Hokay. I realize on some level that it has been a month since I last posted a blog. But I can’t really wrap my mind around that concept. It has been an amazing month of adventures I’m sure not to repeat, and I have been a fairly busy Salmantina. In the interest of writing efficiently (something I apparently need lessons in), I’m not going to detail every experience I’ve had. Instead, I’ll provide a numerical account of the month. I think perhaps you’ll understand why I haven’t written more….
15 is the number of days I’ve spent outside Spain, and 15 is the number I’ve spent in my home away from home.
5 is the number of new countries I’ve visited: Hungary, Austria, Czech Republic, Poland, and Portugal. 6 if you include a bus ride through Slovakia!
0 is the number of passport stamps received for such journeys. Oh, the European Union. Suppose I’ll have to remember the countries myself.
2 is the number of visits I’ve made to Portugal, our beautiful neighbor here in Spain. The first time, I went with a bus full of Spaniards, including my intercambio, on the “Route of the Castles.” We visited 5 small Portuguese towns, each with their corresponding castle. Very fun! I just arrived back from Portugal edition 2 with my IES program. We visited 6 different cities, including the capital of Lisbon, 2 monasteries, the beach at the most western point in all of Europe, and Sintra, which might just be my new favorite place.
18 is the number of hours we spent in the bus during the last three days. 90 is the percent of the time I felt sick, due to our bus driver’s need to brake suddenly, and the fact that he drives a bus with a stick shift!
9 is the number of beds I have slept in during the past month, including 5 hostels, Whitney’s bed in her Austrian apartment, a night train couchette, and a nice hotel bed in Lisbon.
609 is the number of pictures I’ve taken. For real I’m not kidding, which I find hard to believe.
3 is the number of essays I have written in Spanish for my IES classes, totaling 20 pages.
6 is the number of Spanish Environmental Science professors with whom I ate dinner one night, invited by an intercambio. 4 is the number of words I spoke during the 3 hour dinner, because I don’t have much to contribute to a nuclear energy debate, even if it were in my native tongue. 3 is the number of courses I consumed. The number of calories taken in through cocktails, appetizers, wine, bread, steak, desert and coffee shall never be calculated.
8 is the number of hours I spent “out” one night, from 10 pm until 6 am. This feat will not be repeated any time soon. :)
26 is the number of Spanish 6 and 7 year olds to whom I taught art. For 60 minutes. By myself. 30 is the number of minutes it went smoothly, and 30 is the number of minutes it was chaos. But who knew I was a suitable substitute for when my teacher can’t come?
3 is the number of successful lessons I’ve had alone with the fifth graders, doing art, science, and English. Success!
3 is also the number of Tulsa friends who I spent a large part of my Easter holiday with.
4 is the number of different types of Eastern European beers sampled by me and my friends. This shatters my previous total beer intake. Dad would be proud.
425 is the number of Czech crowns we spent on audio guides at the castle in Prague, trying to be responsible tourists and learn a thing or two. 25 is the number of minutes we stuck with the boring droning of the man before we returned them.
30-50 is the number of jokes we made on the sketchy night train from Prague to Poland, trying to make ourselves feel better about potential safety issues.
1,100,000 is the number of people who died at the Nazi death camp Auschwitz. 7 is the number of hours that my friends and I were silent as we toured the camp and took the bus ride to and from Krakow, contemplating the site of great human evil.
60 is the number of minutes my friends and I arrived early to the cathedral in Krakow (where Pope John Paul II used to hang out!) for Easter mass. 2 (God and Jesus) is the number of words I understood in the Polish Latin mass, and 3 is the number of times we were caught completely off guard by kneeling vs. standing, etc.
1 is the number of bagels I consumed in Poland. I love bagels!
4 is the number of times I was scared to death by friends in an under-castle labyrinth in Budapest. We spent a lot of time discussing how it would be a great site for a horror film.
2 is the number of delicious dinners which we cooked and ate in Whitney’s apartment.
2 is also the number of hotdogs I ate in Austria.
0 seems to be the number of days I can resist Spanish pastries when I’m here.
2.5 is the number of days I have class this week.
6.5 is the number of days I have class before the semester ends.
Less than 30 is the number of days I have left in Salamanca.
Less than 25 is the number of days before my parents arrive!
lunes, 20 de abril de 2009
viernes, 20 de marzo de 2009
Real Life in Spain!
