My First WorkAway Experience

I had a WorkAway adventure over Christmas break! WorkAway is similar to WWOOF or HelpX.  It's a program where you do a few hours of work each day in exchange for room and board.  It can range in anything from farming to babysitting to construction to hostel work.  You create a profile on their website with some information about yourself and you send messages to the hosts that you're interested in working for.  I chose a horse farm out in the middle of nowhere in the province of Tarragona in Catalunya.  I was there from December 23 to January 5.  It was a great experience!



The village of Xerta

The town was the quintessential Spanish pueblo.  According to Wikipedia it had about 1,200 residents, but it seemed like there were less than that! There were barely any cars on the road and everyone spoke Catalan instead of Castellano.  One of the things I noticed was that when I spoke to them in Castellano they easily switched over and responded in the same language.  I've had a few experiences in Barcelona where they continue speaking in Catalan even though they know you can't understand.  

I had the morning shift with the horses, so I would wake up early and ride a bike through the village to get to the farm.  The 5 volunteers all stayed in a 2-bedroom apartment in the village and we could either walk, ride, or drive to the farm in about 5 minutes.  The morning bike rides were the best.  The town was sleeping, the sun was rising, the bakeries were opening, and I would see maybe 2 or 3 people maximum on my way to the farm.  Working in the early morning with the horses was nice because everything was quiet, our boss was still in her trailer, and I could go about my business in peace.

There was lots to do on the farm; making hay nets, cleaning out stalls, cleaning out paddocks, grooming horses, working with horses, construction, and one of the jobs that I was given....being a kind of P.A. for our boss. 

Gypsy enjoying our smelly farm shoes

With WorkAway, both parties are taking a risk.  The volunteers have to trust that the host will be normal and a good "employer" and the hosts have to trust that the volunteers will be hardworking and good people.  It's hit or miss, but it really is what you make of it.  I had a great time with the other volunteers, and having the volunteer apartment was really a luxury.  There are lots of WorkAway hosts who can't afford to give the volunteers their own private apartment and three full meals every day.  Because we had the apartment and a little bit of independence, we had lots of fun in our down time.  We had Christmas dinner together, celebrated New Year's Eve in a nearby town, and even went on a day trip to the beach and a mini-adventure into the mountains.  We even had a pet to complete our weirdly dysfunctional family, our neighbor's cat who essentially lived in our apartment.  He had been named Gypsy by previous WorkAwayers and was slightly psychotic.

I finish teaching in about a month and will be working this summer with Rustic Pathways in Spain.  In August and September, I'll be travelling all around the U.S. visiting friends and family.  Once October rolls around though, I will probably be looking into some more WorkAway opportunities that will get me down to Central America....and I'm sure there will be many more adventures to come!!!   

Just kidding! 3 years down, 9 months to go!

Oh how quickly things change.  Two months ago, I thought I had my genius "5 year Spain plan" all figured out.  I was turning a blind eye to all the little things that have slowly been building up over the past few years.  I had been suspecting for a while that I was staying in Spain for all the wrong reasons, and it took just one bad week at work to open my eyes and put the final nail in the coffin. 

When I was in college, one of the things that got me through was the knowledge that after graduation I would have the absolute freedom to do whatever made me happy.  To me, that meant leaving the U.S. and moving somewhere where they spoke Spanish.  The reason I fell in love with Spain so quickly was because any country was preferable to the U.S. after my high school and college experience.  Spain has been a great place to live for the past few years, but it's time to move on and try another country.   I know that no one place will be an absolute perfect fit, but I have to go out and see if there's something better than this.  At the moment, Honduras is the front runner for my 2014 destination.  You could say that my wanderlust has been pretty dormant the past few years, and it's kicking in once again.

However, the main reason I'm leaving is a cultural issue.  I really do love Spain, but I will never be able to function in their educational system.  Staying here and getting a Masters would be pointless because I would be frustrated, stressed, and miserable being a teacher here.  I invest too much of myself into the kids, and when I care more about their education than they do, the frustration (on my part) just builds and builds and builds.  I can't do my job if they don't do theirs...and I refuse to become a jaded teacher.  And yes, I know "running away" is possibly just as bad as becoming jaded, but for the sake of my mental health, it's the right choice right now.  I've always known that the reason I am so in love with my seniors is NOT because we're so close in age...it's because they're in their last year of school and finally working hard because college is just around the corner.  Their mentalities are different from the 7th-11th graders and that makes our classes go so smoothly that we are able to have tons of fun while doing the activities.  I really do love my other kids, but I can't get over the fact that 0 out of 28 kids doing the homework is the norm for an 11th grade class...or that 2 out of 29 kids PASSING a unit exam is nothing to bat an eyelash at.  I love them as people, but in an educational setting we just aren't compatible.

Now that I know that this is my last year (and really don't care if I have to leave early due to an increasingly unbearable relationship with one of my co-teachers) I have a new sense of freedom.  I don't care what anyone thinks or says, and I'm going to make the most of the time I have left with my kids.  I went out with some of them last week, and for Thanksgiving I'm inviting them over to my place to make pumpkin pie.  I'm accepting every single Facebook friend request that comes my way, hanging out with them at recess and in the hallways, and walking to and from the train with any kid who asks. 

