A pain in the upper right butt

Last week, while emerging from our car, the Professor pulled a muscle in his right lower back.  To be more accurate it was actually a muscle a little south of his back but the Professor has forbid me from discussing his rear end on my blog. The muscle spasm, which we found out it was called later, meant that he had to walk hunched over so that he was parallel to the floor and could not stand up straight without experiencing considerable pain. 

We were actually in a bit of a pickle when this happened since as I’ve mentioned before, we don’t have health insurance.  But we couldn’t not go to the doctor since the Professor was in such pain and I couldn’t watch him suffer and not do something.  I called every urgent care center in Miami and most of them were not only closed already (it was a Sunday after five pm when he injured himself, inconveniently enough) but those urgent care centers that were open, charged over $150 JUST TO BE SEEN!  I found this price especially ridiculous considering that he didn’t need any lab work, blood work, or even an exam really. He just needed a prescription for a muscle relaxant and ibuprofen.

In the end, after many phone calls and internet searches, I hit upon a more affordable option. Have you guys every heard of Walmart Medical Clinics?  They are tiny walk-in clinics that are in a select few Walmarts (in South Florida there are only two) where they charge just $55 to be seen.  Granted you have to wait a really long time (we waited around two hours) and the clinics aren’t equipped with any fancy medical equipment so if you’re really hurt, you need to just go to a hospital E.R.  But for us, it was the perfect solution.  The Professor got his prescription ($4 dollars!) and has been popping pills for a week now and I am happy to report that he is more perpendicular with the floor every day. 

This experience has given me some idea of what the Professor and I will be like as old people.  I imagine that our golden years will be spent with the Professor sporting a cane and Eau de Icy Hot and me yelling, “Don’t bend over like that! Do you want to hurt yourself again?!” 

The moral of this story:  Enjoy your life while your back is intact because doing the horizontal mambo when you’re old is actually a lot less fun than it sounds. 

Closed!

As a follow up to Monday's post, "Life's a beach,"  I saw this post yesterday on Anne's blog, Pret a Voyager,  about all the shops, restaurants, and businesses being closed in Paris for the summer.  Anne very cleverly and humorously walked about the City of Lights and took pictures of all of the "Closed for the summer" signs.  My favorite one is the one above, "We are all relaxing in Mexico. We're sorry you came for no reason but we'll be thrilled to help you when we return on the 30th of August."

And on a related note, I just found this article on the Huffington Post that compares the length of paid vacation time in  all of the European countries. You'll never guess which country ranks #1.  (Hint: This is why Frau Merkel got hate mail).

Buen fin de semana! :)

(Photo: Pret a Voyager)

You do the math

It’s a good thing this blog is semi-anonymous because I’m about to reveal to you one of my biggest sources of embarrassment.   Are you leaning closer?  Okay, here it is:  I suck at math.  Majorly.  It normally takes me around a good ten minutes to calculate a 15% tip at a restaurant, I normally guess wrong when I try to calculate how much I would pay for a blouse that is 25% off, and if a train leaves Miami at 3pm traveling at 60 miles an hour, I have no idea how long it would take to get to Atlanta.

Why does the fact that I suck at math matter?  After all, as we asked our teachers in grade school, when will I really use this stuff? Well apparently you need to use it if you’re moving to a continent where everything from what time it is to how far away something is to what size pants you wear requires math to figure out!

 I don’t want to be another dumb American who complains about the metric system, but I’m about to do just that.  In case you didn’t know, Americans have a different way of measuring everything compared to every other industrialized country in the world.  Outside the U.S., if you ask someone how tall they are, they would answer you in centimeters.   If you ask someone how far away they live, they would answer you in kilometers.   If you asked someone how much three potatoes weigh, they would answer you in kilograms.  The math comes into the equation when you try to convert measurements from the U.S. customary system into the metric system.  So to say that you live 20 miles away from something, you would need to remember that 1 mile= 1. 609 kilometers so 20 miles would be…..(long pause) 32.18 kilometers  (Okay, so I used an online calculator for that one.  Big deal!)

Lately, the Professor and I have been trying to make friends with the metric system as well as the international standard notation of time and degrees Celsius.   Our efforts thus far have been rather fruitless.  Take these conversations as an example:

Me: What time is it?

Professor:  It is (checks iPhone) 21:15.

Me:  (Pause.  Subtract 12 from 21)…..So….9:15, right?

                                      

Professor:  Is it hot out today?

Me:  Um… according to my computer, it is currently 30 degrees Celsius.

