Is It Time to Bring the Bush Back?

I haven't been to the landscaper since I left Barcelona. That was seven months ago. It's not that I've been lazy or anything like that. It's just that Barcelona spoiled me. If you want more bang for your buck when it comes to intimate hygiene, Barcelona is your place. Where else could you get a professional wax job, a REAL professional wax job, for 15 euros? They even give you a free disposable g-string in case you come in granny panties. They are so fast it is almost painless, and I have been so pleased with the results that during my second appointment,I gave them a 10 euro tip.

In the city where I live, the wax jobs cost almost double that, and the waxers enter go into the job half-blind. They aren't really waxperienced when it comes to bikini waxing, since Germans either shave or go au naturel. There are a lot of these earth mother types in East Germany, so this is not a normal service offered by these salons.

The thought of having to hand over 25 euros plus tips to an inexperienced waxer is enough for me to bear the occasional pulling and discomfort in my underpants. My husband said that he likes me either way, although he expressed his preference for a landscaped lawn. But the thought of parting with that much money for a lousy landscaping job is still a strong enough deterrent for me.

I spent the weekend in Berlin with a visiting friend from Manila, and we went to the Helmut Newton Museum. He did his best work in the late '70s-early '80s, when the bush was in full force. When the girls started waxing/shaving, Newton invested in merkins, one of which was also on display in the Museum. Bush, in all its glory, did not look half as bad in the photos as I perceive them to be in person. I used to be disgusted with body hair, since Asians have so little of it. Those pictures of girls doing cartwheels, bush sticking out, sleek looking panthers save for that tuft of hair... I guess living in Germany has desensitized me to body hair more than I care to admit.

I would probably still go to the salon for a landscaping job, but a part of me is saying that a little bush isn't as bad as I think it is. I'm curious how many girls have decided to bring the bush back. Do men prefer the bald eagle or the bush look? Since we (I) decided to do this because I thought men liked it in the bedroom. I think men got into this whole "you have to wax!" thing because of porn, and I suspect this is also the reason why in my experience (non-Filipino) men have been asking their wives and girfriends to try out anal.

I Left My Heart in Barcelona

I have been so miserable since coming back to Erfurt. It's just not the same. The weather is cold, the people unfriendly and defensive. It wouldn't hurt them to smile a bit, but they don't. I just...can't take this anymore. I am doing everything in my power to get out of this city by yearend. Ich habe kein Bok mehr auf dieser Stadt.

Because of this, I have decided to take the CELTA course (a training seminar for English teachers) in Barcelona! I will spend seven wonderful weeks there again in September, in time for the Merce! I could do it for a lot cheaper in Berlin. Berlin is a lovely city, I love it to bits, but would like to build a life in Barcelona. I already have a favorite bar, I already have acquaintances. It will take a toll on my finances, but Barcelona, here I come again!

¡Viva El Chabacano! ¡Viva Castellano!

I am SO determined to make Spanish my fourth language as a tribute to my grandfather, the last Spanish-speaking person in my family, and as a nod to my remote Spanish heritage. Daddy, I may not have been so disciplined when I was 14, but I am determined to make up for that now.

I am so psyched that there is a new Chabacano renewal going on in the Philippines!

But what is Chavacano?



From Christopher Sundita of the Salita Blog (please update!)

So I was basically wiki-surfing (the evolution of my geeky dictionary surfing habit) when I chanced upon this Chavacano band! Soooo cool! If you click on "more info," you'd get the Tagalog translation of the lyrics. If you understand Cebuano or Tagalog and Spanish, then you'd understand the song, without translations. I am so a fan of Comic Relief! Their vocalist is cool.Go Philippine bandas!



And lastly, I am so psyched that Gloria Macapagal Arroyo has made Spanish a national language and re-instated it in Philippine schools. I was lucky that I went to the University of Santo Tomas, (go USTe!) where Spanish was the mandatory foreign language subject (I had it for two semesters, my aunt and mother had four). I am going to make it a point to listen to ¡Filipinas, Ahora Mismo! (or Pilipinas Ora Mismo!) over the internet. It is an initiative to revive Spanish in the Philippines. It was never really lost, but has mutated into it's foreign cousin. We can't deny that the Spaniards have exerted a huge influence on our country, and it would be pointless to quibble about how evil and cruel they were. It's all in the past. C'mon guys, it's part of our legacy.Indelible. And besides, won't it be sooo cool to be trilingual?

