In theory, Andalucía has a fairly dry climate. In theory. We have been lucky enough to be here for the wettest recorded winter in Córdoba's history. According to the newspaper, the measured rainfall since September (about 4 ½ months) has been 25% higher than what Córdoba normally sees in an entire year. Now, this is still nothing like a Portland winter. But…but….but….here you notice it more. There’s a lot more street life, and nothing puts a damper on street life like a heavy rain. And when you have to walk or take a bus to all of your destinations, you find yourself taking careful note of the weather. I even passed on a hike near Granada last weekend, because I wasn’t interested in braving the rain and snow.
I have made an interesting observation regarding rainfall measurement. In the USA, of course, we measure rainfall in inches. In Spain (and probably in all of Europe), rainfall is measured in l/m2 (liters per square meter...sorry, the blog doesn't seem to support superscripts). Now, if you think about it, the European measurement of volume of rain per unit area makes a lot of sense. Using units of inches for rain is dependent on the measurement method (the depth of water in a vertical-sided container), but volume of rain per unit area is independent of how you measure it.
But, how do you compare l/m2 with inches? Here is where the glory of the metric system becomes obvious. There is a straightforward relationship between units of length, area, volume, and weight that just doesn’t exist in the English system. For instance, one liter of volume is a cube with sides of 10cm (or 0.1 meters). Therefore, one liter per square meter is
(0.1m)3/(1m)2 = .001m
which is simply one millimeter. Therefore, a measurement in l/m2 can be thought of simply as millimeters of rain (comparable to inches of rain).
Sadly, this simple relationship doesn’t exist in the English system. How many inches of rain would correspond to one gallon of rain per square foot? Of course you can calculate it, but it would be a bit ugly.
So why does America continue to struggle against the metric system?
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
La lluvia amarilla
One of my fun activities in Spain has been participation in a book club at the instituto. During the school year, we’ve read quite a variety of things. Some of the books have been translated from English, and others were written originally in Spanish. The other members like it when we’re reading the translated books, because I can often offer insights that would not be obvious to someone not familiar with American or English culture. However, I like it better when we read novels written originally in Spanish, because it gives me those same insights into Spanish culture.
Our last book (“La lluvia amarilla”, by Julio Llamazares) provided a good example of this. This is a book which would never be a best-seller in America, because the characters are too….well….too Spanish. Their actions would simply be incomprehensible to an American reader. I see that the book was translated into English back in 2004 (“The Yellow Rain”), but it never achieved much success. (The title in English is unfortunate; it makes me think of someone urinating.) In Spain, however, it is considered a modern classic. My companions in the book club told me that certainly the protagonist of the novel is an extreme case, but that they could understand how he felt. I’m not sure that I can.
It is certainly not a cheerful story. It charts the death of a small pueblo in the Pyrenees. The population had been diminishing over the years as the hard economic times forced people to seek work in the big cities. Finally, there is only one man living in the ruins of the pueblo, completely alone for ten years. He never considers leaving the pueblo where his family has lived for hundreds, or maybe thousands, of years. He is so obsessed with death that I found it difficult to read the book.
It is a phenomenon that happens in America as well, small rural towns shrinking or even disappearing as people move to the cities. Still, in America, I think that we see it differently. Certainly people like their home towns, but we simply are too young a country to have the same kind of attachment to a place that many of the rural Spanish do. Although the story is completely different, the American classic “The Grapes of Wrath” touches on some of the same themes. It’s a depressing novel as well, but it ends on a hopeful note. The idea of moving toward something new, as opposed to lamenting what is lost, is something that I consider very American.
A Spanish person’s attachment to his pueblo is understandable, even if I can’t quite understand the depth of the feeling. It reminds me of a Spanish movie I saw some years ago (in the original Spanish, of course!), in which a man had to flee his pueblo after killing someone in a complex love triangle. He finally returned, saying, “I would rather die in my pueblo than live somewhere else.” I think that says it all.
Our last book (“La lluvia amarilla”, by Julio Llamazares) provided a good example of this. This is a book which would never be a best-seller in America, because the characters are too….well….too Spanish. Their actions would simply be incomprehensible to an American reader. I see that the book was translated into English back in 2004 (“The Yellow Rain”), but it never achieved much success. (The title in English is unfortunate; it makes me think of someone urinating.) In Spain, however, it is considered a modern classic. My companions in the book club told me that certainly the protagonist of the novel is an extreme case, but that they could understand how he felt. I’m not sure that I can.
