Trev's Christmas Story

Trev's assignment was to write a Christmas story in Catalan.  Here is his story (which he wrote with help from Mark), translated into English:

Gelosa The Mean

Once there was a witch named Gelosa who lived in the desert.  She was jealous of other people because everyone else received Christmas gifts, but she received none.  You see, she was very selfish.  Nobody liked her, so who would give presents to her?  Not even Santa Claus gives presents to mean people.  Every year, other people received lots of gifts, but Gelosa did not receive any.

One Christmas, Gelosa came up with a plan to kidnap Santa Claus.  If she was not going to receive any gifts, then she did not want anyone to get them, either.  If she kidnapped Santa Claus while he was delivering gifts, she could steal all of them and keep them.  On the 24th of December, Gelosa rode on her broom and kidnapped Santa Claus, sleigh and all.  She brought Santa to her house and locked him inside with magic.

In the beginning, Gelosa was very happy.  She had never gotten any presents before, and now she had more than she could count.  She was very excited to open them.  Santa Claus, on the other hand, was thinking about all the kids who wanted to open their gifts on Christmas day.

Gelosa took the largest presents in the pile and started to open them.  The first one was a very large dollhouse.  Santa Claus was watching and said, "What a shame, because Maria would have loved that dollhouse."  Then Gelosa opened another present, a beautiful bicycle.  "What a shame," said Santa Claus, "little Marc would have loved that."  Gelosa could see that Santa was sad.  "I bet you are sad because you do not have any gifts!"  she said.  Santa replied, "No, I am sad because I like to give gifts, but I can't do it."

After a few days, Gelosa realized that it wasn't the fun opening the gifts because they were not for her.  She wondered whether Santa was right, that it was more fun to give gifts than to open them.  Gelosa asked Santa, "Can I give gifts next Christmas?"  Santa responded, "Great idea!  But you can do it this year.  You can help the 3 Wise Men to deliver them on the 6th of January."

The End

Food

The Spanish eat a lot of ham (jamon).  One can buy an entire dried pork drumstick, place it on a special stand, and shave thin slices off for weeks until all that is left is a gigantic bone with attached hoof.  It's quite salty and dark, the color of dried blood, and marbled with fat.  Almost a jerky.  It is very flavorful, quite unlike the ham we know in the US, more like prosciutto.  I'm not a big fan, but a few bits can make a nice gazpacho sing.

Spain is ranked #2 in world pork consumption per capita, after Denmark and before Hong Kong.  I was shocked because I thought the Chinese ate a lot of pork!  Someone told me that one possible reason why the Spanish eat so much pork might be that for 800 or so years they were ruled by the Muslims, who do not eat pork at all.  The Christian reconquest by Ferdinand and Isabella was the birthplace of modern Spain.  The Catholic conquerors knocked down all of the mosques and built their cathedrals right on top of the ashes.  Perhaps likewise culturally they stuck it to the Muslims by making pork their food of choice.  The few Muslims who did not get killed or driven out converted to Christianity, or at least pretended to.  What better way to test whether a Muslim has truly converted than to offer him a nice slice of ham?  But that may just be a good story...

A friend of ours owns a sausage factory, and she showed me a mind-boggling array of sausages-- fresh ones, dry ones, dark ones, white ones, red ones, etc.  I think they are OK.  Quite mild flavored, not usually smoked, and not very sweet.

The locals like to slice their cured meats into very thin slices and place them inside split french bread.  No mustard, no lettuce, no tomato, no onion, just meat and bread, and perhaps a little cheese.  I find it rather dry and boring, but the kids' classmates bring these for breakfast and wolf them down during 5pm snack.  Bocadillos are standard fast food.

One by-product of raising so much pork is lard.  Lard is used in cookies and croissants.  It's not easy to be vegan here, especially when eating out at local restaurants.  The vegetarian options tend to be egg and cheesy.

There are a handful of vegetarian restaurants, mostly in the city center.  I can buy vegetarian patties, tofu, and seitan in organic and upscale grocery stores.  The fake meat here is not very good.  Soymilk is easy to find in the market, but not in restaurants.  There are tons of bad Chinese restaurants.  Not very many Thai, Vietnamese, or Korean places.  A fair amount of Indian and Middle Eastern restaurants.

