Yoga

June 9, 2015

Well, that was an adventure! I went to my first French yoga class. I’m beginning to learn the Paris metro system is just representative of France--complicated! It’s like they’re still in the 90’s when it comes to the internet. After much searching I did find information on 3 yoga places. But all they include is a phone number for you to call and find out more information. So much for advertising your business, and posting info so people can come… Anyway, Matthias was really nice, and called them all for me. They told him this one was near the library, so I walked downtown toward the library, but couldn’t find the street it was on. I asked an older couple if they knew the street, and the directed me way back to where I’d come from—it wasn’t close to the library at all, but was on the edge of downtown. So, by the time I got there it was 6:28, and class started at 6:30. The building looked closed, but I opened the door, and there were people inside. Of course the door was at the front near the instructor, and the students were all sitting in a semi-circle facing her. I just opened the door and asked in my lame French if I could do yoga. She smiled and said, “I don’t know, can you?” Arg. At least she was smiling. So I asked if I could come in. She said yes, and seemed happy to have me. She then interviewed me about my experience with yoga in front of the whole class. She asked what kind of yoga I do, and when I said hot, she looked at me like I was crazy. I knew I said it right because everyone has been talking about how hot it is, so it’s definitely a word I know! The guy next to me came to my aid, and said he’d heard of it, and it’s yoga where the room is like 40 degrees. I told her it’s so you can stretch better, and she thought that was interesting. Funny she’d never heard of it! This class was Pradipika yoga. I don’t really know what that means, but it was very different from anything I’d done before. I loved being able to listen and follow along in French though! It was mostly just laying on our mats (which were two matts side-by-side with a blanket over them), and breathing while we lifted our arms and legs over our bodies in different ways. I don’t think I would go back again if it were in English. But since it’s in French, I totally will!

June 11, 2015

I tried out another yoga class today. It’s always such an ordeal to find a new place. I asked an older couple again, and google was telling me to go the wrong way on the round-about. But I figured it out, and found the right building. It was a building for clubs and groups in the town, which is really cool. I went to the reception desk and asked if there was a yoga class. She said no, and that she thought there was one later in the afternoon. I asked what time. She said, no, that’s not the way it works. You can’t just ask what time. You have to look up the group and call them and find out the information. I told her I had called and they 11:15. She said, oh, in that case, check with the dance studio room. Why she couldn’t just direct me to that room to begin with was interesting. French culture again. I walked into the dance studio, and there was a receptionist on the phone, so while I waited to ask her I noticed someone coming down the stairs wearing yoga clothes. I asked her if there was a yoga class. She said she was looking for the same class, and had just checked the room, but it was locked. So we waited for the receptionist who then told us the class was at noon. I didn’t mind too much because I had a French person captive to talk to for 45 min! She was really nice, but after about 15 min, I could see that I probably didn’t have it in me to keep the conversation going that long! Then someone else came looking for the class, and another person came and told us it had been moved to the park. Of course I couldn’t get there because I don’t have a car, but luckily the first woman I had been talking to offered to give me a ride. It was so fun. The park was gorgeous! And I got to do yoga in a foreign language. So many of my favorite things together! The yoga again was pretty different from what I’m used to. I’m beginning to think Americans invented our style of yoga because we want to get exercise and meditation all knocked out at once, and we focus on the exercise aspect more for sure! But the class was very fun. And the teacher offered to give me a ride next week because we’ll be in the park again if it doesn’t rain.  Success!

Church

June 7, 2015

My first big outing on my own was going to church, which was AMAZING! It was by far the best thing I’ve done here. I wish I didn’t have to wait an entire week to go back. I found a cheap train (transportation is really expensive here), and got there really easily, thanks to the help of technology. It was so exciting to spot the building as I walked down the street, and when I walked up the steps, there were a few people standing outside, and they all greeted me. When I walked inside, everyone shook my hand and kissed me (3 kisses in France). Relief Society (meeting with the women together) was first, and everyone introduced themselves, and all were excited to meet me. I felt so loved! I wish church could feel this welcoming for everyone every time. I understood most of the meeting (just got lost a few times during the lesson, when I zoned out). The best moment was when someone I had been talking to asked me why I am here. I said I’m here to learn French, and she said, “Oh no, you already speak French! You can say you’re here to better your French.” They really helped boost my confidence. Why does Sunday have to come only once a week? And I wish it weren’t so far away.

