Venturing into the North

When asked about my favorite city in Spain, my immediate answer has always been Granada. The beauty of the landscape and architecture, coupled with the fascinating Arab-European cultural heritage made it my obvious choice. Then this weekend, San Sebastian had to go and shatter all that certainty. (Don’t get me wrong. I love Madrid, but as a cosmopolitan city in which to live. It just doesn’t have the encanto of so many smaller Spanish cities.)

So why all the love for San Sebastian? Three reasons.

First of all, while it might not have the Arab intrigue of Granada, it is not lacking in the compelling cultural mélange department. While walking along the river into the city center from the bus station, I was so struck by the French-looking architecture that I broke into a little rendition of “Aux Champs-Elysees” (an Elementary French classic). The occasional ugly block of apartments reminded me of my actual location, but on the whole, the city looked very un-Spanish. The k’s and tx’s that littered all the street signs made clear the Basque identity of the city as well.  For the first day of my visit, it seemed not quite as nationalistic as Bilbao. Then, one night, I ended up on a street filled with Basque speakers and Euskal Herria flags. We also happened upon a party/demonstration advocating for the transfer of ETA prisoners back to the Basque country (The banner in the picture basically says "Basque prisoners should be returned to the Basque Country"). Given the hard stares and mildly frightening appearance of many of these activists, we quickly decided to seek other venues for the evening. (Ended up at a bar that had real beer! It’s hard to find good beer in this country…)

That brings me to the second reason: gastronomy. San Sebastian has the most Michelin stars per capita of any city in the world, and while my meager auxiliary salary didn’t quite permit a 100 euro menu at one of the double Michelin star restaurants,
it did allow me to gorge myself on the most delicious tapas of my life. In Basque, tapas are referred to as pintxos and the San Sebastian pintxo scene is legendary. Dishes that normally would have been far out of my range were suddenly manageable when served individually. Some examples of things we ate:

• baby squid with mango sauce and foie gras; 
• a kangaroo shish kebab (our Aussie hostel friend said it was the best he’d ever had) with onions, peppers and peach; 
• shark stuffed with shrimp, breaded with tiny noodles, and fried
• gold leafed artichoke with a delicious mushroom sauce; baked goat cheese, honey, and jamon;  
• a vol-au-vent stuffed with mushrooms and ham
• baked bay scallops in a white herb sauce served in the shell. 

All of this was washed down with sidras, albariños and txakolis (a super light white wine typical of the Basque Country) that were cheaper than water. The environment of the pintxo bars is also incredible. They’re packed with people, but move far more efficiently than busy tapas places in the La Latina district of Madrid. Everyone, locals and staff included, is friendly, and the food covers the bar like tantalizing edible art.

And reason number 3: nature. After several months living in central Spain, I was in desperate need of some natural beauty. While the occasional hike satisfied my cravings for a bit, the north of Spain was practically heaven on earth. For those of you that have never been to Spain, let me explain. The center of Spain (read: Madrid) is dominated by a mountain-ringed plateau called the Meseta. The entire region is incredibly dry for most of the year, as evidenced by the fact that I have only needed my umbrella for two weeks since arriving. As a result, the countryside is far more barren than what I am accustomed to. The drive to school has increased my appreciation for the full range of shades of brown. For an Arkansas boy whose family all lives in the Bay Area, this takes some getting used to.
There aren’t spectacular drives through forests filled with color, and there certainly aren’t any beautiful outlooks over the ocean. San Sebastian gave me everything I was looking for. Not only were the tree covered mountains breathtaking, but we happened to arrive on a weekend with some of the highest waves in months. We sat for hours, watching the roiling water, white with froth, crashing into the cliffs below. I may have taken one too many ocean pictures, but it was certainly one of the most picturesque places I had ever been.

Oh, PS. Bilbao was amazing too. Eskerrik asko, Euskadi!

To see more pictures from the trip, go here.

Thankful

So for Thanksgiving, I thought I'd do one of those deliciously cheesy "Things I'm Thankful For" posts.  22 things for 22 years.  (Not even going to apologize for the massive blogging delay.  It happens.  Will apologize for possible triteness, but given the nature of the post, did you expect anything less?)

