San Sebastián & Lamp Posts
So I’m on a beach. Honestly, I like that hook better than my melodramas from London and France. I’m in freakin Spain! Let me tell you one thing. It will take yet another week of Spanish joy to reclaim my self esteem from all the French glares. People told me that the French tend to dislike Americans, or pretty much anything non-French, and I wouldn’t say that’s a lie. I absolutely love the language and culture, but it would take a lifetime to feel a mutual interest. But they have crème brûlée, croissants, and wine so I get it.
I initially planned on heading straight to Barcelona but decided to push it off for two days in Donostia/San Sebástian after hearing people scream about it the moment I stepped foot on this continent. Upon my Flixbus arrival, I immediately understood why. As the glamorous chariot with a confusing smell dropped us off across the main bridge into city center, I felt a sudden mist behind my eyes. The lampposts, of all things, made my jaw drop and put all other decorative light sources to shame. They’re all huge and magnificent and charming, covered with intricate designs in white and gold. The lamp part of the post curves into a classic milky bulb in the most unnecessary and delightful way. When they flicker on as the sun falls behind the sea, it takes everything not to scream and cry with aesthetically pleased delight.
Also, arches. Arches everywhere. And big ones too. And domes. Europe loves the curves. Seeing this authentic, ancient style and design tendency makes me nauseous thinking about the American design world’s obsession with “Spanish Modern”. That phrase is disgustingly generalized and overused. Someone will add a patterned tile, some terracotta, and an arch and claim a “Spanish Modern” style. I love the idea as much as anyone else, but seeing the styles in their truest, oldest form is breathtaking. American so often mimics something from somewhere else. Seeing these styles and cultures in person, in their place of origin, makes me appreciate them in a deeper and more authentic way, a quality America often lacks.
Living for over a week speaking with no more than four Americans, I only now realize how inauthentic and sarcastic the US can be. So much meme humor, so wordy. So much unnecessary fluff. Speaking with a magical woman from Japan made that even more apparent. Discussing our languages, I kept comparing different phrases in English and Japanese, even something like “how are you”, and she said, “we don’t”. The closest comparison would be a quick nod. I much prefer a nod over “how are you, good how are you, good thanks, cool, how are the kids, pretty good, okay great I’ll see you at the PTA meeting”. So many long complicated phrases in English can be summed up in a single word in many languages. I also find Americans, in their sarcastic humor, can often be so self deprecating, especially those from my generation. So many people I’ve met have been so open and excited to share their journeys and dreams, but when you ask a generic American something personal, it’s usually covered with jokes, minimizing the truth, and hiding behind trying to not care too much. I think the average American, including myself, could afford to speak their mind more openly and genuinely, to authentically and fully express themselves. Okay now I’m done bashing America and France. I swear I love you both.
As for Spain and San Sebástian, you’re delightful and might be my most delightful choice so far. I will never forget the view from Monte Igueldo, freezing sunset swims, magical pintxos, daily Spanish lessons, and a txakoli cheers in four languages with some iconic hostel-mates. Eskerrik Asko, San Sebástian.