It is certainly not a cheerful story. It charts the death of a small pueblo in the Pyrenees. The population had been diminishing over the years as the hard economic times forced people to seek work in the big cities. Finally, there is only one man living in the ruins of the pueblo, completely alone for ten years. He never considers leaving the pueblo where his family has lived for hundreds, or maybe thousands, of years. He is so obsessed with death that I found it difficult to read the book.
It is a phenomenon that happens in America as well, small rural towns shrinking or even disappearing as people move to the cities. Still, in America, I think that we see it differently. Certainly people like their home towns, but we simply are too young a country to have the same kind of attachment to a place that many of the rural Spanish do. Although the story is completely different, the American classic “The Grapes of Wrath” touches on some of the same themes. It’s a depressing novel as well, but it ends on a hopeful note. The idea of moving toward something new, as opposed to lamenting what is lost, is something that I consider very American.
A Spanish person’s attachment to his pueblo is understandable, even if I can’t quite understand the depth of the feeling. It reminds me of a Spanish movie I saw some years ago (in the original Spanish, of course!), in which a man had to flee his pueblo after killing someone in a complex love triangle. He finally returned, saying, “I would rather die in my pueblo than live somewhere else.” I think that says it all.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Sierra de Albayate
This week’s hike was considerably more pleasant than the last one…and I think that the views were better as well. No mud, reasonable grades, no injuries, and we were back in Córdoba by 7:00pm. Very nice. The Sierra de Albayate is near the pueblo of Priego, about halfway between Córdoba and Granada. It’s a lovely area; many people told me that it’s their favorite part of the province of Córdoba. One of my colleagues is from Priego, and has said many times that he wants to take us out there one weekend. We saw it briefly from the bus on the way, and I’d like to get back there for a closer look.
The hike ended in the pueblo of Almedinilla. The word “charming” is over-used in the description of European villages, but Almedinilla is…well…charming. I wouldn’t mind exploring there some more as well. Enjoy the pictures of the hike at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/scottandtonya2/Sierra_de_Albayate#
The hike ended in the pueblo of Almedinilla. The word “charming” is over-used in the description of European villages, but Almedinilla is…well…charming. I wouldn’t mind exploring there some more as well. Enjoy the pictures of the hike at:
http://picasaweb.google.com/scottandtonya2/Sierra_de_Albayate#
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Pico Huma Hike
We’re well into the new year, the $%&@#!! cast is off my arm, and all is right with the world. I still don’t have full mobility in my left wrist, but it’s getting better day by day. I decided it was time to go on one of the famous Llega Como Puedas hikes. Last Sunday we went down to Pico Huma, in Malaga province. The forecast was 80% probability of rain…or, if you’re optimistic, 20% probability of no rain. We got lucky. There wasn’t a drop of rain all day, but it was obvious that it had been raining heavily not long before. I’d slog up the soggy hillsides until the weight of the mud threatened to pull my shoes off, then scrape it off against a convenient rock or tree. It got a bit tricky to clamber over the rocks with only one good hand, but I managed not to break any more bones. The views were lovely; take a look at the pictures:
http://picasaweb.google.com/scottandtonya2/PicoHuma
It ended up being a much longer than expected day; I started walking to the bus just after 7:00 in the morning, and didn’t get home until 11:30 that night. This was directly caused by the number of new members that we had on the trip. A lot of the new members are youngsters (OK, in their 20’s). This ended up being a good news / bad news situation. Good, in that we get new blood for the club. Bad, in that some of them were over-confident in their abilities. One of them managed to twist her knee as we were approaching the peak, at a point where it would be no easier to turn back than to just continue on to the end. Short of calling in the Guardia Civil, there was nothing she could do but tough it out. And she did. These things happen; it’s nobody’s fault; but it meant that the whole group was moving much slower. A number of us were getting nervous as the day wore on. Nobody wanted to be caught on the mountainside after dark. We made it down about 7:00, just as it was getting truly dark.
That’s when we were caught with the second dilemma. Some of the other 20-somethings had given up on the initial ascent, and returned to the starting point in the Valle de Abdalajís. This meant that the bus had to return there to pick them up. There had been a landslide at some point, and the normal road back was closed. As far as I can tell, the bus driver got lost taking the alternate route. It took us an hour and a half to get there….the straight-line distance was only 15km. And after that was the two-hour ride to Córdoba. And after that was the mile walk from the bus stop back home. Quite a day.