1. Madrid- You know how those study abroad orientation booklets always talk about the “roller coaster” of living abroad? Well, it’s been about three months, and I’m riding steadily high (knock on wood). Sure, there have been days when I haven’t been in love with this city, but I still consider myself extremely lucky to be living here. It may not be the most beautiful city in the world, but I am constantly finding new and exciting things.

2. The United States- I love traveling and I particularly love Spain, but the more time I spend abroad just continues to show me things I love about America. While it may be extremely flawed (and considering people like Herman Cain or Michelle Bachmann as near legitimate leaders), I really can’t think of anywhere else I’d like to call home.

3. Friday menú del día- There are a million and one good things about a four day work week in and of itself, but a couple friends and I found yet another. We’re able to take advantage of Monday-Friday “menu of the day” deals that let us sample food all over the city at a decent price.

4. Lavapiés- Sure, it’s a bit rougher than neighborhoods like Salamanca. Sure, it’s not quite as clean. Sure, you’re not going to find Madrid’s elite anywhere near the area. But nonetheless, living in Lavapies has been one of the highlights of my time here. In a neighborhood where over 50% of the population is foreign-born, I never feel like an outsider. I can find foods and spices that are unheard of elsewhere in Spain. Best of all, it has a fantastic culture of coffeeshops and bookstores that I missed so much when I lived in Salamanca and Alicante.

5. Cheap travel- While Fulbright allows me a fairly comfortable lifestyle, my budget rarely includes much room for extravagant trips across the continent. Thankfully, Europe’s airlines have perfected budget friendly travel. I refuse to fly Ryanair, the company famous for pinching pennies by screwing over customers (the occasional 10 euro flight is still impossible to turn down), but even by avoiding this cheapest option, I’m still able to travel on the cheap. During one recent long weekend, I was able to make a quick hop over to Italy to visit friends all across the north. Round trip flight cost? Just 80 euros. And that was on the expensive side.

6. University of Arkansas- I’m still slowly adjusting to the reality that I’m a UA alumnus, but I am so grateful for the time that I spent in Fayetteville. Since being here, I’ve seen numerous college friends, and UA gave me the study abroad and language experience that has served me incredibly well thus far. I continue to cheer on my beloved Razorbacks from afar, and even gathered with two other hog alums to watch the painful loss to LSU. I just wish I could head back for the Cotton Bowl. Woo pig!!!!

7. My high school staff- When I first learned that I’d be teaching in IES Atenea, I was less than thrilled. As I stared at its location on Google Maps, far away from Madrid, on the very edge of the city of Alcalá de Henares, I realized I had a year of long arduous commutes ahead of me. Now that I’ve begun working there, however, I’ve realized that the community of teachers makes up for the hour and a half of travel back and forth. They have been extremely welcoming, tending to my every need and buying my coffee most days in the cafeteria. They love teaching me new things about Spain, and even those that know no English always greet me with a smile and “Good morning.”

8. My students- They may be snots at time, but there is nothing more energizing than walking into a room and being greeted by 30 beaming faces yelling “HELLO ANDREW!!!!!!” I don’t think that will ever get old.

9. My roommate- If you’d told me when I met Javi in Fayetteville that we’d be sharing an apartment in Madrid four years later, I would never have believed you. Even last spring, when I sent him a message asking for advice on places to live, I don’t think either of us imagined where it would lead. But then, in September, we went and looked at the first apartment we’d found online, and we took it. This year could not be the same without him. He’s introduced me to fantastic new friends, and our extreme Spanglish keeps up both of our language skills. He’s always a resource for whatever Spanish thing I may be curious about, and overall, he’s just a very good friend.

10. Tastes of America- This Thanksgiving, thanks to the efforts of Emily Nevala and Ethan Carter, my friends and I were able to enjoy turkey, stuffing, potato casseroles, pumpkin pies, and best of all, cranberry sauce!!! If you’ve had a Thanksgiving in Spain before (I have) you’d know that many of these things are nearly impossible to find. It was a welcome visit back home, even if it was only in the gastronomic sense rather than the physical.

A wonderful Thanksgiving dinner.  (Also see numbers 9 and 20.)