Spaniards love to eat out, even though I find it rather expensive.  It is normal to eat breakfast at a bar (café).  Thank goodness for wide sidewalks in our area because the cafe seating takes up most of the space, and pedestrians must beware to dodge waiters laden with food crossing the path.

Restaurants do not open for lunch until 1pm or 1:30, and lunch is taken leisurely in three courses, frequently lasting a good two hours.  People commonly eat off the menu of the day, which is a set price for bread, a choice of first and second plates, plus dessert and a beverage, which can be wine, beer, or water.  And to top off that big meal and keep you from dozing off at work you drink a coffee afterwards.  I like that a dessert option is always fresh fruit like a slice or melon or pineapple.  Another common dessert option is plain yogurt, which is creamier, less sour, and less sweet than in the US.

There is no free water here.  You have to buy it by the bottle, with or without gas (carbonation).  Wine is as cheap as water.  Soft drinks are not commonly imbibed.  Drink portions are tiny by American standards.  No big gulps here.  Soda cans are smaller, and juice bottles can be miniscule.

It is hard to find a restaurant which serves dinner before 8pm.  We have not yet adjusted to the crazy Spanish schedule, so we eat at home around 6:30 and the kids go to bed between 8:30-9:30pm.  So we never eat out for dinner.

The produce here is excellent.  Fresh and high-quality.  The fruits in particular tend to be seasonal and wonderful.  The watermelon and bollo melon in the late summer make my mouth water.  The tangerines are sweet and juicy.  The pomegranite is not tart at all, and relatively cheap.  Tomatoes are amazingly cheap. Carrots are sweet and crunchy.  There are traditional produce markets all over the city which are housed in beautiful buildings.  Inside a cavernous hall you find various little stands.  You approach the counter and they ask you what you want and how much.  You do not choose your own produce.  They bag and weigh it for you.  It took a bit of getting used to, but I like seeing the same person every week and chatting about what is in season.

 In order to find asian vegetables and condiments I need to make a special trip to an asian grocery store.  I know of only one Korean store where I can buy kimchee.  But there are numerous Chinese stores which stock pan-asian goods so I can get frozen dumplings and bao, noodles of all kinds, seaweed and curry paste and all that.  I also frequent the Indian market for spices.  However, all of these delicacies are pricey.

Spaniards eat a lot of refined bread products.  Every block has a bakery, full of various subtle iterations on French and Italian breads.  One can find multigrain or whole wheat breads, but most people eat white bread.  In the supermarket there is an entire aisle devoted to galletas or biscuits, which are sweet crackers generally eaten for breakfast dunked in milk.  They also like magdalenas, which is their word for muffins.  Another whole shelf displays various toasts (pan tostado) -- mini slices of white bread which have been crisped.  Toasters are not used much.  People like their bread pre-toasted and they spread cheese on it and pile ham on top.  I like these giant croutons.

How I miss Trader Joe's!  Living without a car makes it harder to buy large quantities, so I find myself shopping about every two or three days.  At the cash register they ask whether you want bags, and charge you for them.  Yet strangely I see few people bringing cloth bags with them to the store.  I can't live without my rolling shopping trolley, which makes lugging groceries much easier and makes shopping bags obsolete.

Catalan food is very much like Italian food.  Lots of olive oil, tomato, onion, garlic, potatoes, garbanzos, green beans, eggplant, peas.  They like rice and pasta.  Plenty of stews.  Lots of cheese and eggs.  Lots of seafood since we are on the Mediterranean.  They love fried croquettes.  Calamari and cuttlefish are well-loved.  I really like black rice, which is like a risotto cooked in squid ink so it is black-purple in color.  Strangely, the tomato sauce here is thin and plain, devoid of vegetables or spices.  We prefer a chunky. thick sauce with lots of onions and basil.  Pureed vegetable soups are ubiquitous and delicious.  I think that is from the French influence.  Personally, I find the vegetables overcooked here.

People

The Catalans are morenos.  Dark hair, dark eyes.  You do see a fair amount of streaky blond highlights on the women, but few natural blondes.  Generally not very tall, especially the older people who suffered through the Civil War.  Faces are mostly narrow with gaunt cheeks, deep-set eyes, strong roman noses, and thin lips.  Mark fits right in, except that he is on the tall side.  I have seen few obese people, likely due to all the walking required when one lives in a metropolis with excellent public transportation.

