One of the things I was worried about after making the move to Spain was integrating myself into the community. My previous trips have always been for two to four weeks. So, I have been particularly interested in measuring my progress from week to week. It’s been difficult to measure, so I mainly go off of gut feeling: how many days in a row do I feel like I understand what is being said, how many dirty looks do I receive on the metro, how often have I felt like an accepted member of the community, etc.
True, I don’t really physically appear Spanish, but, since I’m NOT Spanish, that makes perfect sense. The language barrier continues to become less of an obstacle, though it’s a slow process. It’s easy to become frustrated, because just when I’m thinking I’m understanding what’s going on in a conversation, I blink, and in an instant, I don’t have the slightest idea as to what’s happening. A friend of mine in Dallas used to say that sometimes, after a full day of speaking and listening in English, her second language, she would just be wiped out, and wanted to speak in Spanish. I have a much better understanding of this after a few months immersed in Spanish. Some days my head hurts so much that I collapse in exhaustion, unable to think or speak in any language.
Then I go to sleep, wake up the next morning, and do it all over again.
Now, I made the decision to come to Spain, of course, and arrived expecting plenty of challenges, including countless obstacles with the language, and to a certain extent, some difficulties feeling accepted as part of community.
Besides staying pretty involved at Casa Americana, the cultural center where I teach, I have allowed my sister to talk me into attending some rehearsals with the community choir of Alboraya’s music society. “It’s a good bunch of people, it’s fun, and you’ll be able to stay close to music.” As usual, she was right, and I found myself looking forward to rehearsals each week. Besides the mere social gathering, the choir was preparing for an upcoming concert in El Palau de Musica; we had been invited to join another choir along with an orchestra in singing Vivaldi’s Gloria.
As I mentioned in a previous write up, this is not the time to let opportunity slip by. Singing with an orchestra in a really nice music hall? How could I pass that up? My only previous experience like that was when I got to accompany Joe Jackson in a show in the London Palladium, but since that actually only happened in my dreams…
Besides the music hall experience, we were going to sing in Latin, so it’s not as if I really had to understand Spanish in order to sing the piece.
So, through April, we met two to three times a week for choir rehearsals. Frequently, I would hammer out the bass part on the piano for our section; my sister was doing the same for the altos. Rehearsals were fairly interesting. Most of the time, they were conducted in Valenciano, which I really don’t understand at all. It’s one thing when you’re quietly sitting on the back row of the choir, but when you’re with seven other guys trying to learn a really complicated section of music, look out. I appreciated the fact that our section leader (who knows the music well and was able to direct us…he simply needed me to play the notes on the piano as he recognized that I played better) was most patient with me as he asked for several phrases and strings to be replayed over and over. Never mind the music scale in Spanish goes “Do, re, mi, fa, so, la, si do,”.
Once, he kept saying, “mi, mi, mi,” and I failed to realize that he was asking me to play the note E. (In English music theory, we learned the scale by letters; C, D, E, F, G, A, B, and C). Furthermore, I didn’t quite know the word for “measure” in Spanish (or in Valenciano). Some nights I didn’t know if I was helping or hurting the group.
Just when I was thinking I should leave the piano plunking to someone else, several guys thanked me profusely for helping them to learn their part. It felt good to be appreciated.
Choir practice usually runs from 10pm to midnight. After a few hours teaching English, singing for a few hours wasn’t always at the top of my list of what I felt like doing. But, I kept showing up at rehearsals, and found a little time to practice at home, too.
I was starting to get a bit worried as we neared the end of April. Gloria is a rather complicated piece, and most of the choir doesn’t read music. Thus, they have to learn by hearing the part over and over again (thus the significance of me playing the bass line repeatedly for my section). The only problem with this was when we tried to join all the parts together: sopranos, altos, tenors, and bases. The words train wreck came to mind once or twice as we tried to sync up. However, we were meeting a lot, and I felt that we might have a chance of pulling it together in time for the concert.
Outside of choir, I finished up April, and then spent a few crazy days taking care of my nephew. My parents helped, too. Probably a not so relaxing way to spend the final days of their visit, but Lynne was in Barcelona and Fran was in Madrid. So, the three of us rallied, and Lynne and Fran returned at the weekend to discover their child was intact.
