A typical Monday



my terrace under contruction

This past Monday, Oct. 25 was kind of interesting.

1. I was woken up to the soothing sounds of a jackhammer about 2 metres away from my cabeza!!! I knew they were going to begin work on my terrace, but I didn't think it would require jackhammers at 8:30am.  Apparently, Carlos' dad said that the piedra on our terrace was probably going to start cracking once the winter cold arrived, so we're having some fancy new kind put in.

2. I tutored Enrique from 3:30-4:30 and then Carlos & Alvaro from 5:00-6:00. The twins are in 2nd grade and are currently learning "Money and Food" vocabulary in English and "Digestive, Respiratory, and Circulatory systems" in Science.  Carlos told his brother that vomit came from the intestines, so I corrected him and said, "No, vomit comes from the stomach."  "Well, then what's in the intestines?" he said. I just looked at him and said "Poop" thinking it was obvious.  Then they asked me what 'poop' was....I'm just digging my own grave here.

3. I decided to go into Madrid to have dinner with Sharon.  Instead of taking my usual route (the 495 Arroyomolinos bus into Principe Pio), I decided to take the 498 Mostoles bus to the Mostoles metro into Principe Pio.  On my way into the Mostoles metro stop, a middle-aged woman asked me for directions.  That's the third or fourth time a Spanish person has asked me for directions!!! I must appear to be walking with purpose here.

4. Once I was on the metro....it broke down.  The train stopped, a few minutes later the conductor ran down through all the cars, a few minutes later he ran back up through all the cars, and then he announced on the intercom that he would be shutting the system down to re-boot and we'd be in the dark for a few moments.  The New Yorker in me immediately grabbed my purse and thought, "Someone is either going to get mugged, attacked, or at least groped."  The lights went out (I used my iPod for my own personal light) and when they came back on, everyone was just sitting where they were, completely relaxed.  That would've never happened in the States.  It was stop-and-go from then, with the conductor running back to a fusebox-ish contraption about two or three times.  Finally, he made us all get off at the next station and wait for a new train.



Sharon's gofre con nata y chocolate and
my chocolate tradicional a la taza



5. When I finally got into the city, I met up with Sharon for some pinchos and a tostada con tortilla española.  She is definitely my favorite person that I've met in Spain so far, which is crazy considering we met because we sat next to eachother on the flight over from Philly to Madrid!  After dinner, we decided to get some dessert at a nearby cafe.  She got the gofre con nata y chocolate, and I got my first ever cup of chocolate tradicional!  It was amazing deliciousness.

6. I had missed the last bus to Arroyomolinos at 11:30pm, so I took the subway back to Mostoles.  On my way to the Mostoles bus stop, I saw two cop cars parked outside a bar-restaurante and two very serious looking policemen standing in the doorway of the place.  The next thing I know, there is a woman, literally being dragged by her wrists out of the restaurant and screaming obscenities at the manager, the cops, and the other man inside. Not exactly where I wanted to be at 12:15am on a Monday night.  I got into a cab and proceeded to have an awesome conversation with my taxista Antonio.  He couldn't believe that I had come all the way from the United States to teach in Arroyomolinos or that I had already graduated from college at 21 years old.  I told him of my 5 year plan to live in Spain, Mexico/Guatemala, Panama, Colombia, and Argentina and he told me, "No soy quien...para decirte adonde debes ir o no debes ir, pero en Argentina hay muchos miserias.  Aqui en Espana tambien"  He also tried to get out of me my opinion on Zapatero, el PSOE, el PP, and Obama...but I told him I didn't think I knew enough about Spanish politics to make a decision yet.  (Don't want to upset my new abuelo friend).  When he dropped me off, he said "Ok. Nikita. Hasta Luego"...with enphasis on the Nikita.  I love Spain.

