Atonement

I had watched a movie in a theater only once since September, and it was not a great experience. Perhaps I’ll write about that later. One of the reasons I was looking forward to England was to watch a movie in theaters (or in the cinema, as they call it here) in English. I went to movie theaters so much in the United States, at the Reitz and Regal, that I was having withdrawals. In Spain they like our movies but in their language. Subtitles are the norm in the United States, but the Spanish for some reason prefer awful dubbing. The Spanish voices usually sound nothing like the authentic English voices they replace. The Spanish voice acting is not as good either. I did not know any of the actors in the British movie I watched in Spanish so it was not so bad that time.
Atonement was just released in the United States, but it’s been playing in the United Kingdom since September. Yesterday I watched it in Odeon Leicester Square, the only theatre in London where it is still playing. The ticket was £9.50 or about $19, but I think it was worthwhile. At least my withdrawals have subsided.
I might have enjoyed it more had I not watched the trailer so many times. I knew the general outline of the plot. A little girl makes a false accusation against her sister’s lover Robbie which results in his sending off to war. It seems that their lives have been ruined. The film boasts some spectacular shots of war-torn France, but as far as the story, there isn’t much more to it than what I just described and what is shown in the trailer. If you are going to watch the film, watch it on a big screen because that is how the war shots are best viewed. I might like it better if I see it again. I was very disappointed with Casino Royale the first time I watched it, but it grew on me.
There are a couple themes highlighted in the film and probably the book as well. First, I’m glad I don’t have a little sister, and my brother has not ruined my life. Second, the film shows that love (or feelings for another person that we call love) can not only bring out the best in a person, but also the worst. It’s not something anyone likes to be reminded of, not even in movies, but it’s true. Third, I’m very thankful for modern day word processors. But at the same time, the film makes typewriters look very classy.
Atonement will probably receive well-deserved Oscar nominations for cinematography and art direction. The musical score was also unique. I’m not sure about the more important categories (best picture, screenplay, acting, directing). It already cornered a few Golden Globe nominations so it’s a possibility. Atonement is at least as good- I think better-than The Departed, which won everything last year.

History Lesson

I'm going out of order. I'm sorry- for some reason I want to write this one first.

The lectures in my history are the hardest to understand, but the professor is the nicest lady ever. She talks so fast that I can't pick out many details from the lecture. I can tell you whether it's about economics, culture, social class, etc., but that's about it. She could tell I was completely lost in the very beginning so she gave me a list of books to read and write about in place of the exam. One of these books is about the Camino de Santiago, in which I took a special interest. I told her that I want to ride the entire Camino, and she printed off a list of hostels in each of the stops for me.

She wanted the class to meet in front of the historical archive in dowtown Pamplona for a little field trip last Wednesday. I was the only one who showed up so it was just a one-on-one time with her. I think I learned more that day than in all the lectures up to this point. She didn't allow much time to stop and read everything in the museums. She knew it all so she explained it verbally. I'll never look at the shield of Pamplona the same way again now that I know what it means. I saw some seals dating back to the medieval period, and learned that there cave men in Navarra, so to speak. After leaving the first museum, we went to a bar (remember "bar" has unlimited meanings in Spain) for coffee. I don't normally drink coffee. I think this was the first time I actually enjoyed the coffee instead of tolerating it. She said it would be "rapidísimo" (very fast). We were actually there for ten minutes. She asked me if I could translate a paper she wrote into English because English is the international language and whoever she's giving it to wants it in English as well. I'm really looking forward to doing it to repay her kindness a little. I'm also touched that she's given me this responsibility of faithfully representing her work.

The people of Navarra are obviously very proud of their history, and rightfully so. Navarra is probably as significant as the rest of Spain combined because it borders France. I wondered before how my professor could know so much about history that she doesn't even look at notes when she lectures, yet she does not speak English. While we were touring the museums, it occurred to me that when you love your country (or nation, rather) so much, you don't feel a need to learn another language and/or culture, even if it is the international language. After all, non-native Spanish speakers are few and far between in the United States.

The Netherlands part 3

I thought the the trip from Brussels Charleroi to Brussels Nord would be a quick few minutes through the city. Instead, the train left Brussels (or what I thought was Brussels) and cut through open country. I was in the middle of nowhere. But everyone from my bus was on this same train. All these people couldn't be going to some place in the middle of nowhere. Could they?


As the guy walked down the aisle checking tickets, I pulled out 15 euros to pay for the ticket. I assumed the metal box strapped to his waste was for change. He checked the people sitting behind me and then walked past me and the elderly man snoozing in the window seat across from me. "Oh, well" I thought. I got off at Brussels Midi having no idea where I was and thinking I might have taken the wrong train. I explained this to the man running the information window. He told me which train to take, but did not tell me where to buy a ticket so again I assumed I needed to pay for the ticket on the train. By the time I reached Roosendaal, I figured out that I was supposed to buy a ticket beforehand. Oops. When I reached Roosendaal, I bought a ticket to Tilburg.