Catalans have the reputation of being more reserved, serious, and entrepreneurial than other Spaniards.  They are polite, and I have never seen any outward displays of anger among people on the street.  Well, I have heard some loud drunken yelling, usually on Saturday or Sunday morning around 7am when some all-night partygoers are stumbling into bed, but that's unusual.  These aren't your passionate, fiery Andalusians.

People here are well-educated and well-mannered (aside from blowing smoke everywhere and dropping cigarette butts on the ground, which drives Mark crazy).  People say that it is hard to get into the inner circle of friends with Catalans, and they won't invite you to their homes readily.  However, our experiences have not proved that to be true.  Granted, they aren't generally very smiley, but they are plenty warm.  Friends greet each other with two kisses in the air while touching cheeks (right cheeks, then left).

The Spanish in general speak with loud voices.  They interrupt each other.  They speak with their hands.  They touch you on the arm or the leg, and stand quite close to you.  I don't mind it, but some people (the Germans or the Japanese, for example) find it uncomfortable.

This is not a violent society.  Women walk around alone at all hours of the night without fear.  However, petty thievery and pickpocketing are rampant.  We have seen crying tourists on the beach who had their passports stolen.  When eating, a woman keeps her purse in her lap.  Bikes are kept indoors or chained with multiple locks.  You need to buzz to be allowed into banks, and many shops have security standing by the door.

Barcelona has excellent shopping-- plenty of high fashion boutiques.  However, it is not like New York or Los Angeles, where one feels pressure to be stylish and thin.  People are down-to-earth, the women dress fairly modestly (not flashy or trashy) and do not wear ridiculous amounts of makeup.  It's not a fake, plastic-surgery type of place.  Attire is casual-urban.  Few men wear suits to work.  Right now long scarves are in, for both men and women.  Tights with boots, too.

This is a city full of people from elsewhere.  According to some outdated facts from wikipedia:

According to Barcelona's City Council, Barcelona's population as of 1 June 2006 was 1,673,075 people,^[49] It is the main component of an administrative area of Greater Barcelona, with a population of 3,218,071 in an area of 636 km² (density 5,060 hab/km²). The population of the urban area was 4,223,000. It is the central nucleus of the Barcelona metropolitan area, which relies on a population of 5,083,000.^[50]

The population density of Barcelona was 15,779 inhabitants per square kilometre (40,870 /sq mi),^[51] with Eixample being the most populated district. 62% of the inhabitants were born in Catalonia, with a 23.5% coming from the rest of Spain. Of the 13.9% from other countries, a proportion which has more than tripled since 2001 when it was 3.9%,^[34] the majority come from (in order) Ecuador, Peru, Morocco, Colombia, Argentina, Pakistan andChina.^[52] The city also has the largest Jewish community in Spain, with an estimated 3,500 Jews living in the city.^[53]

In my Spanish class of twenty-five students, I estimate that one-third are from mainland China, one-third from Russia or ex-USSR countries, and the rest a smattering of others.  Walk through the lower-end neighborhoods we have observed many Filipino families.  That makes sense because they are a former colony, and Tagalog has a lot of Spanish in it.  As in other parts of the world, many Filipinas are employed as domestic workers and caregivers.  Ten years ago, they were so pervasive that Barcelonans would use the term "my Filipino" to mean my housekeeper/nanny.  Nowadays they use the more PC term "canguro" or kangaroo to mean nanny (one who keeps the kids in a pouch), and "chica" to mean a housekeeper.

There are a good number of Latinos here, and they seem to dominate the moving business.  They prowl around the entrances and exits of IKEA, handing out business cards, and offering to deliver whatever furniture we car-less city folk have bought at a fraction of the price that IKEA charges.

A good number of wealthy Russians are buying property and dropping megabucks here.  But there are plenty of middle class Russians who have retail shops here.  Spanish with a Russian accent is also pretty difficult to understand.  The Russians like it here because the weather is so much nicer!  And apparently the prices here are lower than in large cities in the USSR.