Sunday, the 8th of May was Mother’s Day in Spain. We celebrated by having one last family dinner, then my parents hit the airport and returned to the states. It was an interesting departure. I was sad to see my folks go, but was ready for a bit of a break. (uh, my sister and brother in law are probably saying that same thing right about now, after I’ve camped in their house for 3 months). At any rate, I think the past three months finally caught up with me by the second week of May.
One of the observations I have made after living in Spain for three months was that there are moments where you might not feel as welcome as you might like. It’s not as if people are running around telling you to get out of their country, but there’s a cold feeling you get from people. I experienced this same thing when I moved to Boston from Texas. As difficult as that move was at times, I ultimately preferred living in that area to living in the southwest.
I wasn’t freaking out or anything, but did mention my observation to a couple of people during coffee or intercambios. One girl, whose kid goes to the same school as Daniel, mentioned that she felt the same thing on a regular basis: it’s not an American thing. Nor was it only a Spanish thing. Basically, some cities, some regions, some areas of Spain (like in many other parts of the world) might appear a bit more closed to outsiders…non-natives, if you will. Let me be quick to say that I’m not judging Spain. Many cultures tend to be a bit more reserved and closed initially, then gradually become more accepting with time. As I mentioned before, I prefer the northeast to the southwest in the United States. Even with the close knit communities where you feel like a stranger, I feel a comfort level that is difficult to describe.
At any rate, I was experiencing a period where I was feeling a little distant from the rest of the community. Maybe I was having a letdown after my parents left. Maybe I was feeling a little short on music (I only have 50 cds over here). No sé.
Meanwhile, Arsenal finished their domestic season in style, completing a come from behind win to steal fourth place in the league, ensuring that they’d play European football in the next season. All this on the last day of the season, in their last ever match in Highbury stadium. Quite the emotional bit. And, they’ve still got a final to play against Barcelona, which has kept me up one or two nights recently.
Back to choir practice. We held rehearsals every night last week, with the exception of Monday. The concert was coming quickly, and we still had a lot of work to do.
I was feeling a bit out of sorts, but was making it to rehearsals, and enjoying myself, all things considered. I was still having some panicky moments about our progress, but I was beginning to think that we might just be able to pull it off. Maybe.
On Wednesday night, the 10th, I finished up my class, metroed to Alboraya, had a quick beer, then joined the rehearsal. Emotions were a bit tense, particularly from the director, who was kind of on the hook for having us prepared to sing this in the first place. Since there was no looking back, our choir was going to perform regardless of the fact of whether we knew the music or not. I was feeling pretty comfortable with my own ability; I’d been practicing at home, and pretty much knew the music. (note – true, I haven’t sung in a choir in 18 years, but I’ve stayed fairly close to music since that time (and yes, getting your ears blown out at a rock show DOES count). I’d argue that I can play piano better than I can sing, but I can also argue that I don’t sing like a complete dink. Part Shane McGowan, and part lead singer of Moenia. Unusual combination, I agree, but then again, I’m a bit unusual, raro.
So I’m minding my own business, singing in practice with the rest of the group, and I’m thinking a bit about the weird feeling I’d been having over the past week. Suddenly, the director stops us and makes a comment to the guy immediately to my right: “You’re singing too loud. Tone it down.” This other guy has been a bit odd from the get go, but here I am, an American, singing in the community choir of Alboraya, Spain. I’m not thinking it’s my place to start passing judgement.
The next thing I know, this guy, who just got dinged by the director, takes a pot shot at me, and responded to the director that I basically wasn’t contributing. In short, I immediately felt the guy had thrown me under a bus. It was the kind of comment that was beyond inappropriate…to me, it was as if the guy had stood up in the middle of a bar mitzvah and announced that all Jewish people were crap.
There was a moment of awkward silence in the rehearsal room as people realized that the comment had been directed at me. I was shocked, bewildered, and hurt. (additional note – in my previous choral experience, I’d always understood the objective to be that all voices combined as one; it’s important that no one voice stand out.) I was concentrating on hitting the proper notes (the other guy has a tendency to get off key on a regular basis), and immediately took offense to his remarks. However, I’m not one to stand up and make a scene, particularly when I’m new to the culture, the country, and the language.