So, Spain, I'm breaking up with you.  It's not you, it's me.  I can't change an entire country's mentality, so peace out.  I'm basically just following the advice of the serenity prayer: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference." And I sure as hell have the "wisdom" to know that I'm fighting a losing battle here.

3 years down, 2 more to go!

This week marks my 3 year anniversary with Spain!!!! I am 100% positive that this will be my last year as an "auxiliar" because I'm applying to do a Masters in 2014-2015.  Then, I'm headed to Latin America!  For now, I will just bask in the wondrousness that is Madrid.

January 2013

Ana Botella and some predictions about Spain's future bilingualism!

Last Saturday, our housewarming party coincided with the announcements for the 2020 Olympic bids.  Tokyo, Istanbul, and Madrid were all in the running, and Madrid was the first city eliminated (as expected).  We didn't even wait to hear the final results.  Eventually, I found out that Tokyo was chosen.  The one thing from that day that hasn't gone away though is the now infamous speech in "English" from Madrid's mayor, Ana Botella.  It's gone viral in Spain, but I doubt any of my family and friends in the United States or elsewhere have seen it.  This article in the Wall Street Journal pretty much sums up what happened. 

The main things I've been hearing from Spaniards in the past week have been statements of astonishment/outrage/ridicule/embarrassment that their representative politician chose to speak in English knowing full well that her skills were not up to par, and in the days leading up to the final speech she would not wear an earpiece or use a translator.  They then typically proceed to ask for my opinion, and I usually say some generic Spanish remark that would equate to "Yeah....I know....Well, that's how it is......Hmmmm......I know."  But honestly, the speech didn't surprise me at all or even seem that bad.  The level of English here is not great, and after listening to it almost every day for the past 3 years, I've just become accustomed to it.  It's part of my everyday life.  I guess I've just become so accepting or numb to it that it doesn't even phase me anymore.  I can understand why Ana Botella's speech was a huge embarrassment for the Spanish population, but they really have no right to ridicule her because at least she tried (and most of them talk like her anyway).

I do have one theory on how Spain is going to catch up with bilingual countries like Germany.  The government program, the BEDA program, and all the other private companies that sub-contract us "natives" out to schools all over Spain have been running for about 5-10 years now.  I predict that in 20 years, Spain's level of English might actually have improved...not because of the educational enlightenment that we are providing, but rather the amount of English speakers that wind up marrying Spaniards and will eventually procreate in Spain.  There it is, maybe it was a breeding program all along!!!
 

Back for Year 4

Well, I have officially survived the long and sadly unemployed summer. I came back to Madrid on August 15. I've changed apartments, and I have the oh-so-lovely "formacion" at the BEDA offices on Thursday and Friday.

The new roommates and I had a housewarming party on Saturday to christen the new apartment, and with about 30 Spanish speakers and only 5 English speakers, my brain definitely reverted to this:

 

A Spanish graduation goes a little something like this

My seniors graduated on Thursday May 16.  The weird thing was that, although it had the finality and pomp and circumstance of an American high school graduation, the kids still came to school after the date for an occasional review session, make-up exam, or the school party in June! So basically, I got all emotional for nothing.

I showed up on Thursday evening and sat by myself on the right side of the auditorium.  I didn't want to take up seats in the middle for the parents, and I sure as heck wasn't going to sit on the left with the other teachers.  One of the juniors (who should have been graduating with this year's class) was passing out graduation programs, and she came over and told me, "Niki! You look so alone! Me and my friend are coming to sit with you!" She helped me through the ceremony because most of it was a mass, and I had no idea when to sit, stand, or kiss people.  The two us sat there like babies crying.  After the ceremony, we all took pictures in the auditorium and then went down to the cafeteria to eat and take more pictures.  I met a lot of parents, siblings, and family members, and soon enough the kids started asking me to come with them to the dinner they had organized at a restaurant downtown.  I really didn't want to bring the "awkward teacher" mood to their big night out, so I declined.  One of the girls got down on her knees in the middle of the cafeteria, begging me to come, so I finally said I would come to the "night out" portion.  I would meet them at 11-ish at the bar where we would be celebrating.

We all headed over to the train station.  I found out about a lot of relationships...and a lot of information about their sexual orientations that I really didn't need to know.  We took the train ride together and I held my ground about the "no dinner" thing.  I went home, changed into more appropriate "going out" clothes that I would never be caught dead in with the teachers at my school, and headed to the Campamento metro stop.  I was texting one of the girls to make sure I was in the right place, and then I saw one senior boy waiting at the metro with his girlfriend.  The three of us waited about 20 minutes before hearing the rest of the gaggle coming up the stairs, and we proceeded to do the slow clap as they had all shown up 25 minutes late.

