Lasarte-Michelin

The city where we live is a factory town, by which I mean Michelin. F's father worked in the Michelin factory for the better part of his adult life and although business has declined in recent years, the factory is vast and still forms a city at the center of the city, with its very own street names. At this point the factory
mostly makes tires for race cars and such. It would be devastating for this area if the factory ever shuts down, which is a reasonable fear as it would be lucrative for them to tear it down and build expensive apartments for people who work in Donostia. Being within the Michelin orbit is probably unrelated to Donosti's distinction of highest per-capita Michelin stars in the world. There is a very strong culinary tradition here, and even the regular folks tend to eat very well. In 10 minutes you can walk from the Michelin factory to Martin Berasetegui's restaurant, which has three Michelin stars. Berasetegui is respected, if maybe not exactly loved-word is that he's rather stingy for a guy who charges 175 euros for a tasting. For aspiring chefs and cooking show obsessives, Berasetegui makes a weekly appearance on Robin Food. Even if you don't speak Spanish you will find this show entertaining, and if you do, you will probably be a wee bit surprised at how crudely people can speak on daytime t.v. Another favorite is Arguiñano, who takes product placement to new heights but is still a very skilled teacher. Food fixations aside, we had Tuesday off and went to F's uncle's place in Berrobi, which is a tiny town not far from here. He lives in an old-school baserri, or farmhouse, where the animals stable on the first floor. The main entrance to the house goes into this room, which has a funhouse floor with a discernibly sloped (and highly sled-able) floor. It's a gorgeous, very comfortable place to be, and a pre-lunch stroll (when you hang with Basque folks you need to take pains to work up an appetite: much fried stuff in large quantities and several courses are involved) provided the usual stunning views and altitude changes. This week we have a bunch more time off for All Saints' Day, and even though they don't do Halloween here, they have their own ways of celebrating. Other forays included a ramble in Donostia, where one of the natural food stores near the train station actually has a vending machine for carne mentiras (roughly 'meat lie') for all your fake meat needs and middle-of-the-night tofu emergencies. And if you liked the Emo Cows, you will definitely like the Pottoka, or Basque pony. They're tiny-they are only about waist-high, chunky, and very friendly. Must. Remember. Carrots. Sadly I didn't have my camera with me when I was at the school of music and dance this week-the busking nearby is super-duper and this week there was a hard-core looking punk guy with a gold faux-hawk and a leather jacket with the anarchy sign on the back...playing a recorder and sweetly singing a traditional Basque folk song. Wooo. And every day I am overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of everyone I've met, who tries valiantly to help me understand what the wu tang is going on, repeating words and communicating patiently-I have yet to have a rude experience, not even in the bureau-crazy extranjeria, or foreigner's office, which sounds to me like a place where you go to buy the wool of an exotic animal from outer space, and even the 18-year-olds at the institute where I study always help me. And my last observation for the week, I promise, is that no matter how many people are around, some heretofore unarticulated law of nature dictates that some poor fool will ask ME for directions-this happens 3-4 times per week. Half the time they ask in Euskara, too. Ha ha! F conjectures that it has something to do with the contrast between my usual walking pace, which tops out at 'mosey,' with that of local people, whose pace is more like Actual Form of Transit, so lost people can catch me more easily, like a tree. Coming up: more cooking anecdotes? Or farm animals. Hm..

Put Down Your Ham/Arms

So the big news this week was that the militant separatist group ETA declared the end of its armed conflict-they have done so before but it seems more serious this time, largely because Kofi Annan was there, and also Jimmy Carter sent a note, though the real influence broker was probably Gerry Adams. There's a good overview in the Times. ETA has definitely become less organized and less powerful over the last decade, but you can see from dispatches like this why they still hold power over people's fears. It's definitely the beret-sheet combo.

And moving on to the more mundane...we were in the grocery store yesterday and I saw these:

Yes that's right. Ham-flavored Lays! You will be pleased to learn that they also have a Gourmet version that is Jamón Ibérico-flavored. Ibérico ham is from a breed of pig that is finished on acorns and is very expensive, ergo the 'gourmet' designation. I checked the ingredients and both formulations owe a serious debt to monosodium glutamate. In fact, neither seem to have actual ham, so fear not, these fabulous products appear to be Pareve. Stranger things have happened. Even if not, this counters my preconception that the U.S. is the sole producer of completely gratuitous snack foods.

