In the beginning of this series (before the new year), I wrote about the differences I've found between what I called "nomadic" travel (in which one moves around without putting down roots) and the type of travel where one makes a new life in a foreign place. Specifically, I wrote first about the difference between the ecstatic highs of nomadic travel versus the slow-burn warmth of finding the small things one loves about a foreign place day-to-day. Later, I wrote about battling my fear of boredom as I've settled into Palencia. I didn't think the two were particularly related at the time, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that they are connected in some important way.
Nomadic travel is by definition without routine or everyday responsibilities. One is subject to an entirely new set of stresses, of course, but there are no meetings to go to, electric bills to pay, or trash bags to take out. One need never do the same thing two days in a row, and every week brings a new barrage of challenges-- a new metro system, language, currency, or set of customs to adapt to. To a certain kind of traveler (namely, me), adapting successfully and rising to those challenges affords a unique and intense satisfaction, a kind of happiness rarely encountered, and so my year of nomadic travel was perhaps the ideal adventure. Never have I felt so fully or consistently challenged. It was occasionally overwhelming, scary, and lonely, but it was always filled with thrilling newness-- whether I was at a Hindu wedding, sitting in on a Viet luck ceremony, dancing at a Turkish coming of age ritual, or singing Tibetan drinking songs.
Making a new life in a foreign country in many ways presents an opposite experience. Yes, there are many exhilarating new things--neighborhoods to explore, bars to sample, people to meet, customs to learn-- but after the first weeks they arrive within the framework of a routine. Except in the most metaphorical sense, a Spanish life is not the same as a Spanish trip, and there are bills to pay, dentist appointments to keep, dishes to wash, and classes to teach--whether one feels like it this morning or not. Making a new life requires developing a cycle of tasks that repeat--get up, make coffee, go to work, meet friends at that one bar, grocery shop at that one store-- in a way that tasks do not repeat when one is participating in nomadic travel. And I am starting to think that it is from that repetition that the boredom I so fear develops. Somewhere along the line, a life of cyclical routine loses its charm at the price of looming monotony.
Except, here's the thing: when I first started thinking about moving to Spain to teach, it was exactly that cycle, that familiarity, that appealed to me. I spoke (and wrote) about a desire to "get under the skin" of a place--to be a regular at a cafe, to pinpoint the best places for live music, to know where to get the best or cheapest produce, to become more than a passer-through, more than a dilettante of foreign life. Even now, writing those words, that prospect is appealing to me, and it's something I believe I'm achieving. If I weren't, how could I have made the list that preceded this entry about things to do in Palencia? How could I have found people to wave to when I pass the cafe on the corner of the Parque Salon? How would I know about the fruteria near the old gun factory, where I can buy all of my week's fresh fruits and vegetables for E15?
So, I've started thinking that maybe it's the word I fear, rather than the action of boredom--and the most powerful thing about language is its mutability: a word can always be reframed. So yes, there are mundane tasks that must be done, and they do not always seem glamorous or exotic. of them I will have to do week in, week out until I leave this place in six months. And yes, I will go to some of the same bars and restaurants many times over in my time here. But I've come to the conclusion that boredom in this sense, as repetition, is an inherent part of the kind of travel in which you make a life. It is this repetition that will help me to get "under the skin," as I've said, to try new tapas at that bar or go back to the park by the cathedral to see how it looks in winter instead of fall. That repetition means depth instead of breadth--and if depth is boredom then perhaps that boredom is something to be embraced.
It's up to me, then, to destigmatize for myself the idea of repetition. I need to work toward rethinking the concept of mundane tasks and familiar actions in an un-mundane setting as not something to run away from, but instead as marks of victory.
Showing posts with label boredom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boredom. Show all posts
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Monday, November 21, 2011
¿No estás aburrida? (part 2)
In my last post, I wrote about my frustration with the litany of concerned friends and acquaintances constantly wondering if I don't find Palencia boring. I also ended on an uncertain note, wondering how I might fight against the tide, not of boredom but of bored people--people who have the power to convince me that life here doesn't have the potential I know it to have.
So, in response, I have concocted a list of Things to Do In Palencia:
1) Eat tapas at Ribera 13, which everyone agrees has the best tapas
2) Eat tapas at El Trompicon, which as far as I can tell is the closest Palencia has to a dive bar. It is famous for its filthy floor and cheap prices.