La cumple de mi roommate

Last week my roommate Vanesa turned 24, but we didn't have the fiesta until this past Saturday.  She and Carlos invited about 9 people over to the house to just relax, eat, drink, dance, and have fun. Inevitably, Carlos broke out the "SingStar" on Playstation. I HATE KARAOKE...I don't even know if that's how you spell it, and I don't even care because I despise it that much.  I have NEVER in my life sang Karaoke, which in itself is an impressive feat considering 1/3 of my family is Filipino and about 1/2 my friends are of some Asian heritage.  Somehow...these Spaniards convinced me to do it.  They wanted me to sing in English, and the only song they had was Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean." [This is like one of those situations where you're lost and tired and fall in a pile of mud and think, "Well, at least thing's couldn't get any worse." Cue the cartoon rain cloud.  I'm sorry, Michael Jackson fans, but just because someone revolutionizes some type of art doesn't mean everyone has to love them or should willingly brush aside the freakish/illegal things they do in their real life.  The Jackson 5, I totally get.  White Michael, I don't get.] I sang it, but only because Andres sang it with me, and according to SingStar he knows English better than I do because his final score was higher!

Everyone at the party was great, and the ones who knew a bit of English were making an effort to use the words they knew.  Victor in particular had the best English and would ask his fiance to pass him the wine and then say, "Thank you" in English.  Paula answered the intercom with "Who is this?" It was cute.  Of course the rest of the guys just knew all the disgusting sexual words.  I actually really liked Victor and Paula.  They're the only two of the group that are practicing Catholics, so they aren't going to live together until they are married, they don't drink, and generally seem like cool people.  After Sandra finally convinced me to take a sip of her wine, Victor went over and poured me a glass of Fanta, so I wouldn't make any "bad decisions." Even with my incredibly pessismistic view of young people and their alcohol comsumption, I fortunately always manage to find someone in a group of people who respects my decisions to not drink.

Around 3am, we lost about 5 people who had to get up early for work the next day (reducing our numbers to 7 people), and someone made the proposition to go out.  I was not dressed to go out, so I told them I was going to stay home, but they would not have it.  Vanesa was so cute.  She kept yelling, "FIESTA Niki! FIESTA!!! Tienes que ir con nosotros.  Si no vas, todos quedaremos en casa."  The Spanish guilt, man, they know how to use it well.  I quickly changed, borrowed some black flats from Vanesa, and we went out to Mostoles.    

The past few days, I've been feeling really settled here.  It comes and goes in little waves, depending on what I'm doing.  Last week, I was sitting on the bus listening to Tumbao de Juana, the band from Barcelona that I'd bought the demo from, on my iPod and actually fell asleep until we reached Principe Pio in Madrid.  I couldn't believe how comfortable and assimilated I'd become.  I also haven't had many strangers guess I'm American.  So far, I've had British, Australian, Swiss, or Italian.  It really hit me when we were in the discoteca in Mostoles and Sandra was teaching me how to do a sevillana move on the dance floor.  Vanesa leaned over and said she had just told Carlos that I looked like I'd been living in Spain for 20 years. 

Maybe it was the trance-inducing beat of all the crappy club music, but I felt like I was finally a part of Spain. I may not have declared life-long allegiance to any futbol team yet, but I can officially say that after college I left the U.S. and started fresh in a new country.  I'm completely submerged in a different culture, a different way of life, a language that (although I never thought I'd say it in my life) I sometimes get sick of, and meeting new people all the time. Gracias Espana, besitos xxx

Barcelona (Oct 15 - Oct 17)

I've finally ventured outside the comunidad autonoma de Madrid!
 

Last week, I met up with a childhood friend in Barcelona for the weekend.  Clare and I met in 1st grade, but the summer after 4th grade my family moved to New Jersey, so we've kept in touch through letters ever since.  She just spent 3 months working at an NGO in India and decided to stop in Spain on her route back home to New York. 

The first thing I noticed when I landed in Barcelona was the difference in the minority demographic.  Is that weird?  Every time I land somewhere new, I notice the men holding flares who help the plane taxi into the terminal and that's usually a good indication of the working class in the city.  At LaGuardia they are almost always young Hispanic men, at Dulles they are African American men, and at Barcelona they were Eastern/Mediterranean men.  The signage in Catalan was another huge reality check.  I realized that I had landed in a place where I didn't understand the local language.  (Thank god for Castellano translations).  The hatred between Catalonia, Pais Vasco, and the rest of Spain is so illogical to me.  My roommates and their friends have been inculcated since birth to believe everything the Catalonians do is selfish, separatist, and crazy, while the Catalonians have been inculcated since birth to believe that they are not Spanish and should do everything in their power to distance themselves from the crazy country they are unfortunately a part of.  (Just imagine, the "states rights" groups of the South during the American Civil War to give you an idea of the logic here).

