Basque in the Glory

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I promised you all the delicious details of my sordid Spanish sojourn (never let it be said I’m an English major who can’t alliterate), so without further ado, vamos!

Before I could leave for my weekend getaway, I had to watch my English Angels present the fruits of their Shakespearean toils. I was so proud of them, I could have burst. Yes, I’m sure a lot of the deeper meaning was lost on them, and that it’s an assignment better suited for an older age group, but they had worked very hard and I can think of at least 4 or 5 scenes where the groups were more than just reciting their lines, but actually acting and understanding the story. Among my favorites were the Rude Mechanicals from a Midsummer Night’s Dream, which included two dramatic death scenes with stabbing by ruler, and the two interpretations of the Caliban, Trinculo, and Stephano scene from the Tempest. The kids really got into the possibilities for physical comedy for that one (with a little coaching from yours truly), although Mathieu got a little carried away and knocked his head on the cabinet in his stumbling imitation of the drunken Stephano. I was also extremely proud of Laurence, who did a great job capturing Rosalind from As You Like It. Her pronunciation was one of the best in the class (and I’m saying that as an unbiased professor, not as someone who lives with her and thinks everything she does is brilliant). Laurie and Thomas were supposed to do the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet, but poor Laurie had gotten so sunburned skiing that she could barely open her mouth to speak. So Laurence Chapelle asked me if I would step in and fill her role, which I did, to the great amusement of my students and to Thomas’s violent protests (“But she speaks so well, and I’m going to sound like a moron!”). Next week, we’re going to watch “Hairspray”, so after they finished their scenes I gave an introduction to the Civil Rights Movement and 60’s culture. Thursday night I went out for what may be the last time with my fellow Pau assistants. There was a big party planned for Saturday, but clearly I couldn’t attend since I was going to Spain. Despite the torrential downpour, we had a good final visit to the Garage. I’m going to miss this crazy and wonderfully eclectic group of friends I’ve found over here. Thank goodness for facebook, I guess!

Saturday morning, Christine, Patrick and I hit the road at 6am to drive to Bilbo. It’s about 3 hours from Pau, so after parking the car and grabbing a café to turn us into something resembling human beings, we made our way to the Guggenheim museum just as it opened at 10:00. The most impressive part of the museums collection is actually the architecture of the museum itself. Designed by architect Frank O. Gehry, it’s made out of glass, stone, and titanium plating that’s rippled and curved to evoke all kinds of images of fish and ships. Each of the titanium plates is thinner than a sheet of paper, but they’ll last for centuries. There’s a pedestrian bridge that runs parallel to the river that cuts through Bilbao, and a gigantic spider sculpture by the Franco-American artist Louis Burgeois entitled “Maman”. Let’s not even get into the Freudian issues there. The museums permanent collection is also really interesting—focusing heavily on surrealism and featuring the works of Dali, Man Ray, and others. Seeing the collection reminded me how much I really like surrealist art for the way it uses expected elements to present the unexpected. For example, a man looks in a mirror that reflects his back rather than his front, even though the book beside him is reflected normally. Or, a garden wheelbarrow is lined with satin and made into a pristine coach. It’s delight in contrast and distortion, and of course I find it appealing for its tie-in with the French literary movement going on at the same time. There was even a children’s exhibit dedicated to “le Cadvre Exquis”. Now, your first impression would not be that “The Exquisite Corpse” is material suited for elementary schoolers, but let me explain. The name refers to a game the Surrealists used to play. They would fold up a piece of paper into a square, and then take turns passing it around. Each of them would add a phrase or a drawing, but the paper was folded in such a way that none could see what the others had done before them. Think of it as the surrealist version of madlibs. In the Guggenheim museum, kids can each take a turn drawing on a white board that has all but one square blocked out. Then, the squares can be shifted around to reveal a new blank space, and in the end removed to show the final results. Besides the permanent exhibit, there was a temporary exhibit on art in the United States. It ranged from the revolution up to modern day, and there was even a painting featuring a naval battle with Baltimore’s very own U.S.S. Constitution. I made sure to point that one out to Christine and Patrick.

After the museum, we walked around and did some shopping, since the stores are typically cheaper in Spain. First, we stopped in at the market, where we bought some tiny little shrimp to eat fresh as tapas. You could still taste the sea in them, as they had clearly just come off the boat a few hours before. You could also taste the shell in them, since they were too small to peel. I tried to shell the first one I ate, and Christine and Patrick just laughed at me as they proceeded to pop the little buggers, heads and all, into their mouths. Yum, al dente. I did remove the heads on my shrimp, since that was a little more than even my adventuresome stomach could handle. We also found black beans at the market. This may not seem like a big deal to Americans, but the Canterots had never seen them before, so we bought some and I’m going to cook them up later this week.

