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?  

Pros and Cons

For my own mental processing, here is a list of pros and cons of staying at my school for another year.

Pros
1. My kids. They are the only reason that I'm happy to go to work in the morning.
2. There won't be any adjustment period in September.  I won't have to learn 300 new names, new learning or behavioral issues, or new coworker idiosyncrasies.
3. I'll actually be able to create relationships with these kids that last longer than 9 months.
4. It's high school!!!
5. My BEDA coordinator just happens to be my only friend on staff.  It's a sweet deal when your only friend is the one person you have to report to.
6. When I go home this summer, I'll know exactly what trinkets and novelty American things to buy for the kids because I know their age group and personalities. I'll also be able to buy supplies that I can actually use!
7. I have a job...in Spain...that gives me legal documentation...and HEALTH INSURANCE.

Cons
1. Coworker issues
2. Coworker issues
3. Did I mention coworker issues?
4. Also, the stupidity, inefficiency, and bureaucracy of the BEDA Program...but requesting a different school or even getting a different job won't change that.


Honestly though, who are we kidding? The only reason I'm staying is because my kids' awesome-ness outweighs all the other crap that comes along with working at this school.

Il dolce far niente

This clip sums up the difference between North American and Mediterranean cultures better than I've ever seen in any movie.

Frustration with Bilingual Programs in Spain

This cartoon defines what I've been doing for the past three years in Madrid.  At first I chuckled....and then I realized that it's everyday moments like these that slowly pile up until I explode from frustration. 

 

 

The bilingual programs in Spain are pathetically ineffective.  Every day my mentality goes back and forth between "Why do I even bother? The system is never going to change" and "I'm going to stick it out another year and really make a difference in these kids' lives."

I don't care!

Judy Garland has just seriously improved my life and my coping mechanisms.

The next time I have to deal with an obnoxious co-worker, a whiny student, or anyone who I consider to essentially be an "oxygen thief," this is the song I will sing to them!

5 Reasons Teenagers Are Terrifying | Thought Catalog

I love my kids, and I really empathize with a lot of them because I hated high school when I was their age.  But sometimes, I really feel the age / culture gap.  I view them mostly as animals about whom I can mentally record my field observations on their strange and unpredictable behaviour.

Here I share with you the story of my life....
5 Reasons Teenagers Are Terrifying | Thought Catalog

The best part (in my humble opinion) is:

"How is it that I wasn’t cool when I was one of you — and I’m still not cool now? Ya’ll like hashtags?! YOLO! Do we still say “SWAG” or did Justin Bieber kill that? Is Justin Bieber still a thing? OH GOD SOMEONE KEEP ME FROM THE INEVITABILITY OF DEATH. IT APPROACHES. IT APPROACHES SO FAST."

Working in a secondary school makes photos like
 this one happen...You've been warned.

How to: teach MLK Jr. Day in a Spanish high school

Since I have 16 classes and I only see them once a week each, U.S. holidays last for a long time in my world.  In honor of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I've dedicated all my classes to him.  I've tweaked it for each age level, but for the most part we start off with a worksheet or reading comprehension about his life, talk about who he was, and explain why he was important.  Then, we listen to the last 5 minutes of "I have a dream" to practice listening.  The last part is a bit more complicated.  In a desperate attempt to incorporate all four parts of the holy "reading, writing, listening, and speaking" components, I decided to do a bit on what makes a great orator and how do we write/ form persuasive arguments? 

I've only tried this out with the seniors so far, and I told them they could write a serious composition (about politics, war, animal rights, etc.) or something crazy (like trying to convince me the sky is green.)  The results were great! These are two of my favorites! Click on them to make them larger!

"A TO Z" Travel Blog

Age you made your first international trip – When I was 9 years old, I went to the Dominican Republic with my sister, uncle, aunt, grandma and 2 family friends.

Best foreign beer you’ve had and where – Not a beer drinker. Yuck.

Cuisine (Favourite) – Korean food.  The food is flavorful, spicy, and vegetarian-friendly!!!! Don’t even get me started on the desserts.

Destinations (Favourite, Least Favourite, and Why) – My favourite destination is hands-down Italy because of the culture, the people, and the food.  My least favourite destination is England for the same exact reasons.



Pure vacation happiness in Barcelona
 December 2012

Event you experienced that made you say, “Wow!” – Coming over the hill and getting my first glimpse of Macchu Picchu.  I felt like I was standing in a National Geographic photo.

Favourite mode of transportation – FEET

Greatest feeling while travelling – The hospitality and kindness you experience from the people you meet along the way, whether they’re locals or fellow travelers.