June 15, 2015

I just went to church for the second time today. I still love it so so much. The people are just so warm and welcoming. I may walk in alone, but I’m never alone for a minute once I’m there. It was my second week and it’s like I’ve already been going for months. They all kiss me and check in to see how I’m doing. I found someone in my town to give me a ride, an older man who is really nice. I think it makes him feel really great to be able to come pick me up. He kept telling everyone I have a chauffeur now. The train costs about $25 to take and the bus isn’t very direct and doesn’t pass very often, especially during the summer, and especially on Sundays.

Anyway, today was stake conference (a regional conference). I’m in the Toulouse Stake! It’s so big. This was the first conference they started to broadcast the meetings, so the members were very excited to be able to meet in our building. It’s very expensive and very time consuming to be able to go to Toulouse (3 hrs & 75 euros each way on a speed train).  One of the members today was telling me that only the most dedicated and well-off could go. How sad! He also told me that Ales used to have its own branch, with about 30 members, and that Nimes used to have a really big ward. I asked what happened, and he said he didn’t know, really. I guess a good amount of people have moved, and slowly stopped going. I was so bummed! I would have loved to be part of a little branch here.

But, back to conference. It was so good. Three recently returned missionaries spoke about their experiences. One went to SLC temple square, another to Montreal Canada (speaking Spanish and English!), and I can’t remember where the third one went… But they were so cute. One of them mentioned Miitt Romney. He served his mission in France, so they LOVE him! The mission president and his wife both spoke too, and said their goodbyes because they’re going home in a few days. The president served his mission as a young man in Toulouse also, so he talked about how there was also a stake conference going on in Lyon, which is where they live, but they chose to travel to Toulouse so this mission could end where his last one had 38 years earlier. The stake president closed, and also told a lot of mission stories. He served in Belgium.

Bienvenue en France

I guess I didn’t start writing right away because I’ve been to France before. First impressions of a new country are so much fun to write about.

It was my first time in Paris, though, a city I found to be very user unfriendly. I didn’t have a lot of time, so I thought I would just take the metro and hit up the Eiffel tower and the cathedral of Notre Dame before I took my train down south. It took about an hour to figure out how to leave my luggage at the train station. I had to ask so many people where the luggage lockers were. The people in the information booths were not very informative, and their English was impossible for me to understand. Other people I asked just plain didn’t know. That place is a maze (so much so that I left myself ½ hr to get my luggage out, which I needed because even the second time I had a hard time finding my way back to the lockers). After finally locking up my luggage, I was on my way. I headed across the street to the other train station because it looked like it would be an easier metro ride if I left from there. But by the time I got there, and figured out which route to take, I realized I didn’t know how to actually buy the ticket, nor was there anyone around to ask. So I decided I better skip that and just walk along the river to the Cathedral, and enjoy my time there. Dear Paris, I have used the metros in Mexico City, New York, DC, Moscow, and Madrid with no problem. I definitely speak more French than I do Russian. Why are you so complicated?

Anyway, I did enjoy walking around the cathedral and the streets of Paris, and I even ate a crepe! I kept surprising myself because I actually understood what most everyone said to me during my travels. Between the shuttles and trains and train station, I did just fine! I sat next to a nice man on the train, and had a (very) short conversation with him. That train (a double-decker speed train) took me to Nimes from Paris in 3hrs, and then I hopped on another to go from Nimes to Ales.

Holly picked me up when I got here, and they had dinner all ready when we walked in. Duck, rice and green beans. What a great welcome! I feel so blessed to have been able to stay with them. Holly is American, and Matthias, her husband is French. They also have an adorable little baby, Guy.  They were so welcoming, and have been such great hosts, and we quickly became friends. Their house is very cute, and their town is so quaint.

My first few days here seemed really long. I was working online a lot, which is boring. I don’t like just sitting in a room working on the computer for hours, especially when it’s France outside. I took some breaks and spent some time exploring the town with Holly. But it has been hard not having any other friends.

One of the things Holly and I did was go to a retirement home because in my mind I thought that sounded like the best thing I could do to practice speaking—just go hang around with older people who don’t have anything to do other than speak! I’m so glad I didn’t venture out and try to do that one on my own. I would have just said something super simple like, “I’m American and I am here to learn French. Can I talk to the people here to practice?” But even with Holly there explaining in great detail, they still didn’t know what to do with us. They kept saying that they didn’t know how that would be possible, and they didn’t know who we could talk to about that. And that it’s so complicated! They suggested city hall, and the tourist information desk. It was so funny. Definitely my first major culture clash.