There comes a time in one’s study abroad experience in which life ceases being a strange surreal experience, and actually becomes the real thing. One stops marveling at the fact that she is living in a foreign country and conducting her life in a foreign language, stops being mystified, frustrated, or focused on cultural differences, stops feeling like “extranjera” is taped on her forehead, and starts to feel entirely at home. This is sort of amazing, if you think about it. But it’s happening! The following is how I know:
1. The scavenger hunt concept has come full circle. Maybe if I had realized back in January that scavenger hunts are obligatory and common for each and every group that arrives in Salamanca, I would have felt less lame. Anyways, I helped a group of Italian students find the Celestina Park, one of my favorite places in all of Salamanca. And I helped a group of French students with the answer to “How many Zara stores are on Calle Toro?” (Dos!) I cannot describe my joy at being on the helping instead of asking end of these transactions, and I love walking to class everyday seeing giant groups of young and old, Spanish and International tourists clutching their maps and visiting the Tourism Office. I’ve even dished out some directions (okay, I admit that they were to the Plaza Mayor!). And last night, when I was walking home, an older lady asked me a complicated question as I brushed by her on the street. “What?” I asked, repeating the words I had caught. “Oh, you’re not Spanish?” she replied, and we proceeded to have a nice conversation about where I’m from, the new Corte Ingles store, and where we live. Okay, so she didn’t actually think I was Spanish when I opened my mouth. But it’s a start!!
2. Speaking of tourists, I am apparently not one. I know this for certain because my friend Jenny and I got to enter the old (try 800 year old) university building to work on a project- in spite of the building being under construction and closed to “tourist visits.” We actually had to clarify that we were allowed to go to the library, but then we got to climb the marble stairs that students have been climbing for approximately 800 years, walk past the climate controlled rooms which contain items such as the first grammar written of the Spanish language (right here at my University of Salamanca!), and enter a newer room of the library. There, we filled out appropriate forms and were helped by a very friendly librarian. She then went into the archives and produced giant books containing newspapers. We got to flip through the real life newspaper pages of important dates in recent Spanish history: the declaration of the Civil War (1936), the day the war ended (1939), the day that Franco died (1975). It was very legit, and although dorky, I felt extremely happy spending the afternoon being closely monitored on video camera, with real life history at my fingertips. Reading the front page article about people running around Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor trying to confirm rumors of la Segunda Republica (1931), as well as browsing advertisements and obituaries, really brings things to life. Reminds me of why I like learning! :)
3. Note: the following story contains alcohol references. Parents, feel free to skip!
Okay, so Jenny and I don’t just go to the library together. We also were invited to our first Spanish house party with one of Jenny’s intercambios! We were supposed to bring drinks to share, and found ourselves marveling at the liquor section in our friendly neighborhood supermarket. What do we bring to a piso party? Red wine? Seems a bit prissy. Beer? We don’t really like beer. We were of course distracted by a lot of BAD options, such as numerous boxed wines and boxed sangrias. They were approximately the size of a small cereal box, and we made lots of jokes about turning them into personal juice boxes. All in all, our liquor store adventure was a thirty minute plus ordeal. We were very focused on doing the SPANISH piso party well. But when you think about it, neither of us has ever been in charge of buying alcohol in a supermarket for any sort of party. We’re not yet real adults at home! :) When we finally got the goods, we impressed ourselves by leaving the store without attracting the attention of the police (I always feel like I’m doing something illegal). Okay, I’m probably being a bit dramatic…. We didn’t even get carded! :)
When we arrived at the piso (apartment), we were extremely amused. The Italians brought a bottle of red wine to share, many people brought beer, and there were boxes upon boxes of wine and sangria! We ended up having a fantastic time, and went to piso party segunda edition last night. It is great to hang out with Spanish and other international (read NON American) students! Good fun, good Spanish practice, and nice cultural exchange. (brief example: Jenny shared that her mom campaigned door to door for Obama. “Door to door campaigning? That’s so American!” they cried.
4. March marks the beginning of visitor season, and American relatives and friends have begun streaming in. Last week, I met my friend Ross’ girlfriend, and my friend Andrea’s parents. In each encounter, I had to physically stop myself from going in for the kiss (well, the double kiss, to be exact). Ross’ girlfriend stuck her hand out, and I realized that it has been a long, long time since I have shaken a hand!
5. I have become a sort-of member of a small, elite group of teachers at the colegio (elementary school) where I do my internship: the English speakers. There’s a couple from the States, a few from England, and at least one from Holland (my very own Miss Lucy). The other day after class, we were discussing our frustration with some of the behavioral problems. And yesterday, on my way out, I chatted with a few of them:
Nice English speaking Teacher 1: (insert English accent here) “Rough afternoon! Sometimes they really tire me out!”
