The Short Pero Contenta Vida del Mango

Greetings from Tabarca!
      From El Mango and its temporary babysitter Kathy/Jiaxin!

This is El Mango's story with frens in Spain.
This is also a sad, true story.

what's up, what's good, what's poppin it's ya girl janie

In sociology, there's a concept called cultural capital. Culture as the phenomenon of concerted action and activity - collective action. It allows us to plan and coordinate our lives. According to French sociology and philosopher Bourdieu, capital, in a nutshell, is accumulated labor. It is both material and embodied. More so, since sociologists love to talk about inequality, capital is one way to explain it. Cultural capital altogether is specialized skills and knowledge - unconsciously enacted types of speech, mannerisms, accents, styles, etc. that express group membership. Cultural capital requires an investment of time so that it becomes embodied as a long-lasting disposition of the mind and body. This then allows the individual to act with ease because that particular speech, mannerism, style, or etc. becomes second nature to them. That ease and comfortability then enable mobility. Therefore, cultural capital is necessary for surviving and navigating one's environment.

With that small and probably unnecessary spiel in mind, I now proceed to ranting about something that has dominated my head space for weeks - how incredibly frustrated and hopeless I feel being unable to speak Spanish in Spain.

I think language is something people often take for granted sometimes and you don't realize how incredibly important of a cultural capital it is until you are relocated into an unfamiliar country that speaks an unfamiliar language. I've had a rocky relationship with language my entire life. Basically, it's been a major source of anxiety in my life. Like any other ignorant child in Saturday morning Chinese school, learning Mandarin was never a priority. Fast forward to high school, despite six years of Chinese classes, I retained little to nothing. This may be because of: norms around desirability (English as the equivalent to success, assimilation and practicality), shitty public school teachers, a subconscious refusal to embrace and appreciate my heritage, perfectionism, a subconscious fear of failure inhibiting expansion, or just plain laziness and lack of self-discipline, to be honest, Or a combination of all. Over time, having taken for granted the opportunity and importance in learning Chinese ultimately landed me in a grieving process still yet to be resolved - grieving for the absence of communication between me and my family, grieving for the lost of a core part of my identity.

I have considered enrolling in Spanish courses back at Cal because I knew I wanted to study abroad in a Spanish speaking country. I also had an interest in learning Spanish for future travels. But one dilemma that held me back from moving forward with action was: I can't move beyond trivial talk with my grandparents and personal conversations with my mom were never a thing. Why would I put all my heart and effort into learning another language - when I don't even know my own? This one question of reconnecting with my cultural roots or pursuing a completely different lingual interest has left me floating in a liminal space for all these years and arriving in Spain has confronted me, with a hearty slap in the face, of my relationship with language in which I have remained stagnant in. Without the crucial cultural capital of Spanish proficiency, I found myself lacking a self-sufficiency that further distanced myself from the community here in Guardamar.

A blank face and awkward haste sum up most of my interactions with the Guardamar locals. Unable to move beyond "Hola, que tal?," I am oh so grateful for friends who have been willing to translate for me. Yet, there's always the feeling of not wanting to be a bother having that person repeat every single line. In the past few days, the class and I had the privilege to enter an archaeologist site, receive hands on experience, and learn from the archaeologists. The opportunity was right in front of me, in my reach, yet my inability to mutter a single word rendered me silent. It was very reminiscent of countless silent encounters with my grandparents back at home. Another missed opportunity to learn to my fullest was incredibly heartbreaking.

My lack of Spanish fluency resulted in my lack of ease in my day to day movement. From the uncomfortable stares from the old white men outside the Pension (or anywhere in Spain, really), I already stand out as an exotic spectacle of the East. The additional inability to communicate and immerse has dampened my experience abroad. Although this experience has left me feeling ungrounded, there have been a couple things in Guardamar that have felt familiar. Small day to day rituals such as getting coffee every morning (Bless Movellan's pepito de tenera and my boy Antonio for knowing my coffee order) and going to the mercadona are comforting to have in such an different terrain.

too lazy to write up a meaningful conclusion so thank you for tuning into my unsolicited word vomit. my next blog post will be on a much lighter topic i promise. or to be more exact, person, not topic. and who else is more deserving of a blog post than the man, the myth, the legend....... Bernie!!!!!!! <3333 p="">

Slow Down

Hello folks, it is Bernard Gburek III posting here.

One of the big adjustments for me coming to Spain is just how different time seems to work out here. In Berkeley, I (and probably most of the rest of the program) feel busy pretty much all the time. While school is in session, I feel like I'm working or should be working almost all the time, eat pretty much all my meals in no more than 20 minutes, and often eat by myself instead of with friends doing homework or browsing the internet while I eat.