11. Wine- Whether it’s a silky smooth glass of Ribera del Duero, a powerful Rioja, a light and bubbly Txakoli, or a refreshing Albariño, Spain is a wine drinker’s paradise. Enough said.

12. Fruterías- One thing I decided when I moved to Madrid was that I was going to try to eat healthier. In a place where the average meal involves only white, brown, and red (potatoes and jamon), I knew it might be difficult. Much to my delight, I ended up living next to two Bengali-owned fruterías. (They’re literally next door to each other in the same building. I don’t understand it.) They have fantastic prices and mountains of fruits and vegetables that typically would be quite hard to find in Spain. As it is closer that the supermarket, my healthier diet plans have been quite easy to fulfill.

13. English- Living in the US, it’s hard to grasp just how lucky we are to have English as our mother tongue. When you leave and realize that what for you was a natural consequence of growing up is an indispensable commodity for others, it hits you. Just by speaking the way I was taught, I have a hugely marketable skill. Not to mention, when you’re traveling through places with uncommon languages, English is the natural lingua franca. It is our key to exploring the world, and it’s a pity that Americans don’t do it more.

14. Clases particulares- As I said, speaking English is a very marketable skill here, and so I’ve been able to pick up several private lessons (clases particulares) in which my only requirement is to sit and have conversations. It pays well, and I’ve learned so much about Spain, its culture, and its challenges.

15. Retiro- El Parque del Buen Retiro is essentially the Central Park of Madrid, and it is only 15 minutes from my house. This means that rather than running through the packed, dirty streets of the city, I get to go run the couple of miles on wide dirt paths around the perimeter of this beautiful park, surrounded by trees and a multitude of bikers, runners, and roller bladers.

16. The bathroom window of my apartment- It may seem strange, but I love walking in to see this:

Hello sunset!

17. Fulbright- I certainly appreciate the money, but the best part of being a Fulbright is the amazing community of people that it has allowed me to meet. It’s an instant source of interesting coffee dates, travel companions, and dinner party guests.

18. Political debates- I arrived in Spain at a very important point in its history. In the last month, I’ve witnessed a presidential election, sat in on meetings to organize strikes, and personally debated the options that remain for the Eurozone. Living with Javi has been a big part of this, as he shares my diplomatic aspirations, but in general, these are topics that I’ve found most Spaniards very willing to talk about. By the time the election came around, I felt like I had gathered enough information to make an educated decision about who I was supporting, however little it mattered.

19. Rooftop cafes on a clear day- One of my favorite places in Madrid is Gaudeamos Café, a rooftop café above a library in the heart of Lavapiés. The library in and of itself is astounding, built into the ruins of an old collapsed church. The contrast between the sleek modern décor of the library and the old brick frame of the church is beautiful and only enhanced by a coffee on the roof as the sunset paints the sky in shades of orange and red.

20. Everyone I’ve met this year- As experienced as I may have become in traveling abroad and making new friends, graduation presented me with a tough reality. I won’t be moving back to Arkansas, and the friends that I had become so close to were going to be scattered all over the world. I had always made new friends before knowing I’d go back to be with the old ones, but this time was different. Then I spent a summer getting to know an amazingly inspiring group of Iraqis that I grew to love dearly, and this fall, I have developed even more close friendships in a remarkably short period of time.

21. Tapas- Goat cheese, pine nuts, and caramelized onions; smoked cod and roasted red peppers; jamón (gold in pork form), brie, and berry jam; sobresada and manchego cheese… You name it, this country has turned snacks into a world of food masterpieces that I’ve only just begun to explore.

Heaven.

22. My family- The past year has been rough at some points, and has only proven to me what a wonderful family I have.  As we gathered to celebrate my parents’ 60 incredible years this summer, I looked around and knew that this, above all, was the greatest blessing I could have received.

Life as a Guinea Pig

As promised, I now present “Being an ETA in Spain: Part 1”(the non Basque terrorist kind)

Due to some issues that arose at the beginning of the Fulbright grant, I ended up being the only English teaching assistant at my school. At first, I was a bit concerned about being the lone outsider in a place that was just starting its bilingual program. You know what they say: never let a guinea pig suffer alone (yes, I just invented a self-serving adage). I seemingly overlooked the inherent benefits of being a solo guinea pig: you have no competition for the love of those doing the experiment. That is to say, the faculty and students love me. And the love is mutual.