Nice English speaking Teacher 2: (insert American accent here) “That wasn’t a classroom. That was Vietnam. I was Rambo in there!”
:) Keep in mind that these people are working with classrooms of 28 three year olds- with no student teachers, aides, or parent volunteers!
Don’t worry- I’ve made some Spanish speaking teaching friends, as well. By which I mean, when the laminating machine ate the teddy bears I was laminating in the office, I required a lot of assistance. Hopefully I managed to stay charming as the laminator was disassembled with a screw-driver and used at sort of half capacity for a while. “What happened?!” I inquired. “What did I do!?” “It’s possible that you didn’t do anything!” the helpful Spanish helper replied. And although another teacher waited impatiently for the laminator and told me Miss Lucy would be angry (a joke I’m sure?), all of the teddies were eventually saved, and my helper responded graciously to my “Muchas gracias! Lo siento! etc.”
But what about the kids themselves?, you may wonder. Well, I am more or less working on acostumbrando to all of the noise. And I’m forging some pretty precious relationships in the process. On the way out of school yesterday, a particularly cute, glasses-wearing first grader who was kind of spazzing out while running down the hallway paused long enough to say, “Que pasaaaaa, Miss Emily?!” And if you can imagine this in a precious Spanish accent, you might see that every once in a while, the internship’s worth it! :)
Okay, a couple of brief updates on my previous exciting adventures, and I’ll be done.
You know how I like to pick up my laundry and think that it magically gets folded by a laundry fairy (or real life female?). You know how I wanted to befriend the ponytail man? Well, there are now two ponytails (pony tailed men that is). And on Monday, I arrived a bit too soon. My clothes were in the basket but not yet folded. They requested that I wait a couple of minutos. At this point, I didn’t know whether I should join the Emily’s underwear folding party to speed things along, or stand outside in the sun and pretend it wasn’t happening. I opted for the latter, collected my goods, and bid them “Hasta luego!” :)
You know how I apparently live with 2 twenty-three year olds? I decided that I have for sure not yet met one of them, because I overheard his voice, and it’s much lower than the voice of anyone I’ve talked to around here! I had an intercambio last week with somebody who went to the same elementary school as the boys, and my host mom and I talked about it over cena. Do they know a guy named Benjamin? She left the table to inquire. They responded, yes, but there’s a world full of Benjamins, so we’re not sure. Also, they wonder, do I know the gym teacher at my colegio? He’s a friend of theirs. This witty banter/ bonding conversation probably tired my host mom out. She went back and forth from the salon to their room three or four times!
That's all for now. Love you all. Happy Spring!
1. The scavenger hunt concept has come full circle. Maybe if I had realized back in January that scavenger hunts are obligatory and common for each and every group that arrives in Salamanca, I would have felt less lame. Anyways, I helped a group of Italian students find the Celestina Park, one of my favorite places in all of Salamanca. And I helped a group of French students with the answer to “How many Zara stores are on Calle Toro?” (Dos!) I cannot describe my joy at being on the helping instead of asking end of these transactions, and I love walking to class everyday seeing giant groups of young and old, Spanish and International tourists clutching their maps and visiting the Tourism Office. I’ve even dished out some directions (okay, I admit that they were to the Plaza Mayor!). And last night, when I was walking home, an older lady asked me a complicated question as I brushed by her on the street. “What?” I asked, repeating the words I had caught. “Oh, you’re not Spanish?” she replied, and we proceeded to have a nice conversation about where I’m from, the new Corte Ingles store, and where we live. Okay, so she didn’t actually think I was Spanish when I opened my mouth. But it’s a start!!
2. Speaking of tourists, I am apparently not one. I know this for certain because my friend Jenny and I got to enter the old (try 800 year old) university building to work on a project- in spite of the building being under construction and closed to “tourist visits.” We actually had to clarify that we were allowed to go to the library, but then we got to climb the marble stairs that students have been climbing for approximately 800 years, walk past the climate controlled rooms which contain items such as the first grammar written of the Spanish language (right here at my University of Salamanca!), and enter a newer room of the library. There, we filled out appropriate forms and were helped by a very friendly librarian. She then went into the archives and produced giant books containing newspapers. We got to flip through the real life newspaper pages of important dates in recent Spanish history: the declaration of the Civil War (1936), the day the war ended (1939), the day that Franco died (1975). It was very legit, and although dorky, I felt extremely happy spending the afternoon being closely monitored on video camera, with real life history at my fingertips. Reading the front page article about people running around Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor trying to confirm rumors of la Segunda Republica (1931), as well as browsing advertisements and obituaries, really brings things to life. Reminds me of why I like learning! :)
