Reminders of home, like lab

Being abroad lends itself to appreciating certain things I would not be able to stand back in the States, just because they remind me of home. I first noticed this when I began to enjoy spending time with someone who I found incredibly annoying. I couldn't figure it out until I realized that the odd, very indirect connection that this person has to my life back home was subconsciously comforting.

(Advisory: the rest of this post has almost nothing to do with being abroad.)

I noticed the second one a couple days ago when I finally started counting the spots from my last timecourse in lab. (I just have to finish before I go back home, it really makes no difference when I do it.) But I put it off because counting spots sucks. I look at my images, try to figure out whether a cell is a single budding cell or two separate ones, can't reach any definitive conclusion, then freak out because I feel like my counts are arbitrary and I can't do science. It's a reminder of how dumb I felt the whole time I tried to get the ropes of being in a lab, how I messed up every time I felt comfortable enough to work without the tech holding my hand, how the size of the lab and the shared space made it awkward to figure out silly things like which chemicals and which dirty glassware bins were ours, how I didn't know how much I should be helping with making media/cleaning/other maintenance since I wasn't work-study and the other undergrads were, how I couldn't synthesize and correlate the scientific concepts in my head to what was going on in front of me, how I got overwhelmed by the idea of creating original experiments to answer an original question, how it got awkward since I was always too dazed and tired to talk to people and make friends (although I blame the mono for that one), how bored I was sitting in front of the microscope and taking images. In a one sentence summary: how it started to convince me I'm not cut out for grad school or lab work and made me feel like shit.

DAMN, IT FELT GOOD TO WRITE THAT ALL OUT.

Well, my point was that for a minute, it was kind of comforting to count spots, but now I've taken off the rose colored lab goggles and it sucks again. On the upside, I'm glad I have this time to reflect on my plans for the future, to review yeast genetics/genetic techniques, and to catch up on all those journals.

Real classes!

In theory, I had 5 classes in my first two days. In practice, I had 1. The last one I'm signed up for, cell bio, doesn't start until the end of November and is an intensive, 8-hour/week course. I will end up dropping two classes. So, let's see how the ones I supposedly had went:

1) Sociology of Education
--Canceled because the first years had orientation stuff instead.

2) Anthro of Religion
-business as usual

3) Distribution of Power in the Modern Age
--Prof never showed up.

4) History of Ancient Philosophy
--Found out it was in a different building, spent 45 minutes looking for that building, didn't want to walk in half an hour late.

5) Intro to Traditional Music from Around the World
--Prof never showed up.

...Welcome to Spain, along with a dash of silly international student not knowing where to go.

So, Anthro of Religion! That seemed alright. I realized that it might not be the right class for me. As an atheist antitheist, I struggle with what drives people to religion and how adamantly they defend it despite the ever growing bodies of knowledge that fly in the face of traditional beliefs. I also don't buy live and let live and defend my choice to respectfully confront religious people about their beliefs, because when people base votes on religious principles, it affects me whether or not they're in my face about it. I don't understand how religious moderates defend cherrypicking the aspects of the religion that suit them. (Et cetera, cutting myself off before this turns into a novel-length rant on religion.) But I think I'm done. I spent about three hours a week during my freshman year of college discussing religion and everything related, and have had that simmering in my head since. I get it: lightning was inexplicable so had to be a supernatural being, thousands of years later we understand lighting but comfort and familial indoctrination make it difficult to break the cycle. I like to present my perspective to religious people in appropriate situations, but I'm not sure I care about studying it in what is guaranteed to be an obnoxiously PC academic setting.

Bureocracy and immigration

Today I had to go back to the oficina de extranjeros for what should have been my second of three visits to get the equivalent of my green card for the year. Due to my misunderstanding the schedule, it was actually my fourth of what would be five. When I went to the bank to try to pay the required fee before returning, my identity number was denied, so I had to make an extra trip to the oficina and miss class. I was pissed. This is a process which started last January with the submission of my papers, started to become a huge headache in April when I lost my wallet/had to get things expedited/go through loads of bullshit/jump through hoops to come in time. I couldn't believe I was still having problems. But I try not to rage too hard at logistics, and I thought of a story my dad told me about my great grandfather during World War II. He was trying to escape Nazi Germany and after what must have been a huge uphill battle, finally managed to get the immigration papers. When he was waiting in line at the consulate, the Argentinan consulate officer ripped them up and told him he would never leave anyway. He managed to get new ones and get his family to Buenos Aires, where my family outside the nucleus still lives. [Edited to correct the mistakes from my memory of the story.]