Hottest place I’ve travelled to – Visiting my grandparents in July 2008 in the Philippines.

Incredible service you’ve experienced and where – In the past two and a half years that I’ve lived in Spain, I’ve visited about 19 cities here.  I’m sure this is my Hispanophile bias speaking, but (almost) everyone I’ve met has gone out of their way to help me.

Journey that took you the longest – The total time it took for me to get from Raleigh to my grandparents’ house in Marinduque.  After 20+ hours of plane travel and spending the night in Manila, we still had to drive 3 hours to Lucena City, take a 3 hour boat ride to Marinduque, and drive 1 hour around the island to get to their house in Buenavista.

Keepsake from your travels – My photographs.

Let down sight. Why and where? – I feel like this is blasphemous, but the ruins in Rome were not as awe-inspiring as I thought they would be.

Moment where you fell in love with travel – Definitely when I went to Peru in 2006 with a small group of kids from my high school and our Latin teacher. It was the moment where I fell in love with travel as well as the moment that I realized that I didn’t belong in the U.S.
 

Marrakesh is cat-lover's heaven!
December 2012

Nicest hotel you’ve stayed in – I’m a shoe-string budget traveler, so any hotel I’ve stayed in with my parents could be considered the “nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in.”

Obsession. What are you obsessed with taking pictures of while travelling? – Cats.

Passport stamps. How many and from where? – I have 24 stamps, but that number is misleading because of the amount of times I’ve repeated countries or gone home to visit family in the U.S. I’ve really only been to 9 countries (the Dominican Republic, Peru, the Philippines, Korea, Spain, France, Italy, England, and Morocco).

Quirkiest attraction you’ve visited and where – For some reason, the first thing that came to mind was “South of the Border” in South Carolina….so, let’s go with that.

Recommended sight, event, or experience – The west coast of Italy, especially NAPLES.  Everyone will tell you horror stories about Naples, but it is an amazing city, with amazing people, and amazing food.  I read somewhere that if you’re travelling through Italy and you get to Rome and it’s “too Italian for you” don’t go any farther south.  If you can handle Rome, keep going, and I promise you will not regret it.  

Splurge. Something you have no problem forking over for while travelling – Desserts.

Touristy thing you’ve done – Swimming with dolphins in the D.R. and riding camels in Morocco….basically anything where you ride an animal while the locals give you “that look.”

Unforgettable travel memory – Riding around Naples on the back of my hostel owner’s BMW motorcycle.

Cinque Terre, Italia
September 2012

Visas. How many of them and for where? – Just one.  My initial 90 day visa to come to Spain in September 2010.

Wine, best glass while travelling and where? – I’m not a big drinker, but I would say France.  I spent Christmas 2010 with one of my best friends in Le Crotoy and we basically ate non-stop for 3 days.  The wine, the cheese, and the conversation (even though I couldn’t understand 50% of it) were perfect. 

eXcellent view and from where – The views along the hiking paths in the Cinque Terre in Italy.

Years spent travelling – If I start counting with my first trip in 1998, then I guess it would be 15 years.

Zealous sports fans and where – Fútbol fans in Spain, as it should be! They have the right to be, considering that the Selección Nacional (the National team) won the EuroCup 2008, World Cup 2010, and the EuroCup 2012.  

Well said, Hemingway

Although I'm not a fan of Ernest Hemingway's obsession with bullfighting, he definitely describes Spain perfectly from an ex-pat's point of view.  This excerpt is from his book "Death in the Afternoon" (1932) and things haven't changed much since then.

Madrid - Feb 2011

"Madrid is a strange place anyway. I do not believe any one likes it much when he first goes there. It has none of the look that you expect of Spain. It is modern rather than picturesque, no costumes, practically no Cordoban hats, except on the heads of phonies, no castanets, and no disgusting fakes likes the gypsy caves at Granada. There is not one local-colored place for tourists in the town. Yet when you get to know it, it is the most Spanish of all cities, the best to live in, the finest people, month in and month out the finest climate and while the other big cities are all very representative of the province they are in, they are either Adalucian, Catalan, Basque, Aragonese, or otherwise provincial. It is in Madrid only that you get the essence. The essence, when it is the essence, can be in a plain glass bottle and you need no fancy labels, nor in Madrid do you need any national costumes; no matter what sort of building they put up, though the building itself may look like Buenos Aires, when you see it against that sky you know it is Madrid. If it had nothing else than the Prado it would be worth spending a month in every spring, if you have money to spend a month in any European capital."