Whenever you get a group of “n” Spanish people together, and a decision must be made, you’ll get “n” different opinions….each of them being shouted loudly. Since the hikes are generally cross-country, there are decision points for the route. This bothered me on the first excursion or two, but I soon reached the conclusion that you just wait for the ruteros (the route leaders) to reach a decision, and then the group would continue on. Of course, I often wondered what would happen if they couldn’t reach an agreement. Would the group split? Surely such a thing would never happen. Well….this time, it happened. I was faced with the nasty decision of which group to follow. There had been no rain during the day, but there was a danger that it could start at any time. I think that parts of the route would have simply been impossible with rain falling. I finally followed the group with more people, figuring that if we were going to have to be rescued by emergency crews, that was the better place to be. It all came out fine; the groups re-joined at the bottom of the mountain after an hour. That was the sort of adventure that I’d happily do without.
As I look back over what I’ve written, it sounds as if I am complaining. I’m really not. It was a good, strenuous hike with beautiful views. I had a really good time….seasoned with a few more adventures than I’d expected. Just another Spanish experience.
http://picasaweb.google.com/scottandtonya2/PicoHuma
It ended up being a much longer than expected day; I started walking to the bus just after 7:00 in the morning, and didn’t get home until 11:30 that night. This was directly caused by the number of new members that we had on the trip. A lot of the new members are youngsters (OK, in their 20’s). This ended up being a good news / bad news situation. Good, in that we get new blood for the club. Bad, in that some of them were over-confident in their abilities. One of them managed to twist her knee as we were approaching the peak, at a point where it would be no easier to turn back than to just continue on to the end. Short of calling in the Guardia Civil, there was nothing she could do but tough it out. And she did. These things happen; it’s nobody’s fault; but it meant that the whole group was moving much slower. A number of us were getting nervous as the day wore on. Nobody wanted to be caught on the mountainside after dark. We made it down about 7:00, just as it was getting truly dark.
That’s when we were caught with the second dilemma. Some of the other 20-somethings had given up on the initial ascent, and returned to the starting point in the Valle de Abdalajís. This meant that the bus had to return there to pick them up. There had been a landslide at some point, and the normal road back was closed. As far as I can tell, the bus driver got lost taking the alternate route. It took us an hour and a half to get there….the straight-line distance was only 15km. And after that was the two-hour ride to Córdoba. And after that was the mile walk from the bus stop back home. Quite a day.
Whenever you get a group of “n” Spanish people together, and a decision must be made, you’ll get “n” different opinions….each of them being shouted loudly. Since the hikes are generally cross-country, there are decision points for the route. This bothered me on the first excursion or two, but I soon reached the conclusion that you just wait for the ruteros (the route leaders) to reach a decision, and then the group would continue on. Of course, I often wondered what would happen if they couldn’t reach an agreement. Would the group split? Surely such a thing would never happen. Well….this time, it happened. I was faced with the nasty decision of which group to follow. There had been no rain during the day, but there was a danger that it could start at any time. I think that parts of the route would have simply been impossible with rain falling. I finally followed the group with more people, figuring that if we were going to have to be rescued by emergency crews, that was the better place to be. It all came out fine; the groups re-joined at the bottom of the mountain after an hour. That was the sort of adventure that I’d happily do without.
As I look back over what I’ve written, it sounds as if I am complaining. I’m really not. It was a good, strenuous hike with beautiful views. I had a really good time….seasoned with a few more adventures than I’d expected. Just another Spanish experience.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
In the Quest for a Simpler Life
There were a number of reasons that influenced our decision to take an extended sabbatical. Among them was the desire to simplify and escape the “Hurry, Hurry, Ding, Ding” that permeated our lives. So after a little over a year, I find myself reflecting on this grand adventure.
In many ways, moving to Spain was like stepping back into the 1950’s. This came with its own set of joys, frustrations, and some interesting insights. So let’s suppose for a moment that you have a basic home (running water, basic kitchen appliances, and basic climate control, circa 1950 USA), food and medical insurance. What else do you require to be happy? What are you willing to live without in order to have a quieter life? Or perhaps, the better question is: What is really important to you?