After hearing from other Fulbrighters as well as other teaching assistants, I’ve realized just how lucky I am at my school. Sure, it’s well over an hour away from my house, but the students have thus far left me feeling energized enough to make it home happy after the long commute. The teachers have also been exceedingly welcoming. Some excitedly test out their English with me, while others chat away with me in Spanish, curious about what I’m doing, but also sharing their advice for things to do and see in the area. I’ve been “invited” to coffee numerous times already (aka had my coffee paid for during breaks), and they wryly smile and explain things to me during strike meetings if I’m failing to understand the teacher and union jargon. That happens a lot.

Free coffee: Universal sign of love and adoration

Speaking of strikes, I’ve come to Spain at a particularly pivotal moment in the education world. Education is directed by each of the autonomous communities (essentially states), and the current president of the Comunidad de Madrid is a woman named Esperanza Aguirre or, as some of my co-workers would have you believe, Satan. The vitriol displayed towards Esperanza initially surprised me, as she was the one who instituted the bilingual program that currently employs me. Though some of the teachers are opposed to the program, they’ve still treated me with nothing but kindness.

The real problem lies in a recent reform that increased the number of teaching hours by two hours to 20 per week. Coming from the US, where the average teacher is in the classroom teaching at least 30 hours a week, it was hard for me to not scoff at the outrage, but after many individual discussions and strike meetings, I’ve realized that the hour increase is not the real problem. The issue is that they used the hour increase to cut several non-contract teachers, leaving over 1000 of them without jobs. This has led to shortages in other areas. At my school, they had to close the library and the lab as there were no teachers to oversee them. At the same time that the government was making these cuts, it increased funding to private schools by 90 million dollars.

This is what angry Spanish teachers look like

Spain has two main political parties: PSOE (the socialist party) and PP (think Republicans minus the religious right, with a tad more liberalism still). Esperanza Aguirre is PP and the current president of Spain, Zapatero, is PSOE. The next presidential elections will be in about a month, and PP is going to dominate, so more cuts are likely. This has the unions up in arms, and voila, the current strikes. The teachers have gone on strike 5 days thus far, and have at least two more days scheduled. I, however, am not allowed to strike, given my contract, and therefore I have to go to school and sit for hours in the faculty lounge with nothing to do. It’s heinously boring, but at least I get to come in late and leave early.

Another teaching assistant has just arrived, so I'll have to spread the love, but it was glorious while it lasted, and I still couldn't be happier with my school assignment.

City Living

So, here I am, finally settling down into the place that will be my home for the next year, if not more. I arrived in Madrid a little less than three weeks ago. In my first few days, I was still here with Rui, staying in a hostel where our bedroom had a balcony on Plaza Mayor. Not bad for 17€ a night… Having been through the city several times before, I showed Rui and her visiting college friends what I knew. We went out to El Escorial and Valle de los Caidos, the former a proud symbol of Spain’s imperial past and the latter the unpopular but undeniably impressive monument of Franco’s dictatorship (that includes an underground basilica as large as St. Peter’s in Rome). We indulged in churros con chocolate and tried out some of Spain’s most well-known staples, jamón ibérico and queso manchego. However, tourist time had to come to an end, and before I knew it, it was time for the Fulbright orientation.

However touristy I may have been in those first few days, I did have one landmark achievement: finding an apartment. I’d been talking for a few months with a Spanish friend of mine about where I ought to live, and as it turned out, he was in the market for a new apartment as well. Thus, within hours of arriving in Madrid, I met up with Javi to look at our first option. After standing for 15 minutes at the entrance of the wrong building, we didn’t feel too confident, but it turned out that this first option was also our last. As soon as I walked in, I knew I wanted it. Let me preface this with the fact that my apartment in Alicante felt like a hospital. The floors were cold tile, the walls paper thin and plain, the shower tiny (with a plastic curtain that got water everywhere and no place to hang the showerhead), and worst of all, there was no living room. While I adored my roommates and miss them to this day, I knew I wanted something totally different.