Then I made a mistake that I still deeply regret. I was so anxious to get out of there that I boarded a train that was close to the right platform, but not quite there. It was the wrong train. The word "Amsterdam" written on the wall in red lights should have immediately caught my eye, but I didn't notice until the train was already moving. I got off at Dortrecht and took another train back to Roosendaal. When I was in the bathroom in Roosendaal, I noticed my camera was no longer in my pocket or in my backpack. I tried to catch the train I left it on, but missed it. My camera was never recovered.

I finally reached Tilburg at about 5:00, I think, four hours later than I expected to be there. Poor Brother Edward had been waiting for me at both of the times I could have arrived. He returned home, of course, and I called him on my cell.

The Netherlands Part 2

Until I reached the Madrid International Airport, I thought that sleeping there was not allowed. I thought they would kick out anyone who dozed off, like in a public library. I was wrong. There were people all over the place- against every pillar and in every corner of the lobby. I arrived near my entry point around 1:30 am for my 6:00 am flight so I had a lot of time to kill. The checkin counters had not yet opened. I sat in the cafe (where most of the tables were occupied) and wrote about the first leg of the journey in my notebook as I munched on the chocolate donuts I had bought in Spain.

I tried to sleep because I wanted the next three hours to pass quickly. I was tired, but not tired enough to fall asleep. My chosen corner was probably as perfect as possible. It was shaded, unlike other places where the lights would have beamed directly in my face. But it didn't matter. I couldn't sleep on that floor. I envied the dozens of people in the hall who somehow managed.

Ryanair touts itself as a budget airline, and they're not kidding. I was not assigned a seat- you choose your own like on a Greyhound bus. There are no complimentary refreshments. There is no in-flight entertainment, not even a little stereo built into the armrest. Everything about the cabin was pretty much identical to every other airline I've ever used. Only the chair couldn't lean back. Maybe it could, but I couldn't find a button for it. The only amenity was the free Ryanair magazine, which was quite entertaining. It gave me some good ideas for other places to go.

I expected to be landing at a large international airport like Madrid. I was planning to take the train from there. Actually, I wound up at a smaller airport more like Pamplona. It was not Brussels. It was Brussels Charleroi. I showed the guy at the information desk my itinerary. He told me to take the bus, and wrote the stops for me on the paper. It turned out I would have to make two more stops than I expected. From now on, I'll make sure I make sure the names match exactly, as it seems that big cities sometimes have more than one airport.

When I reached the train station, I had no idea what to do. None of the names on the platforms matched the names on my itinerary. I went to one window, and showed the guy my itinerary. It turns out I was at the bus window, and I needed to go to a different one for the trains. I conjectured that from his motions and tone of voice. I did not understand a single word from his directions, but he spoke to me in French as if I did. Many of the people from my bus got on one train so I jumped on too, guessing that it must be the right one. I didn't see any place to buy a ticket so I just boarded the train figuring you pay on board like the bus.

Thanksgiving in Spain

I'll continue the story of my travels in Holland, but first I want to fill you in on Thanksgiving.

You might be wondering if Spanish people celebrate Thanksgiving. Actually, they don't. School and work continued like any other day yesterday. Luckily I did not have any real class anyway- just a week-long class about volunteer work. I ran into two people I know (one from church and one from class) as I walked through campus yesterday on the way to the Velts' house. Neither one of them knew it was Turkey Day. There is a translation for Thanksgiving Day, but it's kind of a mouthful- Dia de Accion de Gracias.

A lady at church told me about the Velts, an American missionary family. She thought it would be nice for me to hang out with them because I an American as well. I hung out at their house twice in the following month. Then on Tuesday Jodi, the mother, called me to invite me over for an authentic American Thanksgiving feast.

The food was great. I never touch mashed potatoes voluntarily, but they looked so good I took a spoonful (which prompted, one of the daughters, Amber, to remark, "You got enough potatoes there, Brendan?"). I had six things on my plate this time instead my usual two or three. Thanksgiving is never a meal I really look forward to. I guess I was so fed up with bocadillos (sandwhiches) that I was thrilled to see something else. That being said, the food was a real treat.

I enjoyed the conversation (entirely in English) just as much. One of the guests teaches English to elementary school students. My dad has struggled to keep kids under control who understand him. According to Katie, it is near impossible to keep her Spanish students' attention. Jodi and Kelly, who was also there with her family, had their own horror stories about trying to teach in Spain.

Luke Velt is a funny guy. I can't remember how this came up, but he gave me some marriage advice. He said, "Find out what a woman wants to do, and make her do it." I had to think for a few seconds to process that. Then I responded, "But that doesn't make any sense. If a woman really wanted to do something, you wouldn't have to make her do it." Apparently common sense doesn't really apply here. Luke said that you have to make them do it. The last piece of advice I remember was from the main speaker at a Crusade retreat last year- "Guys, when you get married, you need to learn to say 'I'm sorry' even if you don't know what you're sorry for." Jodi seemed to think that was ridiculous. She laughed loudly when I said that I want to write all this stuff down.