I've realized it's futile never to get frustrated or upset about my life given that people are starving/being killed/etc. If you're one of the very rare people who actually lives and thinks that way, high five, but it's natural to weigh our lives by our own circumstances and our surroundings. "Cheer up, there are kids starving in Africa" is not an appropriate response to "I'm upset about my breakup." That said, I took a moment to appreciate that despite what appear to be constant blocks in my way, I am going through this irritating process to study and have fun in a country that appreciates my presence. There was a legal way for me to leave the US and to enter Spain. I am not:
-escaping persecution
-escaping political corruption
-going to a new place desperately without any concrete prospect of money or a job, simply because of the increased chance of my survival or my family's.
Not to mention that there's no doubt that no matter how many trips I have to make to the office, it will all work out and they're not going to kick me out of the country.

this and that

What have I been doing recently?

--Going to class, while managing to skip only the few days the profs take attendance. Typical. Unfortunately they're not nearly as fun, nor enlightening as those in Cadiz. The fact that I have five of them instead of two and that the professors are way less personable doesn't help my attention span.

--Going to botellon for the first time. It's a huge, illegal but condoned gathering of youngsters pregaming. You can find one in almost any Spanish city. If you're not familiar with the term "pregame," you're probably one of my readers who needs to smile, move on, and imagine me doing stretches before a nice game of kickball.

--Buying a pair of genie pants. They're blue and flowery and gorgeous, but I'll have to grow a moderate sized pair to wear them in the states.

--Eating lots tapas and kebabs, as our Creator willed us to do whilst residing in this fine city. And it will be good unto your tastebuds and wallet but inflate thine waistline, thus sayeth the Lord. The best tapa you shall experience as of the 15th of September will have been a full avocado served with potato salad and half a toasted roll with olive oil.

--Getting sick. I had random stomach pains for about a week, then got a moderate fever which trailed off after a day, then more regular stomach pains. Time to go to the doctor and make sure it's not a potentially serious infection.

--Visiting a teteria, an overpriced yet delightful Moroccan-themed hookah and tea bar, of which there are loads.

--Noticing that I'm getting more comfortable with my Spanish. It's easier to transmit my personality through the language, I can remember obscure vocabulary when people ask, and on the rare occasion that I can't think of the word, I can quickly explain what I mean and the native speaker will produce the word for me.

I said a post or two back that I owed more on my immediate, general love for this city. I've indirectly covered a lot, but here is the rest, modified from parts of emails to Joel and to Tess:

Granada is surrounded by mountains--notably the Sierra Nevadas on one side, but by hills in all directions. Actually imagine a bowl in which the bottom is the center of the city: bigger apartment stores, shopping districts, offices, apartment buildings, the university. As the bowl starts to curve upwards, you get to districts like the Albaycin and the Sacromonte, with white sugar cube style houses draped with grapevines, morning glories, and other creeping plants. And of course, when the city ends, the mountains keep rising upward to the rim of the bowl. It looks more like pictures I’ve seen of Greek islands than what I expected in Spain.

The city has a seemingly endless supply of bars, hangouts, nightclubs, mountains, cool people, lax professors, and nearby excursion sites to keep me more than entertained for the next five months. The Arab quarter, the Albaycin, is full of awesome hippie stores that all sell the same gypsy pants and long skirts and hookahs and teas and bright beautiful wall hangings. Actually, the tea here is amazing. They sell it in huge bins with spots of all different colors from the mixes of plants and herbal flowers with names like Suenos de la Alhambra and Pasion de Granada. 

 One of the main hippie-gypsy-store streets in the Albaycin.

And that's all for today. I think that covers enough general Granada information. Now back to the mess of picking real classes for the semester, which start the week after next!

A marginally related post about loving life

The other day I was overflowing with happiness and made this list. Not in order, not complete.

THINGS I'M EXCITED ABOUT
Going to Smokeeaters when I get back and getting wings and beer
Going to Plainfield and not getting kicked out after 9
Going to Exploratorium After Dark events
My apartment here
My apartment mates
Meeting Spaniards as well as Erasmus students from all over Europe
That my foot's well enough to start working out again
Traveling during winter break with Joel
The fact that I've made some radical friends in the California group
The new season of Community
Going to the Sierras
Traveling EVERYWHERE
EVERYTHING. I LOVE LIFE RIGHT NOW

A more boring post about finding my apartment

Apartment hunting in Granada is crazy. During late August and September, the city gets an even coating of paper from the flyers advertising apartments. The ads range from totally uninformative to questionable-sounding propaganda. There's no well-used website and people rarely respond to emails, so you call hundreds of numbers from flyers and have thousands of awkward conversations that sound like this:

"I'm calling about the apartment."
"Ok"
"Is it still free?"
"Yes"
"Can I see it?"
"Yes"
"Ok, when?"
"Whenever."
"Umm, ok, can I go over now?"
"Yes"
"Vale vale vale. Vale vale."
"Vale?"
"Vale!"

