Where has the summer gone . . .?

My time in Madrid is coming to a close. This is the last week for the graduate program in international education. I've been really fortunate to meet some great people from all over the world, not only in my class but from the other programs as well. It's really an eye opener to hear about the conditions in different countries and schools from Asia to South America.

In my cohort alone, there are teachers from Hong Kong, Tokyo, Hawaii, Cyprus, Uzbekistan, Morocco, and Barcelona. Nine teachers who are all on the path toward achieving the same goal, but coming from vastly different worlds. It is also female dominated as there is only one other male among the 9 students. This makes for a different atmosphere when we go for tapas and drinks after a long day of study. I'm usually the lone male since the other guy in the cohort is a self-professed workaholic. I take a more relaxed approach to learning as I try to get my academic goals accomplished while soaking up the culture and energy of Madrid.

Luiza has joined me for my last 2 weeks in this sun-drenched country. While I'm toiling away in the classroom, she heads to the public pool a couple metro stops away from the apartment I'm renting from a teacher at the American School of Madrid. When I haven't been writing papers or reflecting on what I've learned in class that day, we've taken in the sites in the city and the surrounding countryside.

Highlights so far have included a rather gruesome bull fight. You never get an "appreciation" for how barbaric the sport can be by watching some video clip on the Travel Channel or seeing some picture in a guidebook accompanied by a breathlessly romantic capsule describing the pageantry and elegance of the toreador as he skillfully dispatches his quarry. What they fail to show is that there is not just one but a whole platoon of bullfighters working on the unenviable task of disorienting and slaughtering these powerful beasts.

I will never be mistaken for an animal rights activist as I devour a juicy steak or reel in a tasty walleye. But I must say I felt pretty sorry for the bull as he was repeatedly stabbed between the shoulders by razor-barbed sticks. But the real gore is at the conclusion of the fight when the toreador plunges a three-foot long sword into the bull's back. It might require more than one bloodletting to bring the fight to an end. At this stage, the crowd was eerily silent. I think the bullfight we attended must have been predominantly tourists. To make a long story short, bull keels over and dies, carcass hooked up to a team of horses and then dragged out of the arena. Bring on the next bull . . .

The second weekend I was here, the girls and I decided to attend the Pride Parade. Yes, the Gay Pride Parade. Everybody was letting there freak flag fly, so to speak, as we saw everything from drag queens walking on impossibly tall heels to a convoy of mobile dance floors moving up Gran Via, the main avenue of Madrid. I would have to say that the truck that elicited the most hoots and hollers belonged to the "bears". This would be a tribe of gay men know for both their size and thick coat of fur.



Well, this is all for now. I know that this entry has been sitting here waiting to be published and one of my more ardent readers has been requesting some new material, so here you go Auntie Lori! More to come soon . . . sorry for the delay, but hey, it is still summer after all.

This ain't no Slim Goodbody!

A couple nights ago, some of my fellow students and I attended an exhibition entitled, "Bodies". You may have read about this in your local newspaper or saw it featured on various news programs. It has traveled to cities around the world, receiving rave reviews where ever it has appeared.

The exhibit features actual corpses displayed in various states. I won't attempt to provide any description here since words fail to adequately depict the macabre nature of this anatomical extravaganza. Although most consider it gruesome to pose dead bodies simply for the entertainment of the living masses, as a teacher, I can see the educational potential.

The real question is where these cadavers came from. There are two competing exhibitions on the world-wide museum circuit and unfortunately, I went to the one that is allegedly display bodies harvested from Chinese prisons. I didn't find this out until after I went, but wonder if it would have stopped me from satisfying my curiosity by attending the event.

You can find out more by viewing this two part Youtube vid from the ABC news program, 20/20. This may not be suitable for those with sensitive stomachs. You have been warned.

Back to school . . .

When I thought about going back to school to receive my master's degree in education, I envisioned many a weekend spent corresponding with some faceless professor on the other side of the world about how to properly cite a magazine article with three authors in proper APA form. I was also sure that this would be a long, drawn-out process involving the analysis of didactic research intended to cause poignant self-reflection on how I could improve my pedagogy (one of my favorite educratic buzz words). What? Oh, sorry. It seems that I'm allowing the writing style required in graduate school to seep into my recreational journalism. I once again apologize for being so pedantic but I'm trying to be a bit more serious about my academics this time around.

Luckily for me, my conception of what graduate school would be like has been grossly exaggerated. As I write this, I am sitting on a terrace in sunny Madrid listening to the sounds rise up from the street below, and given how the program is structured, did not have to contend with any homework over the weekend. Life is good.
For the rest of July, I will be living in the Spanish capital, trying to knock off the rust caused by years of academic inactivity. Yes, I know that spending the summer months exploring the Lewis and Clark trail, wrestling a salmon, or touring Yellowstone are some creative ways in which I've earned continuing education credits in the past, but that experience pales in comparison to the rigor of finishing four classes in as many weeks.

The first week of class went off without too much difficulty. Well, I suppose I should mention that my instructor, a vibrant, spry man in his 70's, had a stroke on the fourth day and could not return to complete the instruction. I'm not a physician but I would guess strokes aren't treated like a vasectomy where you can slap a bag of frozen peas on it and the swelling subsides. We are all thankful that he benefited from the expertise of a gifted neurologist and is on the road to recovery. It certainly made for a memorable first week.