Of course, what is important is different for everyone. For Scott, it is his piano. For me, the list is a little longer… the availability of entertainment (books and an occasional movie) in my native language, a washing machine and a clothes dryer. I would add that this adventure would be almost impossible without a computer and DSL connection – only because I use them manage our finances while we are abroad and to stay connected to friends and family back home. In the states, I am sure that I would find the lack of a computer liberating on many levels. I miss my glass studio, but faced with the choice between “playing with glass” or a vacation, the vacation wins without a second thought. So add vacations to my list as well. My response left me stunned. I had expected to miss having a car. But I find that I enjoy the walking, and the weight loss that comes with it. The missing dishwasher doesn’t faze me at all… Scott does the dishes!
Last February, my brother and sister-in law kindly drove to Portland and packed up all our household belongings and put everything into storage. This event gave our sabbatical in Spain a finality that it had not had before. Suddenly, we were completely cut off from the majority of our stuff. But at the same time, this was strangely liberating. Things are nice, but often owning them steals your time, money and in many ways, your life. You end up working longer hours, not to support your family, but to support your stuff. It is really kind of sad.
After 15 months without our things, and not really missing them, intelligent people would toss the boxes without even opening them… Yeah… Easier said than done.
In many ways, moving to Spain was like stepping back into the 1950’s. This came with its own set of joys, frustrations, and some interesting insights. So let’s suppose for a moment that you have a basic home (running water, basic kitchen appliances, and basic climate control, circa 1950 USA), food and medical insurance. What else do you require to be happy? What are you willing to live without in order to have a quieter life? Or perhaps, the better question is: What is really important to you?
Of course, what is important is different for everyone. For Scott, it is his piano. For me, the list is a little longer… the availability of entertainment (books and an occasional movie) in my native language, a washing machine and a clothes dryer. I would add that this adventure would be almost impossible without a computer and DSL connection – only because I use them manage our finances while we are abroad and to stay connected to friends and family back home. In the states, I am sure that I would find the lack of a computer liberating on many levels. I miss my glass studio, but faced with the choice between “playing with glass” or a vacation, the vacation wins without a second thought. So add vacations to my list as well. My response left me stunned. I had expected to miss having a car. But I find that I enjoy the walking, and the weight loss that comes with it. The missing dishwasher doesn’t faze me at all… Scott does the dishes!
Last February, my brother and sister-in law kindly drove to Portland and packed up all our household belongings and put everything into storage. This event gave our sabbatical in Spain a finality that it had not had before. Suddenly, we were completely cut off from the majority of our stuff. But at the same time, this was strangely liberating. Things are nice, but often owning them steals your time, money and in many ways, your life. You end up working longer hours, not to support your family, but to support your stuff. It is really kind of sad.
After 15 months without our things, and not really missing them, intelligent people would toss the boxes without even opening them… Yeah… Easier said than done.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy 2010
I apologize to everyone for going so long without any blog entries. I blame it on the broken wrist; this one-handed typing is deucedly awkward. With luck, the cast will be coming off on January 11.
The new year finds us still in Spain, mentally preparing for a return to the USA in June. I find myself reflecting on the risks we take in life; what is acceptable, and what is not? What is important to you? Tonya and I have taken a huge risk by coming to Europe. Some would call it crazy…and yes, more than one person has said that to my face. What is important enough to you that you’d be willing to turn your life upside-down to do it?
Being an engineer, I was very methodical as we weighed life choices a few years ago. Unfortunately, a conventional cost-versus-benefit analysis doesn’t work well in this situation. There are hundreds of good, solid, sober reasons not to do something like this, and the benefit is a nebulous “because I really want to do it.” No, you can’t look for a left-brain solution here.
That’s not to say that I recommend abandoning reason altogether. You just have to be careful not to make life decisions based on fear. Let’s face it; most fears are imaginary. For instance, there’s the fear of not being able to find work when we return. I’d call that an imaginary fear, because I simply don’t know what will happen. Staying in a job doesn’t guarantee safety either; any one of us could be laid off tomorrow. The price of playing it “safe” would have been that we never got this grand adventure.
Be careful also about waiting for “the right moment.” I’ve talked to several older people who tell me that they’d worked hard all their lives with some dream in mind (whatever it might be). By the time that they retired, or were financially comfortable, they no longer had the energy or the health to make their dream a reality. Tragic? It makes me want to cry.
I hope that all of your dreams become realities in 2010.
The new year finds us still in Spain, mentally preparing for a return to the USA in June. I find myself reflecting on the risks we take in life; what is acceptable, and what is not? What is important to you? Tonya and I have taken a huge risk by coming to Europe. Some would call it crazy…and yes, more than one person has said that to my face. What is important enough to you that you’d be willing to turn your life upside-down to do it?