Then you go see millions of apartments, many of which are old, dirty, or have inhabitants that don't appeal to you, or who don't want people who are only staying for only six months. Then you find yours.

I got it easy. I have the keys to the third place I saw. The first piso I saw was of the disgusting variety. The second was very elegantly put together, but the landlady was openly overbearing. I went to my third with Allie and Anna, two friends who had seen around twenty places. I'd seen the ad, so I had priority out of us three. A calm Spanish guy greeted us and showed us around. The place was definitely nice and so was he. The rooms were well lit, the kitchen and common area were spacious and relatively modern, the price was good, and the location was super convenient. Anna and Allie were awed and told me repeatedly that I had to take it, that it was amazing, and that they were jealous of me already. Well, shit, I'd only seen three places, but my laziness and impulsiveness couldn't argue with that kind of logic. I told Juan that if he wanted to give me the room right now, I'd commit. He told me that was fine and I chose my room of the three. The other two girls left and I stayed to chat with Juan. He's 19, studying primary education, a footballer, and a fantastically chill dude. He told me that now, filling the other two rooms would be up to both of us. We agreed on no native English speakers, one guy and one girl, and no two people of the same nationality.

When I went back this afternoon, he had a list of names a mile long of people who had come to see it and loved it. I hoped I hadn't pressured him into giving me the room without sufficient time to put me into the pool. He assured me that it was not the case and that he'd chosen me too. I was psyched. I struggle with interviews and don't usually make good first impressions, so it was cool to know I'd actually won the personality contest. Eventually, I met a very friendly French girl with whom Juan had gotten along well and who was ready to commit, and we gave her the third room. Now, we have one more to fill. To round out the genders and to give Juan a chance to practice the language, it will ideally be a German dude.

PS: Spanish spoken with a French accent is strange and beautiful.

Real life, Granada

It was a lovely Saturday afternoon in Sevilla. The previous day's thunderstorms had lowered the temperature to a surprisingly pleasant 30 degrees or so, as compared to the city's typical summer days of 35-40. I sat outside at a restaurant along with new UC friends Gayatri and Anna, and Javi, their friend from Granada. The food was wonderful: salmorejo (a thicker version of the better known cold soup gazpacho), fried eggplants with honey, spinach with chickpeas, potatoes with mildly spicy sauce, and a jar of sangria. A nearby musician played the guitar and sang, hoping for a few coins. All along the sidewalk were umbrella-covered tables and colorfully tiled buildings. It was blissful and perfect. "Doesn't it feel like you're in Disneyland?" Javi asked us. Sort of. No, I realized. This feels amazing, but this is real. I'm living in a country where the old city centers actually look like this and eating out during a weekend feels like this. Until now, I haven't been altogether there, neither in Cadiz nor in my travels. Now, I am mentally here. This, alongside today's observation that the sunshine in Granada is the same as in Davis (which is surprising given that Granada is at 2000 feet higher elevation) made me feel at peace and at home.

Granada is covered in spray-paint art. I am reluctant to call it graffiti. Every storefront has a metal cover that slides down when the store closes during siesta and in the evening, and most stores have painted theirs with a representative piece of artwork. Some are literal: a bakery with a display of pastries, a glasses store with a glamorous woman wearing a classy pair. Some are unrelated and just pretty, such as a scene from nature. Needless to say, when the city shuts down, wandering the streets provides a different, but equally beautiful experience. But this art isn't limited to storefronts. Imagine a graffiti-laden part of an urban city--SF, Oakland, you name it. Imagine all those walls, murals, sides of buildings, alleys, covered in scrawled letters and some more intricate designs. Now, imagine that instead of aesthetically questionable scribbles, the walls become canvases for artwork: intricate, realistic faces, abstract scenes, surrealist figures conveying political messages. The best ones will use elements of the building, such as cracks, holes in the wall, or air vents as the foundation of the scene. Here, I will break my "go look at my pictures on Facebook" principle to show you one piece that does all of the above.

For you non-Spanish speakers: "Homes without people, people without homes, street that talks!"

Of course, I have more to explain about this city, but that's all the blog-energy I have for now.