Get Me Out Of Here

Every day of being here reminds me how much I miss Barcelona. How much I miss living in a big city. See that photo? That was me last Halloween. I dressed like that a couple of times in Barcelona, at a '30s-themed bar. The owners, who were also dressed in '30s get-ups themselves, loved my look that they even gave me free drinks. People loved my victory rolls (a kind of 1940s hairdo), told me I was the swellest-looking babe in the joint. And these were from strangers, people who were dressed normally.

I dressed like that today at our company Christmas party. It's the only time of the year I get to dress up in bland, gray Germany, because people here normally don't do make-up. That suits me fine, but I need one day of the year to look fancy, you know? And people here just had to rain on my parade. A colleague told me that my red, shiny lipstick made me look like a clown. I didn't think much of it and let it slide with a witty comeback. Later, some of us from the party went to a club, and a random guy who I don't know from Adam told me that I wore too much lipstick and to tone it down. WTF?! It's part of the look! I mean, you are entitled to your opinion, and I'm sorry that I don't conform to your standard of beauty, but you're not the kind of guy I would be interested in anyway, so scat outta here! I just ignored him.

You know, living in Barcelona made me realize how negative I've become. Germans in Spain were taken aback at the vitriol I had against Germany. All of them were Wessies, so they told me to move out, head west, or head to Berlin. Get to know the "real" Germany. "The non-racist part," they said. Go somewhere more liberal. I would love to move to Berlin, but Thomas hates it--it's too big for him, too spread out. And teachers don't earn so much there, so scratch that. I tried to convince Thomas to live in Barcelona, but he refused because it lacked forests. And you know how important that is for Germans. So with a heavy heart, I resigned myself to the fact that living in Barcelona was not in the cards for me.

So I said, I'll give Erfurt a chance. I'll try to remain upbeat and positive, create an energy around me to make new friends. I am not the only person who thinks finding friends here in Erfurt is difficult. Several people have told me so as well. But I will try to let the beauty of the city shine, and forget about the rude people who make life here a living hell.

Thomas finally agrees that maybe, just maybe, Erfurt has been too hard on me. He finally agrees that people here are narrow-minded, and it is possible that life here has been a sad experience. So there is a possiblity that we might be moving to another place. However, reading other expat experiences in the area, I am not so sure that it would be any better than Erfurt. If anything, it could be worse.

Gosh. I pray that I will be able to remain positive and upbeat. Please, for my sanity's sake. I don't think I can tough it out here anymore. If wearing shiny red lipstick is a crime, may lightning strike me down!

Spliff from the Joint

Warning: Adult Content

Hi, I am Arashi, and I am an occasional pot smoker. A social smoker. I don't go out and look for it, but when the opportunity arises, why not?

I may not be a pothead, but I have noticed a difference in the way We (the Filipinos and Americans) and They (Europeans) smoke a joint. The Filipinos have access to home-grown quality grass, super cheap. If you buy directly from the source (Mountain Province), you could get 200 grams for 5 euros. Hash, 10 euros for ten grams. So we tend to be wasteful with our joints. We enjoy unadulterated, rolling-stick full joints. Bursting at the seams.

In Europe, I noticed that people like to smoke spliffs. When I told my husband that we Filipinos smoke joints pure, he looked at me as if I were an alien and exclaimed, "Do you want me to die?" and indeed, I think he would have. I remember this time when I had to drag him 100 meters to our tent when he passed out after smoking a spliff. People, a spliff.

When I told a friend in Barcelona that Filipinos smoke joints, and a Canadian in the group agreed, saying that in Canada, we only smoke joints, he looked at me as if I were an alien and exclaimed, "That's so strong! I would die if I smoke one!"

Look, to be quite honest, the way one smokes a joint is the way one enjoys wine. I take a drag, hold it in my lungs, and exhale. Marijuana smoke is smooth, and holding it in my lungs is easy.