Cynical Island, Population: Me

This week has been one of those weeks where I have to constantly remind myself, “At least you’re not in the U.S.A., at least you’re not in the U.S.A.”  I am fully aware that the following rant is going to come off as ungrateful and close-minded and spoiled, but that’s okay with me because the people who know me best know that every day I’m here (especially this year) I'm thankful for my job and my amazing life in Madrid.  I think most ex-pats are entitled to a rant like this once in a while.  So, here are some things that have been pissing me off lately:   

1. Having to constantly defend a country that I secretly can’t stand.  Spaniards have the most stereotypical and uninformed opinions about the United States.  I’m constantly having to tell them that none of the crap they’re shown in the media is actually real, and I find myself getting legitimately annoyed.  It’s a similar feeling to the one you get when you trash talk and criticize your own family, but the second someone else trashes them you come to their defense.  It’s exactly like that.  Personally, I can’t stand the United States because I don’t have the same cultural fit as everyone else, but I am capable of standing back and realizing that the United States is an amazing place to live.  It’s shocking to me that Spaniards have the balls to describe us as selfish, lazy, gun-toting fatties (no joke, I’ve seriously had this said to me this past week) and yet be completely blind to the flaws in their own culture.

On the other hand, there are those Spaniards who idealize the United States and think life there is an amazing magical wonderland of glamour, fashion, and professional sports. If I hear one more Spaniard say, “Ees my dream go to America”……I might crack.

I feel like American ex-pats have a harder time of disproving stereotypes (both negative and positive) about their home country than other ex-pats because we’re fighting against an image that is so deeply entrenched all over the world.  We’re fighting against a media campaign from Hollywood, travel companies, Washington D.C., and every single American product or celebrity that is sold internationally.  Sometimes I wish I could teach in a school in the middle of the jungle where the people haven't been exposed to MTV, video games, or any communication with the outside world.  Then, I could just be judged for being me and not for being "an American."
   
2. This one gets a little whiny.  When you’re living abroad, everyone wants to take advantage of you and use you as a resource…the locals and the people back home.  Let’s start with the English-speaking folks.  Since September 2010, I’ve gotten everyone and their mother asking me how to get a job in Spain.  Oh, you want to know how to get a job in Spain? You want to know if I can help you?  You want me to tell you how to do every single thing involved in making a life-changing decision? I’ll tell you how.  You google it, like I did.  You spend a month incessantly googling and researching and you make your own informed decision.  Nobody helped me, and I did just fine.  I’m always more than willing to talk to people and tell them how awesome it is in Spain, what the ex-pat experience is like, and all the cool things they can see and do here.  I’m also always more than willing to let people stay at my place for a few nights when they first get here or if they’re passing through Madrid.  What I’m not willing to do is cater to people who are too lazy to do their own research.  It’s their life.  They need to take control of it. 

Now, the Spaniards.  They see me as a free walking English class or proof-reader.  No matter what I do, my co-workers, random people I meet out at night, and even friends will try and speak English to me.  They justify it by saying, “I know your Spanish is better than my English, but I really need to practice.”  Yeah, great.  I get to sit through a painfully slow, badly pronounced, broken English conversation just because you want free English lessons.  If I wanted to speak English, I would hang out with guiris.  I hate English, and any time I’m not in a classroom, I don’t want to be speaking it.  I’m taking the most difficult level of the DELE exam at the end of the year, so maybe I should be just as selfish as they are and reply to every English conversation starter with, “Sorry, you have to help me prepare for the DELE exam!”

3. The level of racism here is unbelievable and overwhelming.  Things will never change if the younger generation continues to validate it with “Así es España / That’s the way Spain is.” Yeah, we get it.  You were completely isolated from the rest of the world and fed ridiculous ideology from a fascist dictator for 36 years.  There are tons of older people (a.k.a. people born pre-1980s) that still believe that close-minded shit, but if you’re not from that generation then behave like a normal human being!  Open your eyes, learn things, and don’t believe everything your parents, political party, and television programs say.  I haven’t given up completely with my students.  Every time one of them says the n-word or anything racist, I stop the class and point it out.  I try to explain to them why it’s wrong or ask them how they would feel if someone made a completely uneducated generalization about all Spaniards…but who knows if they actually care.  They look at me like it’s completely irrational for me to be so angry about their comments, probably because I’m white.  There’s no way for them to understand that cultural difference.  Part of me feels like it's a lost cause with older students because there's a very small window of time to be taught tolerance when you’re a kid, and by the time adolescence rolls around, the foundation has pretty much already been set for your asshole adulthood. 