Then the party moved to the living room area, which is actually the same room as the dining room. We talked about running for a little while. I had learned about an annual 5k foot race on New Year's Eve in Pamplona. Luke said that they require to be half drunk before the gun goes off, and you couldn't pay him enough to run it. He said that a lot of people run it in costume because Spaniards will dress in costume for any occasion. I just couldn't stop laughing as I tried to picture dozens of drunk Spaniards in various costumes running a five kilometer race in the center of Pamplona on New Year's Eve. I really hope to be outside of Spain at that time this year, but it sounds like a good time to me! Then the Velts and the other family exchanged airport security horroe stories and anecdotes about traveling with children, which were also entertaining.

I skipped both my class and the Thursday night church service to watch football at Scott and Kelly's place. I was watching it with three Michiganites who were of course rooting for the Lions, whom the Packers slaughtered. Luke said that the Lions somehow manage to be a bad team year after year after year. I didn't particularly care who won. Kelly put out chips, cheese, taco meat, tortillas, cheddar cheese, potato wedges, Rice Krispie treats, and Oreos for us to devour during halftime so I was happy.

It was one of the best Thanksgivings ever. It easily beats all four Thanksgivings in Florida. It ranks somewhere near Thanksgiving 2002 at a UCLA sorority house (no, the girls were not there) and the one where we went camping. Was that 1999? 2000? Something like that. I can't remember.

The Netherlands part 1

I have experienced quite a day. After I left the campus at 11, I had only a couple hours to hang up my wet clothes, wash and dry another load, eat lunch, find a hostess gift, work out some last minute details, and pack my backpack.
I left my apartment at about 1:30 to pick up a kabob for me and a gift for my host, whoever it may be. I was hoping to find some kind of fancy Spanish candy. El Corte Ingles, a department store, did not have anything affordable that looked good. Everything else was closed for the siesta not to reopen until 4:30, when my bus was scheduled to depart. I brainstormed desperately dreading the thought of walking hope empty-handed (except for my kabob) only to walk all the way back to the same area.
I finally spotted an open gourmet store across the street from El Corte Ingles that looked promising. I told the lady that I need a gift- something typical of Spain- for about ten euros. She knew exactly what to do. Instead of pushing me to spend twelve euros, she showed me a box of carmels for six and a half. She even wrapped it in nice tissue paper and wrapped a string around it. I couldn't stop saying, "Perfecto! Muchas Gracias!" (Perfect! Thank you very much!)
I made it to the bust stop fifteen minutes early, my backpack stuffed to the gills. The bus stop had just opened. It might have been the first day, actually. I'm not sure. It is beautiful, like Madrid's airport- a far cry from the vagrant magnets in the United States. The bus was equally impressive. There was a little tray on the seat in front of me and a place to plug in my headphones, just like on an airplane (though I could only pick up two channels). The headrest felt very nice. I would like to see the same concave design on all planes, trains, and buses.
Upon arriving in Madrid, I met up with Zac and his "friend-almost-girlfriend" Valentina. We walked around for a while. At my suggestion we ate at a little bar that did not allow us to sit at the table with our food and drinks. I showed them that was a mistake by spilling my hot chocolate all over the bar and my khaki pants. I did not want to change my pants, but I changed at the airport once it sunk in how ridiculous I looked.

Erasmus Party

You might be tired of reading my ranting about what I cannot do in Spain. But before I go into the details of the Erasmus party, I have to do it once more. In Gainesville, if you want some kind of dessert, there is a Krispy Kreme open twenty-four hours, a Ben and Jerry's open until at least eleven, a McDonald's open until at least eleven, and countless other options. Here in Pamplona, the only thing you can buy after ten o'clock, even on a big party night like Thursday, is alcohol.

The students who came to UPNA through Erasmus, a university exchange program for Europe, hold a party pretty much every Thursday. I tried to attend one of them about a month ago. The flyer said "a partir de las 22:00" (opens at 10:00) I showed up at 10:40 thinking I was late. I entered the bar only to find a group of four guys I did not know. I talked to the bartender until almost 11:30, when I got tired of waiting and left. After that, the invitations read "a partir de las 24h." I guess the bartenders were tired of waiting too.

It was not a complete waste of time. I enjoy meeting a variety of people. The bar itself is tiny, but pretty cool. There is a lot of walls artwork on the walls of a style that I have seen before in the States. Too bad the bar is too dark to really see it.

I walked into the bar at about 12:10 last night. I didn't recognize any of the twelve people or so mingling. I left and walked around the empty dark downtown streets again hoping to find some other sign of life. When I reentered around 12:25, I found a girl I recognized from my Spanish language class. Her name is Ladia, I think. It was so loud in the bar that she had to punch it into her cell phone so I could understand. Everyone seemed to walk in at the same time at about 12:32. Pretty much the entire bar was a dance floor, but only if you wanted it to be. The three types of people there- drinkers, the dancers, and those who were drinking while dancing- were all pretty well mixed up.

I talked to Ladia a little bit, a guy from Sweden, and a Spanish student who was not with Erasmus, but really wanted me to hook him up with an American girl. As you can see in the picture, it was packed. Getting to another part of the bar was quite a chore so I tried to stay in one place and dance a little bit. It seemed that most everyone couldn't dance any better than I could. That made it much easier. Half the students in the bar were probably too plastered to notice anyway. A few of them were smoking too. It blows my mind that Spain has a life expectancy of eighty years now. It is a miracle that all of Spain doesn't have lung cancer- or all of Europe for that matter, given that at least three quarters of the smokers were not Spanish.