Professor:  So….is it hot out today?

Me: I don’t know. Go outside and check.

I recently became aware of exactly how difficult it is for me to convert to the metric system when I discovered and fell in love with an Australian culinary magazine eponymously called Donna Hay.  Unfortunately, the lovely Donna lists all of her ingredients in the metric system.  So to make the dessert in the photo above, you need 75 grams of white sugar, 250 grams of mascarpone cheese, 250 grams of strawberries, 120 grams of raspberries, and 80 milliliters of water. (Complete recipe here). 

So what should you do if you find yourself in need of converting measurements?  Well if you’re like me, you try to convince your husband that you need a proper kitchen scale like this one.  Even though my über modern husband would prefer one like this (which in my opinion has all the charm of a medical examining table).  A cheaper option would be to invest in this dishtowel cheat sheet that I found. Cute, eh?  If all else fails,  I guess you need to take your computer with you to the kitchen and just hope you don’t get flour on it (lest the hubby throw a hissy fit).   Wish me luck!

(Photos: Donna Hay Magazine)

Life's a beach....

It's August and the entire nation of Spain is on vacation for the summer holidays. That's right ---the Spanish take a whole month off for vacation.  If you've traveled to Europe, you are perhaps familiar with the reverence with which Europeans hold vacation time.  Schools are closed, businesses are closed, and most European families crowd beaches where they spend hours roasting themselves to a nice steamed lobster color.  How do I know the sunbathing habits of European people, you may be wondering?  Because I live in Miami and any day at the beach here can easily turn into an anthropological study of the loafing habits of Germans, Italians, Spanish, French, and other EU nationalities.

Like most Americans, I find the European tendency to come to a screeching halt in August charming and illustrative of the high quality of life that is so lacking in the U.S.  At the same time, I can't help but get a little testy sometimes since I'm actually in the position now of needing these vacation-loving European people to be in their offices, answering their phones, and getting back to their emails. But as the Professor has pointed out to me more than a few times, you just can't have it both ways. You can't get frustrated at our future countrymen in Spain for not being the same obsessive workaholics that we Americans are and simultaneously covet their more laid-back lifestyle.

So, let's just go ahead and covet.  But as you sit in your chilly cubicle reading this post, answer me this: If you could take a month off from work for vacation, where would you go?

P.S. In case you were wondering, the photos above are of the only tourist-free stretch of Miami beach :)

Five reasons to become an FC Barcelona fan

First, I should make it clear that I know nothing about sports.  However, I am more knowledgeable about sports than I used to be (and even that’s not saying much) because the Professor is an avid sports fan and we only have one TV.  The Professor will watch anything with a ball in it: soccer, football, basketball, tennis, rugby, Quidditch (you did not misread that. I did indeed say Quidditch).

Recently, the Professor has become a die-hard fan of FC Barcelona, a pro-soccer team that boasts some amazingly gifted and famous players who also are not half-bad looking (wink, wink).  If you are a soccer fan or if you watched the World Cup 2010 in South Africa, you will recognize these men.  In order from top left:

Lionel Messi:  Argentinean-born striker for FC Barcelona and the Argentinean National Team. Messi is widely regarded as the greatest player in the world. Greatest honor bestowed heretofore: My husband wants to name our first born after him (we’ll see). 

Gerard Piqué:  Central defender for FC Barcelona.  Currently dating Colombian hip-shaker, Shakira.  Shakira and Pique are the Brangelina of Spain and Latin America.  They’re Shakirique.  Or Piquira.

Cesc Fàbregas:   Cesc is the newest addition to Barcelona (when I say new, I mean he just got signed two days ago).  Formerly the captain for the British team Arsenal, he now rejoins his childhood friend Pique in playing for his hometown. Check out their bromance to the tune of Enrique Iglesias’s “Hero” here.

David Villa:  Striker for the Spanish National Team and FC Barcelona, David was hot stuff during the 2010 World Cup, scoring five goals which earned him the Silver Boot. Check out this insane goal here against Real Madrid.

Pep Guardiola:  I saved the best for last.  Pep is a former FC Barcelona player and the present day coach for Barcelona.  He can often be found pacing back and forth on the sidelines in an immaculate suit and skinny tie.  No one looks better yelling at referees than Pep.

Hopefully, I've convinced you to become a Barca fan.  If not, at least you got some eye candy out of this post :) 

Meet Larry!