My new place is actually an attic apartment, which I was a bit worried about at first, being over 6 feet tall. Our landlord knew this, and thus had the departing resident hang around for our visit. He was even taller than me, and put my fears to rest telling me that within days “it’s like the Matrix. You just avoid the low parts without even thinking about it.” While it means that parts of the apartment aren’t really usable for me, I love it. The wooden ceiling beams, the wood floors, the stone walls, etc. all add great character that my Alicante apartment never had. We even have granite countertops and a DISHWASHER! It was exactly what I’d been hoping for. Sure my jumping abilities are severely limited by the fact that the ceiling is less than a foot from my head, but I can live with it. (And the shower is fantastic. It has jets that spray your back.)

Kitchen

Living room

And the neighborhood is the best part. We’re living in Lavapiés, the immigrant barrio of central Madrid. It’s in the middle of everything: the Prado, Atocha, Reina Sofia, Plaza Mayor, La Latina, Puerta del Sol… All of them are less than a 15 minute walk away. It is also a very cheap neighborhood with lots of cool bookstore cafes and the best variety of food in Madrid.  Everywhere you look, there are halaal markets with ingredients that are impossible to find anywhere else. Those of you who have lived in Spain before know that the hours of operation for supermarkets and such can be quite frustrating. Here, it’s fantastic. Immigrants are willing to work far longer hours, so I can go to the fruit market next to my building at almost any hour of the day. Sure, it’s a bit rough around the edges, but I couldn’t be happier here.

Before long, I’ll update you on school and the Fulbright community, but for now I’ll just say that as I take the bus home from my school in the suburbs and see the Cuatro Torres (four towers) that make up the entirety of Madrid’s “skyline” I’ve already begun thinking of it as home, something that never happened so quickly in my other experiences abroad.

Dirty little secret: The towers are nowhere near the city center.  This ain't America, y'all.

Guess who's back?

After an extremely busy two weeks, this will be the first of a two part update. Luckily for you, dear readers, it’s the more exciting part. I arrived in Madrid about two and a half weeks ago, and left immediately to Porto, Portugal to meet up with a friend. Five days later, we went to Valencia to prepare for two days of Spanish revelry before moving back to Madrid, where I’d begin my Fulbright adventure. I leave you with the 7 most important lessons I took from our week-long sojourn.

1. George H.W. Bush Intercontinental Airport is hellbent on destroying my life (and giving me free trips)- I have a few reasons to like Houston: my sister, my nieces, and one of my best friends all live there. Unfortunately, between the Spanish consulate and IAH, it seems that the city is doing all it can to make my life more difficult. Just to give you an idea of the amount of work that IAH is putting into this endeavor, no less than 4 out of my last 5 flights through Houston have been either canceled or delayed to the point that I missed a connection. The causes have ranged from tornadoes, to mechanics who bring the wrong tools to fix the plane, to a flat tire noticed moments before boarding. This time, it was another mechanical delay, but I happily got to spend an entire day in New York City with two of my lovely friends from Geneva before heading over to Madrid.

2. Porto is a severely underrated destination- I had been to Portugal before this, three years ago, when I visited Lisbon. After an inadvertent beach nap, that trip had ended in the most painful sunburns of my life and a severely limited ability to walk. Porto revived my love for the country. Every day was between 65 and 75 degrees with a light breeze, and the city was beautifully perched on hills overlooking the Douro river below. Rui and I spent multiple evenings watching the sunset over the Atlantic in the distance as we sat drinking a bottle of delicious vinho verde. Slowly the lights of the city came on below us and we could head down to the river for an incredible (and cheap) seafood dinner. We also discovered queijo da Serra de Seia, a delightfully pungent soft Portuguese cheese that became our snack of choice.