One Adventure Leads to Another

I have not read a whole book in English since August so I thought it was time to pick one up. Neither the university's library nor the public library have much. I looked around for a used bookstore downtown, but I did not find one that looked big enough to carry a few English books. I wound up buying a copy of Ernest Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls in a department store. The story is set in Spain, and he supposedly wrote it here in Pamplona so it was a good choice.

I did not really another book, but I was still determined to find a good used bookstore after class yesterday. I had to visit the tourism office anyway, which is in the same area. My search was fruitless once again- at least in the used bookstore department. I did not accomplish my mission, but I had a ton of fun riding up and down the bumpy streets, dodging the oncoming vehicles, and pedestrians. I had been through the neighborhood several times, but never enjoyed it as much as I did yesterday. It really fits my image of a European town (I'll post a picture here later). The cobblestone streets are very narrow and filled with people. It can be frustrating trying to avoid a collision at times, but the area feels really dead when the streets are empty.

I noticed a few stores and bakeries that I somehow missed on my previous excursions. There were a couple spots where something smelled really good. Tracing its source is rather difficult. I found a good bakery by sight. A small independent bakery (unfortunately chain grocery stores and bakeries monopolize the market here as well) had some great looking chocolate chip muffins in the window. I only had ninety cents on me, but the muffins looked kind of small- about the same size as a typical cupcake- so I figured they should cost less than that. I waited in line for at least five minutes to find that it would cost 1,04€. I apologized and turned to leave, but the lady gave it to me for ninety cents. It was the best cholocolate chip muffin I had eaten since our favorite place in California closed down at least eight years ago. I will definitely return to that bakery for more muffins, and maybe even some of those good-looking cookies.

Church in Spain

I knew there was something important I wanted to write about, but it slipped from my mind until last night. I don't know how- after all, it is the very thing that brought me to Pamplona in the first place!

The "Parroquia Cristiana Evangelica" is different from Gator Christian Life in several ways, but I'm proud to report that the people here love me just as much as my beloved friends in Gainesville even when they barely knew me. I still miss my Gainesville friends dearly, but my Spanish friends make it more bearable.

I met this guy named JuanJo back in March. I mentioned him in my last post. He is a true man of God with a godly family as well. Dom, Christine, Allison, and I had the privilege of dining with his family during our mission trip. I sat next to him and talked to him for a couple hours. That was all my experience with him. He barely knew me when I arrived here, and he doesn't know me extremely well even now. Nevertheless, when he saw me for the first time at church (I don't know whether or not he knew I was coming), he was overjoyed- at least as thrilled as my parents when I reunite with them. He spouted questions faster than I could answer them "How are you?" "Are you studying here?" "How long will you be here?" The ecstatic expression on his face will be forever etched into my memory.

Dani, another friend I made in March, is four years older than me and works as a mechanic in a factory. I asked him about living in his apartment, but it was too expensive so I found another place and never told him about my decision. I still feel kind of bad about that. If that phased him, he has not shown it all. He very willingly picks me up from my apartment and drops me off. On my second Saturday night here, he and another friend Jonathon rung my apartment and asked me if I wanted to eat dinner with the youth group from the church. I wondered how they knew which apartment I live in. Actually, they didn't know; they rang four apartments before mine. I was really touched by that.

The church as whole feels much different from anywhere I've been before. Apparently the church's doctrine is Baptist, but the services are far more charismatic, like a Pentecostal church. The services are very worship-centered and about twice as long as GCL's. This is not in any way bad; it is just different. It has required some adjusting on my part. On my third Saturday here, the service ran over two hours and forty-five minutes. There was at least an additional half an hour of worship at the end. I felt like a dud in the midst of such passionate people, and I had a difficult time concentrating on God with this spectacle in front of me. There were people at the front of the room in every posture imaginable. There were a few lying on the floor. It reminded me of the services on TV.

They certainly display their passion for Christ during the worship services, but they funnel this passion into their daily lives as well. JuanJo is just one example, albeit a good one. Felix mentioned during spring break that the pastor's sons, Josué and Joel, are two young men who are really living for God. I've had the privilege of talking with both of them quite a bit over the past month. I'd really like to get to know them better. I already have some great role models in my life, but it never hurts to have a couple more.

Weekly Conversations about One Thing.

