Ivorian driving that blows my freakin' mind

For a brief moment, here and there, I actually drove in the capital of DR Congo, Kinshasa. It was insane, but once you go through the what-the-fuckery of it (like someone passing me in reverse at 40kph), you realized that a) everyone follows one rule that b) there are no rules. Driving was all about watching out for yourself and being the cheekiest.

In Côte d'Ivoire, no matter which seat you're occupying in the car, you're engaged in the driving. Outside of Abidjan, the driving isn't horrid. Taxi are spawn of the devil as they are everywhere, but it's manageable. Within Abidjan the traffic is quite insane and it's mostly due to the taxis again, causing sordid congestion everything their constantly-honking ilk cruise, looking for passengers. I hate them like nothing else I know.

But beyond evil taxis and traffic, there are two driving "rules" that I just don't freaking get.

Roundabouts (aka, the Fuckabout)

The roundabout is a genius system to manage traffic without doing anything more than making the merging lanes go around in a circle. The Ivorians have managed to shoot this in the foot though as it's the circulating traffic in the roundabout that has to wait for the cars merging in from the spokes. I had no idea how this completely backwards implementation of the roundabout happened, but the running theory is that there is a major roundabout at the top of one of the bridges to Plateau which has lights at each merging spoke and it must be that the model for all other roundabouts (where there are no lights) are based on this. Whatever the case, it doesn't work and despite the honking, we refuse to bow to this system as it's loony.

Headlights (aka Local Energy Conservation)

For those who didn't know, headlights can cause optical damage, or so the thinking must go in Côte d'Ivoire where people refuse to turn their headlights on unless it's more than two hours past sunset. To make matters, if you drive with your headlights on so that people hellbent on suicidal passing can see you, people will flash their lights at you.

My pet theory on this is there is great fear that if you have your lights on, then the authorities will require everyone to have their lights on and then they would have to replace them sooner. I don't get it, but what really blew my mind was a a truck flashing us when it was so dark that we couldn't even see him coming at us to only them turn the headlights off again once he was past us. That kind of thing is scary and reason to stay off the roads at night.

Again, we refuse to this insane system. The headlights come on at least a half hour before sunset and people can flash all they want. In fact, I encourage it, so that it wears out their lights faster to defeat this attempt at saving the bulbs which doesn't work.

08 03 2010      3 comments

Tags: abidjan, cars, cote d'ivoire, customs, transportation

In a state of perpetual evening

Probably one of the weirder language things I'm having trouble adjusting to are the greetings for the time of day. This may not seem like such a big deal, but people in Côte d'Ivoire are quite gregarious. Everyone greets everyone. While in the US, a nod, or depending on the setting, just eye contact can be acceptable, if you don't verbally respond back, it's considered offensive and people will repeat their greeting to you as they assume you simply didn't hear it because everyone responds. I don't really mind this and on a great many levels, it's quite enjoyable to engage with people in a country, as opposed to just being an outsider unsure of how to interact.

The one thing that gets me though is the actual greeting. In the US, traditionally we've done away with "good morning", "good afternoon", "good evening", and "good night" to use one size fits all phrases such as, "hey". The art of linguistic articulation is not one of America's finer points…

In Spanish, I've gotten used to "buenos días", "buenas tardes", and "buenas noches" as well as the respective times of day in which they're used. Croatian took a bit more getting used to with "dobro jutro" until about 10, "dobar dan" until about 18 (depending on the time of year), "dobar večer" until about 22, and "laku noć" at the very end of the night, which also works in place of "goodbye" for the evening. The times are surprisingly punctual for these different phrases and people have some kind of very accurate clock in their head to just know when to say them.

As French would have it, there is only "bonjour" and "bonsoir"; "good day" and "good evening". This probably seems simpler overall, but when one is used to having all the shades of time through the day, it seems blunt. Obviously, you get used to it, although while writing this, I said, "bonsoir" at 10:45 in the morning to a fellow who walked in the door.

In Côte d'Ivoire, probably the hardest thing is getting used to saying these at the right time. The reason that I made such a dumb gaffe with this fellow who walked in is that "bonsoir" starts at noon. Yes, the "evening" starts in the middle of the day and while people tend to get up around 6, they go to bed at 12 (don't ask me how they do it) and so, evening is making up the vast majority of their day.

I still find it weird and I doubt that I'll really quite get it at any point, although I'll just go along with it as that's the way the day goes here.