Mixing a joint with tobacco makes it taste nasty, and cigarette smoke to me is really abrasive. I try to hold it in but the tobacco smoke makes my throat itch and my lungs ache and I fall into a coughing fit because I can't hold it in. It really tastes, and is disgusting.

Even the way Europeans mix their joints remind me how stingy they can be. Some spliffs I have smoked here are more tobacco than joint. It may also have something to do with the fact that pot is more expensive in Europe. Weird, since Europeans are usually more open to admitting that they have tried pot than Americans or Filipinos.You would think that with that openness,the price of Marijuana would drop.

And you know what the other weird thing is? I am not a cigarette smoker. I hate the smell and the taste. Nor have I taken other drugs, like meth or coke. There goes the "Gateway Drug" theory.

All Good Things Must Come to an End

I started playing Ultimate Disc (or Frisbee) in Erfurt about a couple of months ago. A group of friends and I were playing an easy version of Ultimate when a real Ultimate team also started playing. We played alongside each other, and my P.E. hating self decided that Frisbee may not be a bad thing after all.

I played my last game with the Patatas Bravas/Crema Catalanas today. Who are they? They are one of the best Ultimate Disc teams in Spain. The photo was taken today, November 16, at the beach. And what on earth are we still doing at the beach in November? Playing frisbee, that's what. It's still warm enough to play frisbee at the beach. Then I go back to cold Erfurt while I bundle up to play Ultimate in the freezing cold. I will miss Barcelona, but they haven't seen the last of me yet!

Homeland vs. Motherland: Chocolate a la Taza

Chocolate is one of my most favorite things on earth.

When I was a child, I would eat Milo or Ovaltine straight from the can, and consume ten packs of Horlicks (meron pa ba nun?) in one sitting. My Grandmother would bring home tableas of chocolate, flat and round chocolate tablets an inch thick, stacked and rolled into paper like coins, from Bicol, where she went every year to join the Peñafrancia festival. She would brew the chocolate in milk or coconut milk, to make a thick soup known in the Philippines as tsokolate-eh, or would add rice to make champurrado.

I remember the rich, nutty, chocolate-y taste of the tsokolate-eh. Sometimes, I would forego the dissolving in water and just eat the tableas raw (read: papak), munching down on the tableas. Sometimes, if I decided that I was a princess that day, I would ask my Grandma to take out the good china from the cabinet. I had a special glazed demitasse set, gilded at the rim and painted with faded purple on the outside. My grandma said that it was my special cup for special occasions.

Fast forward twenty or so years later, I am in Spain after a lifetime of dreaming. I seek out tsokolate-eh, knowing that the Spanish have their version too, called Chocolate a la Taza. It is not the Tsokolate-eh of my childhood, but it is similar. A thick chocolatey liquid, although the Spanish blend is much smoother and milkier than the Filipino blend. The nuttiness in the flavor doesn't come from Coconut milk or from the crude quality of Filipino chocolate, but from the toasted flour that they add to the brew to thicken it. And instead of biscocho, I dunked in churros in my chocolate. It is not earthy like Filipino tsokolate-eh, and I realize that comparison is futile, as they are two different genus of the same species.

VERDICT: It's a tie! I like the both. Yay to chocolate!

Estoy harta de español

Have you ever heard of the term language saturation? Guess where I am? I am not complaining, it's just that my brain feels very, so very tired and heavy...

Odio el subjuntivo. ¿Porque existe?

Homeland vs. Motherland: Filipinos

Around the world, Filipinos are known to be a smiling, friendly people. Not afraid of working overtime, asking for even longer hours, working in cramped, small places, not heeding the pains in their back as long as Junior gets a new pair of shoes for graduation.



In Spain, Filipinos are also a kind of cookie, and there is a pervading myth that these cookies originated from the Philippines, hence the name. I don't remember seeing these cookies back home, but I do remember a kind of galletas that has a hole in the middle.