3) Have dinner at El Chaval de Lorenzo, the restaurant where I made friends with all the staff and where a constant stream of old men and women play dominos and cards
4) Eat dinner on Plaza Mayor (at the restaurant whose name escapes me) where drinks, bread, an appetizer, an entree, and a dessert are 11 euros
5) Have coffee at the lovely cafe on Calle Mayor
6) Have drinks at La Oficina, one of the city's oldest bars
7) See a movie at one of the three movie theaters
8) See a concert at Teatro Ortega
9) See a play at Teatro Principal
10) Watch live jazz at La Oficina or Ponte Vecchio
11) See a band at the Lemon Society
12) Go to a wine tasting at the Lemon Society
13) Try good-quality ham at the butcher near Plaza Espana
14) See a show at La Puerta Verde
15) See stand up comedy on Avenida Casido de Alisal
16) Go to the Sunday flea market
17) Go to the Mercado de Abastos for fresh produce
18) Walk along the river
19) Sit in the Parque de Dos Rios and read the newspaper
20) Sit in the Parque Salon and people watch
21) Walk along Calle Mayor, window shopping and people watching
22) Climb up the Cristo
23) Go out dancing in a salsa club
24) Party in "la zona," a cluster of bars and clubs in the city center
25) Take a day trip to Valladolid, Burgos, vineyards along the Rio Duero, the ruins of the Roman Villa near Saldana, or the walled city of Avila
26) Hike in the hills by the city
27) See one of the art exhibits in the churches
28) Have a drink by the cathedral and watch the storks come home to roost
29) Go to mass in the cathedral
30) Eat lechazo (a special Castilla y Leon lamb dish) at any one of the city's nice restaurants
31) Bike around the city using one of the municipal rented bikes
32) Go to 1 euro sandwich night at 100 Montaditos bar
33) Drink 4-euro mojitos at Casco Viejo
34) Have chocolate con churros at the chocolateria by Parque Salon
35) See a salsa, meringue, or rap group at Cafe Central
36) Go see the current exhibit at City Hall and admire the architecture
37) Take a class at Espacio Joven (youth center)
38) Ride the river boat from the north of the province down the Canal de Castilla toward the city
39) Go on a government-organized nature walk
40) ... to be continued
(Next time: those promised thoughts on expathood and the role of boredom in travel and everyday life)
So, in response, I have concocted a list of Things to Do In Palencia:
1) Eat tapas at Ribera 13, which everyone agrees has the best tapas
2) Eat tapas at El Trompicon, which as far as I can tell is the closest Palencia has to a dive bar. It is famous for its filthy floor and cheap prices.
3) Have dinner at El Chaval de Lorenzo, the restaurant where I made friends with all the staff and where a constant stream of old men and women play dominos and cards
4) Eat dinner on Plaza Mayor (at the restaurant whose name escapes me) where drinks, bread, an appetizer, an entree, and a dessert are 11 euros
5) Have coffee at the lovely cafe on Calle Mayor
6) Have drinks at La Oficina, one of the city's oldest bars
7) See a movie at one of the three movie theaters
8) See a concert at Teatro Ortega
9) See a play at Teatro Principal
10) Watch live jazz at La Oficina or Ponte Vecchio
11) See a band at the Lemon Society
12) Go to a wine tasting at the Lemon Society
13) Try good-quality ham at the butcher near Plaza Espana
14) See a show at La Puerta Verde
15) See stand up comedy on Avenida Casido de Alisal
16) Go to the Sunday flea market
17) Go to the Mercado de Abastos for fresh produce
18) Walk along the river
19) Sit in the Parque de Dos Rios and read the newspaper
20) Sit in the Parque Salon and people watch
21) Walk along Calle Mayor, window shopping and people watching
22) Climb up the Cristo
23) Go out dancing in a salsa club
24) Party in "la zona," a cluster of bars and clubs in the city center
25) Take a day trip to Valladolid, Burgos, vineyards along the Rio Duero, the ruins of the Roman Villa near Saldana, or the walled city of Avila
26) Hike in the hills by the city
27) See one of the art exhibits in the churches
28) Have a drink by the cathedral and watch the storks come home to roost
29) Go to mass in the cathedral
30) Eat lechazo (a special Castilla y Leon lamb dish) at any one of the city's nice restaurants
31) Bike around the city using one of the municipal rented bikes
32) Go to 1 euro sandwich night at 100 Montaditos bar
33) Drink 4-euro mojitos at Casco Viejo
34) Have chocolate con churros at the chocolateria by Parque Salon
35) See a salsa, meringue, or rap group at Cafe Central
36) Go see the current exhibit at City Hall and admire the architecture
37) Take a class at Espacio Joven (youth center)
38) Ride the river boat from the north of the province down the Canal de Castilla toward the city
39) Go on a government-organized nature walk
40) ... to be continued
(Next time: those promised thoughts on expathood and the role of boredom in travel and everyday life)
Sunday, November 13, 2011
¿No estás aburrida? (part 1)
This question, which translates to "Aren't you bored?", has been sort of the bane of my existence the past six weeks. Or really, longer than that. Ever since I received the news that I would be teaching in Palencia, I've had people (mostly Spaniards) putting on their pitying faces and consoling hats and going to town.
