At the risk of offending one or two people, I’m gonna go ahead and declare that I am a big fan of both climate change, whether human-caused or not, and the euro crisis.
This past summer, the thought of moving from 500-Days-of-Summer-per-year LA to Spain’s Seattle equivalent was almost anxiety provoking enough to make me consider other employment options. Until I realized I had deferred for a year the only other option I had counted on (TFA), and so the only alternative employment option would likely consist of living at home and returning to the days of collecting weekly allowance in return for scraping cat droppings from the bottom of the litter box. If the cat litter Dad opts to buy actually lived up to its odor-masking promise, as professed on the box, this option wouldn’t have been half so bad. But considering my super sharp olfactory glands (don’t blame me, I’m a woman), there was just no way this was going to work. And of course, there exist no other household chores. Only option remained: move to Spain. ed.
SOooo hear I find myself, in Spain’s rainiest region, loving the fact that I haven’t had to replace the umbrella I left in the airport 2 months ago because Santander is experiencing its driest streak in like, 40 years. Kinda wish I did have an excuse to use the polka dotted Target rain boots I brought with me though, not because they’re fashionable, but because they replaced valuable space in my luggage from the US that could have been dedicated to other items (see: My Address, in case you want to send me Trader Joe’s extra crunchy salted peanut butter...actually don't shipping costs are absurd!). Some residents of Santander strangely gripe about the warm and sunny weather (maybe I would too, if I had invested in a heavy fur coat like 95% of the city’s elderly female population). I can relate to complaints by not-old-ladies that lots of sun=not so much snow for skiing in the nearby resort, but considering recent travel mishaps (see: Amanda and Allison spend a month’s paycheck on missed flights and Chunnel tickets booked for the wrong date), new budgeting does not include the cost of renting ski equipment, so I am happy to content myself with limiting outdoor activities equipment to my running shoes and the ample Cantabrian beaches ☺ It’s January and I’m already renewing my sports bra tan. In short, if you are an SUV driver or mass consumer of red meat, please continue in your habits because it is directly (and positively) impacting my level of happiness here in the not-so-rainy north of Spain.
As for the Euro Crisis, rising levels of unemployment in Europe are responsible for the (rising) quantity of native Spanish friends I have in Spain. No, contrary to what you may be tempted to think, my friendliness and charm have not contributed to this phenomenon. Rather, the fact that 49.6% of Spanish youth under age 25 are currently without work has resulted in a burgeoning class of Spaniards, naturally partiers and life-enjoyers by blood, being able to dedicate even more time to frequenting places of pleasure (and sleeping off the effects the next day). This, paired with my average 3-day workweek (thank you, Spain, for declaring at least one day every week a national holiday), has created abundant opportunity for midday Ultimate Frisbee practices and midweek camping trips, and made me utterly terrified for the “return to reality” that awaits me on the other side of the pond come June. (Although an afternoon spent re-bonding with my TI-89 (graphing calculator) has made me super excited about teaching math in helping to address the issue of educational inequality in the US upon return!) Soooo if you are a chief economic advisor or like, not buying enough Baklava to keep Greece afloat, continue in these habits as well, because they ultimately make me feel popular.
Reality: The economic crisis sucks. I am thankful, more than ever (as I expressed on my "Give Thanks Feather" in our "Pin the Feather on the Turkey" Thanksgiving Day activity), for being able to depend on the comfort of a monthly paycheck. Some of our friends are not so lucky:
In France, some wonder if selling tourist trinkets counts as employment.
Some also get tickets for "parking" where they shouldn't.
Hasta la proxima,
allison
