window with, well, exceptional power, and the woman just looked at me and shook here head.  "Dios mio....string of Italian...." I just looked at her as pathetically as possible and said, "I know."  And I went on my merry way.

Oh, did I mention that I didn't have a map of Milan?

I had written down instructions on how to get to the hostel, but apparently in Italy, street names change every block, and within two minutes I was hopelessly lost.  Always the optimist, however, I decided to follow the signs toward the Center, where there were bound to be tourist maps and such.

The thing about having a car, though, is that you have to leave it somewhere (as opposed to simply walking around).  And the thing about driving in Europe is that there isn't any parking.  Anywhere.

...unless you find a parking garage!!

And you know what that means.

Hills.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with stick shift cars... you have to take your foot off the brake in order to accelerate while holding down the clutch, and in the space of time it takes you to move your foot, the car begins to roll backward.

It is a really good thing that:
1.  No one was in the car with me.
2.  No one was behind me.
3.  No one was coming down the garage ramp.

I turbo'd that thing up as fast as I possibly could.  It probably took a major campaign from Heaven to ensure that I did not, in fact, go barreling through a wall... but I arrived in one piece and packed my smart little car into a smart little parking place, dusted off my coat tails, and proceeded to find a map.

As you can probably imagine, the adrenaline was coursing through my body at 800 times the recommended quantities. It was time for lunch.  After cheap pizza, I was still at 600 times, which can only mean one thing:  sightseeing.

Afterwards, having procured a map and ready to get back on the horse but not yet ready to brave the rest of Milan, I decided to go to Verona for the afternoon.  Highway driving for a couple of hours... yes, it sounded nice.  I drove down the ramp (at a much slower speed) and stopped to get directions from the attendant on duty, an older gentleman.

He took one look at my car (perfectly intact, of course) and smiled wryly.  "So you're the one.... trying to be like Alonso in Formula 1, huh?"

I just looked at him as pathetically as possible and said, "I know..." and fled.

The trip to Verona was successful, and it should be noted that Italian countryside actually resembles that of Oklahoma (except for the random vineyards and Italian architecture...).   Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on your humor, on the way back, I encountered even worse toll booth woes.  At first, I was concerned because it seemed like I was practically living on the clutch, but I recalled driving Patrick's green Mustang around Edmond this fall (that was my second time driving a manual... I still can't believe you let me do that, Sweetums...) which had a killer clutch, and he mentioned that driving in city traffic was always painful, so I took this as a good sign.

Unfortunately, it was dark when I got into Milan... and I might have gotten hopelessly lost.  So much so, a kind stranger explained, that I wasn't even on the map.

Sigh.

Saturday's journey to Cremona was even more successful, and I returned to Milan feeling like quite the expert.... if I could have driven into Milan waving at the crowds like Kate Middleton, I would have, for it was certainly merited : )

It was a good experience.  I got some cool pictures and some even cooler stories.  The end.

P.S.  KMAC, I still hate conclusions.  Sorry.  In this case, I call it Writers' Prerogative... or personal laziness... either / or.

Semana Santa: Rome

“Every one soon or late comes round by Rome.”   - Robert Browning

And that is precisely why I didn't want to got to Rome.  A petty case of social rebellion, I admit it.  But... to be in Rome over Easter... that might be worthwhile, I reasoned, and besides, not as many people can boast about that.

And off I went. 

Let me tell you, you should go to Rome.  Going at Easter is pretty swell, but Rome deserves it of its own merit.  

I arrived in style - and by that I mean with unwashed hair, saggy jeans, and day-old socks.  Checking baggage costs extra money, you see.  My backpack and I were on pretty intimate terms by the end of it. 

For the first few moments, Rome seemed like all the other European cities I've stumbled across.  Ditching my backpack, I checked into the hostel, ripped a map off the big stack at the front desk, and began my wanderings.  It should be noted that, although I still probably qualify as spatially challenged, my map-guessing skills have improved remarkably since Lisbon.  Going in the general direction rather than street-by-street is much more efficient, it seems.  Columbus has got nothing on me.