Now in Spain, I feel like I'm on a completely different planet timewise. Suddenly, I have 2 hour lunches almost every afternoon and a siesta following lunch. I feel like I virtually never have this kind of an afternoon break in Berkeley, as my lunches usually consist of me stuffing a sandwich in my face at a library. I suddenly have time to wander aimlessly instead of rushing from place to place with some task in mind.

This was a surprisingly difficult adjustment for me. At first, I wanted to skip all this, get a quick afternoon lunch, and rush back to work. Gradually, however, I have come to realize that these longer lunches have helped me slow down, have actual conversations with the wonderful people I have met on this trip, and appreciate life a bit more. I don't need to fill my schedule 24/7, sometimes it is okay to just relax.

Once in a while, I still skip lunch to get some research done, but I am glad that my experience in Spain is slowly teaching me to stop and smell the roses a bit more.

-Bernard Gburek III

Update 6/28/19: Okay lunch was like 3 hours today, maybe that was too long.

Misuse in Spain :)

So I wanted my first blog post to help me collect my thoughts for our ongoing final project. So far I have been most interested in the idea of the unexpected or forms of misuse within cities. What happens to the narrative of a place as people misuse it. What does it add? Why is so much fun to find things that surprise you in the city? That's why I thought the best way to chronical my time here should all the times Spain has made me smile, big or small. As for the narrative, what does the city get through misuse? A liveliness? A feeling of energy and excitement in the air… That's what I hope to find out.

-Emily

Napolitano or croissant con chocolate?

Hostal Persal, Panaderia, 24hr Paneria, cafe bar, cafe restaurante, Mercado Central, Pasteleria Santa Catalina, Alcoy dorm cafeteria, Movellan - all names of places that have provided me with some amazing and interesting croissants while in Spain. My first encounter with this flaky goodness was at the first hostel in Madrid, Hostal Persal, which came with a breakfast buffet. A limited amount of mini chocolate croissants, mini Napolitanos, were found here, with both chocolate on the inside and with chocolate sprinkles on the top. It tasted great but upon further reflection, I wonder if it tasted great because of my jetlagged hunger that morning or was it an actual good piece of bread? One of the best deals in Madrid for breakfast bread was in front of the second hostel called 24hr Paneria - even though it is not truly a 24hr pastry establishment. 1.50 € for a cafe con leche and a croissant! Many cafes and bakeries in Spain have better deals for a coffee and pastry than in the United States, a more common breakfast here than at home. One of the strangest interactions I had with chocolate croissants was in the cafeteria of dorms of the University of Alcoy. They had the regular tostadas with butter, marmelade, and tomato sauce, yogurt with granola, and pastries in plastic wrap. The croissant in plastic has the same energy the plastic wrapped pastries 7-11 and CVS sells near the cash registers, specifically the weird cinnamon rolls my elementary school cafeteria used to serve. It is interesting, though not surprising, that even Spain’s standard of school cafeteria food tastes better than the US’.

As my journey through Spain continued, the size and style of the chocolate croissants fluctuated. Some got bigger and wider, others had chocolate sprinkles on the top, others are simply croissants with the ends dipped in chocolate (these are just croissants con chocolate). Unlike the United States, not many cafes default to giving you your coffee and bread in a to-go cup and paper bag, or even have this option. It makes sense that Spanish cafes, with a national culture that stretches out breaks and meal times, would want their customers to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee and croissant. The United States has a fast-paced culture, one where we want things now in order to move on to the next thing that attracts our attention. As students in this program, we have brought a small part of this culture to Guardamar, especially when we are running late to morning sessions. The cafe restaurant Movellan has great food but it also has to-go coffee cups that make it easier for me to pop in, buy a coffee, and run off to wherever we are meeting that morning.

- Michelle

The Adventures of a Vegetarian in Spain

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It has been days since my last full meal. Every meal is a combination of some form of carbohydrate bread, cheese, and tomato. I have started to forget the taste of vegetables. All I know is tomatoes. Every meal is soaked in a vat of oil, with flavor nowhere to be found. I have found solace in pizza.

Pizza is simple.

Pizza is easy.

Pizza is delicious.

Vegetarian Pizza is called Crujivegetal, for reasons unbeknownst to me. I can only trust pizza, even sandwiches, which the locals call bocadillos, are traitorous. These said bocadillos, especially those of the variety végetal, contain tuna. After 3 weeks in Spain, I have come to the conclusion that the Spanish do not understand the concept of being vegetarian. I say this having eaten a full meal at the Museum of Jamón. This is not to say that I haven’t broken my 19-year vow of vegetarianism. Accidental bites of chorizo bean soup in Segovia and Pasta in Tomato Pork Sauce at the Pensión in Guardamar haven’t stopped me.

