As with all things living and dead, as I might fabricate our good alchemical Jung mused once upon a tower in the countryside or upon a pipe stroll, the first number is two. This is exactly where naive Huckleberry finds himself strolling through dreamscapes sewn in spanish, friendships in routine places, meeting acquaintances at every turn, recieving undeserved hospitality and generous gifts from those who already pay him a fee. One savours new comprehension of the synthetic word ‘delite-full’ when receiving such gravy and spoils.

Now, we have all been there, The Bank, a place that urges compulsory gastrophenomena of the other kind. But, sometimes the frase, “it’s not where you are, it’s who you’re with” catches you off guard and, possibly, deafeningly ignorant. Upon setting up a bank account here, Huck looked in the windows like a young child at christmas window shopping in Paris. You know, the mechanical puppet shows with toys strewn about the decorative splendor of solstice jolity? Well after scooting humbily by some of the more..technical puppet displays he chanced upon a small office, no doubt with the backing of a huge nationalized institution, but a small office nonetheless with just a few staff.

“Here we are”, he thinks, unsure of himself. After introducing himself like an applicant for immigration – with all sorts of bureaucratic papery and administrative folder stuffing – the kind staff help him set up an account. They also help him talk randomly about his family, where he’s from, how he’s getting along with city life after living in the expansive countryside of the United Middle of Where? of America, what kind of food he’s used to eating, has he made any friends yet? don’t worry son – if you have any problems, let me know!, what are you doing here anyway? assisting teachers? ah, I sure hope you can handle the students and all, o and by the way could you sign this before you go? which actually continues on into every time he walks into the bank. At this point, he feels like a rude son of a bickering numbskull if he walks in and, first, walks over to the atm to pull out cash. Indeed, going to the bank at this point even has it’s financial benefits, as well as the otherwise quite common expectation that mutually beneficial socializing will occur. In every language of the modern day, he expects to find some phrase that means, ‘time is money’ or ‘tiempo es oro’. However, a priority of wealth in friendship is the other side of the exceptionallysocialspain-coin that puts Huck in the bonus, plus, ultra, maximum.

For example, about every week Huckleberry tutors 3 children of a family here in Cáceres. Every time he goes there, the parents ask him how he’s doing – what he’s been up to – <didn’t you think the medieval fair was a bit cheesy?> <oohh don’t be so hard hubby, it’s fun for the kids!> <I know but, seriously, kebab at a medieval fair? a potato bar? anyway, would you like to come out to the country with our family someday? see the vineyards? we have tons of olive trees!> <eeeh but don’t try and get him to help harvest them!> – they even give him medication, food…food.. glorious food!!! yes, Being ..bieng..being? Yes, being paid in euro’s is certainly expected of tutoring, but to know that someone has your back and is watching out for you in a foreign environment is another sort of wealth. Might we also consider, fine friends, that Huckleberry’s tummy has softened slightly thanks to the 500grams of dried figs they delivered upon his starving stomach and let’s not omit that they also sent him away with a whole bunch of aceitunas rajadas. These olives are cut along the sides and steeped in salts, spices, laurel, garlic, pepper and probably other sorts of magic craftsmanship – depending on the household. At times, there is no greater gift than food and friendship as Good Ebeneezer Scrooge will tell you.

Even his local coffee shop barista throws an little extra food-drink something who knows! and inquires how things are going – all of this despite how incredibly foul and terrible Huckleberry’s american accent sounds in spanish. All things considered, quite the deal. Quite the deal. Considering how much he mumbles in English, or how soft he speaks, it’s unfathomable that they understand him at all.

In fact, all of these things are re-encounters. The other 90% of these social phenomena reside above the capability of my narrative powers, we shall lament. Yet, let it be known that these happenings are reminiscent of the first time he came to Spain four years ago. There is so much re-introducing. Good morning, peculiar watercolorbarktree that decided to burst yellow the second week of November. Good day, group of people yelling with glee in the morning at the cafe-bar. Good merienda my fellow tapeando blue collared folk before you go home for the ..great Scott, a good siesta to you you natural beauty you. Good afternoon 6pm, and your brilliant mediterranean/atlantic blue autumn skies. Good evening families, all of you from ages 0 to infinity walking about the streets before and after dinner. Good night socializing with generous/gracious friends who aren’t snooty or picky about where they go or what they do. Good midnight, second round of cañas and sleep well earth that smells so exceptionally different, so far away from home.

To read Chapter 3 part one, click here

Nearing the end of November in a room full of circular breathing ‘music’ the like of which should be prohibited from all places holy and unholy, Huckleberry wonders just what exactly these spaniards want to accomplish in this discussion at the conference for teachers of the EOI Extremadura. At this point, the overcaffeinated and wine surplus-ed Huckleberry consciousness following the MontyPythonLifeOfBrianLetsDecideHowWeSaveBrian discussion exemplifying a classic display of spanish decision making at work: let us all yell, all at once! the whole time!

Somewhere between enjoying the humor of the show and the mixture of alcohol and caffeine in his system a culture shock worm whole finds him unaware and vulnerable.