At least two people every week ask me how I'm doing with my Spanish. I don't really mind answering the same question at least twice every week, but I think they could probably answer that question better than I could if they would just ask me something else and then evaluate the quality of my answer themselves. My answer is usually, "Esta mejorando (it's improving)." I never know what else to say.
One of the guys who asks me that question nearly every week is JuanJo, one of the nicest guys I've ever met in my life. He asked me the question again after church last night. I told him that it's difficult to understand my professors, yada yada.
Then Felix, the founder of the church and Dom's father-in-law, walked up. He always talks to me in English, probably because I'm the only chance he ever has to practice his English. Then JuanJo objected, "No no no! You can't speak English! He's here to learn Spanish! You have to speak Spanish!" I actually cannot remember whether he said that in English or Spanish. Felix asked me if I understood his sermon, which I did. It was about our dependency on God. I was very proud of myself for understanding nearly all of it. He is probably the easiest pastor to understand.
Once I filled them in on my liguistical progress, JuanJo told Felix that I'm living with Spanish nonbelieving students, and that it's a good thing because I can be a light to them. Felix asked me what I think about the youth in Spain. I told him that everyone just likes to drink, and there are no alternatives. His response kind of surprised me. He told me that the United States is still sort of a city of God, but that Spain is nearly completely lost. There is so much talk in GCL about UF being spiritually dead that I had never thought of my homeland as a godly place. But he was right, and I'll tell you why in another blog. He reminded me that I am light out here for the other students. I had heard the same thing before from several people over the past few months, but it was especially encouraging to hear it directly from the big guy.
My Spanish education wasn't quite done yet- after I explained what I thought about my counterparts in Spain, JuanJo remarked, "Habla muy bien!" or "He speaks very well." He sounded genuinely impressed. That also encouraged me, but in a different way. My Spanish is always hit or miss. It is easy to speak with somebody I'm comfortable with, like Juanjo, Felix, or the other college students in the church. My professors and classmates are patient with me as well. I have the hardest time when I talk to somebody in a store (they're often the least patient and understanding). When I talk to my roommates about cooking and don't know a word or two, I completely stumble. But my roommate and people from the church have told me that I have improved so I know I'm getting somewhere. If nothing else, answering the same questions about my Spanish over and over reminds me that I should be constantly working on it.

Writer's Block

I can't think of anything interesting to write about at the moment so I thought I'd write about how I can't think of anything interesting to write about. Aaron Shust does pretty much the same thing with his song "Give Me Words to Speak," and I think it turned out quite well. I found a copy of Orange County, one of my favorite movies, at a supermarket today for five euros (luckily the DVD's here have English audio tracks as well). It tells the story of high school senior who asprires to be a writer. I was reinspired today.

One thing I love to do in my spare time is watch movie trailers on apple.com- especially here, since all the movies in Spanish theaters are dubbed with Spanish voices that sound strange to me. I've seen a couple good trailers in the last couple weeks- The Music Within, Black Irish, and August Rush. Sometimes I watch the Pride and Prejudice trailer just for fun. (Most of you know my taste in books and movies is a little strange so I don't think I'm embarrassing myself any more than I already have by making this public.) I really want to write something inspiring like these movies.

But I have a little problem- I have no idea what to write about. Many writers do it the easy way and write about their own lives, but I don't think my life is interesting enough that anyone would want to watch it in a movie or read about it. At least not yet. Then again, do I have to experience something to write about it? I think it helps, but Jane Austen managed to write a bunch of love stories while she remained a bachelorette her entire life. Perhaps she just had a vivid imagination.

I'd really like to read a novel in English to spark my imagination, but they are difficult to find in Spain. As soon as I get to a bookstore in England, I am going to go crazy. Until then, I have my history books in Spanish and my Bible in English. I think a story about the apostles would be cool. There is something awesome about Paul traveling all over Europe preaching the Word. Maybe I can write a modern version of Acts, though that has probably been done. I don't know. I'll think of something, and I might even post the opening chapter right here.

Spanish food

In my last entry I touched on food a little bit, but I have quite a few interesting food stories so I think it deserves more attention.

In the United States, you can look at a resaurant and know exactly what they serve just by hearing the name or quickly glancing at the exterior. Over here, it's not so easy. Everything is called a "bar." Even places that we would call a restaurant or coffee shop, they label a "bar." It confuses me when I'm looking for something to eat and all I can find are bars. One trick I've learned for finding actual food is to look for Coca-Cola signs.

Pamplona seems to be the least diverse city I've ever lived in ethnically and culturally speaking so I guess it makes sense that the restaurants all look pretty much the same. Most of the ones I've visited serve bocadillos (sandwhiches) and platos combinados (literally, combination plates with meat and a side item). One of my roommates told me that different bars serve different things, but I still can't see any difference. Maybe it just takes time to get to know the places.

I'm not a huge fan of Spanish food so I started making American food that I never made for myself back in Gainesville. I made french toast for one of my roommates once because she shared her tortilla (omelette) with me on her first night here. "Mucha grasa," she said as she watched me dip the bread in the egg and then drop it into the melted butter on the frying pan. I never thought of french toast as an unhealthy dish. I thought that whole wheat bread is healthy, donuts are bad, and french toast is just normal. She had told me a couple times that she thinks Americans are unhealthy. This is coming from the girl who eats Frosted Flakes for breakfast and adds chocolate poweder to the milk as if the cereal itself does not have enough sugar.