08 02 2010      0 comments

Tags: customs, in to africa, language

Weird Behavior #22: Playing guitar at a cafe

I guess it goes along with the general sense of entitlement that has been sweeping the US in greater and greater waves with each successive generation, but what is it with playing a guitar at a cafe that emboldens the weakest links of society? It just seems to fall in line with the, "I'm here. Listen to me. Fuck you. Listen to me. Only me. Mine. Mine. Mine." type of thinking that overruns our public spaces. These guitar players are extremely annoying in public parks, but there you can avoid them. But when at a cafe, enjoying your, let's just say... tea, or if you must, coffee, you can't avoid the guitarist short of hurting him. And why, why oh dear god for the love of fuck in holy mother of saints almighty from down below must is always, always be No Woman, No Cry?!!

While not a cafe, that's a classic piece of cinema there. The way the distinctly British dry heaves from William are overlaid with the chords of idiocy coming from the, yes, American's guitar are nothing short of transcendent genius. I'm sure if Marley could do it all over again, knowing that his song would be played in cafes and in the drunken expat squalor of Barcelona's Barri Gotic he probably would have said, "Hey Mick, you got one there for the fools to strum man?" Then again, he died of extremely curable skin cancer, so who knows.

23 04 2009      0 comments

Tags: customs, ramblings, us america

And then there was the Granja

Think of days past when there were still ice cream parlors. Okay, that's not so hard if you've been to Fenton's in Oakland. But, if you haven't, just imagine this. Now, imagine that absolute best hot chocolate you've ever had. No, that crap from Nestle Quik with the bunny on cocaine for a mascot does not count. Think about it. Think about a deep, dark chocolate that isn't so sweet as to kill a diabetic, but isn't bitter and is just luscious flavor. Now dump a slab of whipped cream on top of that, sit down, and you'll experience what folks in Spain know as the granja.

Basically, these started out as farms that would serve their dairy products out in the country as 'granja' means 'farm'. Gradually, these entities evolved and came in to the cities to the point now where they represent what Americans know more as a neighborhood ice cream parlors (a proper one with floats and splits, not Baskin-Robbins) and less what people think of as a farm. While they're rather old fashioned and naturally, like everything good in the unincorporated version of the world, slowly dying out in the 21st century. But still, they are quite common and you can find them most anywhere in Spain. I happen to pop in to them when in Barcelona as while the ambiance is nothing short of a cafeteria for hot chocolate, they serve up damned delicious hot chocolate. Oh and you better get that with a side of hot churros (xurros in Catalan) or it won't be fully authentic. When it's cold outside, there's nothing better and watching the guy behind the counter slam out one liberally slathered chocolate with whipped cream after another is hypnotizing. If you don't believe me, take a look below and imagine being surrounded by those and churros. You are now allowed to hate me a little while I spend my last week in Spain for the holidays.

08 01 2009      0 comments

Tags: customs, food, spain

Why the Three Kings Bitchslap Santa Claus

Okay, for starters with the Three Kings, you've got two centuries of history on the side of the Three Kings. Santa Claus has about 400 years of history; kind of. Advantage: Three Kings

The Three Kings are an ethnically diverse group that even include a black king. Santa is just some old farsighted white dude. Advantage: Three Kings

The Three Kings knew the young Jesus prior to all that crown of thorns torment. Santa only knows if you've been naughty or nice. Super Advantage: Three Kings

The Three Kings have a variety of gifts, but one of which unfortunately includes myrrh (MP-LoB: "And thanks a lot for the gold and frankincense, er, but don't worry too much about the myrrh next time. All right?") and one can possibly be coal. Santa may also bring a variety of gifts, although one may include coal. Advantage: Draw

The Three Kings have three of them. Santa flies solo with just some reindeer as backup. Advantage: Three Kings

As you can see, when it comes to winter gift giving, the Three Kings are pretty much all that. I didn't really know about their whole thing until spending a Christmas in Spain. While Santa has made some corporate inroads in recent years, the Kings still blast loud and large during holiday time with huge processions in any town of reasonable size in Spain. Obviously, the bigger the town, the bigger the event.

I happened to see the arrival of the Three Kings in Girona. This town of about 100,000 people puts on a hell of a show. It appears that each town tries to have a gimmick when it comes to their arrival parade. In Girona's case, it's fire. So, they have all these fireworks, along with fire breathers going along the route. It's a good show, but I think that part is mainly for the adults as the kids could give a rip about anything except handing their letter of what they want to the Three Kings.