3. A visit to the Porto wine cellars will make all your troubles disappear- For those of you who haven't tried port wine, it is a wine fortified with a strong brandy that is added to stop fermentation and maintain sweetness. Many of the port houses in Porto are actually British-owned. The wine comes from the vineyards upriver in small boats and is then transported to the cellars to age. These cellars have all taken to giving free tours, and more importantly, free tastings, so you're able to walk around the area in the afternoon and within hours feel quite content without spending a euro. While port in the US is typically red, we did also try white and rosé varieties. Red is more popular for a reason…

4. When life doesn't give you tomatoes, please don't throw shirts- In previous posts, I discussed my excitement for La Tomatina, a massive festival outside of Valencia that culminates with the world’s largest foodfight. I’ve been to major festivals before, but nothing prepared me for the madness awaiting in Buñol. Groups of Spaniards formed large rings, and when anyone tried to pass through, they’d immediately rip their shirts off, whether male or female. With fire hoses cooling the crowds, this quickly became a massive wet t-shirt contest of another variety, as in, a who-can-hurl-this-wet-tshirt-hardest contest. Unfortunately, this proceeded for an entire hour before the tomatoes began, and being tall, I was the recipient of many smacks to the face.

5. When life gives you tomatoes, try to receive them away from large crowds- There are crowds, and then there is Tomatina. Buñol normally has around 8,000 residents and this year, it was estimated that 45,000 people were cramming the streets for Tomatina. As the tomato trucks wove their way through the crowd, it instantly compacted. I was unable to move my arms, and I saw people involuntarily being moved 10-15 feet just from the sheer force of the crowd. By the time the tomatoes were unloaded, I could scarcely move enough to throw anything, resorting instead to a sort of hop-and-shrug to at least move the tomatoes landing on my head and shoulders.

6. La Zurra beats La Tomatina any day- The night before Tomatina, we visited a festival in another small town, Requena, that was celebrating the beginning of the wine harvest. After a pyrotechnic display that rivaled many 4th of July celebrations here in the US, everyone made their way to the bullring for the Zurra. It was similar to a bullfight but instead used baby bulls whose horns were covered with cork. Anyone who wanted to was allowed into the ring to challenge the bulls, and if you haven’t ever experienced the joy of watching a drunk American tourist being tossed into the air by a bull, you haven’t yet lived. As the festivities proceeded, I made friends with a group of Spanish teens in front of us who explained everything that was happening between massive gulps of vodka and Fanta. Needless to say, they thought my Spanish skills were de putamadre. Not only does alcohol make the drinker think they’re speaking a language well, but it also improves his or her perception of others’ language skills as well!

7. Rui Bao is the world's best travel companion- Rui and I met back in high school at the US Senate Youth program and have stayed in contact ever since. Upon arriving, we realized that this trip would be the longest we’d ever spent together, but nonetheless, I felt like I was with one of my oldest friends. I couldn’t have asked for better conversation, and we were completely compatible in what we wanted out of the trip: a bit of relaxation. It was a wonderful reunion. ‘nuff said.

Overlooking the Douro in Porto

Cleared for Takeoff

After months of arduous red tape and angry phone calls, I am finally the proud owner of my second Spanish visa!!!  (The first one was a breeze.  Why the change?  I have no earthly idea.)

This means that in exactly 96 hours, I will be departing Little Rock on my way to Madrid.  It will be my last day on US soil for at least 11 months.  Now that I feel like I'm actually leaving, it's time for me to pack.  You'd think that after 4 stints of study abroad, I'd have this part down to a fine art.  Sadly, you'd be gravely mistaken.  My approach this time has been to remove every single thing I own from my dressers and to pile it in the center of our guest room.  The result looks like something out of Hoarders.  Hopefully, I'll be able to get through the reorganization of my life without the the A&E crack psychological team.

Coming up next: Porto

Regardless, next Thursday, I'll be meeting an old friend in Porto, Portugal for the beginning of my pre-Fulbright adventure.  After drinking our fill of the city's eponymous fortified wine, we'll be making our way to Valencia for Spain's messiest, most acidic festival:  La Tomatina.  Imagine a small Spanish town full of thousands of people excited about the latest tomato harvest.  Then, imagine the throngs of excited Spaniards (reality: tourists) smashing said tomatoes and hurling them at each other for two hours of uninhibited revelry.  That will be my August 31st.

See you there!

Houston Hindrance

Tuesday marked t-minus three weeks until my departure to Madrid.  I passed the day with my Iraqis, blissfully unconcerned with the visa that will determine whether or not I'm actually able to make the journey as planned.  Why, you ask, would I treat such an important matter with such nonchalance? 

