Friday, January 14, 2011

chicharones and uncertainty

Well, I was just writing a post that was the written version of yelling in the streets in Chengdu. Not quite, I guess, but suffice it to say I've sat here crying my head off, and Francesca and Simone both suddenly were on gmail chat so I chatted with them which helped a lot. People who have gone to live on another continent.

I have to keep reminding myself that my ancestors did this. In reverse, of course. This thought came to me on the train crossing the border the morning I left, when I had a sudden terrification come over me. I thought about my mom taking a trip to Chicago on the train, and about my grandfather leaving home to go to the states when he was only 13. On the flight from Reyjavik, there was a trashy paper from London that said that people that are undergoing some sort of stressful event (it was studied with students writing tests) do better when they think of things their ancestors had done. Weird coincidence that I had discovered that for the first time, for myself, earlier that day.

I suppose my ancestors cried, and they were not even lucky or rich enough to have any makeup to cry off. I guess they were cold too, when they came to Toronto or New York from Ireland or wherever else. I have no reason to be cold right now, except that I think I got chilled when I went to drink a beer outside after showering after my class. I went to the bar that's just down the block from the hostel. I usually see a bunch of people my age and older, in conservative clothes and suits there, probably working for some sort of government office or whatever. Anyways, I love it. Was there for breakfast one morning and like that best. Take away all the particulars and I guess it wouldn't be any different from a coffee shop at home - one where there are a lot of regulars and the bar people know them. But pretty much all the details are different. Ham legs hanging. The usual bullfighter pictures and one of Camaron. Glass tumblers with small cafe lattes. Toasted buns with meat inside, olive oil, pureed tomato. And smaller. Lots of people have to stand - either at the bar, which only has a few stools, or around the small, high tables, which don't have enough stools for all the people that come.
This afternoon I ate a lot of pork fat. I got there just before the rush. By 2:30 the waiter was shouting "cinco cervezas!" as he ran back and forth. I had a big beer, a montadito (small sandwich) with tuna and red pepper, and a plate of chicharones - Thick chunks of pork back fried crispy. Look like our bacon, but in chunky pieces. Mamie Mackie, as my sister used to call it... don't ask. I wasn't intending to eat that much fat - the chicharones I had in Jerez with Keiko last summer weren't as fatty - or else they disguised it better. After that I went and got a gallega (the only kind of decent white bread here) and doused it with olive oil.

It's dark now, and I'm going to forget about calling the woman who called me back with a free room in an apartment for E400. I'm thinking more like E250 this time. This one was with one other girl, and a swimming pool, in the center of the city - nicest but most expensive.
I got myself into a state yesterday that only a few other people reading this are capable of getting themselves into by trying to go see apartments that didn't really sound all that feasible to start with. The trouble with my ancestors is that they may have been capable of coming to the New World, but some of them were also capable of working themselves into a lather over whatever it was they had to do... the state of self traumatisation I managed to acheive was remarkable. Luckily, Spanish people are incredibly nice, kind and helpful, without wanting anything in return.

The complete uncertainty of my life is the problem. That and the total disillusionment with the way the normal economy works and the refusal/inability to return to my previous work. I feel like a chasm is waiting for me when the money runs out, and not finding an apartment right away kind of put me in a pretty bad place, as I'm failing to go by my strict plan of how everything should work.

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