Today I write from the patio of a large beach side café. “Why, what a change of pace and scenery!” you say? It sure is! And it is more than welcome.Lately I’ve been feeling a bit sorry for myself, really missing my weekend travel escapades from last year. I have to keep reminding (or rather convincing) myself it’s a trade-off: I had the time/freedom to go see and do so many amazing things, but all the rest was sub-par.
(Although, as I’ve said before, in the end I was lucky to make some great friends, who I miss dearly by the way; another contributor to my recent nostalgia). Anyway, this year I’ve been pretty much confined to V-G and I’ve been starting to go stir crazy. As opposed to last year, I have no complaints regarding the day-to-day, my living situation, making friends, night life, work, or anything like that… save the first few months when I was going totally crazy. Nevertheless, I’ve been feeling the pull to, pardon my French, get the hell out, like I used to last year.
Back to feeling sorry for myself—this week most schools in Vitoria have at least some vacation (if not that whole week!) for “carnaval” (more on that in a minute). My school has Monday through Wednesday off, but of course I can’t “aprovechar” because I have to work at stinkin’ Dini in the afternoons. Otherwise I would have flitted off to Cadiz or somewhere else warm where I haven’t been yet… But alas, I am transitioning into the real world and have to deal. So, I decided to make the most of my one free morning and head to the beach. Not as warm as down South, but it’s a gorgeous day and the Bizkaians are smiling. I’ve always wanted to explore the legendary Basque coast; so today I began that endeavor in the small town of Getxo, just outside of Bilbao. There’s something about seeing the sea (hah…sea/see… those kill my students) that’s just plain good for you. Come to think of it, I think it’s the lack of a body of water in my life that has me suffocating in Gasteiz. I’ve always lived next to some sort of river or lake and I really miss it. What can I say? Water is my element.Apart from dying to go for a dip, it’s been the routine as usual these last weeks. Working like crazy during the week and going out with friends on the weekend. This past weekend was carnaval celebration, and Vitoria goes all out—dressing up in costumes, parades, staying out till all hours of the morning… until the next day! Not me; I behaved myself. Last year I didn’t really get to into it (unless you count wearing a pink wig out to the bars in Valencia as dressing up… lol; good times) so I actually wore a costume.
I went as a torero (bullfighter), well, torera, in my case, since I’m a girl. David came to celebrate as well. He dressed up as a FEMALE flamenco dancer. We saw another couple with the same costumes, of course dressed in the corresponding gender—ours were way funnier. Some of my friends had great costumes: Indian warrior princess, Snow White, flamboyant sheriff, Twister the board game… The latter made for some laughs. A good time was had by all! (Ah passive voice!—avoid at all costs. Okay, I’m seriously trying to turn off the English teacher, but these days I only have one mode).The only other strange/noteworthy thing that has happened since I last wrote is pretty chungo (my favorite word in Castilian Spanish… it means like “dodgy,” among other things). Last weekend I was hanging out with David and two of my favorite American expatriates, and as we were walking down the street from their apartment to head downtown I heard someone shouting help. It was an older man shouting down from his 6th floor balcony (5th floor in Spain, since 1 is 0 and 2 is 1… so complicated). I didn’t know whether to walk over towards him or not, as everyone else just kept passing by. But something in his voice made me think that these were not drunken Saturday night antics. Long story short, the man was freaking out and was so nervous he couldn’t tell us what was wrong, but was obviously trying to get away from something happening inside, since he was climbing the railing to jump. David ran into the apartment (to our shock, since in the U.S. people have guns and all), Josh followed after him, Alicia tried to calm the man down as I called 911 (which I have not done once in my life, let alone in Spain, which here is 112). Finally they got him inside and the police arrived. Apparently this 91 year-old man had had a really unpleasant argument with his drunken son and was scared to death that he was going to do something to him. We were all very shocked and heart broken for this poor guy, but left him in the hands of the ertzaintza and went off to swallow our nerves with, I shit you not, a shot of Jack Daniels. I just keep thinking, thank God it was us who passed by because I don’t know if anyone else would have stopped. Just add it to the long list of strange experiences that I’ve had abroad.
The whole experience actually put things into perspective there for a bit. What if this man had jumped to his possible death right in front of our eyes? What is it like to be that scared? Suddenly my problems and my fears seemed very insignificant. I had been obsessing over my first few months in Vitoria, when I was having a really hard time and being such an idiot. In an instant I got clarity, thanks to this frightened little abuelo. It's time to stop beating myself up and move on. I don't want to be trembling on the ledge anymore.
Well on that note… now I’m off to go put my feet in the sand. And look for some seashells, claro. Perhaps I’ll even go in if it’s not freezing. Although, cold ocean water heals all wounds, self-inflicted or otherwise.
Agur!
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