Culture Shock

I got up very early on my first night in Spain- around 6:30, I think. I just couldn’t sleep. I had no food of course except for candy and cookies I had brought from my homeland. To my surprise, all of the grocery stores were closed. “What the heck?!” I thought. It was almost seven and there was no sign of any workers even preparing for opening.
Being forced to eat out, I finally found a little coffee shop/bakery (called a cafetería or panadería). I bought a chocolate donut and milk. When I ordered the milk, I assumed the lady would pull a cold pint out of a refrigerator. I had never seen it served any other way at a donut shop. Instead the lady served me steaming hot milk in a glass. It wasn’t what I had in mind, but at least I was able to sort of make hot chocolate with the little piece of chocolate that came with the milk.
After breakfast, I walked back to the grocery store. I thought it had to be open by eight o’clock. Most people are out of bed and their way to work already, at least in the United States. No such luck. There were lights on, but it was still closed. I continued to walk around not knowing what else to do with myself and always staying on one street so I don’t get lost. Many stores did not have any hours posted. What’s up with that? Do they just go to work whenever they feel like it? That would be a really sweet job!
Most everything in Spain seems to be more relaxed. I think people trust each other more. My cab driver at the airport didn’t ask me to show that I had cash; he just drove. I fully expected to have to pay for the container of cinnamon I accidentally dropped on the floor at a grocery store, but they didn’t care. They let me take another one, and they were not annoyed or upset at all. After I ordered a sandwich in Olite last week, I stayed by the counter so I could pay for it. I felt a little awkward when woman just stood back. After a month, I still hadn’t figure out that you pay for food after you get it, even in a very casual place. I’ve been in class for over a month, and I still haven’t registered for my classes. You guys at UF are already registering for the spring.
I can go on and on about examples of the relaxed nature of Spanish life. Everything opens later and closes earlier. There’s a “siesta” that falls somewhere between 2:00 and 4:30. It’s great for the workers, but not so great if you’re an American accustomed to getting whatever you want whenever you want it. I’ve adjusted by now, but it was a real pain in the butt at first.

Bringing Heaven to Earth

On Friday night I talked to Jeff for an hour once again. I told him that I have no idea what I want to do with my life, and he suggested that Scripture has the answer. Huh? Scripture? I don't know any verse that says, "Brendan, I want you to do this..." We all read the same Bible, so we wouldn't we all pick the same career path. Just in the past day, I've been able to see what he meant.
This guy named J.R. Woodward, who pastors Kairos in Los Angeles, spoke at LT this week. He spoke about how Jesus came to earth not only to be the Savior of the world, but also to preach a message of social justice. For example, when he says in the Lord's Prayer, "thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven," he wants us as Christians to make earth like a foretaste, or to use a California term, a movie trailer of heaven. Jesus also said that he brings good news to the poor, as should we.
Paul says in 1 Corinthians 9:19 "Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible." Then in Acts 20:35 "In everything I did, I showed you that by this kind of hard work we must help the weak, remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'" I think Scripture is pointing me to telling me to be a part of bringing heaven to earth by helping the poor or anyone who is underpriveleged. I wanted to do this through politics, but recently I've been trying to think of other ways. I may not have that answer for a little while, but I'm now halfway there at least .

I Saw Rebecca St. James!

On Monday night, I went to a Gospel Music Association concert. Our hike had worn everyone else out and Jeff was tied up with his project group so I had to go alone. I did not see anyone my age that I knew from the Y staff. I was one of two people under forty buying tickets on Sunday. There was a surprising number of empty seats. I guess the staff either didn't know or didn't care. Who would pass up an opportunity to see Rebecca St. James and others for $5? She was the only artist on the list I had heard of. Because her name was listed first, I thought I could just see her and walk out if I did not like the others. They made a good decision putting her up last.
The others were definitely worth hearing. The first artist was a guy named Aaron Shust. I did not realize that he was the guy who wrote and sang "My Savior My God," one of my favorite Christian songs. He said he came in 1998, and the GMA critics ripped his music apart. Now look at him. It was an inspiration to hear that. Then there was Shaun Groves, the funniest Christian speaker I've seen anywhere in quite some time. He also sings a song I had heard a million times, "Welcome Home." He introduced Rebecca St. James, remarking that she "kissed dating goodbye," alluding to her partnership with Joshua Harris in promoting purity. "And so did the girls I dated," added Shaun. "By the way, I didn't actually kiss dating goodbye," said Rebecca. I guess she didn't want all the single late 20's-ish men of God in the audience to think she was not interested.
I really went just to see Rebecca St. James, but the whole show was surprisingly very encouraging as well. It really made me love being a Christian. I have never disliked the Christian life per se, though feeling restricted at times by faith can be discouraging. But anyway, this concert really excited me in a way that I have not felt in a long time. It's kind of difficult to explain.
I have become obsessed with Christian music in the last few months. As my life becomes more complicated, I need the encouragement it gives me. Songs like "Wait for Me" by Rebecca St. James and "Praise You in This Storm" by Casting Crowns would have meant nothing to me six years ago. Now they and many others seem packed with meaning. The Joy FM's slogan is "helping you find joy," and I think it really does compliment the Bible to do just that.