Breaking up with Madrid

Monday Aug 4

Dear Madrid,

We've been together for 2 ½ months now, and I've fallen in love with you. I love the quiet corners of your Parque del Retiro, the majesty of your architecture, the reverence I've felt while immersed in the art of your Prado. I mostly love your people. I love their sense of humor, their deep voices, rising intonation, and the friction in their pronunciation. I love their kindness to strangers and their willingness to love and accept foreigners. Yet, it's time we go our separate ways.

You are the heart of Spain, and your heart is what you've given me. Through you I trekked the Camino de Santiago, I fell in love with the genius and inspiration of Gaudi. I met Velazquez, Goya, Zurzurban and Rubens in person. I observed el Greco in his natural habitat. I walked the “path” of Don Quijote. I toured your castles, and swam in your beaches. I ate your food and learned your language. We progressed from strangers to lovers on our journey together, and I will never forget you.

You even introduced me to your neighbor where I gawked in awe at the majesty of her Pyrenees and I loved her cheeses and chocolates. I became reacquainted with her language and built new and strengthened old relationships.

I've learned so much from you, and I hope that in some small way, you're different because of me. I hope this will not be goodbye forever, but that we can remain friends. I hope to return to you again someday. So, as your people say, not adiós, but hasta luego. Or shall I say “ahta luogo.” ;)

Different Lives

One of the interesting things about living in a foreign country is that you can, in a sense, become part of a different world. It's fun to be something different for a time.

Most of the countries I'd lived in previous to Spain, were third world. It's definitely different going into a living situation like the ones I've had there knowing that you're American and that you're going back home to carpet and running water and flushing toilets. But it still gave me the opportunity to have a taste of what it feels like to live in 3^rd world conditions. Granted, I never felt the despair that comes from not knowing if your family would have enough to eat, but I do know what it's like to live without a lot of the “necessities” of an American life.

In Spain I rented my apartment from a family that has quite a bit of money. But other than them, most of my friends here I met at church. My church friends were mostly South American immigrants who come here to work. And then a few Americans who have lives similar to mine, and were just in Spain for a time to work or study.

Having friends from different social classes gave me the chance to experience little tastes of what life is like in various classes, just in my one stay in Spain.

Class 1: Upper class, Spanish

Susana, the woman I rented from owns an apartment in Madrid that was orignally 3 separate apartments. She's had them remodeled so that it feels like a fairly roomy house. Which feels especially large in a European. She has two large bedrooms, 3 big bathrooms, two living areas, an entry way, and a kitchen and dining area. It's quite comfortable. Her family also owns two apartments they rent out (my little studio, and a two-bedroom flat that goes for 3 times what I paid), her mom has an apartment, and they own a house outside of the city (their summer home, because it's much cooler there than downtown Madrid. The house is probably at least 2200 sq ft. It has 4 bedrooms, a kitchen, a laundry room, a dining room, three sitting rooms (the turned the garage into another room), and 3 bathrooms. The master suite is really nice, completely as luxurious as a nice American home. The decour is very contemporary and European. They also have a pool and a big yard. And they have a car. It's usually parked when they're in the city, but they use it to go to their summer home and to go on trips.

Anyway, since I've become good friends with Susana and her twin daughters since I've been here, I've been able to live in their class. Susana took me to a party with her a few weeks ago. It felt like I'd stepped back in time. It was what I imagine it would have been like for my grandparents' generation to go to a nice gathering with friends. The occasion was someone's birthday. The guests mostly knew each other from going to school together in the city, and some of them had known each other almost their whole lives. From what I gathered they'd gone to private schools.

When Susana invited me, she was sure to mention that it was a backyard BBQ so I shouldn't worry about dressing up. Luckily I've spent enough time outside the US to know that doesn't mean you should wear jeans or shorts and a t-shirt. I wore a sundress and was glad I did. I'd say the attire was the American version of business casual: the men wore slacks and collared shirts, and the women wore dresses, nice pants and blouses or skirts and blouses. They all wore jewelry, most of it matchy-matchy too (I failed in that category).