The Chinese who come here run "basar chinos" which can be found on every block. Generally they are stuffed to the hilt with a random assortment of hardware, housewares, underwear, toys, and school supplies, all at good prices, not always of good quality. They are a family affair, with kids working alongside parents after school. I like to practice my Mandarin when I go in.  Frankly, Spanish spoken with a Mandarin accent is really hard to understand and not very pretty.  Because the languages have absolutely ZERO overlap, in pronunciation, writing, or cognates, the first generation immigrants have it rough.  Add to that vast cultural differences.  Most of the Chinese people I have talked to admit that they don't like it very well here.  They don't feel particularly welcome, they find the language difficult, and they look so different from Spaniards that it can be difficult to fit in and feel comfortable.  I haven't witnessed any blatant racism, but on numerous occasions  I have been mistaken for someone who works in a restaurant or store by local customers-- it it because I look like someone of the worker class? Recently the Chinese have also diversified into running restaurants (bad Chinese food, Japanese food) and bars that serve Catalan food.  By the way, a bar here is what we would call a restaurant or café.   I sometimes feel a little guilty, that I have had such an easy and comfortable transition here, when I can see how hard it is on them.

Recently there has been an influx of Pakistani immigrants.  The men run small supermarkets.  The women tend to stay in the Raval area, pushing strollers with their heads covered with scarves.

Turkish restaurants with spit-roasted doner kebab are common and popular.

Then there are the Europeans of every stripe-- many are expat families transferred by their companies.  But also a fair number of Germans, Italians, etc. marry locals and settle down here.  Our school is full of these.  The Europeans I've talked to all love it here.  The weather is better than where they came from, the lifestyle is more relaxed, and they feel comfortable and accepted.  Although the salaries here are lower than in many other European countries, the prices are also lower.

I see a few Africans, almost all men, and I only see them pushing shopping carts from dumpster to dumpster scavenging metal.  I do not see them working in restaurants or shops, and I don't see them with families.  I don't know why.

There are a few gypsy women who wear scarves over their heads who beg for change on the street.  I have also seen some homeless people sleeping on the street, but not many compared to in San Francisco.  Spain has been hit hard by the financial crisis, but we don't see the effects that much, at least where we live.  But there are plenty of "buskers" or people playing music for money on the metro or the street.

There are virtually no mixed-race couples here.  There are a good amount of children adopted from China.  We were thrilled to meet a couple in a Chinese restaurant with a Spanish mother and Taiwanese father.  I feel like people look at me when I walk down the street, perhaps because I do not look like a mainlander, nor do I talk like one. But happily the kids have felt nothing but welcome.  And since English and Mandarin are the two languages in vogue here, they are admired for knowing both.

The Spanish do NOT speak English well.  They are behind the rest of Europe on this, and they know it.  The problem is that because of Latin America, there is a large Spanish speaking market, so there are lots of Spanish books and music, and everything on the television and in the cinema is dubbed.  Whereas in Holland or Finland, countries with populations smaller than Beijing or California, people are surrounded by American movies and music, and they speak flawless English.  The kids have English class in school, and it's laughable.  When the kids sang some Halloween songs in English, I could hardly understand them because their pronunciation was so bad.

Compared to the Bay Area, I'd say that Barcelona is just as cosmopolitan, but less racially and culturally integrated.  Most likely in large part because the immigrants to the Bay Area are generally well-educated scientists and engineers, so the workplaces are very integrated.  Spain only recently opened up to foreign immigration, so it is still quite homogeneous.  Yet, I feel comfortable now, and I feel like I belong here.

Zoe's first blog post

Hello, my name is Zoe. I am ten years old. I am an American girl living in Barcelona.

In Barcelona, people speak two different languages.  They speak Spanish because this is Spain, but Barcelona is part of the province of Catalunya, which wants to be its own country.  The language of Catalunya is Catalan, so most people here also speak Catalan.  My father taught me to speak Spanish, but when we moved here I needed to learn Catalan because my classes are mostly in Catalan.  Catalan is similar to Spanish, French, and Portuguese, so it’s not that hard to learn if you already speak Spanish.

One of the things I really had to get used to here was the daily schedule.  Most kids in Barcelona wake up around 7:30, eat a light breakfast (milk and crackers) around 8:30, start school at 9am, have morning snack (a sandwich) at 11am, eat lunch at 1:30pm, get out of school at 5pm, have afternoon snack (a muffin or croissant) at 5:15pm, eat dinner at 8:30pm and go to sleep at 10:30pm!  This made me too tired because I was used to getting out of school at 2:45 and going to bed at 8:30pm.   