After the market, we hit the clothing stores. Patrick got a new leather jacket that is very “Steve McQueen.” Later in the day, we took the funicular up into the mountains for a fantastic view of the town stretched out below us. It was truly incredible to see that sunny Spanish countryside sprawling out below us, uniting the blue sea with the verdant mountains. We walked back to the hotel for our first “down-time” of the day…all of 30 minutes. Then, we hit the streets for dinner and a look at the infamous Spanish nightlife. The Spaniards have a timetable akin to that of a first year college student, except the entire population lives this way. They get up at around 10, have lunch at 3, and then take a little siesta until around 7 or 8. Then, it’s time to strut your stuff around town until about 10, when it’s tapas, drinks, and dinnertime. After dinner, which should finish around midnight, they’ll continue drinking and partying out in the streets until around 5 am, when they finally crawl into bed. Don’t think this is just the weekend schedule, either. What I just described could be a typical Tuesday night. What struck me was the overwhelming number of young kids (around ages 13-16) just running around out in the streets. Christine, Patrick, and I did NOT stay up until 5 am, since that would have made it a full 24 hours for us. Rather, we went back to the hotel and crashed.

Here’s the downside of the Spanish lifestyle of beer and tapas and smoking in the streets. Eventually, someone’s got to clean up the mess. The next day, when I went for a morning constitutional at around 9 am, the last of the wayward youth were stumbling home for sleepy time, leaving behind them alleys filled with garbage piled half a foot high. Broken wine glasses, empty beer bottles, food wrappers, you name it. The street crews were already hard at work minimizing the debris, and by 10:30 it was as if the Mr. Clean, the scrubbing bubbles, and the Orek vacuum guy had all banded together and with their combined disinfecting strength, washed the town from top to bottom. I could almost smell the pine-sol.

We hit the road right after breakfast and drove back along the tiny winding roads that border the coast for some absolutely amazing views. It reminded me of being in Big Sur in California. We saw an estuary with what I’m betting was the entire seagull population of Spain, and stopped for lunch in a town called Guernica, which is famous for the ancient oak tree that is the traditional spot for measuring out that famed (an merciless) Basque justice. We ate in a restaurant that specialized in traditional Basque cuisine, where I got to try stuffed Basque peppers, which were quite to my liking, and tostada de leche frite, otherwise known as milk crusted in cinnamon and sugar and fried. That one was much less to my liking. I also got to try squid cooked in its own ink, which was delicious, if visually unappetizing. The woman who owned the place was very friendly and seemed to take a shine to me, as she kept directly asking me how I liked everything and telling me to eat more. I could understand her, but had a hard time fighting the impulse to respond in Italian (since Spanish sounds a lot like Italian). So now I finally understand the mystery that’s been puzzling me all year as to why when my students clearly understand what I’m saying, they still answer me in French. Understanding is one thing. Forming a coherent response is quite another. We found an open souvenir shop where Christine bought a sticker for the back of the van that says (in Basque) “Independent Basque”. “Oh Great,” said Patrick “You put that on the car and we’re going to get pulled over by every Spanish cop between here and the French border.” The afternoon part of the journey took place in the pouring rain because, after all, we were headed back to Pau.

Today was my last day at Jeanne d’Albret, and I still haven’t quite gotten my head around the fact that half of my teaching experience is over. France Bourdin, a fellow English teacher who is moving to Qatar in June, got me a 64 keychain, so that I’ll always remember Bearn and La vie Paloise. For my classes of 3emes, I’d made no-bake cookies and mini peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to spoil them a little bit, and we watched some American stand-up comedy. Everyone except Barbara was a huge fan of the PB and J combination, to the point that some of them even said they might switch off Nutella for awhile. Vincent kindly offered to take one for the team and finish Barbara’s sandwich for her. I’d wanted to treat them on their last day, but instead they treated me, because they got me Renan Luce’s new CD, which is really clever and good (assuming you speak French, that is). After the bell rang, they all came up to “faire des bises” and say goodbye. Normally, they just bolt when they hear that lunch bell ring, so I was definitely a bit veklempt at their show of emotion, and I hope they’ll have good memories of me the way I have good memories of them.

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Photos

Bilbao
Some crew practice on the river.

Bilbao
already the streets are starting to fill up, and it's only 8 oclock

Basque Country
The bird's eye view from above town.

Guggenheim Museum
Patrick and Christine pose outside next to the giant balloon tulips.

The Coast
Our drive back was full of epic views like this one