"Oh, it's very pretty," they almost invariably say. "I've never been there. But it's really small. There's not much to see." They don't always say the "A" (or in English "B") word, but they don't have to. It's implied. Here, "small" means "unimportant" and "unimportant" means "empty of interest."
... Okay, to be fair perhaps it's not quite so stark and extreme as all that. But for a lot of Spaniards it seems there's two types of places: big cities, and everything else. And I think you can guess which type is worth your attention.
As I've struggled to make a new life here, I've been dogged by an anxiety that is difficult to place. Even once I found an apartment, moved in, and started work, I felt niggled by something I couldn't name-- until, after a few weeks, I started to discover the city and realized it was boredom I feared. All I saw in terms of socializing and food were a scattering of typical Spanish bars throughout the city. They were atmospheric bars, yes, that showed bullfights, served tapas and local wine, were full of old men playing dominoes. But as someone who possesses a more-than-generous helping of the so-called novelty-seeking gene, that didn't seem like enough to keep me engaged for a year. Yes, enjoying those bars for the first few months would be lovely. But what about after that? What if everyone was right? What if I was going to miserable here, and this was the proof?
I started an almost desperate search to prove them wrong. I examined every passing poster and flyer for events happening in Palencia. Surprisingly, I found a fair amount--plays and concerts at the city's two theaters, a festival of local gastronomy, a nature walk led by the Spanish equivalent of the Parks department. I went to some of those events, with mixed results. A concert by a touring Cuban group, decked out in three-piece suits and bowler hats, was fantastic; a benefit for the local food pantry featuring what can only be described as two land-locked cruiseship singers, not so much. But I was heartened even by the presence of cultural events, of possibilities, of choice. I started to realize that for me, choice on how to spend my time is really important. I didn't like the idea of being boxed into one particular activity for all of my Spanish weekends.
The next weekend, I found out that a small bar by the manicured park that cuts the city in half hosts live rock music every weekend. After that came an "alternative" pub with salsa and rap acts; a karaoke/bowling joint with comedy acts on Tuesdays; and a restaurant famous for its filthy floors and tasty, cheap food. And I felt something change--my search for interesting Palencia adventures was no less thorough, but its mood had altered. I found that as long as I knew that there were fun things out there for me to discover, I enjoyed the act of discovering them. Prior to moving to Spain, I had written to a friend that I was looking forward to "getting under the skin" of a city--that had been a big part of whatt I've referred to here as my "stale" expat dream. Well, this was what "getting under the skin" felt like... and I was enjoying it.
I paced myself, trying out a new bar or exploring at a new street, signing up for a dance class, or going to a new concert, once or twice every week. I was (and am) aware that Palencia, while rich with interesting options, is not by any means an infinite city, but I liked mixing newness with the start to a routine, a list of fun places I could frequent if I liked. Sometimes I traveled around the province, or even farther afield (posts about my trips to Madrid and to Galicia, a province in the northwest, are coming). And I didn't feel bored. At least not yet.
Honestly, that's been the worst part of it. The initial fear has mostly been dispelled, but the endless discussion of the "b" word with Spaniards (most often Palentinos themselves!) has not ceased. I'm sure this city is not a cornucopia of fascination for people who've lived here their entire lives, but I haven't--so for me it's an honor and a pleasure to learn about everyday Spanish life and make one of my own here.
My big realization has been that I fear the conversation more than the reality-- so I admit that "Aren't you bored?" and its other question compatriots still niggle. We start down that road, and I feel myself beginning to wonder and to worry. I wring my hands, imagining myself here in the gray doldrums of February, feeling trapped and miserable. Honestly, these days, I find myself thinking that if people would stop asking me if I'm bored, or if the city is too small, or if I have things to do; if they would just stop talking about how [fill in other city, Barcelona/Burgos/Madrid/Valladolid/Salamanca] would make a much better and more pleasant place to live... I could probably live here more or less happily.
