Last Friday I was at Carrefour to buy some stuff for my backpacking trip, which starts tomorrow. Judging from past experience, I can't consider myself the type who is fond of shopping, especially if this occurs under pressure a few days from the date of departure. The whole experience of walking back and forth inside the mall, of spending much of your thought power on which size, design or color to pick, is something I find too time-consuming. Perhaps contrary to shopaholic testimonies, I think it is quite stressful.
I went to Carrefour because everything there is cheap. It is actually a supermarket that sells everything from food, clothes, domestic appliances, kitchenware, books to furniture. I was in no position to negotiate for a shopping spree at El Corte Ingles, because my financial state had been rather shaky, and scrimping seemed the only logical decision. Trying as quickly as possible to get my shopping errands over with, I forced myself to finish it all in two days, the outcome of which was a pair of grey pants, two colored shirts, a long-sleeved undershirt and a formal polo shirt for the night-outs. These are probably the cheapest clothes I will ever buy. Since Carrefour was on sale season, prices hit rock-bottom - I got two shirts at 2 euros each. With that, I could otherwise buy a couple of ballpens, or a bottle of cheap shampoo.
Then, I also got to buy a few extras: a pair of sunglasses, a hand-made bracelet and a beaded necklace for ethnic effect. A few hours from now, I have to stuff them in my mountaineer's backpack, and test whether my baggage-reduction skills have improved any since the last time I did a tour. Then, I'm ready to go.
The trip will take a little over three weeks. I have always wanted to do it longer - two months for example - like some travellers I've met at youth hostels before, but then time and money have always been rather scarce. Add to that the fact that travelling non-stop for two months is pretty exhausting. During the first and second week, we will cover France, Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands, but from the third week on, I will be hitting the train tracks of Germany on my own. My travel partner, a Spanish guy I met over the Internet, is going home earlier.
I'm very excited about this trip since unlike before, I'm now travelling with someone. And that should make things more enjoyable, and easier. Well, we shall see...
Europe, here I come!!!
martes, agosto 09, 2005
jueves, agosto 04, 2005
Does pride help?
The Spanish are proud. This is the strongest message I have been getting from them over the last ten months. They love their hometown, they love their history, they love their culture, their language, their country. It is a kind of pride that is sometimes irrational, at times fascinating, and it is planted deeply within every one of them.
Last school year I shared a flat with three Spanish guys, and out of the blue they would walk up to me to say: "I think Spain is the best country in the world." Actually, none of them could be considered well-traveled, Portugal being the farthest one of them had reached, but in their minds their country exists above the rest.
Manolo, the guy from Cordoba, liked very much to bring up the topic of food, and whenever he did, he would always seal the conversation with: "I think Spanish food is the best there is." Truth is, his gastronomic adventures had been quite limited, and he was quite averse to trying out foreign food. Once I offered him some Japanese sweets, and the reaction I got was one of surprise. Backing off, he said something like: "What the fuck is this?"
Actually, those were little Japanese rice cakes with sweet beans inside.
In Spain, Russian salad is very common that one day I started to wonder if indeed it was of Russian origin, or Spanish. It is normally served as a tapa, together with other traditional Spanish food. So I asked my other flatmate Julio about it, and he said he was unsure. You have to understand that this salad is quite popular and the Spanish love it. Perhaps thinking along these lines, he was quick to add: "It is more likely that Russian salad is actually Spanish."
Regarding French fries, which are popular the world over, Manolo had the same theory: "You know, French fries could actually be Spanish."
The kind of pride that they have does not follow logic or reason. Rather, it stems from a deep feeling of love for their own, but without knowledge of what other cultures are like.
Over dinner, one professor told me that to her English was not a good language, as it didn't quite measure up to the richness of Spanish. I was tempted to ask if she spoke English, but I didn't like to embarrass her as I knew she didn't.
This pride is so great, sometimes they will try to impose their culture on you. When people here ask me if the Filipinos speak Spanish, they get disappointed over the lost of their influence on us. They say something like: "What a pity. Pass a law or something, so people there will study Spanish again."
I have to admit I found this pride quite annoying at first. As a Filipino, the concept of yabang is embedded in me, as much as pride is in them. Hearing them talk, I would think: "Ang yabang naman nito!!!" But later on, as I tried to understand them more as a people, it began to fascinate me why they think and behave that way.
So one day I asked Manolo why the Spanish are so proud. Is it because of the education? Are they taught this pride in school? The question actually surprised him, and thought it was a bit odd. He didn't have a reason to offer, because he had never thought about it. To him, it has always been that way; loving Spain is the only natural way to think, to behave.
I have seen this pride in other nationalities, too - Venezuelans, Bolivians, Brazilians and Russians. They are from developing nations, yet they claim that life where they come from is much better than Spain. I don't know if that is true, but fact is, they are proud of their own.