Salsa Night

I had heard about Wednesday night salsa dancing at this place in Estes Park last summer, but I never went. I imagined that there would be people there teaching the clueless ones. I wound up going not knowing it was part of the post pizza dinner plans.
I’ve always wondered what Gainesville clubs are like, and I’m sure this was probably pretty close, not exactly beginner-friendly. I’m not entirely sure that most of the dancers on the crowded floor, including myself, were actually salsa dancing. I kind of just tried to follow everyone else. My semester of foxtrot, swing, line dancing, and waltz seemed to be worthless here. The worst part, which last the majority of the two and a half hours, was when virtually everyone on the floor paired up. If it were swing dancing, asking a random girl to dance probably would not have been that hard. Some of the couples were dancing kind of close, but it was not too bad. I know I’ve seen much worse dancing than that. I guess the darker club atmosphere had a negative effect on me. It wasn’t so much the kind of dancing. I was just way out of my comfort zone.
This was one of those times when alcohol did not seem to be such a bad idea. I mean, could these guys act this way without some kind of help? It was only a fleeting thought- you tend to think of some crazy stuff when you’re bored. Besides, I had the problem of two big bold red X’s on both of my hands. They didn’t fade one bit after washing my hands normally and did not disappear completely until today. I guess anyone who plans to drink underage should bring some really powerful soap in their pockets.
Overall I was glad that I went. The complete boredom of the last hour was at least worth tolerating to tell this story. I got more exposure to Spanish too. I could actually pick up some words here and there. But from now on I think I’ll stick with swing or something that does not force you to choose between boredom and kind of hitting on a girl or two in a bar.

Wake up, Dirk!

Angie, Dirk, and I were planning to go hiking on Friday morning before work. We looked for Dirk on Thursday night around 11:30 to finalize our plans. There were three Asian guys talking right outside his door. I asked them, "Have you seen anyone walk in this door recently?" They seemed to think I was asking them to leave. Actually, I wanted to know if he was in his room. If I already knew he was sleeping, I would have left a note instead of knocking. "Dirk... tall blond guy... do you know where he is?" I asked. Then one of them had a sudden revelation and said, "Oh, yes, Dirk!" Before I could say anything he threw the door open revealing a dark room and a confused Y worker. "There's Dirk!" Angie and I could hardly control our laughter. I shut the door, not knowing what else to do. Angie slapped me on the arm and told me in an encouraging, cheerful tone of voice, "Go talk to him." Dirk did not seem to be too upset. I told him of our plans to meet at 6:30 in the Pondo. He told me the next morning it was a miracle he got up in time because he could have slept late or completely forgotten that we told him the plan when he was half conscious.
I guess I have this kind of language barrier to look forward to in a few months. I wonder if people in Asia have no qualms about waking people up. Most of all, I hope Spain will not be like that.

Shining before men...or trying to

I went to my first small group meeting with Dirk and a few other Christians who are not in LT this year on Monday night. He named the group Living transparently after Matthew 5:16, "In the same way let your light shine before men that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." While discussing this verse, Dirk asked me if knew one of the supervisors in the kitchen. I sort of laughed, through my pen on the table, and leaned in my chair because I already knew that he knew the answer to that question.
I got the impression that this supervisor disliked me from the beginning. On my first day, she would not talk to me. Instead she gave instructions to the girl I was working with. Her low voice and Eastern European accent did not help. I would have to keep asking, "What did she say?" She was also one of the more strict supervisors so I just avoided her as much as possible for the rest of the summer.
At lunch on Monday, we discussed our "grudges." My supervisor immediately came to mind. I did not want to have that conversation all over again during small group, but that is what it took for Dirk to get the point across. Somebody mentioned that my supervisor seemed depressed last summer so maybe I should have been a little more sensitive to that. I will not get to see her very much this summer, but nevertheless I know I should make a conscious effort to be nice this time.
"Shining before men" as a whole did not get much easier in the following days. Yesterday whoever was responsible for making the veggie tray I was scheduled to deliver did not do it. I had to make it myself. My supervisor was actually a livesaver in this situation because she knew how to do it. I was still half an hour late for two deliveries because preparing the veggie tray left me little time to make the drinks. I missed a break and was very frustrated for a couple hours. I certainly was not shining very bright.
Perhaps my attitude at work will change after committing this verse to memory and lots of prayer. Food service may seem like a mindless field, but I think it is far more stressful than most people think. I want to encourage everyone reading this to remember to "shine before men" no matter what, especially my home group as they reach out to new and experienced students on campus.

Colorado Take 2

A lot of people here were surprisingly very happy to see me again. I had to relearn many of their names. Few things embarrass me more than when somebody remembers my name, but I do not remember theirs. It happens quite often. One guy I met in the staff dining hall a few days ago called me “Brian,” but I was still impressed because I did not even remember his face. The name badges that the Y makes us wear are like a gift from God.
Driving the delivery van with half a million miles on it is surprisingly fun. I may never get to drive a VW Bus, but I guess this will be enough to tide me over for now. Multiple coffee, lemonade, ice cream, and barbeque sauce spills have stained the back and made it real sticky. The sweet smell is indescribable, and it has not changed a bit since I rode in the back last summer when I helped with cookouts. I feel like Santa Claus whenever I deliver ice cream or something that a group really wants. I spend the majority of my time in the kitchen, where I am usually pretty lost. In the dish room I knew what I was doing, but it’s a little more complicated in the kitchen because the staff is often working on ten different projects simultaneously.
Angie, Dirk, Rachel, Sarah, and I met for a hike up Mount Alice yesterday morning at 3:00. It was pretty uneventful until we reached the mountain itself. A marmot came up to us on the ridge hoping to score some free food. I have never seen a marmot that close. The little bugger was sitting right beside me sniffing my elbow before I knew. I may have never even noticed if one of my fellow hikers had not informed me. Dirk thought though the route up the mountain looked impossible, and even suggested that he would turn back. But he was the first one to reach the summit. That’s Dirk. We completed the hike (about seventeen miles) in about twelve hours. Some pictures are up on facebook. Our next target is Stones, one of the three failed attempts of Dirk, Amy, and I last summer.
Dirk created a small group for those not in Leadership Training this summer called Living Transparently. The second meeting is tonight. The plan is for everyone to share something that struck them as they were reading the Bible or in quiet time. Then we’ll break into our pseudo-life groups. I hope it goes well.
I miss you all and think of you every day. Drop me an email if you have anything exciting to share.