Let's go back to July 25, the day I made a phone call to my dearly beloved consulate in Houston.  The woman who answered the phone seemed not only awake, but I dare say, even cheerful!  I asked what I needed to include with the apostilled background check, but she informed me that my visa had already been approved, so I didn't have to send it all.  Overlooking the fact that obtaining said background check had been a giant pain in the ass that now appeared totally unnecessary, I quietly rejoiced in the fact that I would be able to go to Spain legally.

V for Victory

But alas, on Wednesday, I discovered that the Houston consulate had not yet finished with its lessons in "How to Be a Hindrance".  After checking MyFedEx religiously to see if the prepaid return envelope had been sent, I noticed something odd.  It hadn't been sent.  Phone call time!  Lesson 2: "Intermediate Impediments" proceeded thusly:

Step 1:  Immediately Put on Hold-  After several rings to the Departamento de Visados, sleepy Spaniard answered the phone with a gruff "Espere un momento por favor" followed by hold music (unfortunately not flamenco).

Step 2:  Fail to Understand- Yes, I was speaking English in a moment that I probably could have handled perfectly well in Spanish, but let's be frank: "I'm approved.  Where's my visa?" is not a terribly complex concept.  Nonetheless, sleepy Spaniard followed my brief story with "So... I don't understand why you're calling."

Step 3: Comprehend and Divert- After another short explanation, sleepy Spaniard asks "So you've been approved but your visa has not been issued?"  Apparently "issued" was the keyword of consular parlance that I'd failed to utilize, but overjoyed that he'd finally grasped my problem, hoping for a solution, I confirmed his theory.  "Please hold."

At this point, sleepy Spaniard had achieved what I like to call "optimal obstruction."  Not only had he avoided giving me any useful piece of information, but he'd done so with as few words and in as little time as possible.  Well played, sir!

We continue to part 2 of the lesson, this one taught by a more awake and decidedly angrier lady that I shall affectionately call Irritated Isabel.

Step 1: Say "Hello" with the least friendly tone possible- This one is rather self-explanatory, and suffice it to say, Isabel was a MASTER.

Step 2: Sigh and cut off the caller's story-  Though I was clever enough to differentiate between "approve" and "issue" this time, my clarity seemed to have the opposite of its intended effect.  It only further frustrated our dear Isabel, who evidently had been on edge all morning, waiting to pounce.  After a laborious sigh, she stopped me.  "Your name?"

Step 3: Raise voice-  "Sir, your visa has not been sent yet!"  This, I'd believed, was apparent.  However, Irritated Isabel felt that it was a vital enough detail to be delivered several decibels higher than the previous conversation.  I calmly asked her when it might be sent, and if I was correct in my understanding that it had already been approved.

Step 4: Avoid question, repeat "exception" as many times as possible-  I thought my previous phone calls had set a record for repetitions of "exception," but I was sorely mistaken.  Isabel made the previous woman look like an amateur.  It would appear, given her monologue, that the consulate's decision to allow applicants to complete the visa process via mail without coming in person, was actually a trick so that they could find out which applicants they hate.  The whole "putting the visa into the pre-addressed, pre-paid envelope" step is extremely taxing, after all.

Step 5: Yell-  This is the final and most important step.  After I pointed out that I'd included a prepaid envelope in which to return my visa, Isabel broke.  "SIR, THIS ISSUING PROCESS CAN TAKE MORE THAN THREE WEEKS.  YOU ONLY SENT IN YOUR VISA IN MID-JULY.  MAYBE YOU SHOULD WAIT A FEW WEEKS BEFORE YOU CALL AGAIN, AND IF YOU NEED IT SO BADLY YOU CAN COME GET IT IN PERSON AND YOU'LL HAVE IT THE SAME DAY!"  At this moment, I figured that pointing out that Fulbright had requested that they expedite our process was a poor choice.  Even poorer would be pointing out the absurdity inherent in the fact that they can issue it within hours if I come in person, but can't put it in an envelope when I call.  So the phone call ended with a curt goodbye.

While I value the how-to lesson, I was not in a terribly good mood for the rest of the day.

When I get to Spain, I will remedy this with one of God's gifts to man:  churros con chocolate.

Viscous Joy