3. Note: the following story contains alcohol references. Parents, feel free to skip!
Okay, so Jenny and I don’t just go to the library together. We also were invited to our first Spanish house party with one of Jenny’s intercambios! We were supposed to bring drinks to share, and found ourselves marveling at the liquor section in our friendly neighborhood supermarket. What do we bring to a piso party? Red wine? Seems a bit prissy. Beer? We don’t really like beer. We were of course distracted by a lot of BAD options, such as numerous boxed wines and boxed sangrias. They were approximately the size of a small cereal box, and we made lots of jokes about turning them into personal juice boxes. All in all, our liquor store adventure was a thirty minute plus ordeal. We were very focused on doing the SPANISH piso party well. But when you think about it, neither of us has ever been in charge of buying alcohol in a supermarket for any sort of party. We’re not yet real adults at home! :) When we finally got the goods, we impressed ourselves by leaving the store without attracting the attention of the police (I always feel like I’m doing something illegal). Okay, I’m probably being a bit dramatic…. We didn’t even get carded! :)
When we arrived at the piso (apartment), we were extremely amused. The Italians brought a bottle of red wine to share, many people brought beer, and there were boxes upon boxes of wine and sangria! We ended up having a fantastic time, and went to piso party segunda edition last night. It is great to hang out with Spanish and other international (read NON American) students! Good fun, good Spanish practice, and nice cultural exchange. (brief example: Jenny shared that her mom campaigned door to door for Obama. “Door to door campaigning? That’s so American!” they cried.
4. March marks the beginning of visitor season, and American relatives and friends have begun streaming in. Last week, I met my friend Ross’ girlfriend, and my friend Andrea’s parents. In each encounter, I had to physically stop myself from going in for the kiss (well, the double kiss, to be exact). Ross’ girlfriend stuck her hand out, and I realized that it has been a long, long time since I have shaken a hand!
5. I have become a sort-of member of a small, elite group of teachers at the colegio (elementary school) where I do my internship: the English speakers. There’s a couple from the States, a few from England, and at least one from Holland (my very own Miss Lucy). The other day after class, we were discussing our frustration with some of the behavioral problems. And yesterday, on my way out, I chatted with a few of them:
Nice English speaking Teacher 1: (insert English accent here) “Rough afternoon! Sometimes they really tire me out!”
Nice English speaking Teacher 2: (insert American accent here) “That wasn’t a classroom. That was Vietnam. I was Rambo in there!”
:) Keep in mind that these people are working with classrooms of 28 three year olds- with no student teachers, aides, or parent volunteers!
Don’t worry- I’ve made some Spanish speaking teaching friends, as well. By which I mean, when the laminating machine ate the teddy bears I was laminating in the office, I required a lot of assistance. Hopefully I managed to stay charming as the laminator was disassembled with a screw-driver and used at sort of half capacity for a while. “What happened?!” I inquired. “What did I do!?” “It’s possible that you didn’t do anything!” the helpful Spanish helper replied. And although another teacher waited impatiently for the laminator and told me Miss Lucy would be angry (a joke I’m sure?), all of the teddies were eventually saved, and my helper responded graciously to my “Muchas gracias! Lo siento! etc.”
But what about the kids themselves?, you may wonder. Well, I am more or less working on acostumbrando to all of the noise. And I’m forging some pretty precious relationships in the process. On the way out of school yesterday, a particularly cute, glasses-wearing first grader who was kind of spazzing out while running down the hallway paused long enough to say, “Que pasaaaaa, Miss Emily?!” And if you can imagine this in a precious Spanish accent, you might see that every once in a while, the internship’s worth it! :)
Okay, a couple of brief updates on my previous exciting adventures, and I’ll be done.
You know how I like to pick up my laundry and think that it magically gets folded by a laundry fairy (or real life female?). You know how I wanted to befriend the ponytail man? Well, there are now two ponytails (pony tailed men that is). And on Monday, I arrived a bit too soon. My clothes were in the basket but not yet folded. They requested that I wait a couple of minutos. At this point, I didn’t know whether I should join the Emily’s underwear folding party to speed things along, or stand outside in the sun and pretend it wasn’t happening. I opted for the latter, collected my goods, and bid them “Hasta luego!” :)
You know how I apparently live with 2 twenty-three year olds? I decided that I have for sure not yet met one of them, because I overheard his voice, and it’s much lower than the voice of anyone I’ve talked to around here! I had an intercambio last week with somebody who went to the same elementary school as the boys, and my host mom and I talked about it over cena. Do they know a guy named Benjamin? She left the table to inquire. They responded, yes, but there’s a world full of Benjamins, so we’re not sure. Also, they wonder, do I know the gym teacher at my colegio? He’s a friend of theirs. This witty banter/ bonding conversation probably tired my host mom out. She went back and forth from the salon to their room three or four times!