My mind raced during the remainder of the choir practice. I got more and more angry, more and more hurt, and immediately left the room as the rehearsal came to a close. I smoked three cigarettes in succession outside as I tried to get my composure back. How come the director didn’t thump the guy for speaking out of turn? How come the rest of my section didn’t stand up and flog the guy?
One or two folks smiled a few encouraging words to me as they left rehearsals, but I didn’t feel much better…I was still too shocked.
My sister came out, we had a few words with some of the other choir members about the fact that the other guy was out of order, and then we went home.
I didn’t sleep well that night. I kept thinking that I was the displaced person, and had no business singing in this choir. Furthermore, I allowed myself a moment to wonder if I had any business staying in the country. Perhaps I was making a big deal out of nothing, but with the recent emotions I had been feeling, I wasn’t prepared to just blow this off as a minor incident.
I spent Thursday trying to decide if I should go ahead and leave the choir, allowing for the rest of the group to sing. I didn’t want to completely beat the crap out of the guy, but I’m certainly not feeling inclined to wish him well on his Saint’s Day.
Because I’d been a bit quiet Wednesday night and Thursday, my sister assumed that I’d just blown the comments off. She was a bit surprised when I quietly said that I’d decided to sit out rehearsals on Thursday night, and was likely going to sit out Friday night and the concert, too. We talked about it a little more, and I was glad that she elected not to pressure me too much about my decision, choosing instead to let me collect my own thoughts.
I didn’t have classes Thursday night, and instead spent a few hours getting loopy in Finnegan’s. I wondered if I had made the right decision to drop out of choir. I wondered if I had blown the whole thing out of proportion, and allowed my emotions to get the better of me. I looked forward to a quiet night at home with my brother in law as I stumbled home from the metro to dinner.
I arrived home as my sister was leaving the house for choir. “There’s still time to go,” she said as she collected her music and keys. “Nope. I need a bit of time, okay?” I replied.
Fran and I were chatting in the kitchen about his new mobile phone when the landline rang: a choir member was calling to speak with me. She gave me the full court press, and indicated that she was speaking on behalf of the entire choir. I said I needed a bit of time to think things through, but appreciated her call.
I slept a bit better that night, mostly on account that I had consumed so many pints.
Friday morning, I got up before Lynne took Daniel to school. She mentioned that my absence from practice the previous evening had raised an uproar; the choir discussed it for thirty minutes, and I think the entire alto section threatened to come over and kidnap me from home and take me back to choir. Everyone was truly sorry that the incident happened, and also that I felt so hurt about it. My sister was sent home with countless messages from choir members asking that I please come back to the next rehearsal. The director made an additional apology that he fully intended to have a word with the other guy, as this type of incident couldn’t be tolerated.
While I would have preferred that all of this had simply passed by quietly, I was quite touched by the reaction of the choir members, and thought about it during the rest of the morning.
At lunchtime, another choir member phoned to see how I was doing…and to ask that I please come that evening to practice; they needed me there, and they wanted me there.
One of the exercises I do with my students is to have them fill out the “getting to know you” questionnaire that floated around the email circles several years ago. In it are several questions like, “do you prefer to sleep with one pillow or two?” or “do you like pizza more than lasagne?” and stuff like that. One of my favorite questions is, “Have you ever gone out of your way to befriend someone?” If the student doesn’t understand the question, I explain that the question is basically, “do you ever try to make someone feel more welcome?”
The question has always interested me because I’m intrigued by human nature. I know plenty of Spaniards that have gone out of their way to make me feel welcome here. I now know many more.
Friday night, I met up with Lynne and a few others to have some quick tapas, then we headed to the music society to rehearse. Upon my arrival, I was overwhelmed as all the choir members came up to give me hugs, kisses, handshakes, etc. So much for a quiet return to the show, eh.
One of the more active choir members presented me with a letter on behalf of the choir expressing their interest in having me remain a member of the choir. The director personally reiterated the same thing.
Truly touched, I did turn supershy, and was ready to get on with things, particularly the rehearsal. It was time to put the incidents and events of the week behind me. We had a concert in two days time.
We practiced with the orchestra that evening, and though I was glad to be back with everyone, I was a bit nervous about our ability. Things didn’t seem to be coming together. I also wondered where the other guy happened to be; he wasn’t in practice.
It was past midnight when we finished rehearsals, and we were a ways from being ready for primetime. But, we would meet on Sunday afternoon before that evening’s concert….needing a little luck. I found out on the way home that my little buddy had gotten himself a four week vacation from singing in the choir.