As for the city itself, I could certainly see myself taking a position at the American School of Madrid for a few years. The culture here is unlike any other place I've experienced in Europe. The two week beach holiday in southern Spain last summer did not really give me a full appreciation for the Spanish way of life. Being able to study in such a cosmopolitan city is truly fortuitous.


My three years of Spanish in high school is also really paying off. I was able to insult a shopkeeper in his native tongue after he tried to rip me off by not giving me back my correct change. After only a week, I think I have just as many complete Spanish sentences as Polish phrases in my linguistic arsenal. Mr. Hobbs would be proud of me. Luiza is probably not since I did pledge some time devoted to Polish this summer.

I have a couple more blog entries worth of material from this first week. But for now, it's time to go punish my gastrointestinal system with some more spicy food. Viva España! Adios! And of course, do widzenia and dziękuję to my Polish readers!

Back from the Baltics . . .

I've returned from a couple weeks of traveling around Eastern Europe with my friends Kyle, from Boise, and Joe, from way back in the kindergarten days at St. Leo's elementary. I had a wonderful time shirking the inevitable responsibilities that will come along with my enrollment in a graduate program this summer but am looking forward to my arrival in Madrid tomorrow. Until the Chronicle establishes communication from there, we hope you enjoy this video slideshow of our Baltic journey . . .

Father's Day . . .

Tomorrow is Father's Day, and frankly, I can't remember the last time my dad and I were together on this occasion. This would not sit well with most, and I do feel regret that I can't be sitting with Dad in a boat on some serene Minnesota lake enjoying the porketta sandwiches my mother so lovingly prepared. In fact, as I write this, my two brothers, Paul and Dave, are out fishing with him and, I hope, reeling in a mess of walleye to be stored in the freezer until I arrive in August.

As anybody who lives far away from home can attest, you have to remind yourself that your parents want you to spread your wings and build a life for yourself. If that wasn't the case, I would be living in a basement apartment back in Hibbing with my extensive Stars Wars action-figure collection. I'm also certain that I wouldn't enjoy the relationship I have now with my folks. It's ironic that the farther I've moved away, the closer we've become.

The greatest joy I've felt since moving here was the opportunity shepherd my parents and Dave around Poland for almost three weeks and get them safely back to the states. I had this tremendous sense of pride that I was able to do this for two people who have given me so much throughout life. It was almost like that "Look at me, Dad!" feeling you get when you learn how to ride a bike, catch a pop fly, or yes, reel in your first fish. I could tell that they knew I was going to be alright over here after all.

On Father's Day tomorrow, don't forget to tell your Dad what he means to you. Too often we spend so much time seeking his approval that we forget to tell him how proud we are of the things that he has done. But more importantly, tell him how much you value him as a person, role model, and a friend. I love you Dad.

In Europe, they take their "futbol" seriously. To my American readers, you may know this by another name, soccer. Whatever the name, it still bores me to death and I believe the only reason it enjoys such immense world-wide popularity is because you don't need much equipment to play. I'm sure they are still making soccer balls out of pig bladders in some parts of the world.

This weekend, the Eurocup 2008 tournament to determine European soccer supremacy kicks off in Vienna. Poland has qualified and will face Germany as their first round opponent on Sunday. You don't need the History channel to understand the precarious relationship between these two countries. Poles are still slightly bitter about that whole Nazi invasion / Holocaust thing. And the Germans try to distance themselves as much as possible from this tragic chapter in its country's history and are sensitive when it comes up in casual conversation.


So you can imagine the controversy generated by the cover of the popular Polish tabloids, Super Express and Fakt, a few days ago. They brutally depict Polish coach
Leo Beenhakker beheading the German captain wearing a Prussian helmet. On the other cover, he hoists the heads of the captain and coach as blood drips from his gruesome trophies. So much for sensitivity in journalism.

The funny thing is that Beenhakker is Dutch. In my limited experiences with the Dutch, I have found them to be a fun-loving people who would never behead somebody. Beenhakker apologized to the German people for an "awful thing done by weird and dirty and sick people." Well stated Coach. Should be a good match, but Poland is the overwhelming underdog in this one since they have never defeated the Germans in international play.

Have a good weekend!

The fine art of wearing a Speedo.

With the arrival of swimsuit season, we at the Chronicle want to post some friendly advice when it comes to choosing men's beachwear. Here are some rules to follow when deciding whether or not to squeeze into that skimpy Speedo:

Don't do it if . . .

1. You are not a competitive swimmer.
2. You can't see your feet.
3. When you're significant other runs her fingers through your hair, she's rubbing your back.

The above rules do not apply if you meet any of the following criteria:

1. You are German. (but you must be on holiday in Croatia)*




2. You are Polish (but you have to be living in Poland)*



3. You are an American wearing skis.
(CAUTION: This video is NOT to be viewed by small children!)



Thanks to my friend Ethan back in Boise for inspiring this blog entry. He breaks all the rules when it comes to pulling off the pink banana hammock. I'm so glad that he wasn't wearing this when we skied Brundage back in January.

*I took the photo of the German back in 2005. The other magnificent specimen was captured on film at Powsin Park a few days ago when we took the kids there for a field trip. I was so proud of them for not gawking like their teacher did.