All regional identity crises aside, Barcelona is by far the prettiest city I've ever been to in my life.  Clare and I had picked out a few places we wanted to see over the course of the weekend, but left ample time for wandering and getting lost in the city.  Saturday morning, as we were leaving to go start our day with a visit to Gaudi's Sagrada Familia, I saw someone in the lobby of our hostel that looked freakishly like a co-worker/ friend of mine from back in NC.  I froze for a second, my brain internally combusted, as did his, and then we simultaneously started yelling "Oh my god! OH MY GOD" and hugging eachother in the lobby. WHAT ARE THE CHANCES that we'd be in the same city, in the same hostel, in the lobby at the same exact time?!?!?  I knew we were both in Western Europe, but last I had heard he was stuck in France because of the transportation strikes.  My brain could not even process how amazing it was.  That kind of stuff only happens on sitcoms and in movies!  We decided to reunite with him and his friend (aka most recent female conquest) the next day for a visit to Parc Guell and wherever else the day would take us.

La Sagrada Familia

Clare and I ate a great lunch on a bench outside La Sagrada Familia that consisted of a baguette, a pint of olives she had bought fresh at the market, a wheel of cheese from La Boqueria, and 2 Lemon Fantas (thank you Carlos Garcia for introducing me to the amazingness and superiority of Lemon Fanta).  After lunch, we went inside La Sagrada Familia and took the lift up to the top of one of its turrets.  The views of Barcelona were amazing and the walk back down was a great experience...20 minutes walking down the tighest spiral staircase I've ever seen.

Around dinner time, we turned a corner and came upon a Cuban Salsa band composed of old men wearing crisp white hats and jamming out for a sizeable crowd.  That made our dining decision pretty easy, and we sat down at the nearest tapas restaurant.  I'd say that was officially my best dinner in Spain so far.  We ordered a salad, roasted padrino peppers, an anchovy plate, and salchichas.  On our post-dinner walk, we ran into Cody and his friend AGAIN, so we all decided to head to a bar together.  We walked down La Rambla and took a picture at the very Spanish Monument a Colom to prove that we actually were together in Spain.

 



El Tumbao de Juana

On Sunday, the four of us ventured out to Parc Guell, which was actually a lot more beautiful than I expected it to be.  Movies don't do that place justice.  There were lots of vendors and street musicians in the park, but one band in particular was amazing!  Se llama El Tumbao de Juana, and they had the most amazing stage presence and animo.  They were playing in a park but had somehow managed to turn their little dirt patch into a stage with nothing more than their instruments and their spirit.  Clare and I decided to split the cost of their demo, so I could import the songs to my Itunes and she could take home the physical CD.  The only bad thing I'd have to say about the park was that it was way too full of tourists (bad decision to visit it on a Sunday I suppose), and I was wearing shoes that almost immediately gave me blisters.  That's what I guess for buying a pair of flats for 6 Euro.  I don't care though because I had a good conversation with the salesman.  He tried to guess where I was from, "Australia? Suisa? Inglaterra?" before I told him I was from the U.S. Then we proceeded to have a conversation about Maryland because he had lived there for 3 months about five years ago, but was deported for not having any papers.  Unfortunate, right? C'est la vie. 

All in all, Barcelona, you were good to me. And Cody?  Well, he'll probably show up on my doorstep in a few months once his stint working on an olive farm in the south of Spain finishes up. I'm thinking a Chapel Hill Whole Foods reunion is in the near future. 

Working at CEIP Las Castañeras

I suppose its time to talk about the reason I'm actually in Spain for the year.  A few years ago, the Spanish Ministry of Education organized a program called "North American Language and Culture Assistants" in an effort to make the next generation of Spaniards bilingual and more culturally aware.  My official title as a participant in the program is Auxiliar de Conversación, and I work with 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade English and Science classes. 