I started out west, in the general direction of the Spanish Steps.  On the way, I found myself in the Piazza della Rebpulica, which is, in fact, somewhat in the right direction!  There was a large unsightly church there, and usually I skip large unsightly churches having overdosed in Spain, but I went in anyway.

It changed my standard for beauty.  Permanently.

As it turned out, this particular church was one of Michaelangelo's last projects (a fact I found out after being totally awed).  Perfect colors, spacious and well-proportioned, I made several circuits, looking up open-mouthed.  Breathtaking moment number one.

Continuing on, I eventually found myself at the Fountain of Trevi... breathtaking moment number two.  It is easily my favorite place in the city.  Something about the juxtaposition of massive, intricate sculptures and enormous, rugged rocks with falling water... hard to beat.  Plus, it was mobbed.  The energy bouncing around was nearly tangible as tourists jostled around for pictures and swung under rails in order to get closer to the water (regardless of age!).  This was also my first experience with gelatto... sublime.

The rest of the day proceeded in a similar fashion, though nothing could quite compare to my first two experiences.  After Athens' dismal countenance, wandering around in utter beauty and charm was a welcome relief.  Every corner had a new surprise or scene.  One street was full of bohemian art galleries... also a favorite!  And so the day progressed.

My fellow travelers arrived that evening after an unfortunate 10 hour siesta in the Sofia airport.  Getting pizza to go, we arrived at the Colosseum just as the Pope began his Good Friday address.  The square was packed, and a cross of candles stood above the crowds, its flames flickering in time with the liturgies.  Some of the crowd were just interested tourists (that would be us) while others were deeply involved Italians, reciting the lines by memory.  Above it all was a strange oscillating metallic object in a tree, carefully concealed behind the leaves.  Hmmm.

The next day, Will and I, who had never been to Rome before, went hard-core sightseeing.  Let me tell you, tours are the way to go.  We lucked out on the guides... each one could have been a sitcom character that just happened to know the last 2500 years of Roman history.  Everything was crowded, of course, but the strange thing about Rome is that the people kind of fade in relation to what you're looking at.  The crowds also preclude all efforts to preserve Japanese trademarks from tourists' cameras... i.e. the Sistine Chapel.  People unabashedly ignored all requests to put away the cameras.  Really, from the guards' point of view, it must have been a hopeless circumstance.  The Chapel packed to capacity and the Pope delivering universal pardon in less than 24 hours... there was no winning.

 As for that Pope and Easter Sunday, I went not knowing what to expect.  I imagined that St. Peter's Square would be mobbed.  In fact, it wasn't.  And the line to enter (airport-style security)... well, it's amazing how short it can be if you start in the right place.  As I said, universal pardon.

Now then, a note on the Colosseum.  It's cool, first of all.  (Dad, I took particular notes for you :D)  But let's talk about this Christian martyr business.  The Church officially took back its accusations of killing Christians there in the 50s.  Only one emperor did this, and it failed.  Why?  Let's think about this logically.  Gladiators and prisoners walk out of the Door of Death into the ring, desperately hoping to live and prepared for a valiant struggle.  This makes for a good show, and it furthers the Roman propaganda that no matter how vicious it gets, everything can be conquered / controlled by Caesar.   

  

Christians, on the other hand, aren't so concerned about living, are they?  Do they fight hard and/or beg for their lives?  Not really.  To live is Christ and to die is gain.  And if they're not afraid of death but Caesar is, who is greater?  So, politically and socially, would it really be a good move for Caesar to use them for entertainment?  Not really.  End of note.

Go to Rome.  It's worth it.

Semana Santa: Istanbul

Istanbul.  Once the heart of the worlds most imposing empire and now the world's second largest city.  


Originally, it didn't seem like Istanbul could hold a straw to Rome.  Although it was incredible in its own rite, Rome is... well, the Eternal City.  But looking back on the trip as a whole, I think my perspective has changed.  While I visited Rome, I experienced Istanbul.  If you merely visit Istanbul, it will be worthwhile. If you experience it, you'll never forget it.