One of the interior design blogs that I frequent, Desire to Inspire, does a segment every Monday called “Pets on Furniture” where they ask readers to email pictures of their adorable pets sitting, standing, or sleeping on a piece of furniture.  This is my submission:

A few weeks ago, I was thumbing through the photos of the day section of The Guardian online, when I stumbled across a photo of this little cutie.  If you don’t know who Larry the Cat is, you probably don’t live in England or read lighthearted, non-serious articles in European newspapers (I fall into the latter category).  Larry is the British Prime Minister’s newly acquired white tabby cat.  He resides in Number 10 Downing Street which is where the Prime Minister lives and works and where important political meetings take place.  When he is not busy chasing and killing rats in Her Majesty’s Headquarters, he can be found perched on a windowsill contemplating grave economic matters,

bounding down staircases in hot pursuit of thugs and criminals, 

or patiently waiting for the distinguished, political, bipeds to arrive at the conference room.

I don’t know why the idea of a cat residing in a major political establishment tickles me to death.  I suppose it’s because I can see him behaving the way my cat does.  Can’t you just picture him lounging lazily on that conference table, or perhaps batting around a stray pen while a major meeting is taking place? Or perhaps he’ll lift up his leg, point his toe in the air, and proceed to bend over and clean himself which our cat always feels the need to do when we have company over.

I know this post has nothing to do with Barcelona, but with all of the violence and tragedy ongoing in England, I thought we could all probably do with a good dose of levity.

Happy Monday!

(Photos: The Guardian) 

From Spain with Love

Last week while watching TV at a friend’s house, I found another reason to curse myself for cancelling my DirecTV.  Now on the Cooking Channel you can find a wonderful show called, “From Spain with Love,” which seems to be less of an instructional cooking show and more of a culinary tour around the country.  Check it out (click here) and then come report back! Love it? Hate it? Or just meh about it?

Buen fin de semana!

(Photo: Cooking Channel)

You CAN take it with you....or you can try anyway

It's the first week of August and our belongings are neatly packed in boxes awaiting further instructions.  As our visa application drags on, the Professor and I have begun researching how to get our belongings from Point A to Point B(arcelona).  As I mentioned in a previous post, we're planning on shipping our stuff over by boat but we haven't decided which shipping company we will use as of yet (if you guys have any suggestions, I'm all ears).  

Even though almost all of our things are already packed, there are a few things which carry much too much sentimental value to be bubble-wrapped and squeezed into a box alongside our gravy boat.  I have decided that my tea pot and photo albums are so precious that they must travel with us in our suitcases (preferably our carry on) because I just can't trust some shippers (is that what they call themselves?) to treat them with the care they deserve.  

I'm sure you guys understand why the photo albums are sentimental, but the tea pot? Seriously? YES! I am serious about my tea. I'm half Persian and Persian tea runs in my veins. I easily drink about ten cups a day (the cups are pretty teeny, but still).  Nothing makes me feel more at home then sipping a warm, aromatic cup of tea.  For that reason, I know that when we get to Barcelona and we're in our new apartment looking at blank walls and boxes of unpacked stuff, I will be needing that cup of tea. 

For those of you who have never experienced the delight of Persian tea, just stop by our apartment (address forthcoming). Or in the meantime, make a cup yourselves.

You will need:

1)  A tea pot

2)  A tea kettle (electric or stove-top)

3)  Loose leaf tea. Two parts Darjeeling, one part Earl Grey (no tea bags please!)

4)  A few cardamom pods 

Instructions:

1)  Bring a full pot of water to boil in your electric or stove-top tea kettle.

2)  Spoon 2 teaspoons of Darjeeling and 1 teaspoon of Earl Grey tea into your tea pot.

3)  Crack your cardamom pods and place into your tea pot.

4)  When the water has boiled, pour the water over the tea in your tea pot.

5)  If using a stove-top tea kettle, place your tea pot on top of the kettle to steep the tea, like so.  If you are not using a stove-top kettle, you may place your tea pot on a samovar (which is the traditional way), on a hot plate, or on a stove burner set to warm (you don't want to burn the tea!)

6)  After five minutes or so of brewing, pour the tea into a small, clear, glass cup.  It is very important that the glass be transparent so you can judge the strength of the tea by its color. Good Persian tea is an amber color. 

7) Fill the glass cup half way with tea from the tea pot, then fill up the remainder of the cup with hot water from your tea kettle. 

8)  Enjoy with a cube of sugar.

So there you have it! My cure for homesickness!  What's yours?  What symbol of home would you take with you?

