On Running

Spain, Hemingway, and Escapism

“Olee ole ole ole, Oleeeeee Oleeeee”

“Vamos Campeones! Ya habéis hecho la peor parte!”

The shouts and cheers of the crowd grew deafening as we turned a corner onto the Plaza de Santa María, and approached the towering Catedral de Jaén. The darkness we had been running through for the previous kilometer or so was suddenly illuminated by Christmas lights lining the buildings of the plaza and spotlights reflecting off of the cathedral. I felt like a football star as I cupped my hand to my ear and the rows of Andalusian families lining the streets roared louder in our support. Fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters, wrapped in their winter coats and scarves, holding burning torches or outstretched hands for high fives, screaming into the fire-lit streets. I could see them searching our crowd of runners for their loved ones yet they smiled and waved and cheered for me too. 

It was January 18, and I was halfway through the Carrera Popular 10km race at the Noche de San Antón in Jaén, Spain. As the story goes, the festival started in the 13th century to celebrate the olive farms. Jaén is considered the capital of the world in olive oil production (Spain produces almost 3 times more olive oil than Italy), and all around the city one can see olive groves covering the rolling hills. 

As we crossed the plaza I realized that with about 3km left I didn’t feel tired at all. In fact if anything I felt more alive and energized than ever. I started running faster, with each new hit of adrenaline and the knowledge that the finish line was approaching. I didn’t want this dream to end. I looked over my shoulder and found Lars, my roommate, behind me in the sea of black jerseys. With a quick look we both decided to increase our pace, and started weaving through the throngs of runners ahead of us. As the course started downhill, we could feel the energy in the air change from celebratory to a quiet intensity. The final kilometer, and final hill, was coming up. Then someone shouted our names from the crowd. I turned around and saw our friends; Sam, Lauren, and Georgia cheering us on! 

As we made our way up the last hill towards the finish line, a distant white banner stretching across the three lane boulevard, I broke into an all out sprint. Lars shouted encouragement but I was too out of breath to respond. The dream was almost over, and I didn’t want to leave any space for thoughts about what might come next.

The Lost Generation

Since moving to Spain last September, I’ve started re-reading an old classic; The Sun Also Rises, Hemingway’s tale of expats living in Paris during the 1920s, who decide to take a trip to Pamplona to see the Fiestas, escaping the emotional scars and disillusionment of their post-war lives. 

Coined the ‘Lost Generation’ by Gertrude Stein, the people who grew up and participated in The Great War were uniquely overwhelmed and deflated by the carnage they had experienced and the technological and social changes that followed WWI into the 20s. The deadliest war ever fought (up to that point) had just taken place, and no one back at home really seemed to care. Then, as if there hadn’t been enough death, the “Great Influenza” broke out and killed tens of millions worldwide over two years. 

The optimism of the new century and purpose of fighting for god, country, and glory had been devoured by pointless mass killing, and replaced by political disillusionment and loss of trust in institutions the world over. 

And for that reason, Hemingway and many of his friends lived the expat life in Europe and tried to forget about the pointlessness of even trying to contribute towards a better world in the new post-war era.

Reading The Sun Also Rises 100 years later, I’m haunted by the escapism showcased in Hemingway’s writing. While a far cry from the 1920s, the last decade has felt overwhelmingly soul-crushing at times. And for me, traveling around the world and living in Spain as an expat has been an opportunity to run away from that reality. 

My Expat Life: Córdoba

Here in Córdoba, I've been incredibly fortunate to build a community of Spanish and local expat friends within and outside of my job as an Auxiliare de Conversación / Teaching Assistant. My coworkers are lovely people, I take salsa/bachata and Spanish night classes with a mix of foreigners and locals alike, and to cap it off I'm lucky enough to be part of a group of English teachers and masters students who regularly meet up for activities. My life here feels weirdly similar to freshman/sophomore year at Kenyon; plenty of new friends, activities every weekend, and meaningful and thought-provoking work in a beautiful place (the weather here is a step above Eastern Ohio)!