In spite of an encounter with an adenovirus that tried to drown me, I did get a couple good walks in this weekend to visit my buds Robert the donkey and Biff the dalmatian* (*not actually their names). Also the Emo Cows were back at Santa Barbara. It is not unusual to graze animals on even steeper pastures than this. We were talking about soil contamination in class last week, but erosion didn't merit any real discussion, leading me to believe that the laws of physics are different in the Basque Country, perhaps. Or maybe it's my ever-present linguistic issues. In addition to the Cult of the Artist Formerly Known as Prince, Elvis Costello is also prominently featured in lots of local graffiti. I have no real sociological insight as to why he is popular enough to show up at least 3 times within 1 block of our apartment, but I am starting to feel like he is an old friend.

Sisyphus and the Almonds

So the last couple weeks the newsstands have been dominated by the Dutchess of Alba's 3rd wedding. She's royalty, and also like, 85. Consanguinity+collagen=consanguinagen? So anyway, this morning we decided to participate in an event in which people are encouraged to hike some trails that run through nearby towns as a way of getting exercise with their families. If this was the U.S. there would have been a lawsuit-the trail we took was like, more muddy than a California calla lily field and at least a seventy-eight percent grade. People, I am just not that serious-I have no idea how folks were doing this trail with their little kids. But the punishing climb was rewarded with some pretty scenerific views.
There was a chapel clinging to the side of the mountain, and the fields were studded with fall-blooming crocus. We took a couple wrong turns and were somewhat concerned about marauding zombie boars, but in the end we made it back alright. There was even plenty of time for some culinary adventures. Namely, carmelized pear tart with coconut milk pastry cream. Why? Because we can. Also the neighbor brought a bucket of almonds back from Burgos. Almonds as in this kind of almonds. After boiling them, shelling them, and roasting them in salt, I have a serious botanical inquiry: how did they ever manage to reproduce? Morever, how the Sam Shizzle did anybody figure out they could eat these things? Whatever you're paying for almonds? Is not enough. Another acquaintance generously gifted us with these squash and beets from her garden. I can assure you that they have already made their congressional testimony emphatically denying 'juicing,' though their account was met with skepticism. That really big one is a subspecies of Cucurbita pepo with which I am unfamiliar, but I am confident can be converted into pie. We also went to Zizurkil (not actually a town in Narnia!) to go to a fair and see gizon proba. "Gizon proba" means "man test" and involves a couple teams of guys who yoke up to a huge rock and see which team can do the most laps in 15 minutes. It hurt my heart just to watch and apparently they also do this sport with oxen. People were really into it. Also there were a lot of signs about Basque prisoners. It's complicated, but the Spanish government has several hundred Basque prisoners scattered around the Spanish state who have been accused of consorting with ETA, which is a militant Basque separatist group. Apparently Ander and Mikel are a couple of prisoners from Zizurkil. Families of these prisoners are strained by the tremendous resources that it takes to travel all the way to, say, Madrid, or even further, which is many hours by train, to see their family members. This sign refers to a demand that Basque prisoners be transferred to prisons in the Basque Country for easier visitation. An anecdote of F's-a visiting Scottish family member couldn't figure out why Basque people were so fixated with laundry-she thought all the signs were urging people to 'presoak' (which actually means 'prisoners' in Basque) their clothes...

Sheep Be Rollin', Dogs be Hatin'

Sheep are very important to the Basque people as a source of meat and milk, and shepherding was a major activity for immigrants of the Basque diaspora. A lot of people put sheep stickers on their cars.
Most families seem to have someone who farms on land that has usually been passed down to the oldest child in the family, and the majority of the countryside is in active production-the suburbs as we know them don't really exist here. Here is a Sagardotegi, or cider house. Apples are a major crop here, and in the early parts of the year after the fall harvest has fermented (they drink their cider hard), these places host festivals where people eat (ham and sausage) and drink hard cider. These festivals, as well as agroturismo (agricultural tourism) are an important source of income for growers, who face similar economic pressures as farmers in the U.S. I have yet to see a corn maze, but the growers here host guests, have on-site restaurants, and all kinds of other non-farming activities to make ends meet. Yesterday I met a woman who works for the local government to promote agri-tourism projects.