Unaccountably passive to the social machine, Huckleberry follows the flow of their Three Jewels of culture here. In christianity, we see the Trinity at work. In buddhism, we see the Sangha, the Dharma and the Buddha at work. In Spain we see the café, the caña(6oz. beer), and the copa(glass of wine) at work. Denying an invitation to participating in any of these social rituals is pure heresy. ¿What else could you possibly be doing? ¿What else could you possibly want to do? Between attending the religiously efficient imbibing and pursual of artistic/personal desires he has to choose: integration or isolation? Dear readers, in Japan there is a phrase that more or less says that the nail that sticks out gets whacked. Don’t stand out, don’t be different. After paratroubadouring himself into the iberian peninsula’s countryside all evidence concludes that this particular city is as white as middle american culture can get, with all the blessings of a dwelling vacuumed void of that dusty, messy individualism. This manifests most unfortunately in the classroom where students are often too afraid to stand out, not because they are simply too cool for school (as often happens in the US) but because they are indoctrined from a young age not to do so.

During the falling of autumn into that abyssmal black night of winter (which in Extremadura never really arrives, it is actually quite balmy there all things considered), Manolo invites the group of friends on a trip to the Monfrague National Park.

ExSqueeze me, Garth? a-BakingPowder? Oh, dear me, let me introduce you to some of Huckleberry’s friends. For starters there is the fear inspiring french duo: M&M. Marion and Manon are two lovely, but seriously intimidating, charming french girls that also teach here in Spain. Somehow they continue to tolerate his presence. One night, out in the spanish twilight hours of half past 4 in the morning at the bars, M&M and Huckleberry met a certain Tomás Ivan (Quinto) and his lifelong pal Gregorio. Through the exceptional help and patience of Ivan the Fifth Huckleberry established his first friend group here in Cáceres. Tomás’ cousin, a wandering giant named Manolo, also lives in Cáceres with his girlfriend Francis. Altogether these are the core friends of his life and it is with these people that he joined a day trip to the National Park of Monfrague.

And it is at this national park that he is pulled out through the wormhole from the amnesia inspiring cityscape. One may walk for blocks of the city and in the bottom floor of each apartment complex one may find the same shop with the same items that they saw 15 steps before. There is the same cafeteria, with the same menu, and the same friendly yet pessimisticly surly (search: spain Crisis) barista or bartender serving the same newspapers that print the same news everyday. There is the same clothing store that feeds the bulimic (anti)materialistic consumerist machine of the globalized middle class. There is the same ‘Chino’ store selling the same questionable quality items at the same substandard price. (There is obviously a place in life for a religious attitude for awe and astonishment at existence. That is also a basis for respect for existence. We don’t have much of it in this culture, even though we call it materialistic. In this culture we call materialistic, today we are of course bent on the total destruction of material and its conversion into junk and poisonous gases. This is of course not a materialistic culture because it has no respect for material. And respect is in turn based on wonder-A.Watts)

If you have, esteemed and patient reader, ever watched the television show pokemon you will know that the same health clinic, the same restaurant, and the same hotel/hostal exist in every town. That’s kinda what this is like. Every block. Somehow, they have achieved the American Dream of the 1980’s.

However, all that aside, here we find Huckleberry in the nature of Monfrague looking out from the castle atop the hill towards the horizon beyond the river Tajo and the landscape of endless green hills, mountain silhouettes, black vultures, golden feathered eagles..and this is the place that makes him feel most at home as well as simultaneously excites him with the urge to wander out wherever (and preferably towards nowhere, specifically).

Even though it may be the status quo here, fitting in simply bores a hole in his life force, which has proved to be an obstacle on several occasions with friends. One night, sitting down to play an electric piano, his friend walked over and started a click track whilst Huckleberry mused on textures, shapes, gestures, clusters, harmonies, melodies, chains and sustains of beauteous autonomies temporarily given alphabetic nomenclature during our present age. The implication had been made prior, that Huck doesn’t follow a rhythm..and here we find the worm hole of culture shock creeping up behind to suck him through and spit him out all gooky, sticky and a generally unpleasant disturbance.

Having given a lecture on culture shock, our tactless protagonist chooses to jazz the click track, unhingin’ its fascist implications in the manner a logical positivist might retort, ‘yes, but what you’ve just said is actually quite irrelevant, you see?’

Perhaps thanks to learning about the process himself in order to give the lecture, Huckleberry involuntarily finds himself sailing, and staying afloat in the group therapy session of this teacher conference. Instead of sucumbing to the shock by getting irrevocably upset with the group’s inefficiency, he surprises himself – realizing that, in the first time in his two and a half months in Spain, he is finally capable of following everyone speaking in parallel in this unfamiliar language. Basic fluency, stage one: complete. Stages remaining: infinite.

To read the otherside of the coin, Chapter Two: part two, Re-encountered, click here

So far I have not found the food of Caceres to be too interesting, at least so far 🙂 One thing for sure is that the tapas are generally expensive and not so good which is difficult for someone like myself who has been to Granada where tapas are free with your drink, and generally fantastic.

Also, the cafes here serve pretty terrible bakery, but if you go to a panaderia you can get some pretty good pastries! My favourite at the moment is this scone called a chicharron. Chicharrones are made differently around the world, but here in Extremadura they are like scones made with Pig fat, parts of pig intestine (awww yeah), cinnamon, and very very mellow spices. It.Is.The.Cat´s.Meow.