We headed to the bar.  They had reserved the whole downstairs area and I actually had to show my ID.  The kids who were under 18 had their hands stamped, but it was just for appearance's sake.  Everyone was drinking, dancing, taking pictures, drunkenly telling me how great my class was, and singing at me every time I tried to sit down.  They all made their way outside by about 3:30 for some reason.  I don't know why, but the party almost always makes its way to the street in Madrid.  It's so safe here, so I never feel weird sitting outside at such a late hour.  Before I knew it, I was doing damage control, picking up shoes, reuniting people with lost friends, and just worrying about their safety in general.  I turned around at one point, and a group of the boys were smoking cigars, people were setting off firecrackers, and cops were slowly driving towards us. I knew I would have to find a cab home soon because I wasn't going to pull an all-nighter with them.  I hadn't seen a cab since we all met up at the metro stop, but I couldn't figure out how to get back to said metro stop, so when I saw a cab dropping someone off at a nearby apartment, I ran into the street with one of my girls and flagged it down like a crazy person.  Once I realized it was coming for me, I did my happy dance in the street. I had given so many hugs and kisses that day, I'm sure I somehow said goodbye to all 50 of them at some point. 

Throughout the night, some of the kids had been checking in on me, asking me how I was doing.  I remember telling one of the girls, "I'm not sure if this is the best night of my life....or the worst" because it all seemed so crazy at the time.  I would never have been able to do what I had done if I were living in the U.S.  I also would never have had this experience if I had stayed put in elementary school.  After some careful thought and consideration, the final verdict is that it was the best night I've had in Madrid in the past 3 years.  I wouldn't have changed a thing.   

A most Spanish day

A few weeks ago (Sat. June 1 to be exact) I had a full 24 hours that really sums up what it's like living in Spain (in my experience, at least).

at the beginning of our hike

Janette and I woke up early to go meet our friend Deseree at the bus station.  We took an extremely long bus ride to a pueblo called Manzanares el Real.  Because of the traffic, our bus got in late and we missed the shuttle bus that takes you from Manzanares to the entrance of the national park. We got a map from the tourist office, and some food from the supermarket, and began what we thought would be a 45 minute walk to the beautiful oasis of La Pedriza.  After 45 minutes, we arrived at a gravel parking lot. We thought, "Hey, this must be the national park entrance!" Nope. We approached a 40-something-year old tan gentleman with a walkie-talkie, named Manolo. He told us we were at the beginning of the road that takes 45 minutes to get to the park.  He was super nice, telling us to watch out for snakes and put on sunscreen, and Janette tried to give away her crappy chicharron, but he wouldn't accept.  After about an hour more of hiking, we knew we were in the park, but we stopped at a little chiringuito restaurant to ask for directions to La Pedriza.  They told us we were another HOUR away.  After even more hiking, we decided to ask a couple passing by on the hiking path how to get back down to the place where the shuttle bus would pick us up.  They didn't know, but they called over an elderly couple who told us to cross the river to our left and head back down the mountain. Okay.  Clearly, I thought, we would find the most shallow part of the river to cross over before committing to anything. Nope! There went Deseree like a spider monkey crossing the river and almost dying in the process. I got halfway across before a group of young Spanish guys were nice enough to hold out a big tree branch for me to clamber my way up the river bank like a buffoon.  We spent over an hour trying to find the bus stop (Janette even peeing in the woods because it took too long), ran into a herd of bulls migrating through the forest, and finally decided to jokingly stick out our thumbs to an elderly couple getting into their car in one of the random parking lots.  The old man rolled down his window, asked if we needed help, and the next thing I knew, we were three lost girls getting a ride all the way back to Manzanares with a lovely older couple from Valladolid. AND WE DIDN'T DIE!

part of the 1st floor at Kapital

We were home from the hike by 7 or 8pm, and I had to jump in the shower and get ready for a night out.  I headed over to a joint birthday/housewarming party where I was thankfully the only English speaker.  I had a great time with all the guys there.  It was definitely a no-frills, no messy drunk girls, kind of thing.  After a while, everyone started talking about going out to a discoteca (which always happens at every Spanish party even if they say it's going to be just a house party).  The group majority voted on Kapital, the 7-story discoteca downtown that is full of tourists, 18 year olds, and study abroad students.  I thought it would be horrible, but we got a booth and 2 bottles and were seated on one of the balconies and actually had a great time.  We got there around 4:30am and left around 6:30am.  We did get to go down to the main dance floor right before closing, thank god.  For me, that's the whole point of going to a club.  I could care less about being VIP and having space.  I want to dance down on the floor with all the other penniless suckers. We left and had the typical drawn out, slightly drunk, standing-on-the-sidewalk-and-blocking-everyone-else kind of conversation.  IT. WAS. GREAT. The boys inexplicably showed up out of nowhere with a pizza and most of them turned out to be the complement giving, hugging and kissing type, which doesn't hurt when you're saying goodbye to them at 7am outside the metro station and you feel gross and sweaty.

That, to me, embodies my Spanish experience thus far.  I attempted to do a cute, while also active, day trip with some friends, got lost, experienced a lot of kindness from strangers, went to a party where I met some new people, danced until 6:30am, and was in bed by 8am on Sunday...as it should be, right?