A few of us went for late coffees and ice creams, and Lynne and I got home around 2 or so. Even with an espresso, I was asleep as soon as I hit the pillow. It had been an emotional week and I was drained.
Saturday was pretty relaxing, and a pretty good Bryan day. After a little family time during the first half of the day, I hit Finnegan’s to watch the FA Cup Final. I haven’t missed one of these in at least 10 years, but this is the first one I’ve watched from Europe. The rest of the times have been in the Dubliner, at 9am in the morning.
I thought happily of those good times as I watched Liverpool and West Ham. I didn’t have a particular team I wanted to support in this particular match, but did want to see a good game. I was fortunate, because this game was even better than last year’s Arsenal-Man U final. Finnegan’s was packed, and I found myself powering through ciders at an alarming pace. One of the barmaids gave me a concerned glance as the game went to extra time. I was holding my own, though knew that I’d have to be sure not to fall asleep on the metro on the way home, cos´ I was well on my way to being hammered (excuse the W Ham pun).
I had a nice conversation with an Englishman who had lived in the area for three years or so. He was pretty drunk himself, and finally said farewell as Liverpool stopped the final penalty and won the cup.
Finnegan’s cleared out pretty quickly, and I stayed behind and drank a couple of Corona’s, just for old times sake, and also to soak up some of the sweetness that a handful of ciders tends to leave.
I slept very late on Sunday, allowing for the alcohol to leave my system, and allowing for some much needed rest. Lynne and I spent a little time practicing, then got ready to meet the choir to travel to the Palau.
It was a warm day, so once again, I carried my dress shirt and coat separately. I would put them on before we went on stage.
The Palau overlooks the riverbed that runs through Valencia. It’s a beautiful building surrounded by nice fountains, but I was a bit surprised to find that the auditorium itself was rather small. I was delighted to find the acoustics excellent. We were going to be singing with a second choir, similar in size to ours. However, this was really our first time to sing with them, which made for some rather frantic moments some two hours before we were to perform the real deal.
I suited up, and one fellow smoker and I went outside (through the emergency exit) for a quick smoke, which turned quicker as the security guy came to tell us that we weren’t allowed to do that.
Back inside to find our places for the performance, and at 7.45pm, we were all waiting in the stairwell off-stage for our big moment. I took the time to get warmer and warmer, and then unfortunately allowed myself to remember all the previous times that I’ve been singing on stage in a choir and have passed out cold. Three times in my life. Besides that, I’ve passed out two other times, both at church related functions (though you need not assume that this is the reason for why I don’t attend church on a regular basis). So, I’m sweaty, thinking bad things, and getting that little panic going, and then it’s time.
Out on to stage we go into a packed house. I had just convinced myself that, after an entire choir had just gone out of their way to welcome me into their community, the least I could do would be to remain vertical for the duration of Gloria. Vivaldi fans will know that this is a 30 minute deal, so this was not going to be as easy as just a couple musical numbers.
The orchestra started, the director was zipping along, and BAM.
“Gloria! Gloria!” we sang, yours truly included (vertically upright).
A bit of sweat, a few wrong notes, and half an hour later, we finished our last “Amen.”
The audience went nuts with applause, and seemed truly appreciative.
Five minutes later, I’m outside trying to cool off and smoke a couple of cigarettes in record time.
Handshakes with the director, pats on the back to other choir members, we congratulated ourselves on completing the task at hand. My sister and I later agreed that we probably needed a few more rehearsals (like a month), but we can be overly critical of ourselves, as we know the music that we were singing. It’s a necessary part of performing, I think, to acknowledge where one might have done better. However, it’s equally important to appreciate the fact that people enjoyed the performance so much, having no idea that any mistakes were even made.
So with great relief, I finished a pretty tough week doing something pretty cool.
Personal crisis abated, its time to look forward. I’ve got tons of Spanish to learn, and I’ve got a new student who has a huge project due in about 8 weeks. I’ve just got to take things one step at a time, and take it as it comes. Sobre la marcha, as the saying goes here.
Arsenal-Barcelona on Wednesday. The Champs League Final. So much for an emotionless week.
keep the faith
bryan
15/5/06
No comments:
Post a Comment