Interestingly, I didn't see this pride in the Japanese, whose country is rich and powerful. When they talk about Japan, they tend to understate its achievements, always conceding to America or something. Even the Chinese people I've met didn't seem to possess such pride, not knowing their economy has become a major threat to the US.
When I asked myself the same question I'd asked Manolo, I couldn't find an answer. Why are the Filipinos so unproud of themselves? Is it because of the education? Are we taught to think that way in school? When people ask me, "Is the Philippines beautiful?" I find it hard to say yes. It is my nature, or at least it's my first impulse, to think that my country is awful, corrupt and without a future. I think most Filipinos are like that.
Yet when I come to think of it, such lack of pride of the Filipinos is just as irrational as the Spanish hubris. It is based on emotion, humility, lack of knowledge and rather exaggerated notions of how life good is outside the Philippines.
What if we had this Spanish pride? Would it change things?
Last school year I shared a flat with three Spanish guys, and out of the blue they would walk up to me to say: "I think Spain is the best country in the world." Actually, none of them could be considered well-traveled, Portugal being the farthest one of them had reached, but in their minds their country exists above the rest.
Manolo, the guy from Cordoba, liked very much to bring up the topic of food, and whenever he did, he would always seal the conversation with: "I think Spanish food is the best there is." Truth is, his gastronomic adventures had been quite limited, and he was quite averse to trying out foreign food. Once I offered him some Japanese sweets, and the reaction I got was one of surprise. Backing off, he said something like: "What the fuck is this?"
Actually, those were little Japanese rice cakes with sweet beans inside.
In Spain, Russian salad is very common that one day I started to wonder if indeed it was of Russian origin, or Spanish. It is normally served as a tapa, together with other traditional Spanish food. So I asked my other flatmate Julio about it, and he said he was unsure. You have to understand that this salad is quite popular and the Spanish love it. Perhaps thinking along these lines, he was quick to add: "It is more likely that Russian salad is actually Spanish."
Regarding French fries, which are popular the world over, Manolo had the same theory: "You know, French fries could actually be Spanish."
The kind of pride that they have does not follow logic or reason. Rather, it stems from a deep feeling of love for their own, but without knowledge of what other cultures are like.
Over dinner, one professor told me that to her English was not a good language, as it didn't quite measure up to the richness of Spanish. I was tempted to ask if she spoke English, but I didn't like to embarrass her as I knew she didn't.
This pride is so great, sometimes they will try to impose their culture on you. When people here ask me if the Filipinos speak Spanish, they get disappointed over the lost of their influence on us. They say something like: "What a pity. Pass a law or something, so people there will study Spanish again."
I have to admit I found this pride quite annoying at first. As a Filipino, the concept of yabang is embedded in me, as much as pride is in them. Hearing them talk, I would think: "Ang yabang naman nito!!!" But later on, as I tried to understand them more as a people, it began to fascinate me why they think and behave that way.
So one day I asked Manolo why the Spanish are so proud. Is it because of the education? Are they taught this pride in school? The question actually surprised him, and thought it was a bit odd. He didn't have a reason to offer, because he had never thought about it. To him, it has always been that way; loving Spain is the only natural way to think, to behave.
I have seen this pride in other nationalities, too - Venezuelans, Bolivians, Brazilians and Russians. They are from developing nations, yet they claim that life where they come from is much better than Spain. I don't know if that is true, but fact is, they are proud of their own.
Interestingly, I didn't see this pride in the Japanese, whose country is rich and powerful. When they talk about Japan, they tend to understate its achievements, always conceding to America or something. Even the Chinese people I've met didn't seem to possess such pride, not knowing their economy has become a major threat to the US.
When I asked myself the same question I'd asked Manolo, I couldn't find an answer. Why are the Filipinos so unproud of themselves? Is it because of the education? Are we taught to think that way in school? When people ask me, "Is the Philippines beautiful?" I find it hard to say yes. It is my nature, or at least it's my first impulse, to think that my country is awful, corrupt and without a future. I think most Filipinos are like that.
Yet when I come to think of it, such lack of pride of the Filipinos is just as irrational as the Spanish hubris. It is based on emotion, humility, lack of knowledge and rather exaggerated notions of how life good is outside the Philippines.
What if we had this Spanish pride? Would it change things?
miércoles, agosto 03, 2005
La gente me mira
La gente me mira, cosa que a mi no me gusta nada; de hecho, me fastidia. Cuando camino por la calle, entro en un bar, o subo al autobús, me doy cuenta de que la gente me mira, lo mismo que si fuera una pintura en el museo, un partido de fútbol en la tele, un bebé rodeado por su familia, un espectáculo. A menudo les sorprendo mirándome de cabeza a pie, y en cambio les miro tanto que no pueden hacer nada más que apartar la vista. En otros momentos no les miro, pero siempre tengo la sensación de que me están mirando.