4. Good manners are almost non-existent here.  I know a lot of foreigners say that Spaniards are rude because they’re very straight-forward and blunt, whether they’re resolving a workplace conflict, giving their opinion in a friendly conversation, or cat-calling on the street.  That kind of stuff doesn’t bother me.  I can see that as a weirdly endearing part of their culture.  The part that gets me is the obliviousness to basic courtesies.  I have seen firsthand the difference in treatment I get when I’m with Spaniards and the treatment I get when I’m with other foreigners.  Waiters and bartenders will blatantly treat us like shit. (Maybe this complaint should go in the racist category).  Then there’s the simple concept of not taking up the entire sidewalk when there are other people walking down the street, helping old ladies with their grocery carts in the metro, etc.  I can count on one hand how many times in the last 2+ years I’ve heard someone say “please,” “thank you,” or “excuse me.”  I have to actually elicit these words from my kids, and I’ve worked with 1^st-5^th grade and 7^th-12^th grade.  The attitude they have is amazing.  They have no respect for each other or their elders. 

I think this might be a worldwide phenomenon though because I see the same things here that I see in the United States: parents who are completely oblivious to their children’s behavior, who never correct them when they do something rude or wrong, or who can’t control them to begin with because the kids know they’ll get their way in the end. 

On Thursday, as I was leaving work to head to my tutoring classes, I had to walk past the public high school in front of the train station.  There was a group of about 50 kids gathered outside starting some kind of fight or orgy or general chaotic mess.  As I pushed my way through them (probably with a disgusted look on my face), I heard one of the kids mockingly go, “Sheesh, the youth these days.  In my time, this didn’t happen.”  So does that make me an old grump now?

5. Lastly, they need to stop inventing words in English like “okay makay” or random noises to go along with English verses in songs. 

 

That’s my way of ending on a light note.

 

Disclaimer: I know tons of people in Spain who don’t fit any of these criteria, and I appreciate the fact that I’ve had an amazingly easy life here being a Caucasian, 20-something, bilingual, female with a steady job.

First day back! - Year 3

Today was FINALLY my first real day back teaching in the classroom.  My new school runs from 3 years old (infantil) all the way to 18+ years old (bachillerato).  I get to work in all of secondary which means 1º ESO - 2º Bachillerato (7th-12th grade in American years). 

All I have to say is the following:

Year 1 vs. Year 2

This is a jet-lag and/or insomnia induced writing.  Year 3 in Spain has begun! I arrived in Madrid on Wednesday afternoon, after a bit of re-routing by the lovely U.S. Airways lady who got me here by way of Frankfurt when a delayed flight to Philly made my original plan impossible.  It is currently Friday, August 31 at 3:30am, the perfect time to compare my first two years in Spain!

Granada - June 2012

During my first year here ('10-'11):                      During my second year here ('11-'12): 
I had 5 people come visit me                                  I had 2 people come visit me
I traveled to 12 cities in Spain                                I traveled to 5 cities in Spain
I traveled to 2 cities in France                                I traveled to 2 cities in England
I traveled to 1 city in Italy


Yes, my second year was pretty underwhelming in terms of travel, but it was because I had a more Madrid-based social life this year.  I'm not going to say it was better or worse than the first year.  It was just different. Having said that, now that I've learned the best and worst ways to spend my time here, I really do think the third time is going to be the charm.  I'm aiming for the perfect combination of enjoying everything in Madrid while traveling just as much as I did as a wide-eyed first year. And it starts this week! I'm off to do 7 days on the west coast of Italy before work starts, and I've already got a Madrid/Morocco/Barcelona trip in the works for winter break with an old friend.  Fingers crossed that I've learned from my mistakes in the past two years and that I make my (possibly last) year here amazing!

 

Advice for the 20-30 somethings

"Die Slowly" / "Muere lentamente"

He who becomes the slave of habit,
who follows the same routes every day,
who never changes pace,
who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,
who does not speak and does not experience,
dies slowly.

He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white,
dotting ones "it’s" rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer,
that turn a yawn into a smile,
that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings,
dies slowly.

He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy,
who is unhappy at work,
who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,
to thus follow a dream,
those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives,
die slowly.

He who does not travel, who does not read,
who does not listen to music,
who does not find grace in himself,
she who does not find grace in herself,
dies slowly.

He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem,
who does not allow himself to be helped,
who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about the rain that never stops,
dies slowly.