Of course, the question after that is: if the conversations and commentary won't stop, how can I fight them? Steady, persistent rhetoric can be as potent a weapon as water torture. Are my weapons of choice-- determination, curiosity, humor, a sense of adventure--powerful enough to hold back the advancing tides of discontent?
(Next in this series: Some thoughts on the relationship between boredom, travel, and expathood.)
"Oh, it's very pretty," they almost invariably say. "I've never been there. But it's really small. There's not much to see." They don't always say the "A" (or in English "B") word, but they don't have to. It's implied. Here, "small" means "unimportant" and "unimportant" means "empty of interest."
... Okay, to be fair perhaps it's not quite so stark and extreme as all that. But for a lot of Spaniards it seems there's two types of places: big cities, and everything else. And I think you can guess which type is worth your attention.
As I've struggled to make a new life here, I've been dogged by an anxiety that is difficult to place. Even once I found an apartment, moved in, and started work, I felt niggled by something I couldn't name-- until, after a few weeks, I started to discover the city and realized it was boredom I feared. All I saw in terms of socializing and food were a scattering of typical Spanish bars throughout the city. They were atmospheric bars, yes, that showed bullfights, served tapas and local wine, were full of old men playing dominoes. But as someone who possesses a more-than-generous helping of the so-called novelty-seeking gene, that didn't seem like enough to keep me engaged for a year. Yes, enjoying those bars for the first few months would be lovely. But what about after that? What if everyone was right? What if I was going to miserable here, and this was the proof?
I started an almost desperate search to prove them wrong. I examined every passing poster and flyer for events happening in Palencia. Surprisingly, I found a fair amount--plays and concerts at the city's two theaters, a festival of local gastronomy, a nature walk led by the Spanish equivalent of the Parks department. I went to some of those events, with mixed results. A concert by a touring Cuban group, decked out in three-piece suits and bowler hats, was fantastic; a benefit for the local food pantry featuring what can only be described as two land-locked cruiseship singers, not so much. But I was heartened even by the presence of cultural events, of possibilities, of choice. I started to realize that for me, choice on how to spend my time is really important. I didn't like the idea of being boxed into one particular activity for all of my Spanish weekends.
The next weekend, I found out that a small bar by the manicured park that cuts the city in half hosts live rock music every weekend. After that came an "alternative" pub with salsa and rap acts; a karaoke/bowling joint with comedy acts on Tuesdays; and a restaurant famous for its filthy floors and tasty, cheap food. And I felt something change--my search for interesting Palencia adventures was no less thorough, but its mood had altered. I found that as long as I knew that there were fun things out there for me to discover, I enjoyed the act of discovering them. Prior to moving to Spain, I had written to a friend that I was looking forward to "getting under the skin" of a city--that had been a big part of whatt I've referred to here as my "stale" expat dream. Well, this was what "getting under the skin" felt like... and I was enjoying it.
I paced myself, trying out a new bar or exploring at a new street, signing up for a dance class, or going to a new concert, once or twice every week. I was (and am) aware that Palencia, while rich with interesting options, is not by any means an infinite city, but I liked mixing newness with the start to a routine, a list of fun places I could frequent if I liked. Sometimes I traveled around the province, or even farther afield (posts about my trips to Madrid and to Galicia, a province in the northwest, are coming). And I didn't feel bored. At least not yet.
Honestly, that's been the worst part of it. The initial fear has mostly been dispelled, but the endless discussion of the "b" word with Spaniards (most often Palentinos themselves!) has not ceased. I'm sure this city is not a cornucopia of fascination for people who've lived here their entire lives, but I haven't--so for me it's an honor and a pleasure to learn about everyday Spanish life and make one of my own here.
My big realization has been that I fear the conversation more than the reality-- so I admit that "Aren't you bored?" and its other question compatriots still niggle. We start down that road, and I feel myself beginning to wonder and to worry. I wring my hands, imagining myself here in the gray doldrums of February, feeling trapped and miserable. Honestly, these days, I find myself thinking that if people would stop asking me if I'm bored, or if the city is too small, or if I have things to do; if they would just stop talking about how [fill in other city, Barcelona/Burgos/Madrid/Valladolid/Salamanca] would make a much better and more pleasant place to live... I could probably live here more or less happily.
Of course, the question after that is: if the conversations and commentary won't stop, how can I fight them? Steady, persistent rhetoric can be as potent a weapon as water torture. Are my weapons of choice-- determination, curiosity, humor, a sense of adventure--powerful enough to hold back the advancing tides of discontent?
(Next in this series: Some thoughts on the relationship between boredom, travel, and expathood.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