Many people find it offensive that there is a chocolate-covered cookie named after us, saying that this is racist. I don't see this racist. Then maybe the Dutch should howl in protest over the connotations of "Dutch treat," or the Danish asking that the pastries be re-named. Or that the French would have heaved a sigh of relief after the Americans started asking McDonalds for "Freedom Fries." Besides, there are also white chocolate covered Filipinos,how is that representative of us? So c'mon, don't be so sensitive. It's just a cookie.

Verdict: "Matam'is ya'an!" for the Filipinos the people! Not the cookie! Really, the cookies are so dry that I could not enjoy the chocolate coating.

Enlighten Me, Please

For anybody out there who knows Latins or Spanish guys: Is it just me, or do they think with their penises 100% of the time? Or is the word "intercambio" (language exchange or tandem in German), actually a ruse used by men to look for dates, girlfriends, and sex partners?

Doing this intercambio thing in Barcelona almost has a feel of a blind date. Really, looking for the perfect "language level" match, anxiety whether you guys would get along, and the whole "did he/she like me?" question.

I mean, two guys I'm doing intercambio with think that I am into them. Yuck and double yuck. They interpreted completely innocuous things I've done as attempts to seduce them.

Upside is, I am learning the best places to go to here. And my Spanish is getting better.

Where the Boys Are

One of my complaints in Barcelona is that I am always surrounded by pretty girls, but the good looking guys seem to be a rare species in this jungle.

I found out where ther natural habitat was last night when I went to a club here in Barcelona. It seems that the male population is nocturnal, and the cutest guys come out in droves in these clubs.

So a group of female acquaintances and I were in this club, and I observed that the men began to pick off the girls one by one. They first picked out the prettiest girls in the group using the normal pick up cues: Lighting up a cigarette, bumping into her "accidentally" on the crowded dance floor. The next to be picked off were the girls who looked "game," girls who seemed up for anything and would be fun to hang out with. Next came the slutty-looking girls. If you were not picked up by the end of the night, woe is you. If anything, these Spanish guys are quick. By the end of the night , my companions were in some dark corner of the club necking with one of the boys.

I didn't really like electronic music, so I would switch between the large dance floor and the smaller area upstairs that played indie and retro music. A guy kept stealing glances at me while I was dancing, and I noticed him from the corner of my eye. I wasn't really thinking about flirting with him or anything, but he came up to me and asked my name.

"Arashi."
"Arthur."

And we attempted to make small talk in between lulls in the songs. It was just too loud, so he invited me to go outside to grab some air. I wanted out of the smoky bar, so I said yes, and he took me by the hand and made our way out of the club.

Once outside, he in his broken English tried to pull me to the bushes in front of an abandoned building outside the club. Uh-oh. These hipsters don't waste time, do they? I'll be damned if I would let another 30 year old dirty boy fuck me behind the fucking bushes. What am I, 19? How do I get out of this without him getting violent? So I took a risk, and kissed him.

"I'm sorry, but I am married." as I came up for air. I held up my right hand, hoping he wouldn't question the position of the ring. But hey, if he didn't eve check that I had a ring, how could he notice even that?

"Ok, ok. That's ok." He continued to kiss me and still tried to lead me to the bushes. Fuck. Persistent, and he doesn't even care.

We kissed again, and I was reminded why I stopped dating smokers after my first boyfriend. But he does kiss nice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I said, and pulled away and headed back to the club.

"Yeah...." he said sheepishly. Dejected, he called out "I really like your shirt," pointing to my t-shirt that had a Clockwork Orange logo on it.

Thanks.

I grabbed my stuff, looked for my missing friends, didn't find them, and decided to go home alone. On the way out the bouncer commented, "Nice film," pointing to my shirt.

"Yeah, read the book, hadn't seen the film."

The Filipinization of Spanish

Despite the pendantic nature of this piece, I still find the differences between Spanish and Filipino unendingly fascinating.

There are some words in Filipino that I never knew were Spanish, given that they could pass off as Malay or Indonesian.

For example, who knew that the Tagalog word KALBO was Spanish? Did you? Nitso?

And I am also amazed that much of the Spanish-derived words used in Tagalog are actually Latin American. We use esposo rather than marido. They say cacahuete here but we say Mani. Cucharita instead of cuchadita.

But on the other hand, we do say Kotse instead of Carro.