Being an engineer, I was very methodical as we weighed life choices a few years ago. Unfortunately, a conventional cost-versus-benefit analysis doesn’t work well in this situation. There are hundreds of good, solid, sober reasons not to do something like this, and the benefit is a nebulous “because I really want to do it.” No, you can’t look for a left-brain solution here.
That’s not to say that I recommend abandoning reason altogether. You just have to be careful not to make life decisions based on fear. Let’s face it; most fears are imaginary. For instance, there’s the fear of not being able to find work when we return. I’d call that an imaginary fear, because I simply don’t know what will happen. Staying in a job doesn’t guarantee safety either; any one of us could be laid off tomorrow. The price of playing it “safe” would have been that we never got this grand adventure.
Be careful also about waiting for “the right moment.” I’ve talked to several older people who tell me that they’d worked hard all their lives with some dream in mind (whatever it might be). By the time that they retired, or were financially comfortable, they no longer had the energy or the health to make their dream a reality. Tragic? It makes me want to cry.
I hope that all of your dreams become realities in 2010.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Broken Arm
The Junta changed our health insurance company from Sanitas to Asisas with the new school year. Happily, I haven’t had any reason to try out the new health plan…not until last week, that is. I managed to fall and break my left wrist. A Colles fracture of the radius, for those who know about such things.
The incident occurred during my first game of padel, sort of a combination of tennis and racketball. The padel itself looks like the result of an unholy union between a tennis racket, a ping-pong paddle, and the vice-principal’s dreaded “Board of Education” back in junior high school. I brilliantly snagged my foot on the bottom of the net and fell in the perfect manner to maximize the damage. My friend José drove me to the hospital, and Franci came over on his motorcycle to see what was going on. Our wives were all visiting at Esther and Franci’s, doubtlessly giggling about us silly men. The doctor (Doctora Consuelo, which can translate as “comfort”…love the name) had to set the bone in a highly disagreeable procedure that I’d recommend avoiding if possible. I’m now sporting a lovely cast.
My friends agreed that we needed a more dignified story to post on the web page for the padel group. The official story, therefore, is that I was on my way to the padel court when I noticed a shoe falling from above. Looking up, I saw a small child hanging from a third-floor balcony, in imminent danger of falling. With no thought for my own safety, I shoved a moving car out of the way and leaped several meters to catch the child as he plunged toward the cobblestoned street. Despite having broken my wrist while diverting the car, I was able to save the child from what would have doubtlessly been a fatal impact. The full story, along with this picture, was posted on the web page.
Some of you will remember Bob the octopus, who I use in the children’s classes. Bob suffered an unfortunate accident around the same time…the kids filled me in on the details. Bob was playing with his friend Popo the crab near the beach, when he saw that Popo was in danger from a giant wave. He pulled Popo to safety, unfortunately trapping one of his arms beneath a rock. The grateful Popo took Bob to the Under-the-Sea hospital, where he was fitted with a cast. Happily, he has enough remaining arms that he doesn’t expect to be inconvenienced at all. His friends have been amusing themselves by autographing the cast (using waterproof markers, of course).
The incident occurred during my first game of padel, sort of a combination of tennis and racketball. The padel itself looks like the result of an unholy union between a tennis racket, a ping-pong paddle, and the vice-principal’s dreaded “Board of Education” back in junior high school. I brilliantly snagged my foot on the bottom of the net and fell in the perfect manner to maximize the damage. My friend José drove me to the hospital, and Franci came over on his motorcycle to see what was going on. Our wives were all visiting at Esther and Franci’s, doubtlessly giggling about us silly men. The doctor (Doctora Consuelo, which can translate as “comfort”…love the name) had to set the bone in a highly disagreeable procedure that I’d recommend avoiding if possible. I’m now sporting a lovely cast.
My friends agreed that we needed a more dignified story to post on the web page for the padel group. The official story, therefore, is that I was on my way to the padel court when I noticed a shoe falling from above. Looking up, I saw a small child hanging from a third-floor balcony, in imminent danger of falling. With no thought for my own safety, I shoved a moving car out of the way and leaped several meters to catch the child as he plunged toward the cobblestoned street. Despite having broken my wrist while diverting the car, I was able to save the child from what would have doubtlessly been a fatal impact. The full story, along with this picture, was posted on the web page.
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