(Photos: Kiana @ The Barcelona Story)

You make it look so easy

Most of the living-abroad blogs I read talk about the great move from the U.S. to wherever they now reside as if they just happened to pick up and land somewhere glamorous.  They skim over mentions of what it’s like to rearrange your life or leave it at a total standstill.  They skim over descriptions of tedious, frustrating things like visa applications, packing up and shipping your stuff, and juggling work commitments to fit around the big move.  And no one talks about what all of the above does to your relationship with the person you’re moving with (or for).

Since finding out about the Barcelona move, the Professor and I have been excited, nervous, impatient, frustrated and stressed out.  Exactly in that order (perhaps I’ll coin the term, “The Five Stages of Oversees Moving”).   This is pretty understandable.  When you get the bureaucratic run around from a government official, inept Consulate worker, clueless Health Department lackey, you get pissed off and stressed out and you take it out on each other.  Your days become less about enjoying your time together and more about making endless checklists of what needs to be done and in what order.  You start having arguments caused by miscommunications (“I thought you called the shipping company”) and arguments caused by stubbornness (“I know that’s how you do it but this is the way I pack”) and arguments that start about something little but snowball into the silent treatment.  

Some of these arguments are really stupid and are easily resolved (“Fine, I’ll pack according to your method”).  But some of these arguments are about deeper issues that don’t get talked about unless  they are brought up in a fight about something else entirely.  The deeper issues are normally based on unspoken fears that because unspoken, fester until they reach their boiling point.  For us, these fears are mostly rooted in uncertainty: What if the visa application drags on so long that we can’t move in time and the university retracts its work contract?  What if I can’t find a job over there? What if we don’t make any friends? What if we can’t find a decent apartment for our budget? What if the airline doesn’t let us take our cat? What if the shipping company loses/damages our stuff? What if we don’t like living over there?  Note that because I’m a pessimist by nature, these questions normally assume a worst-case scenario rather than for instance, “What if we have so much fun over there we never want to come back?”   

The resolutions to the deeper issue fights are harder to come by because ultimately no one can answer your questions and assuage your fears.  Your partner can’t tell you that it’ll all work out because they don’t know that and you know they don’t know and it annoys you that they’re telling you what they think you want to hear.  But they tell you that anyway.  Partly because they want you to believe it and partly because they’re reassuring themselves.  And your job, as a good spouse, is to listen and only roll your eyes slightly at your partner’s foundation-less but optimistic assurances, take a deep breath, and talk it out. Be honest. Be calm. Realize that you’re both stressed out, frustrated and afraid. And then, take a step back, put down the phone or the laptop, and do something fun together.  Reconnect.  And then go eat some chocolate. 

(Photo: French by Design)

We don't need no stinkin' background checks!

Actually, it appears that we do need our stinkin’ background checks.  By the way, if you don’t know where that oft-quoted line comes from, either rent Mel Brooks’ classic Blazing Saddles, or check out that line’s Wikipedia page here (that’s right, the line has its own Wikipedia page).   

Yesterday was the Professor and my first visit to the Spanish Consulate in Miami.  It actually went better than we expected.  For one thing, there were only about 15 people there in total so getting there an hour early in order to be the first ones in line was unnecessary.    Secondly, we weren’t turned away because we didn’t have an appointment even though the consulate’s website specifically states in bold and in all capital letters that they will NOT see you without an appointment ( I guess we showed THEM).  

However, the one thing that we feared would happen did indeed happen.   The consulate official carefully inspected each of the documents we brought until she discovered that we were missing our FBI background checks.  We tried to explain to her that we had submitted these to the FBI over three weeks ago but there is no way to expedite the process and no one at the FBI can tell us anything about our background checks until it’s been at least four weeks (and even then they don’t make any promises).  We hoped that if we brought every single document with us to the consulate minus the background checks, they could at least go ahead and send our documents to Spain for processing.   It turns out that the Spanish are not as laid back as we give them credit for.  Beneath the disguise of long lunches, siestas, and bar-hopping, there lurks an annoying need to have all one’s paperwork in order. 

So, what now?  Well now we have no choice but to wait for a response from the FBI.  Then it’s back to the consulate with our documents for the second go around.  BUT, I am trying to be positive and optimistic about the whole scenario (and if you read this blog, you know that does not come naturally to me).   The silver lining is that we can now spend more time in Miami catching up with our family and friends and saying goodbye to our hometown.  Plus, (and this is my cynical side coming back out), if the whole process was smooth sailing, what would I have to blog about?