This is where the similarities to Santa Claus in the US start to pop up. The Three Kings are the guys who do all the gift delivering, except that instead of December 25th, they do it on the night of January 5th with the kids opening January 6th (obviously a smarter date as the Kings didn't pop in at the same time Mary was in labor and showed up later, but this doesn't work in the US for financial year-end receipts.) To let the Kings know what they want, the kids write letters to them. Unlike in the US where we mail these to the "North Pole", the kids of Spain learn early on to distrust their national postal system and have to hand deliver them when the Three Kings arrive on the night of the 5th. And damn, those kids are hyped up. Remember how kids are with all things Santa? Take that and multiply it by three. The worst part is that the parade is usually from about 6-8 at night, so all the kids have had a nice chocolate for merienda and are super pumped up on sugar. This girl sitting next to me in the parade ran in to the street at least 20 times to check if the Kings were coming so that she could hand them her letter.

So, the Kings come by and finish their procession, they arrive at the main town square, are welcomed by the mayor (or president of Catalonia as is the case in Barcelona), give a speech and then the kids go home to drive their parent crazy for the rest of the evening. Once they're finally asleep the parents put out the presents, the kids wake up super early in the morning (maybe at all of 7 here in Spain) and unwrap the gifts. So, while you can see it's a different tradition from the US, it shares a good number of things in common, except Santa and why should they have him when the Three Kings can beat his ass any day of the week.

06 01 2009      0 comments

Tags: customs, girona, spain

I Ate my 12 Grapes. Did you?

So, Happy New Year and welcome to 2009 in Hudin Land. It happens that Hudin Land has been temporarily moved outside the US for the holiday duration. This being the case, all of Hudinia celebrated New Year's in Spain, which meant having to painfully adapt to the rigorous Spanish customs. So, in addition to drinking, having dinner and staying up until midnight (very, very tough in Spain) all of Hudin had to eat 12 grapes at each of the 12 strokes of midnight on the clock in Puerta del Sol.

Next year, the custom of the 12 Grapes will be 100 years old and I was surprised to find that apparently they do it in Mexico and some places in the US with a strong Latino community as well. Also, unlike the caganer, this is a tradition celebrated across all of Spain. Everywhere, just before New Year's, you see all these little plastic cups or bags for sale with 12 grapes in them. I illustrate below with photo as I am wont to do at times.

For those thinking that this isn't a big deal, try eating one full grape with seeds every second. It ain't easy. If you don't eat the seeds, then there is no way you're going to keep up with the clock strokes. And no matter which way you go with it (seeds or not), grapes get really, really tannic in the mouth when you pack them in (part of the reason why wine is a craft). I managed to pull it off, but it was my first time and I had a real feeling of obligation to get it right despite the fact that after eating the New Year's dinner and drinking most of a bottle of wine, I was having a hard time getting all the grapes down. Anyways, full of grapes and grape seeds, I head forth in to 2009.

01 01 2009      0 comments

Tags: customs, spain, wine

Whack that Effin' Crap Log Kids!

Ah, caga tió. The fact that kids sit around and whack a log in Catalonia to get gifts should be an amusing thought to most. The fact that they call this log a 'crap log' only tips the hat to the beautiful, tradition of lovin' anything bowel-movement related in Catalonia.

Caga tió is a crafty and very stubborn creature, much like a certain dachshund I know. Because of this, you have to really prime him for Christmas crapping. First you wrap him in a little blanket. He is from the forest and should be able to stand the elements, but a blanket only helps him in crapping. Then, you feed him for a couple of days before the big event. You need to feed him to make sure that craps properly. This entails leaving out something every night for the bugger, which in turn means that it should be something the father likes as he ends up having to eat it. If the tió were in my hometown, this would mean a beautiful assortment of Wild Turkey Whiskey, corn dogs, and meth, which oddly enough would result in a constipated log, but we're getting away from the true meaning of the crap log here.

The big day arrives and so do the kids with their sticks. This brings about such wonderful songs as, "crap log, crap turró, hazelnuts and cottage cheese, if you don't crap well, I'll hit you with a stick, crap log!" Of course the log does nothing, a beating occurs and then it is up to crafty parents as to how to get presents to "crap". In #1 Fan's case this involved the stick needing to be "wet" and so the kids would go out to the kitchen, water it a bit and come back to find gifts. If should be known that these are small gifts that the log craps. Not even the silliest of child would expect a bicycle to come out of something so small.