The Hostel:  Mavi Guesthouse
Mavi was one of my favorite memories.  When Kelly and I realized that our original reservations didn't go through a few days before arriving, Mavi was the next best thing...  staying in a 22-person room on the roof.  The roof, it turned out, was an opaque tarp.  Admittedly, the first night was a bit rough, not to mention cold.  Kelly said at one point she awoke and looked over to find me completely submerged under three enormous blankets, head and all.  However, waking up to see and hear birds feet on the tarp above me magically erased the previous night, and the trip really began.

Breakfast everyday consisted of slices of tomato and cucumber, a hard boiled egg, cream cheese and jelly, and an endless supply of sliced bread with coffee and apple tea (a Turkish staple!).  One of my bunk buddies was an enormous bald Turkish guy who worked at the hostel, and after a few days, he had our eating preferences down and brought our food immediately with a smile.  Ali, the hostel owner, was an endless fount of information and advice, as well as an offbeat sense of humor that continually caught me by surprise.

The Blue Mosque
Our hostel was literally right around the corner from two of Istanbul's most famous sights.  The Blue Mosque is an impressive structure, but as Mars, a new acquaintance who happened to be attending OU, pointed out, it appeared to be in perfect harmony with the surrounding landscape.  Kelly and I stopped by right before the evening call to prayers.  To enter, we first had to remove our shoes and cover our heads.  Habitually at a loss for all fashion tricks, the scarf wasn't working for me, so I turned to a Muslim woman who was also removing her shoes and asked for help.  With a quick flip of the scarf and whipping out a pin from her own covering, mine was perfect!

Inside was spacious and colorful... in a subdued sort of way.  Women already praying lined the walls while tourists flashed their pictures.  An unfortunate [ugly] American girl seemed to have forgotten to take her shoes off and got into an embarrassingly loud argument with one of the mosque men who was quietly asking her to leave.  A few minutes later, that same man returned and herded us all out as quickly as possible right before the call to prayer thundered from the minarets.  The whole city echoed with the various mosques' calls as the sun began to set.  It was beautiful.

The Hagia Sophia
Right across the street, the Hagia Sophia kept a watchful eye on the Blue Mosque.  Originally a Byzantine cathedral, it was much more imposing than the Mosque.  However, when the Ottoman Turks invaded, they converted it to another mosque and plastered over many of the Christian paintings and mosaics.  Kelly and I, becoming adept at eavesdropping on others' tours, learned that the plaster had begun to chip away in spots, allowing some of the original work to show through.  There were also several beautiful golden mosaics of Mary, Christ, and a few other saints that had survived.  My main lament on this trip was not having brushed up on my ancient history more thoroughly.  10th grade was a long time ago.  Still, the tours we pirated were quite helpful :)

Meat House
On our first night, we arrived famished.  Ali recommended a restaurant down the street, Meat House.  We were skeptical until, at that very moment, his to-go order arrived.  One look at the dishes and we were convinced.  Dinner began with the best yogurt I have ever tasted and the most enormous puff of pita bread, fresh from the oven.
  The next dish, a combo platter, was equally as delicious, and our server watched attentively and answered all our questions.  When we were finished, he begged us to stay for a cup of apple tea on the house.  This was to become a custom no matter where we went.  Turkish people are, above all, hospitable!



Jimmy and the Asian Side

Let's be honest:  crossing into whole other continent for the price of a 2 Turkish Lira ferry ticket is pretty incredible.  The city didn't change at all, but I did get to add another checkmark to my To-Do List for Life!  We went without a clear agenda, and after wandering around, we decided to find the TV tower hill for a 360 of the city.  The only thing was, we had no idea where it was.  An older gentleman just happened to overhear us wondering out loud and offered to show us the way.  As it turned out, he (Jimmy) was an ex-journalist and diplomat, and he resurrected 25-year-old English with little difficulty.

The hill entailed a bus ride and a sharp walk upward.  Jimmy accompanied us the whole way and was an endless source of knowledge and conversation.  While some of us were worried he'd turn around and demand millions of dollars at any moment, the rest of us enjoyed a lively conversation.  He seemed to take a balanced perspective on most things, whether the Kurds, or gypsies, or censorship, or Turkey's pending admittance to the EU.