At school, lunch break is very long:  from 1-3pm.  During that time some kids go home to eat lunch, and come back at 3.  The other kids eat lunch in the cafeteria and then play or have study time.  At my school, lunch is always served in three courses:  entree, main course, and dessert.  Our first course might be salad or soup.  Our second course might be croquettes, potatoes and beans, or pasta.  Dessert is often fresh fruit, yogurt, ice cream, or flan.  My brother and I think it is funny that at school people do not eat their fruit by holding it in their hands and biting it.  Instead, they cut the whole apple or pear into pieces using a fork and knife!

Speaking of food, the names of some foods here are different.  For example, in California, a tortilla is a corn or wheat pancake, but in Spain, a tortilla is an omelet, usually with potato in it.  Also, macaroni here are not the elbow-shaped pasta, but any type of shaped pasta.  In addition, people here eat bread with every meal.  

The water fountains here are just faucets like in a sink.  When you turn them on, you have to turn your head sideways to drink and try not to spill water on your feet.    

Catalunya has different traditions, holidays, and celebrations.  Instead of Halloween, they celebrate Castanyada, which is the chestnut festival.  People eat roasted chestnuts and sweet potatoes, and bake little cookies called panellets.  In September, there is a big festival called La Mercè.  During the day, there are parades of giant figures called gegants, which had people inside of them.  In addition to parades, there are folk dances like the sardana and the bastoner.  In the sardana, dancers stand in circles and hold hands.  In the bastoner,  dancers hold sticks and hit them together.  In the plaza we watched teams of people called castellers and falcons.
      
These people work together to build human structures more than three stories high!  The falcons made human pyramids, and the castellers made tall towers by standing on each other’s shoulders. I hope to be in one of those groups next year.  At night there is a big parade of people dressed like devils pushing giant fire-breathing dragons and carrying poles with spinning fireworks which rain sparks down on everybody.  The sparks stung my back through my shirt and even burned my brother’s cheek!


At Christmas time the Catalonians believe that the Three Wise Men bring the presents, not Santa. They don’t even show up until January 6th! They also believe in The Christmas Uncle. The Christmas Uncle is a log which every family gives food to and covers with a blanket. On Christmas Eve Night, kids sit on it, hit it with sticks and sing a song which says: “Go poo, Christmas Uncle! Poop out my present!” Then they lift the blanket and find their presents. Personally I think it is a crazy idea and can’t wait to find out how it works.



When kids lose their teeth, instead of the tooth fairy, they believe in a little mouse called El Ratoncito Perez. I lost 5 teeth in one month and he gave me 10 euros.

How did we get here?

A window of opportunity opened and we jumped through head first.  I think we were trying to prove to ourselves that we aren't too old to learn, adapt, and change.  Our answer to a mid-life crisis. 

We had been talking about living abroad in Europe for years. He wanted Paris.  I said we were already juggling three languages at home:  English, Spanish, and Mandarin Chinese, and I drew the line there.  It would have to be Spain. What about the bank bailout and Eurozone crisis?  Barcelona was supposedly the entrepreneurial and technological center of the country.  Perhaps by working in an American company we could avoid any serious collapse.  

Zoe was turning ten.  Her skin was starting to get pimples, and we realized we had to act soon or face the wrath of a teenage girl torn from her BFFs.  We had warned them it might happen soon.  Last year we vacationed in Spain and enjoyed ourselves immensely. Spain seemed very livable. The kids are excellent  travelers, and we had just spent 5 weeks in Taipei, Taiwan doing Mandarin summer camp.  They hadn't been the slightest bit homesick.  

I told Mark that if he could find a job that would provide the paperwork, I would do it. Little did I know what I was getting into. In mid-June he attended a start-up weekend in Barcelona, and spent two weeks making contacts and job-hunting.  At the end of July we returned home to California and were happy to unpack, reunite, and enjoy the end of summer.  The first week of August Mark flew to LA for an interview with Oblong Industries.   A week later he had an offer, and we decided to take the plunge.  

I had never been to Barcelona before, but the weather was very similar to Palo Alto, it was reputed to be a beautiful, international city with beach and ocean, amazing architecture, great food... why not?  From there we could make short trips throughout Europe.  North Africa was just a ferry ride away.  