He or she who abandon a project before starting it, who fail to ask questions on subjects he doesn't know, he or she who don't reply when they are asked something they do know,
die slowly.

Let's try and avoid death in small doses,
reminding oneself that being alive requires an effort far greater than the simple fact of breathing.

Only a burning patience will lead
to the attainment of a splendid happiness.

- Martha Medeiros

The last weekend

My last weekend in Spain was a weekend of pride, in more than one sense of the word.  I left Madrid on July 4th, and the weekend before I left was the perfect way to end my second year in my favorite city (sorry New York) in the world. 


waiting for the parade to begin!

Saturday, June 30th was the Gay Pride parade.  I missed it last year, but I was determined to go this year.  I went with my roommate Christian and his two friends.  We met up at Alonso Martinez and walked down to the Plaza de Cibeles to catch the parade at the beginning instead of down by Plaza de España where all the drunken fiesteros would be.  Even before we turned down the main boulevard, I sensed that everyone walking down the street was a little bit happier and smiley-er than usual.  We passed a family with a baby, who couldn't have been more than 2 years old, waving a rainbow flag.  How could someone not love living here?  When it comes to the tiny seemingly insignificant parts of daily life here, they are the most traditional and annoyingly conservative people.  When it comes to the big matters, like telling people how to live their lives, they are the most liberal and accepting.  Spain was the second country in the world to legalize gay marriage, and Madrid was the perfect place to be on this very day.  The floats were amazing, the music was great, and the weather was the typical 90 degree cloudless sky that it seems to be every day in June in Madrid. 

I turned to Christian at one point when we were dancing in the street (waving to the hottest men I've ever seen in my life) and said, "Christian, I am so happy right now, I can't even put it into words.  This is the perfect moment."  He looked at me like I was crazy....but then again, he always does.  I couldn't explain to him how even though the theme of the day had nothing to do with me, that moment made me realize my complete joy and independence and appreciation for the life I had here.  How do you explain to someone that the sheer fact that we were dancing on the closed off street, in the Plaza de Cibeles, surrounded by the most accepting group of people I've ever seen, and everyone was having fun, was making me want to burst with joy?  Pure and simple fun. I had begun to think that it wasn't possible, but it was.  (The fact that every single one of my old problems was miles away probably helped.)

 

squished into the bar across the street
from my apartment during one of the
semi-final matches

The next day, Sunday, July 1st was the Eurocup final.  Now, I've never been very much into futbol, let alone sports, in my entire life.  I could appreciate athletes for their talent, and would occasionally be awestruck by the amount of passion they had on the field / court / pitch, but I never understood the obsession.  When Lynn was here, I was forced to get into the Eurocup tournament because Lynn is a sports fanatic and still harbours her patriotismo español from last year.  It really is inexplicable, but by watching the matches with her and the people in our hostels, I became obsessed with seeing our boys win.  I think it comes down to the national element.  I can't see the point in becoming obsessed with teams like Real Madrid or the New York Giants or the Lakers because it doesn't matter where the players are from as long as the organization has enough money to buy them.  I don't see the logic in supporting one team over another because (to me) they're all the same.  Tournaments like the Eurocup, the World Cup, the Olympics.....now that, I can understand!  No matter how good you are, or who you play for, you have to go back to your home country and play for them.  I love it.  After all was said and done, Spain beat Italy 4-0 in the final.  I celebrated in the living room with my roommate as the selección española became the first team ever to win three major tournaments in a row (Eurocup 2008, World Cup 2010, and Eurocup 2012).


celebrating the Eurocup final in our
enormous living room

Monday, July 2 was the welcome home parade for the team.  I had read somewhere that it was going to start in Moncloa, which is where I live!  I had been doing some shopping (obviously souvenir shopping the day before I had to go home) and wound up near the main street right around the time the parade was to begin.  I took a seat on the opposite side of the street because I wasn't about to brave the crowds of die-hard fans painted head-to-toe in red and yellow paint while we waited for the double decker bus.  While I was wandering around, I ran into my friend Carlinhios.  What were the chances I would see someone I knew?!  Then again, he does live around the corner on my block....so why wouldn't he see a parade like this passing right by our houses?  The parade finally began (over an hour late, as per usual in Spain) and it was the strangest thing seeing these "national heroes" in real life.  I loved the fact that half of them were drunk and they were waving to everyone in the crowd as if it was a small hometown parade. It made me so proud to even be a small part of this country.  Obviously, I'll never be seen as a real Spaniard by the people who have it in their blood, but I've been getting by pretty well so far, and one more year won't hurt at all.