Identity Crisis

Spain is a land that furnishes the American imagination. So rich in culture, in language, in culinary adventures. There is a special relationship between American students and the Spanish nation--one whose governmental support was affirmed with all the smiles and plastic that went into a visit from my Secretary of State to my local capital.

Spain furnishes the American imagination. Last night... ??...yes it was last night, I remembered the very familiar schizophrenic feeling of a first-time American student to the peninsula. The schizophrenia that you find common among "young" students (among which I do still include myself); in particular the college students that happen to pick up a non-Texaaaaan accent in Spanish. You get schizophrenic. In one part of your brain, your overloaded receptors note heavily, the beauty of a Roman archway, and you begin to cry. In the other, the more logical and rational side, you understand that after years of counseling and breakups that what you are feeling is euphoria and will pass.

Well, last night, while recording very attently the diverging opinions of Rafi and Santi (a married couple visiting the festival Nou Barris to see Mayte Martín sing), I realized that I could give a flying f*@$! (sorry Mom) what Dr. of Spanish Literature Santi thinks about the US. Much less the American sister-in-law that lives in Berkley. I am honestly up to my... well you get the picture. And David on the metro, cute brown-eyed David, I am so tired of "pues claro que hay buena gente en América", I am turning patriotic. (Gori, this goes out to you!). I am so ready to get up into someones face, and swaggering a little back and forth say, "What?! You mean in all of "America", we might have some good people??"

I´m tired of people explaining things to me. Part of it due to the questions I am doing for the interviews, but I am so tired of being seen as the...

Que creo que he llegado al punto de desilusión tan común con los extranjeros al llegar a un país tanto deseado como agobiador. Que es el punto en que ... por decir lo tan educadamente... "francamente, me da igual." Me agobia el tío, que cree, como tantos americanos lamento decir, que por la fuerza y la energía de su gesticulación me va a hacer entender. Este tío, que por gritarme, me pasa toda su sabiduría del flamenco catalán. Me llega al colmo que mi profesor tan linguisticamente catalán, no entienda mi español. Y que este mismísimo che, venga de Argentina. En un país tan re-de-qu-educado en su propia cultura, que llegue la presentadora de la tele y atreva a nombrar a Hugo Chavez el segundo liberador de Venezuela. Querido público, he llegado. Con la amargura de la tristeza y la frustración, me sonrío al espejo. Mi imagen tine la misma expresión.

Estoy para cantar el tango por tiento:

Vecina dame limones
dame sal y perejil
toma este beso
de cal y jazmín
toma este beso
de cal y jazmín

I´m sorry for those of us who are not Hispanofiles. Here is the link to google translate.