Estes Park Day 1

I think I ate too much pizza at Uno’s on Monday night. My stomach did not allow me to enjoy the flight, and I was pretty tired after rising at 4:00 in the morning for a 6:00 flight. I slept through most of The Last Mimzy, which I would have loved to watch. I can’t remember the last time I was so anxious to get off of an airplane. I just wanted to be in Denver already.
As soon as I got in the car with Angie, Amy, and Dirk at the airport, my stomach ache vanished. I was so happy, like I was floating the clouds. We drove back to the Y, stopping at IHOP at the request of Dirk and I. I did the routine check-in stuff before reporting to my boss. Mike, the food service director, is tall and bald, having the typical motorcyclist look. “He has some plans for you,” Susan, the manager, told me. Mike nodded his head. “Do you have a driver’s license?” he asked. I started to pull it out assuming he was asking for a form of identification. He was actually wondering if I would like to be the new delivery guy and work in the kitchen the rest of the time. It sounded like a step up from the dish room. I asked if I could have Sundays and Mondays off because those are the days Angie and Dirk have off. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Those are our least delivery days.” Words can’t describe how happy I was then.
Being back at the YMCA of the Rockies. I feel as if nothing that happened over the past year matters any longer. Now that I’m back in this paradise (“like the most beautiful place on the planet” as Alan Moore says) and with some special friends, all my disappointments seem irrelevant. As Amy said, this place has an effect on people. That’s not to say that I did not gain a lot and learn a lot at UF this year because I did, but it’s easy to put everything behind me now.
I went to the LT meeting Tuesday night. I think the speaker made me laugh more than any of the others last year. He was not as funny that night, but his message really got me thinking. He encouraged us to find what we’re passion about, experiment with different jobs. There is no rush, he said, because you’re all going to live to be eighty years old anyway. Sometimes God tells you what he wants you to do and sometimes you find out through trial and error, like he did.
I have a feeling my life is going to be a lot like his- trial and error. That is a fairly accurate description of my life so far. I don’t think I’ll have twenty-one jobs, but maybe three or four. I have no idea what I really want to do for the rest of my life. My mom is pressing me to find a good-paying job while my dad says, “Do what you want.” I like my dad’s advice. I know I love Jesus, traveling, the Rockies, writing, and of course my two majors, Spanish and political science. How you make a living with them, I have no clue, but I don’t really need to know right now. At least, I hope not. If I can jump around jobs like this for a few years, delivering coffee or washing dishes, that’s fine by me.

Blue Like Jazz

My friend Chris Bobek loaned me his copy of Blue Like Jazz a few weeks ago. He said that the author is a "hippie liberal character" that reminded him of me. I just finished it.
A campus preacher at UF this past year told the people listening to "be skeptical of the skeptics" mainly because they endorse the lifestyles of gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgenders. Homosexuality is no doubt an immoral lifestyle, but I think it's strange that he used it as his main weapon for discrediting the skeptics. Jesus said that our second greatest commandment, after loving Him, is to "Love your neighbor as yourself." It was not to stop gay marriage. Why couldn't the campus preacher say, "Be skeptical of the skeptics because they don't love you as much as we Christians do"? We might not be able to say that much of the time. He and other campus preachers have probably brought hundreds, if not thousands, of students to Christ. Their work has done far more good than harm. I really admire their courage. I'm only saying that it would be more effective if the focus was solely on Jesus Christ and loving others. Then I wouldn't have to stumble over my words as I explain how Christians feel about gays. It often does not make any sense to a non-Christian.

The last chapters of Blue Like Jazz touch immensely on this theme of what it means to love and not judge other people as Christians. I think something is wrong when we assume that homosexuality or other sin is as appalling to everyone else as it is to us Christians and we use it as our main ammunition. I've never heard anyone say they came to Christ as a result of hearing a pastor lash out against gays, Democrats, hippies, Muslims, stoners, etc. But love converts people all the time. Love should come first, then they will conform to our stances on gay marriage and other issues as they learn more about Jesus. It wouldn't do much good for me to rewrite the book here. I'll only say that everyone should read it. It really spoke to me.

My Blog's Purpose

I know many of you out there are just as excited about my upcoming year in Pamplona as I am so I figured you would all want to read about it. This first post is more of a test so I can see how this works. More updates will follow.