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!!!   

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?  

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."

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.

Toledo (Oct. 30) and Consuegra (Nov.6)

I've come to realize that traveling by yourself can be rewarding, lonesome, and interesting at the same time.  I've also come to realize that I'm a bit picky about my accompaniment.

1. If I'm with my family or close friends, it really doesn't matter where we go because its fun just to travel with people you're close with.

2. If I want to see specific sites, aimlessly wander, take pictures, and explore, I prefer to travel by myself.

3. If I'm in a place I know nothing about and never thought of visiting, I can go with family, close friends, or even random people I meet along the way.  Thats when it gets fun!


Puente de Alcántara

Streets of Toledo

Last Saturday I went to Toledo by myself.  It was overcast and dreary, but I went anyway.  The estación de autobuses is nowhere near the main plaza or tourist information center, so I just got off the bus and started walking.  I could see the Alcázar at the top of the mountain but couldn't figure out how to get up there!  Toledo was the spiritual capital of Spain for centuries.  The Romans arrived in 192 B.C., later the Visigoths, later the Moors, and later the Jewish, Arab, and Catholic population.  Now its a serious tourist destination, but still beautiful.  I visited the Puente de Alcántara, the Alcázar, la Catedral, el Museo de Santa Cruz, and la Plaza de Zocodover.

Because I took the afternoon bus and didn't get to Toeldo until 3:45pm, a lot of the sites I went to were closed.  I was getting sulky and started to have a bit of 'lonesome traveler syndrome' as I headed back down the mountain to the bus station.  I passed a store that said ITALIANO in big letters and heladería in small font underneath.  I went in, ordered a chocolate con churro, and sat down at one of the four tables. I noticed the two young guys working there spoke castellano with an Italian accent, and an old Italian man was talking their ears off in Italian.  I struck up a conversation with one of them, and he told me he was from Girona, Italy and had been living in Spain for 5 years.  After the old man and his family left, I was the only one left in the shop, and Andrea (el chico italiano) talked to me the whole time I had my merienda.  He definitely brightened my day....nothing to do with the fact that he was gorgeous or anything....

This past Saturday, I took the 1:30pm bus to Consuegra.  Before I boarded, the driver asked me, "Do you know which stop it is?" Of course I lied and said "Yes" (I don't like asking for help), but as we started getting farther and farther away from the city, I realized the bus stops were essentially un-labeled benches in the middle of the towns we passed through.  I started to worry, until we turned a corner and I saw a mountain with 11 windmills on top....Consuegra.  (It also helped that there was a tourist couple from Milan that loudly asked the driver if we were at the last stop in Consuegra.) The town was amazing.  It was stuck in some kind of time-warp.  Unlike Barcelona and Madrid where the locals kind of resent tourists, it felt like the people of Consuegra were completely oblivious to us.  Granted, I only saw about 20 tourists the entire time I was there, so we didn't have much of a presence.  The entire time I was hiking from windmill to windmill all I could think was, "There's no way Don Quixote could have done this as an old man...He had to be in really good shape."

My video from the day in Consuegra!

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.

Disorientation



La Plaza de Santa Ana

I’m now done with orientation / the first set of jornadas de formacion!!! Wednesday after las jornadas, I went to a restaurant with some chicas and ordered the ensaladilla rusa because it was the only thing vegetarian on the menú.  I asked the waiter if it contained meat, but I forgot to ask if it had seafood either...it had tuna...I ate 1/4 of it just so I wouldn’t seem wasteful or rude.  I´m sure it tasted good (to a normal person’s mouth) but since my mouth hasn’t tasted animal in so long it was giving me nausea.  Thursday after la jornada, I walked all the way to the downtown central area near Sol with some other friends.  We went to the 100 Montaditos they have on the terraza-plaza of Santa Anna and had an hour or two lunch and then walked all the way back to our Alonso Martinez area.  On the way back, we passed some prostitutes out on the main street in the middle of the afternoon…not in a creepy alleyway at midnight…the middle of the day in the touristy part of Madrid.  

Breakfast here has been so nice. The coffee is rich and thicker than normal liquids.  In the states, coffee is the same consistency as water before you add the cream and toppings.  You have to put 1/2 a cup of milk in Spanish coffee just to get it light brown...and its so good that I actually forget to put sugar in it sometimes.  Breakfast is usually just coffee and juice with some kind of muffin/pastry/pan tostada....anything that has carbs (but light and not uber-sweet like in the states.)