There are other words that have changed meaning over the years. The name Casillas would evoke laughter or a nguso to the restroom, but here it has a more innocuous meaning: the little squares that you see in your notebook or crossword puzzle. Averia implies a mechanical problem, but is used to mean all sorts of troubles in the Philippines. Sencillio means easy. In Cebu, sincillio means small change, coins. Don't even get me started on the word coño. Am I even allowed to say that?

And there are other words that are downright bizzare, and I don't even know how the Spanish word for message, recado, became the Tagalog word for ingredients!

There are other words that seem spanish but aren't,like Candila.

If you can think of any other words, just holler. I would like to extend this list!

Salon de Manga Barcelona

Just came back from Salon de Manga XIV and those two above just won the Cosplay Skit competition, the guys who will represent Spain in the World Cosplay Championships 2009 in Nagoya, Japan.

I can't help but think, wow, the Philippine cosplay community hasn't even sent any reps to the World Cosplay Championships. We can do so well, so much better than a lot of the acts that I saw. And Japan is so close!

A cosplay insider told me that it was only this year that Japan started accepting applications from countries instead of inviting countries to participate. The Philippines has a very well-developed and flourishing cosplay community, it's about time they recognized the Philippines!

Let's Do The Time Warp Again!

Please please please, can I live here? Like, really? I am having so much fun and indulge in my geeky costuming nature here. *sigh* ayaw ni Thomas but there has got to be a way!

I had the most fun I have had in the last two years I've spent in Europe last night, at the Halloween screening of the Rocky Horror Picture show of the RHPS club. It's the first time in years that I joined a cosplay contest as Dita Von Teese (haha, well, if she were Asian). I loved the atmosphere, so unlike the competitive and insecure cosplay scene in Manila. Last night people talked back to the screen, recited lines, threw rice and confetti, and basically made RHPS an interactive experience! So goofy! It was like watching a movie in your friend's den, just that it filled the whole theatre. Everytime Janet showed up on screen, the crowd chanted ¡Zorra! (Bitch) and Brad ¡Gillipollas! (Asshole). God, I was orgasming geek last night as people came up with witty one liners in Spanish at the screen, the kind that someone came up two years ago and everybody would repeat hereonafter.

The winner of the cosplay contest was a woman with a pet rat and a gun. I think she's Sigourney Weaver in Aliens, but I am not sure. Help?

So Today Is Your Birthday

Thanks for everybody who greeted me during my birthday! How did I celebrate it? Well, I just had the most kick-ass party to be ever had for my birthday! I cooked Philippine rice noodles and spring rolls, and served super yummy chocolate cake from the baker next door.

I have to say, it was one of the coolest parties I've attended. It was fun, it was chill, it was organic. The best part is that it was my party and I organized it myself! Well, to be honest, it organized itself. A happy flood of coincidences made my party special. My brother-in-law and a friend of his are here on vacation. Thomas came to visit, and Thomas's best friend was also here for a month-long internship at the local hospital! WOOT! How cool is that to not be alone in a foreign country during your birthday, with people you know? Then I invited a couple of people I have gotten to know here in Barcelona, and what happened next was soo amazing. There were at least five different languages spoken at the party, and no, English was not THE language that dominated. The German delegation were so relaxed that when my roomate's dog started humping Adi's (my BIL's friend) leg, we all laughed so hard! Even Adi! I guess we got a bit too noisy because our neighbors showed their displeasure, Barcelona-style.

They dropped a water balloon made out of a supermarket plastic bag on our patio. Priceless.

After that, Thomas and I spent two cloudy but relaxing days at Lloret de Mar, chilling and clubbing with all the unhip Russian kids and English chavs and their unhip music. After that we spent a brilliant Sunday afternoon in Casteldefells.

It was a great birthday, but Woof, I'll be 30 next year! I'm thinking that next year will be the last birthday where I will reveal my real age to people who don't know me!

Homeland vs. Motherland: Celebrities

I was walking along Gran Via de Catalanes when I stopped and did a double take: Cherie Gil, is dat chu?