Each meal at the pensión is essentially the same. A basket of bread served in the beginning, with either a pitcher of wine or sangria. Some days we are served tomato sauce, others garlic aioli. The highlight of my food from the pensión would be fried cheese. I had ordered the dish with caution, with no other options. However, what I got was exactly not what I expected. A plate with three slabs of Canneberge cheese, breaded and fried, served with a side of sweet jelly.

Some might say that I am crazy ambitious for attempting to maintain my state of vegetarianism through this trip. However, since I last visited Spain, I can say that the larger cities in Spain have definitely adapted more vegan-friendly and vegetarian-friendly restaurants and shops. As someone from California, who is used to vegetarian options in every restaurant, being able to adapt to these conditions in Spain has definitely been a new experience.

Your friendly neighborhood vegetarian,
Neha

No más pan, por favor.

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 That has become a bit of a joking phrase amongst the group of us. At every main meal, we get multiple baskets of bread placed on our tables and they are constantly refilled or replaced with more bread. The bread is sliced into medium sized pieces from the original long stick of bread, so it’s easy to just rip the piece up and eat it all bit by bit while talking with friends and waiting for the menu options. There are also many sauce options to spread on the bread: the infamous aioli sauce, which is a creamy white sauce that tastes primarily like garlic sauce; the delicious and refreshing tomato sauce, which is nothing like ketchup and is literally mushed tomatoes and some olive oil; the classic olive oil and balsamic vinegar pairing is also available; and so many more!

When we go on group outings and have to eat lunch on the road, or when it is time for tapas, there is more time to have más pan. This is because of the various bocadillo options available. These bocadillo sandwiches are made with the same bread that is sliced up at all restaurants – kind of like a baguette but softer – and they are filled with different forms of protein and sometimes a piece of lettuce or tomato.

When I go to the supermarket during the day, I constantly see people buying bread: the long Spanish bread, croissants, small loaves and buns – savory with tomatoes or olives, or sweet with chocolate – individually picked or packaged in bundles. It is definitely not strange to see people walk out of a market or café holding an entire loaf of bread or a stick of bread. The abundant and varied bread and pastry selection in all the cafés are freshly baked each morning, and there are panaderías everywhere. What’s more, those giant sticks of bread all cost a ridiculously small amount: each stick has, without fail, been less than 1 Euro at every place we’ve stopped at to shop. This makes sense considering the amount of bread that gets baked and consumed each day, whether from a family or from a restaurant.

Upon coming to Spain, I expected dishes such as paella or gazpacho or even jamón, but having bread as the staple food was not something I was aware of. It will be extremely interesting to return to the States and not have bread at every meal, at every corner, and also to have bread that costs more than 1 dollar!

-- Adeline :)

Archaeologist's High

Clank! Chank! Shfft. Shhhffffft. 

As I carefully made my way into what is theorized to be an unused trench, I expected to just be sweeping up decades of dirt and pulling out stubborn roots embedded into the earth. Instead, I found treasure. You're probably thinking "Gold? A gem? What could possibly be valuable in an old unused military trench?".

Sweeping away the loose dirt and avoiding the plethora of strange bugs I haven't encountered before, I noticed a sharp, odd colored piece sticking out from the stratum. My eyes opened with excitement and I soon recognized that it was a broken piece of pottery. As there is a runner's high, I've encountered an "archaeologist's high". There is something so raw, primal and beautiful about discovering a piece of history from hours of digging and sweeping. As I held it in my hand, I imagined about who made this pot, what broke it, why was it in this trench, what was it apart of and many other questions. The rush I felt is completely indescribable. I had never thought sweeping up dirt would be so exhilarating. I had felt a sense of commitment to continue being gentle around the area, as Heidi (our wonderful GSI) mentioned that there might be other pieces around it. And I did, but so did others, which was still exciting even if I didn't discovered it.

Being so accustomed to seeing remnants of history in a glass case in a museum and reading about it, I now have felt what it's like being on the other side, being the presenter rather than the viewer. By the time we had to pack up, I had to say goodbye to my discoveries, daydreaming about my name perhaps on a plaque in a museum. I'm excited to see what others discover in that trench, and finding out about the dating of these pottery pieces.

Here is a picture of my treasure. I hope you get an archaeologist's high too :)

-Lauryn Lu

(coming to a museum near you) (hopefully)