At the top, we stopped for Turkish coffee and dessert.  I'm not typically a fan of chocolate lava cakes, but whatever we ate blew that away.  It was delicious.  Afterwards, Jimmy explained their tradition of reading fortunes from the coffee grounds left in the bottom of the coffee cups.  The descriptions were humorous, at best, but it should be noted that Will's involved an Evil Eye (common in Turkey), and less than 24 hours later he had a whopper of an eye infection.  When he mustered enough strength to find a pharmacy, people would stop him on the street: "My friend, my friend!  Your eye is going to explode!"

The Whirling Dervishes


In college, Dr. Spencer's classes nearly killed me.  British Literature Since 1800 and Ancient World Literature.  Even the memories make me shudder involuntarily.  My biggest problem with world literature was that most of it was so foreign that, despite having traveled, I had little experience to which I could connect my readings.  Nevertheless, I did emerge with some favorites, one of which was Rumi, the Sufi Islam mystic.

While waiting in line to see the Hagia Sophia, someone gave us a flyer to a whirling dervish performance that evening.  Dervishes, as you may know, are the mystic clerics in Sufism, and they dance in circles in a set ceremony as a spiritual practice and entrance into meditation.  Intrigued and wishing I'd brought my Rumi book of poems (which actually did make it to Spain!), I put it on my If-We-Have-Time-and-Money-I'd-Really-Like-to-Go list.  The timing worked perfectly, though it meant we had to scarf down the world's greatest kebab en route.  (I kid you not, most kebabs are pretty similar.  This one was divine.)  The performance itself was cool, but it was definitely helpful to have an explanation of the ceremony in front of us!

Turkish Baths
I'm currently debating how much to explain about Turkish baths.  It is easily one of my favorite memories.  However, on the off-chance that some of you mystery readers will make it over, I think you should just experience it.  Let's just say, it's not a Roman sauna experience by any stretch of the imagination, though it begins like that.  Red-checkered towels, steamy stone rooms, vigorous exfoliation and olive oil soap suds... yes, it's better to just experience it.

The Grand Bazaar

The Grand Bazaar is an enormous market in a catacomb-like building that stretched on and on and sold everything from soap to leather and Persian rugs to jewels.  It really puts Disney to shame... it was like Aladdin on steroids.  So many people, so many products, everyone shouting and vying for attention, some of the vendors genuinely interested and others 100% sleazy.  It was fun to see the sights and haggle over a few things, but it was exhausting.  There is a pretty good chance that the lamp I bought didn't make it to Athens and Rome and Madrid completely intact.  I still haven't opened the bad to see.  Yikes.  Superglue maybe?

Most Unexpected Moment

Favorite Second-Hand Story
(told without permission... sorry Kelly!)
One of the nights, most of our group opted to go to Taksim, the nightlife hub of Istanbul.  Ready to call it a day, I declined but wished them a good time.  Off they went.  They arrived at a huge club, only to find that it was mostly deserted except for the fourth floor.  The bouncer, however, was not very understanding and flatly refused to admit them.  Kelly and Tina watched from a distance as the Wills tried to argue (sweet-talk) their way in.  Defeated, they returned to the girls with the bad news.  It was a no go.  Not ready to give in, Kelly spoke up.  "Step aside, Will, let me handle this."

Now, you need to know that Kelly is a few inches shorter than me, has beautiful eyes, and is altogether gorgeous.  In fact, as Evil Eye Will put it, "You just so adorable, it's disgusting!"  So Kelly walks up to the bouncer and smiles sweetly.  "Is there any way we could go up to the fourth floor, please?" she asks.

"For you," the big man grinned, "no problem.  Open sesame!"  And that was that.  The boys followed in silence :)

Istanbul to Athens Interlude

Allow me to make a few seemingly innocent and unconnected observations:

1.  Istanbul is the world's second largest city.
2.  Istanbul has two airports.  One is in Asia, the other is in Europe.  They're 86 km apart.
3.  Olympic Air was voted Europe's Best Airline last year.  Unlike budget-airlines, it waits for passengers.
4.  If, in the event that you go to the wrong airport, there is a 5% chance you will have enough time to get to the other...
5.  ...Unless your bus is involved in a traffic accident.

Note to Self:  next time flag down a motorcycle and bribe them to cut traffic.  Not kidding.