A lot of people have "perros peligrosos" (dangerous dogs). No joke, right? Not sure if there is some sort of Rin Tin Tin fixation but there is a preponderance of ginormous German Shepherds. And on the right, I present The Mega Monster Slug that Fell to Earth..eat your heart out, banana slugs. And yes, that would be Prince in that there graffiti. American pop music is really popular here-you hear the same stuff everywhere that you hear on KDON, and in the grocery stores, you hear the same Muzak as in grocery stores in the U.S. (they must buy the same packages or something), including Ricky Martin-in English. I don't think people really understand what they're hearing, but the power of American Top 40 marketing is strong.

No eres en el mundo anglosajón

To be sure, being in the Basque Country is not overwhelmingly foreign-I'm not upside-down on Mars, or China, for that matter, it's still the West. But there are some cultural differences that throw me for loops-the biggest being the bureaucracy. Today I went on a Bill and Ted-style adventure up and down regal marble staircases in a stately municipal building overlooking the Concha. It was no doubt all the more adventurous because I was slaying the functionaries with my stunning mastery of 'vosotros' verbs (for the uninitiated, 'vosotros'=y'all, and they don't use it in Latin America, so I ignored those verb forms in school, believing that I would never in my life (ha ha!) have the occasion to speak Castilian Spanish). What was I trying to do on my arduous journey? Get a permit to build beach houses in an ecological preserve hosting an array of exotic endangered species? Why no, actually. I was...going to collect a document that proves that I went to high school. Truly. When you are a foreigner here, it is very important to show that you actually did what you say you did on your c.v. I shan't detail what it takes to get the government to verify your education, but I will refer you to a video provided to me by the good and noble Dr. F-please note that Depends may be required:


Other differences:

Different norms about nudity-on break I'll be innocently browsing the newsstands only to be confronted by a half-naked lady. They don't cover skin mags in brown paper here, or restrict their sale in any way-it's just all out there in the public view-there are somewhat different ideas about what you should protect children from, for sure. Also women sometimes sunbathe topless on the beach. Initially a little uncomfortable, but since nobody else cares, you get over it.

Everything is later-eating, sleeping, showing up for appointments. I attribute this in part to the fact that we are situated as far west as possible in our time zone, so the sun doesn't rise until after 8 a.m. But people also will wait until like 10 p.m. to eat supper on weekends, which of course forces me to gnaw off their arms.

People are more kissy-when you introduce yourself or greet someone, you do this sort of kissing both cheeks thing where you aren't supposed to actually kiss them, but you sort of brush cheeks. This rule does not apply in church, where people give (bone-crushingly, mule-wrasslingly) firm handshakes.

Until the next post, send me your inspirations about how to break the bureaucracy, Asterix-style..

Azpeitia Oinez

Today we traveled to Azpeitia to take part in the Kilometroak, which is kind of a walk-a-thon to support Basque-speaking schools. We made a connection in Donosti, where a soccer match between Real Sociedad and Atletic Bilbao was taking place, so there were loads of people in the streets wearing jerseys and drinking beer and kalimotxo (coke+red wine=yikes-a-doodle) at 11 a.m. There were a lot of stands and signs promoting the use of Euskara. This one says "The Basque Country in Euskara," which is a group that lobbies the government for increased rights for Euskara speakers.
There was a scything competition-Basque Country vs. Germany-other than this one super-tough German lady, the Basque contestants all won the other contests that we saw. There are a lot of competitive sports here based on farming tasks, and people get really into them, and sometimes place bets. Lots of people here still scythe their hay fields by hand-the fields are often very steep and I would not be surprised to see livestock that evolved to have two legs shorter than the others...yesterday I was behind a flock of sheep as they were being herded to a new field, and as they ran downhill to get to the stream, I could smell the mint they were crushing, which grows wild all over.
As the day progressed, the crowds became more and more lively. It was probably 90 degrees out and people were trying to stay cool, which at festivals like these usually involves a fair amount of drinking. This band was playing 'La Bamba' in Euskara. At one point I also heard "My Sharona," also in Euskara. The ice cream stands were doing really well, and there were lots of trinkets-these stands seem to be mostly dominated by Peruvians, for some reason.
The Sanctuary of Loyola is in Azpeitia. It was closed for the festivities, but Ignatius of Loyola or Iñaki as he is known here was Basque. The landscape is very dramatic-everywhere where you can see rows of trees, those are Monterey pine plantations-and the elevation is no joke. In spite of the all-sausages all-the-time diet, it is a challenge to get too obese. Up next: how you know when you're not in the land of the Anglo-Saxons no more..