I was an advocate of the "slow move".  Mark could go first, start working, get to know the city, line up some potential apartments.  The kids would start school at Ohlone as planned, I could pack in a relaxed manner, fly out once to finalize schools and housing, and we would be there by Thanksgiving or Christmas.  Mark was adamant that our best bet was to have the kids start the school year with everyone else. School in Spain started on September 12.  We would have to arrive at least a week in advance so we could figure out where they would attend school and acclimate ourselves.   Like a dope, I caved.  

We had 3 weeks to sell or pack up the entire house, rent it out, say our goodbyes, and take a one-way flight out. I quit teaching at the Y and gave up our coveted spots in the Mandarin immersion program.  There was no time to lose.  Friends came by to help us get rid of 10 years worth of furniture, DVDs, rugs, paintings, etc. and to say farewell.  We had a mostly unsuccessful garage sale.  I had imagined freezing my wonderful life in Palo Alto for two years, then being able to return and resume life as it had been.  But as we bid farewell to our first dining table, our beds, and the purple couch, those illusions faded, and I realized my world was being disassembled.  Dismantled.  It would never be the same.  I was traumatized.  

We have never wanted to be slaves to our possessions, and they were mostly just THINGS we were selling or giving away.  Our most personal items we planned to store or take with us.  But it was hard.  I had a good cry, then got over it and carried on.  We managed to cram everything into the attic or shed, as we were morally opposed to renting storage space.  Mark's brother took one car.  The other we donated to KQED.  How I would miss KQED!   We packed like maniacs down to the wire.  We took 9 suitcases.  Mailed one box. It still kind of felt like we were just  going on a long trip.  

On August 30 we arrived, exhausted, to a cute furnished apartment in the heart of the city that I had rented for a month thru VRBO.com.  I was enchanted by the modernist architecture of L'Eixample, and walked around snapping photos of buildings left and right.  

We knew very little about the school system, as web searches had turned up nothing useful, and there were thousands of schools in the city.  We considered going the International School route, which would mean everything in English with Spanish and Catalan language classes.  Catalan is kind of like a cross between Spanish and French, with some Portuguese or Italian thrown in for good measure.  Literally everyone here is bilingual, so one could certainly get by with speaking only Spanish, but the Catalonian identity is very strong. Since Mark had been speaking to the kids in Spanish almost exclusively since birth, they understood it quite well, but had a harder time producing it.  In the end we decided that since we planned to stay at least two years, maybe up to four, we would go for the immersion experience, and enroll them in a local school.  It would be a character building experience as well.  We exhausted ourselves visiting many schools each day and weighing pros and cons.  The decision was agonizing.  There were fancy private schools available outside the city or in the periphery, but that would entail hour-long daily commutes both ways, or we would have to live outside the city, and get a car.  We had imagined more of an urban experience with no car, so we went with a tiny private school which we could walk to, called Pérez Iborra.  Class sizes are small (under 20 students) and only one class per grade level, so the kids get plenty of personal attention.  The majority of the day is spent in Catalan, with Spanish and (basic) English classes as well.  We couldn't believe that school could provide a daily three-course vegan meal for the kids!  We spent a fortune on preppy uniforms.

On the first day of school we were worried that the kids would come home crying.  We worried that they might have a hard time making friends.  When we arrived, Zoe queued up in the 5th grade line and immediately a circle of girls closed in around her, peppering her with friendly questions.  She has had no trouble making friends!  For the first few days Trev didn't seem to know what to do with himself on the playground.  The kids were nice enough, but he barely spoke and mostly just followed the boys around and watched a lot.  But now he seems relaxed and  happy with his classmates, and I'm amazed that he is now correcting my Spanish!  Zoe has had a few moments of homesickness when she misses her friends, but for the most part the kids seem happy here. 
  
My rudimentary Spanish, learned by osmosis through ten years of listening to Mark speak to the kids, is sufficient for me to get around by myself and buy the necessities, but I attend ten hours of class a week with the goal of speaking fluently.  Interestingly, recently there has been a large influx of Russians and mainland Chinese immigrants to Barcelona, and my classmates reflect this diversity.  

Anyhow, that is the long story of how we ended up here, surprising even ourselves at the suddenness of it all.  Now that we have lived here for two months, I feel more like a resident and less like a tourist. We dove in headfirst, and have managed to land more or less on our feet.