Her name is Gemma Mengual and she's a famous synchronized swimmer born in Barcelona. She's famous, as in kaliwa't kanan ang endorsements, akala mo si Kris Aquino. She competed in the last Olympics.

Here's Cherie



A Filipina actress of Spanish-German descent, she is very famous for her to the hilt contravida (villainess) roles.

VERDICT: "You are nothing but a second rate, trying hard copycat!" Sorry hindi ko feel and teefs ni Gemma.

Homeland vs. Motherland: Ensai(y)mada

Since the Philippines used to be a Spanish colony, we have a lot of things in common with the Spanish. Words, traditions,culture have transferred, mutated, and have become uniquely Filipino.

While here, I'll be running a series called Homeland vs. Motherland. Basically, comparing things that exist in both countries, and judging which is better. I hope rabid nationalists won't object to me naming Spain as Motherland, but in a lot of cases it is true, and we do owe some aspects of our culture to the colonial period, indelible and undeniable. Other suggestions are welcome!

Ok first up is ensaymada.



The Spanish ensaimada is a creature similar to the Filipino ensaymada, except that it is fluffier, more like a croissant. It is either glazed or covered in powedered sugar.



(From Tagaytay econoinn website. Fair use po!)

Like what Carlos Celdran says in his tour, the Filipinos tend to overdecorate and overdo everything. Ensaymadas in the Philippines not only have a layer of granulated sugar over it, even the most bakya versions have a thick layer of Star Margarine over it (for non-Pinoys, it is the most artificial tasting yellow lard that passes for margarine in the Philippines). In the fancier versions, grated cheese and even itlog na maalat (month-old eggs pickled in salt) feature on the ensaymada. The fluffier versions (like Mulach Ensaymadas) are similar to the ones in Spain, but they are much softer, and less flaky than the Spanish Ensaimada.

VERDICT: Pinoy Ensaymada FTW! Mas nakakabusog!

The Towering Castells of Catalunya

A lot of things move me to tears. Lately, the realization of a dream made my eyeballs moisten.

You see, as a young girl growing up and dreaming of adventure, I had always wanted to watch the Castellers of Spain do their thing, live. I saw it once on the Discovery Channel one day, and thought, wow, I would like to be part of that.

I am so happy to be able to witness the Castellers, live! And I am so grateful to have an old Catalunyan by my side actually explain the whys and hows of the Castellers, who are just so amazing. A devoted fan of the practice, he even gave me a hand-out of the different formations and explanations in English and German, and we spoke in a mish-mash of Spanish and English.

I wish you were here with me to see this



Molts Merces, Catalunya! Featured are the Minyons de Terrassa.

We're Not Gonna Pay/This or Last Year's Rent

Well, living in Barcelona is definitely giving me the vibe that I am in New York City. Had an interesting fiasco with getting my keys, had to schlepp my ass halfway across the city to get it. Then I find out on the second day that I am living in an illegal sublet (super: who are you? my roommate. I live here! super: you're not in the contract!) So they know that she lives there but they don't know that I do. So if anybody asks, I'm the cleaning lady. If there's a time to capitalize on a stereotype, this is the time. Meanwhile, the German girl who actually rented out the place is still in Germany.

I am having a grand ole time, out all night wrecking havoc on the city, I came home one fine 2 a.m. to the sound of my hot roomie having sex with her second boyfriend. I have seen sex before, but it seems so invasive to listen to someone who doesn't want you to listen. Somehow the thump thump thump of the headboards and their ughs ugh ugh made me feel like I was 10 again in my bedroom praying for the love of god, please make my parents STOP so I went to bed without peeing and brushing my teeth.

Yup, life is interesting and I spend my free time at the beach. Dear J. I am a convert. Germany does suck.

iOVAYA!

A plea for help: Does anybody here know anybody in Barcelona, (as in Spain, not Zamboanga)? Are you currently living in Barcelona? If so, please contact me! I am pulling hairs because I still don't have an apartment in Barcelona. I am leaving on the 31st of August, arriving in Barcelona at 1 pm. I would really like to have an apartment by then, weil kein Bok habe 20 euro pro tag für ein Bett zu zahlen.

End of ad.

On the topic, here's a very funny ad from Spain!