Another random thing I’ve noticed, the pillows here are all skinny and take up the width of the bed.

Yesterday was also my day to come to the piso I had lined up over the Internet before coming to Spain.  I got on the subway going OUT of the city with all the commuters at 7:30pm...not smart.  I decided to sit on a bench on the platform for 20 minutes thinking I could wait until it got less packed but that didn’t work, so I waited until a train came by and 3 or 4 people with suitcases got off, because then I could fit with my gigantic stuff. When I got to Principe Pio, there were ticket stands all over for all the cercanias and the Renfes and the two people pointed me outside to get a ticket for the interurbano bus. I was outside in this huge plaza disoriented for a while, and finally found a "you are here" map that said my bus was on level -1.  How do I get to level -1 since i just came up and down a million different stairs? I finally figured out that the odd little glass buildings all over the plaza are escalators to go under Principe Pio.

I found the 495 terminal easily and asked an old man in front of me if it was the right one. He was really nice and told me I spoke Spanish well.  When he found out that I couldn’t buy a ticket because I had a 20 (you can’t pay with anything bigger than a 5) he tried to give me change from his wallet. I went back inside, got change from a vendor and waited 40 min. for the next bus.
On the bus I recognized most of the stops, (besides the fact that the driver didn’t have the scrolling marquee thing on to tell us which stop we were at...) but when we got to Arroyomolinos I was really confused. I finally asked a guy if he knew where the San Fernando stop was. He didn’t know, so a mom-type lady interjected and helped me. I told her it was near a BANCO CAJA MADRID and she told me to get off at her stop. When we got off, there were two kids that ran up and gave huge hugs and kisses to their dad who was getting off the bus.  Aww, Hallmark moment…I, on the other hand, got on the street and took about 30 seconds to figure out which direction to start walking in.  I crossed the street and headed towards the apt. but on the way heard someone say "Niki?" It was Carlos and Vanesa. They were walking in the opposite direction to the bus stop because they were worried and it was starting to rain.



view of Arroyomolinos this morning from my bedroom



They are so nice.  The apartment is amazing,…and I’m happy to finally be settled in.





El visado ha llegado!!!!!!!!!!

MY VISA ARRIVED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That is all.
KthnxBai.

I just woke up, okay?!

Laundry List

Here is a list of all the things I'm constantly thinking about having to do:

1. Receive my GD visa in the mail....Donde esta???
2. Buy a plane ticket from Raleigh to Madrid.
3. Buy a plane ticket from Madrid to Barcelona for my lovely October meet-up with the amazing Clare Wolfe.
4. Straightening out banking/money matters with Wachovia before I leave, so I can withdraw money overseas for the first few weeks.
5. Successfully arriving in Europe (for the first time in my life), navigating the subway system with my luggage, and getting to a hostel.
6. Moving into a piso.
7. Applying for my NIE (Foreigner's Residency Number) as soon as possible, so I can do #8.
8. Open a Spanish bank account.
9. Get a Spanish cell phone.
10. Visit my colegio before the first day of work to introduce myself / familiarize myself with the school.
11. Not forgetting to eat....I tend to do that when I'm busy and traveling.

The Prologue

After applying for my visa!

Here we go, the start of something that could either be the perfect match for me...or blow up in my face.  I graduated in May with a Spanish B.A. and a minor in History.  I'm about to move to Arroyomolinos, Madrid to be an Auxiliar de Conversacion for the 2010-2011 school year (also known as a North American Language & Culture Assistant according to the Spanish Ministry of Education).  I've been placed in a Colegio de Educacion Infantil y Primaria, so I'll be teaching anywhere from Pre-K to 6th grade.

El Consulado de Espana

On Aug 19, I went to the Spanish Consulate and Embassy in Washington D.C. to apply for my 90 day visa.  Once I'm in Spain, I'll have those 3 months to apply for my foreign residency card.  It went surprisingly easy in D.C.  It was all the running around in North Carolina the weeks beforehand that caused me trouble.  Who would've thought that I'd have to visit so many government buildings in this dang Confederate state....police departments, public safety buildings, doctors, notaries, the secretary of state's office for the apostille.  Applying for my visa took just a few minutes because I had all my documents in order.  It could be ready in anywhere from 2-6 weeks.....I'm hoping for a quick process seeing as I need to be in Spain by Sept. 21 (less than 5 weeks from when I actually applied).  I'm so responsible :)