Al principio creí que era por curiosidad. La gente me mira por mis ojos chinos, la piel morena, mi pinta distinta. Como vivo en una ciudad donde los asiáticos son cuatro gatos, atraigo mucha atención, tengo poder magnético. Recuerdo que pasa lo mismo en Japón y Filipinas donde es difícil para los extranjeros esconderse, en especial los rubios, porque siempre se hacen notar en todas partes. Incluso yo era propenso a mirarles de vez en cuando, aunque procuraba no hacerlo.
También la gente me saluda en la calle, cosa que tampoco me gusta. Estaría bien si me dijeran "Hola," pero la verdad es que me dicen "Ni hao." En primer lugar no soy chino, aunque lo parezco, además si lo fuera, tampoco me apetecería que la gente me saludara en chino. A veces me llaman así; cuando paso por una conglomeración de gente en la calle, o en la playa, les oigo diciendo entre ellos: "Mira, un chino," "Hay un chino," etc.
Si hubiéramos estado en Filipinas, a un español le llamarían "americano" ¡jaja!
Un día me atreví a plantear ese tema a mis amigos. Esa chica japonesa de la escuela de idiomas decia que a ella le pasaba lo mismo - le mira la gente y le llama "china" - algo que no puede aguantar. Cree que la gente es racista. Por otra parte, siempre se encuentran sorprendidos mis amigos españoles cuando se lo cuento, ya que nunca han tenido la misma experiencia. Suelen decirme que tal vez me salude la gente por motivos cordiales.
La verdad es que por mucho que lo intente entender, me resulta difícil comprender ese comportamiento. Creo que una parte de la gente aquí es racista, es un racismo que proviene sobre todo de su incultura, su carencia de conocimiento de cosas orientales. En España miran por encima del hombro a los chinos, aunque por cierto dentro de muy pocos años la economía China será más importante internacionalmente que la de España. Miran por encima del hombro a los chinos, aunque a los españoles les gusta mucho comprar en las tiendas chinas...
En realidad soy filipino, desgraciadamente en España me convierten en un chino. No me gusta que la gente me mire y me salude en chino, no obstante a partir de ahora, me da igual. Hay que recordar que también hay buena gente aquí, acogedora, abierta y simpática, y pienso seguir teniendo trato con esa gente. Por otra parte, a los demás: Así os parta un rayo ¡cojones!
Al principio creí que era por curiosidad. La gente me mira por mis ojos chinos, la piel morena, mi pinta distinta. Como vivo en una ciudad donde los asiáticos son cuatro gatos, atraigo mucha atención, tengo poder magnético. Recuerdo que pasa lo mismo en Japón y Filipinas donde es difícil para los extranjeros esconderse, en especial los rubios, porque siempre se hacen notar en todas partes. Incluso yo era propenso a mirarles de vez en cuando, aunque procuraba no hacerlo.
También la gente me saluda en la calle, cosa que tampoco me gusta. Estaría bien si me dijeran "Hola," pero la verdad es que me dicen "Ni hao." En primer lugar no soy chino, aunque lo parezco, además si lo fuera, tampoco me apetecería que la gente me saludara en chino. A veces me llaman así; cuando paso por una conglomeración de gente en la calle, o en la playa, les oigo diciendo entre ellos: "Mira, un chino," "Hay un chino," etc.
Si hubiéramos estado en Filipinas, a un español le llamarían "americano" ¡jaja!
Un día me atreví a plantear ese tema a mis amigos. Esa chica japonesa de la escuela de idiomas decia que a ella le pasaba lo mismo - le mira la gente y le llama "china" - algo que no puede aguantar. Cree que la gente es racista. Por otra parte, siempre se encuentran sorprendidos mis amigos españoles cuando se lo cuento, ya que nunca han tenido la misma experiencia. Suelen decirme que tal vez me salude la gente por motivos cordiales.
La verdad es que por mucho que lo intente entender, me resulta difícil comprender ese comportamiento. Creo que una parte de la gente aquí es racista, es un racismo que proviene sobre todo de su incultura, su carencia de conocimiento de cosas orientales. En España miran por encima del hombro a los chinos, aunque por cierto dentro de muy pocos años la economía China será más importante internacionalmente que la de España. Miran por encima del hombro a los chinos, aunque a los españoles les gusta mucho comprar en las tiendas chinas...
En realidad soy filipino, desgraciadamente en España me convierten en un chino. No me gusta que la gente me mire y me salude en chino, no obstante a partir de ahora, me da igual. Hay que recordar que también hay buena gente aquí, acogedora, abierta y simpática, y pienso seguir teniendo trato con esa gente. Por otra parte, a los demás: Así os parta un rayo ¡cojones!
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