I work in a small pueblo outside of Córdoba called Posadas, assisting with History, Music, Biology, Math, and P.E. classes in 1-4 ESO (6-9th grade). It's been an amazing experience so far and I plan to write more about it soon, so stay tuned!

Part of me wishes all this could last forever, but the reality is my contract (and visa) will be ending at the end of May. Many of my friends here, local and expat, will be going to other places as well (queue Rivers and Roads by the Head and the Heart), so even if I stayed in Córdoba next year many things would be different. I'm heading for big changes once again!

One of my frustrations with life on the road last year was that the nomadic nature of the lifestyle made it very difficult to form and sustain deep friendships. Life in Spain has been similar experience but drawn out over the course of a year and sometimes I wonder if I can continue crafting friendships with people I know I will shortly part ways with. The more time I spend abroad, the more I crave stability.

Moreover, while my Spanish has improved and Córdoba feels like a second home, I still feel like I'm traveling, because I'm still from another place: the glorious USA.

Staying or Leaving?

Recently my friend Hassan asked me if I was planning to go home or spend another year in Spain. Hassan is from Palestine and we met through the expat community here.

“I don’t know” I said. 

“I love the lifestyle and community I have here, but ultimately this is a temporary situation. I long for the chance to build a more lasting community of friends and family back home. Yet when I think concretely about going home I also get this sinking, sad feeling.”

“Yes, I feel the same,” Hassan replied.

“I can stay in Spain and perhaps get a good paying job here, but I will miss my family. Or I can go back home and see my family after many years. But if I leave Spain I permanently I lose my visa and re-applying to work in the E.U. with a Palestinian passport is very difficult. Plus the economic situation back home is very bad, and could well get worse.... it seems we both have big decisions to make.”

I wasn’t sure whether to agree or tell him that nothing about our situations are the same. Or express my apologies for everything my country has done to perpetuate the colonization and destruction of his home. 

But instead we connected about just how powerless we feel to change the vastly different but frustrating political situations in our countries. We even laugh about it these days and frequently make jokes between impromptu Spanish practice and Arabic lessons. 

So much looks to be moving faster and faster towards hell every day, and escaping is merely a temporary distraction from the things I don't like about my home. Then again I'm lucky to be in a position where I have escape options, as well as a home that is safe to return to.

For better and for worse my identity as an American follows me wherever I go.

And like Hemingway’s characters, I can’t help but feel stuck between two worlds, each offering unique frustrations and opportunities. I find myself living in a moment of escape, the question is, which world am I craving an escape from?

The Sweet Escape

I don’t know where I’ll be in 6 months, but I do know I’m going to make the most of escaping a bit more until summertime. And that means taking full advantage of the beautiful moments I get to experience here and now.

Like an afternoon in the Plaza de Corredera sipping chilled alhambra beer and discussing teaching pedagogy in Spanglish. Salsa classes at Xanadu with Christina, Jhon, and Ivonne every Monday night. Cafe con leche and a media tostada con tomate with coworkers in the school cafeteria and being 5 minutes late for class because María was explaining how in Fuengirola they eat their tostadas with salt, chocolate spread, and olive oil. Pádel with Féderico and games of ‘Gatitos Explosivos’ with Javi and Petra. Noisy games of geoguessr and board race with 1st ESO A, B, and C. Eating flamenquín and patatas bravas with cañitas in a historic patio with Blanca, Juan, and Nacho. Night classes with Ricardo and making jokes on the walk home with Bajar. 1 hour train trips to Sevilla, and movie nights with Lars. Cambio with Sam and Lauren, and playing fútbol with the 1st ESO B class every other Friday. Late nights dancing at Sala Ritmo and pretending to know how to Kizomba with Isa.

And racing my first 10k through the streets of Jaén, spurred on by the crowd, sprinting toward the finish.