Crafty children (see above) also came up with the idea that maybe upon finding the log in the off season, in the garage (caga tió's other home once emancipated from the forest) that they could hit him then and get some gifts. Naturally, tió gave nothing and since they couldn't tell their parents about it, they had to live in fear for months that once Christmas arrived a crapping log they would not have.

Of course, again, this is a tradition that is dying out a bit, which is a shame as it's solely Catalan. A large influx of immigrants don't really pick it up at all except when it comes to hitting the large caga tió they erect in the center of towns to crap out freebies for the kids. When that happens the charnegos absolutely love the tió. But, this is only one small part of why it is dying. The other is the fact that corporations really only want one holiday to sell for, which is namely American Christmas. They're doing everything they can to get a region to adopt Santa Claus which didn't even exist here a few scant years ago. It's quite sad really and it's one of the many reasons I'd love to see global trade collapse and get reformed in a way that's tenable to local customs and economies. Needless to say, whenever the day arrives that I have kids, they will definitely be smacking the gifting crap out of our log.

25 12 2008      0 comments

Tags: catalonia, customs, spain

The 2008 Caganers are in

For most, seeing a guy taking a dump in the corner of their Nativity Scene would be a bit less than appealing. For the people of Catalonia, it's a 200+ year-old tradition. The caganer (literally, the defecator) is a little figure that is crouched, taking a crap with a large poo below him. Dating back to days of a heavily agrarian society, he was seen as a sign of fertility for the coming year and was thus incorporated in to Christmas tradition.

Now, much like the caga tió (the "crapping log") and Diada de Sant Jordi, the caganer has gotten to be one of those little items that is thoroughly Catalan and highly loved by the folks living in Northeastern Spain.

While there has been an influx over the last few years of those from other parts of Spain, these 'charnegos' have not really taken to Catalan traditions despite being part of life where these immigrants decided to go for a better life. That said, it seems that a number of things are dying off slightly in favor of such crap as Santa or whatever other unholy corporate plan spreads throughout the land.

So, in the interest of preserving tradition, I give a caganer gallery to show the glory of these little buggers. Obviously this year the big crapper was Obama caganer. I saw a number of people "going Barack". Bush was naturally not to be seen anywhere since he is thankfully on his way out and no one wants a caganer from politicians of yore. One caganer that you'll never official see is one of the king as it is illegal to defame images of the king in Spain.

24 12 2008      0 comments

Tags: catalonia, customs, spain

Won't Somebody Please Think of the Panellets?!!

With all the election business, we forgot about what really matters: celebrations with food. November 1st has come and passed and for those following Catalan ways, that means it was All Saints Day and Panellets. Celebrations of All Saints vary wildly from region to region, but in Catalonia, it means that you start out with a bit of Cava and then eat some delicious sweets with a bit of dessert wine. Naturally you do this with friends and you only eat these sweets on this day.

Panellets (or 'little breads' in Catalan) are little tasty little buggers. The most common being one comprised of a mix of marzipan and yam on the inside with pine nuts on the outside. If you were to compare them to anything else, you'd have a hard time other than to say, "cookies" which would really be completely wrong. They're not sickeningly sweet and they are each unique in flavor. For those wishing to sin and eat them outside the 1st of November, you can usually pick the up at Caelum in Barcelona. Outside of that location, I'm rather lost. Not even Hipster Central (yelp) is of any help in this case. So, if you've had them, consider yourself one of the lucky ones.

05 11 2008      0 comments

Tags: catalonia, customs, food

When the Paella Hits the Park

For those who didn't know, today was Spanish National Day or what we usually refer to as "Columbus Day" and/or [ergh...] "Indigenous Peoples' Day" in the US. I can't really think of too much that is that amazing for this day and usually just knew that San Francisco was hosed traffic-wise due to the Columbus Day Parade. I've now found out that the Spaniards of the area get together at a park, mingle, drink a little, and cook paella like crazy. It seems that each group of folks time their paella to be done at a different moment, so everyone can rotate around and sample them. People also bring tortillas (again, Spanish, not Mexican and not a fritata) to sample as well. It's a pretty mellow way to spend the day in Sunnyvale and kick my Spanish ability in the ass a bit. My only regret is that it is indeed in Sunnyvale, which is a bit of a trek from San Francisco, although a tasty paella can make it worth the while. I guess that if they did do it in SF, the freeloader ratio would get pretty out of control and the naked yoga guy might show up, which is something you really, really don't want to have anywhere near your paella.

11 10 2008      0 comments

Tags: customs, food, spain