Everyone brought gifts or wine. The spread of food included little crustless triangle sandwiches filled with cream cheeses and pates, little grilled veggie sandwiches on baguettes, a light potato salad (actually Russian), some little skewers of well-season chicken alternating with onions, and a bar of wines, juices and sodas. The plates were the small dessert-size, and most people just took one thing at a time, and only tried a couple things. Very unlike the American BBQ attitude of “fill that plate as much as you possible can with steak and chicken and burgers and chips and desserts...”

But, back to how I felt like I was in the 50's. Everyone dressed nice. The lighting was soft, we were in a lush well-groomed backyard outside of the city, with grass and flowers and a pool. Everyone looked sophisticated. They were engineers and business people. Susana used to be a reporter, and she speaks 5 languages. They all were very educated. And then one by one, they would all light up. I had to move a few times trying to escape the smoke. But, as much as the smoking bothered me, it just seemed to fit. There I was, in 1950. I felt like a young version of my grandpa would walk in at any minute with his cigarette. And my grandma might walk out with another tray of cute little crustless sandwiches.

I noticed the way I spoke that night was very careful. I learned Spanish in Latin America (mostly Mexico and Central America), and I also lived among the lower classes of people there, as I mentioned previously. Because of that my Spanish at times sounds like the equivalent of English learned in the Ozarks. I am very aware of it, and on top of that, I am very particular about trying to use Spanish vocabulary when I'm with Spaniards. And I notice that even my pronunciation changes. I've been speaking Spanish too long at this point to pick up the Spanish theta (the lisp they're so famous for), but that night I definitely caught myself pronouncing some very guttoral j's and palatalized s's. I got many complements on my Spanish, so that probably made me even more aware of it too!

Class 2: Immigrant working class, South American

Most of the friends I spent time with I met at church, and they were from Bolivia and Peru. They come here to earn more money than they can in South America, and some even come to get residency so they can travel to the US in the future. They work in restaurants or in cleaning houses (Susana in fact employs a girl from South America).

I didn't realize how upscale my apartment building was until I started visiting other apartments. I have a full-time doorman (I use the word full-time quite liberally, minus the breakfast breaks and siestas), a nice marble entry way, and an elevator. Their apartments aren't bad--Spain isn't 3^rd world, but they're not near as nice as mine. There's no doorman and no elevator. And a lot of them share apartments. In Mallorca I stayed with a girl who lived with her mom and two other families. They all share the kitchen and then each have a bedroom/living area of their own.

Another family I stayed with in Mallorca was a couple with one teenage son. The mom (late 30's, from Bolivia) cleans houses and the dad (from Argentina, also late 30's) works in landscaping. But they actually live pretty well. The beach is TWO BLOCKS down the street. They have a little two-story house with a bedroom, living room, kitchen and bath downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs (no bath upstairs!). They have two small cars. But I can tell money is tight. One night I was there the girls all went out dancing. It was 5 euros (roughly $8) to go, and Lourdes (the mom) told the girls she didn't have the money to go. They had let us stay there that night, so I told her to take 5 euros from me and go. I obviously didn't go. They left after 1am (we never ate dinner there until midnight), and didn't get home until 6am! They may originally be South Americans, but they've sure adapted the Spanish schedule. I slept instead.

I actually felt really comfortable in this environment, even though I've never been to South American, and I noticed that when I'm at church I don't pay attention to my speech at all, and my Mexican/Central American self comes out loud and clear. I don't think I would have noticed, but one day one of the missionaries (a Bolivian) asked me if I was Mexican! I laughed and asked him why. I'd said something was “bien bonito.” Very Mexican. Very funny.

Class 3: Upper middle class, American

This is my English-speaking true self. I had a few friends from church in this category, and I had a few friends come visit me from the US. Most of my traveling took place here. It's comfortable. It was fun. But also a little too normal. Nothing much to write about here. Oh, except that this self went to France and got to speak French! I couldn't believe how much I understood. I had a year in high school and a semester in college, but that linguist inside me was just jumping for joy when I got to go to church and I could understand at least 75% of the lessons! That linguist side of me loved being in this area in general, and being around Galician, Catalan, Occidental, Portuguese, French and Spanish all in one small area! Basque was in there too, but mostly just in signs. I didn't really get to hear people speak it, and it's not a Romance language (it's origin is actually a mystery), so I wasn't as interested in trying to understand it as the others.

Anyway, I enjoyed leading so many lives in such a short amount of time. What an adventure!