Even though my school, CEIP Las Castañeras, has been part of the bilingual education program for 6 years, my exact role is a bit blurry.  Depending on the mood of the classroom teacher and the ADD of the kids that day, I can be put to work as:

-teacher's aide

-actual teacher

-photcopier

-test grader

-babysitter

-a real life "Listen & Read" CD track

-a 1-on-2 tutor for the incredibly difficult end of term Cambridge Exams

The days when I'm sent off to make photocopies or grade tests are really hard to take.  Do they not see the word "conversación" in my job?  The state is not so big on the kids being able to write and read in perfect English, but rather more on improving their speaking and comprehension skills.  How can I help them if I'm off in another room?  The times when I can make rounds in the classroom while they do an activity, play a game with the class, or teach them a new lesson are great!  The kids need to interact with a native English speaker at least 5 days a week if they're ever to improve...or else they'll just learn the heavily accented (and sometimes incorrect) English that the teachers speak.  



My 2010-2011 schedule



There are 3 other auxiliares at my school; an American girl, a Canadian guy, and a British girl.  They all live in Madrid and have to take the metro and bus to and from Arroyomolinos.  Most of the moms in town that want clases particulares de inglés for their kids would prefer someone who lives in town...that's me!  Right now, I'm tutoring 5 students from Las Castañeras: one third grade boy, two third grade twin girls, and two second grade twin boys.  My Tues/Thurs classes with the twin girls will soon include their friend...bringing my total to 6 kids. 

My Colombian roommate Iovana and her amigo are also interested in improving their English, so we're going to set up a once a week intercambio in the evenings (because they are both in their early-30s and get home from work later than I do). 

So there you have it...a long-winded explanation of my job in Spain!

Ay Dios Mio!

Exactly a month has passed since I arrived in Spain! Ay Dios mio! Some observations I've made include the following:

1. Spanish road rage is probably one of the funniest things I've seen here so far.  Maybe its more endearing to me because its in a foriegn language, and its usually middle aged ladies getting themselves in a hot mess.

2. Pedestrians are always given the right of way in Arroyomolinos, and almost always given the right of way in Madrid and Barcelona.  Its makes me feel safer when I walk the streets here.

3.  I can spot an American before they even open their mouths.  Its something about the way they dress, look, and walk.  Then, when they unfortunately open their mouths, I want to bury my face in my jacket for shame of originating from the same country as these beasts.  Now I know why I got so many weird stares when I first arrived in Arroyomolinos. 

4.  From what I can tell, the most important things to most Spaniards seem to be :  family, futbol, food, good conversation and companionship, and fashion....in that order.

One of my favorite experiences here so far was a Saturday when I decided to go out with some other auxiliares and their madrileño friends.  We met up around midnight to talk and have drinks at Carlos' place and then headed out to the bar "Mañana No Salgo."  The music was horrible.  It was techno, unidentifiable slow jams, and.....wait for it....techno remixes of the Ghostbusters and the Neverending Story themes.  It closed at 3am...lame, so we made our way over to the discoteca "Nell."  That place was definitely more my taste.  It was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with twenty- and thirty-somethings and had the kind of nonsensical music that I'd never listen to on my own (but love to dance to).  Sharon and I made the epic journey to the bathroom and realized every girl in there looked like Gisele Bundchen or Mónica Cruz. 

We got back to Carlos' apartment around 5:30am and went to sleep.  I awoke around 12:30 in the afternoon on Sunday, absolutely starving.  I waited about 30 minutes in that awkward limbo when you're awake, your friends are still out cold, and you're contemplating how much you want breakfast.  I decided to drop a note on Sharon's purse and head out for some grub.  I made my way down a side street near Sol, plopped myself down in a cafe, and when the waitress came over tried to order off the "before noon" breakfast menu.  Being too much of a zombie to make an adult decision, I ordered a café con leche and then said, "Oy....que me recomienda?" Without missing a beat, she replied with "una tostada" as if she was my mom and was going to bring it to me whether I wanted it or not.  I happily agreed, and when it arrived.....it was the best toast, jam, and butter that I could've imagined.  My grandpa DePalo still holds the title for "Best Toast in the World" but I have a feeling Spain's tostadas might take the crown at some point this year.