Blessings and Burdens

At the end of Little Women, Jo’s crotchety, cranky old aunt dies and leaves her estate to Jo, who decides to turn it into a school. Jo makes a comment to her mom about how sad that the aunt died so lonely when she could have had so much to give, if she had only shared. That’s when wise Marmee makes the comment that yes, she could have lived a much happier life if she had shared, but her flaw was letting her blessings become her burdens. I think about that quote a lot. Probably because I’ve lived so many different lives, and at times I’ve had so much, and at other times I’ve lived with a dirt floor and no electricity or running water. I haven’t come close to anything like that in Spain (it has definitely been nice to come to country that’s not 3rd world), but again, I feel at home we often let our blessings become our burdens.

My post on food hinted at that—our country is about mass production of food, and because we have a lot, we eat a lot.

We also have a lot of space, and a lot of stuff. I have a 1500 sq foot house in Ca. Three bedrooms, 2.5 baths, a garage and a yard. All to myself. And all full of stuff. It was nice to live without stuff. I had one suitcase of clothes. One room. A tiny bath and an even tinier kitchen. Granted, I am very excited to get home to a shower that's large enough that I don't have to open the curtain to have enough room to soap up. And that has enough water pressure that I'll want to wash my hair more than once a week. And I really missed having a couch. And more than one burner in the kitchen... So a little more space would be good. But I really don't need so much stuff! I'll have to clean out my garage when I get home, while I'm still in this mindset.

On food again

Sun July 27, 2014

Be prepared for probably some gross generalizations—this is all completely based on my own observations.

In general, the US has a problem with obesity. I realize (from my own experience) that this isn't always directly proportional to how much you eat. But I've been pondering the topic a lot lately. Spaniards are not obese. I have met a few that are overweight, but it's not common. And being obese is even more rare. I always thought it was because they had a better diet than Americans, and that they probably exercised more. But, I don't think that's entirely true.

The Spanish diet does have a lot of good things about it. And to an extent it probably is better than the average American, in that they don't eat as much really terrible fast food as we do. But their food (in the city, at least) isn't as fresh as I expected. All they eat for breakfast is bread and sugar, usually coffee and toast or pastries. They drink a lot of sugary beverages, and consume a lot of alcohol with lunch, tapas and dinner. The food isn't as natural and fresh as I'd hoped. I was looking forward to tart European yogurt, and instead the yogurt aisle looks way too much like it does in the US—most of it containing added sugar. They even have Danone. :( Granted, I live in the biggest city in the country, so I'm hoping the smaller towns have less commercialized food. I did get some amazing cheese right from the farmer while I was on the Camino.

A side note: As for exercise, living in the city, a lot of people do walk quite a bit. And there's a park near my house that has a running track, which is usually packed with runners and walkers. But I also have friends who don't really exercise much at all. And I feel that there aren't near as many gyms here as in the US. I have only seen a few. Not that that's the only way to exercise, but it's a way to measure that people do it, right?

But, back to eating, a topic (obviously) often on my mind. The conclusion that I've come to is that there are two things that I have noticed where Spain is very different from the US, as far as meals: portion size and dedicated eating times.

Restaurants serve fairly small portion sizes. You're not going to to find any Claim Jumper's portions here. And since restaurants serve small portions as snacks, people will eat more often, and eat less. I like that. And if you do order something large, it's expected that you'll share it. I like that too. I went and got gelato with a friend (an american). She ordered the largest cone they offered, which came with 4 scoops of gelato. The girl serving us started to put two spoons in the cone. I told her I wasn't going to eat any, and as she put the second spoon back, her eyes got huge with incredulity. If only she could see Leatherby's and American gluttony at its finest!

What I mean by dedicated eating is that they only eat when they are sitting down, focused on eating. There's no eating while walking or while traveling. I ate an apple while walking once. And the entire time I was completely aware that I was breaking all norms. I was hungry though, so I did it anyway. Since then I've seen two other people eat something on the street. The only times Spaniards ever eat anything while walking is if they have an ice cream cone (which isn't even super common).

They also don't usually eat in the car. The cars here don't even have cup holders. I don't think I would have even noticed, except that Susana pointed it out to me. We were driving in her BMW, and she said that was something she'd noticed in the US, that every car has multiple cup holders, and they don't here. That's when I looked around and realized there wasn't a single cup holder in there!