That's all for now. Love you all. Happy Spring!
domingo, 1 de marzo de 2009
It’s a Small World After All
It’s a Small World After All. It’s a Small World After All. It’s a small, small world.
Evidence:
Way back at the beginning of my journey, Kristin and I were searching for food in Madrid. We had some troubles finding economic and delicious food in this particular city, and this particular night, we were feeling sort of cranky about it. We stumbled upon a little foreign restaurant that served kebabs and falafel at a very reasonable price. We were quite pleased with ourselves and our meal. When we were almost finished, we noticed that two guys at a table near us were speaking English. One of them motioned to us and asked us where we were from. “The United States,” we responded, then more tentatively, “Nebraska?” (We were by now accustomed to blank stares about our great state). “NO WAY!” he said, and we proceeded to have a nice long conversation with Romaine, who happens to be a med school student at the University of Nebraska Medical Center, right in the middle of beautiful Omaha.
The above picture is of Laura, a very nice girl from New Zealand who Kristin and I met in Sevilla. She was part of our fun Sevilla hostel group (also pictured), and we discovered that both Laura and I were headed to Salamanca to study. She was only going to be in Salamanca for a couple of weeks at a language school, but we enthusiastically made plans to meet up. We talked over the internet in the following weeks, but made no concrete plans. Yet we managed to run into each other three separate times while in Salamanca. I actually bumped into her on her last night here (before she left to travel a while and then head home). We took this picture and hugged goodbye…. Until I saw her the following weekend in the busiest pedestrian district in Madrid, that is. Since this was really really her last night in Spain, we marveled at the odds and said a proper “adios!”
Said weekend in Madrid contained other coincidences. Minutes (less than 5) after Whitney, Nikki, and Elizabeth arrived to our hostel, a guy came out of his room and told Nikki she had a “familiar face.” I rolled my eyes- nice pick up line, right?- but then he said, “Are you from Houston?” And after she said yes, they discovered that they went to high school together and had once attended some musical event together…. Later to reunite in a very small hostel in Madrid. Weird!
On Saturday, Whitney and I were wandering around the Puerta del Sol. Both the day of the week and location indicate that this is a HAPPENING place, filled with national and foreign tourists, street performers (a frog puppet that plays the piano! a mariachi band!), pick pocketers, restaurants, and people peddling goods. Oh, and also Whitney’s former high school classmate. He’s studying in Madrid this semester… but that doesn’t mean that they should see each other in the busiest part of the city on the ONLY weekend she’s in Spain!!
Not yet convinced? Well, today I returned to Madrid with my program. I got to see lots of by now familiar sites, such as the Prado Art Museum and Royal Palace. I returned to the Parque de Buen Retiro, which is literally one of my most favorite places on the planet. (Note to Whitney: the dog whisperer was still there, but the “saints go marching in” band was just packing up when I arrived. And I rowed a rowboat!) ANYWAYS, strolling between the park and the art museum, I saw a boy who looked/walked/was dressed like Brett Major, a good friend from high school who’s studying in Sevilla this semester. I studied him for a good long while. I thought about yelling “Brett!” because what would be the consequences if it wasn’t Brett? But then I let the situation pass. When he turned his head, it didn’t really look like him. 1.5 hours later, in a semi-crowded small room of the Prado (which is GIGANTIC!), a boy invades my tour group and says my name. It is Brett. We embrace. I abandon my tour momentarily (actually we trail slowly behind them), and we chat about our Spanish lives and Omaha. We lament the fact that I am only in Madrid for a few hours more. I marvel that I ran into him not once but twice. We embrace again. We say adios for now.
I am becoming convinced that Madrid is a small pueblo, but a quick reference to Rick Steves informs me that it is actually a city of 3.2 million. Solution? It’s a small world. I rest my case.
Way back at the beginning of my journey, Kristin and I were searching for food in Madrid. We had some troubles finding economic and delicious food in this particular city, and this particular night, we were feeling sort of cranky about it. We stumbled upon a little foreign restaurant that served kebabs and falafel at a very reasonable price. We were quite pleased with ourselves and our meal. When we were almost finished, we noticed that two guys at a table near us were speaking English. One of them motioned to us and asked us where we were from. “The United States,” we responded, then more tentatively, “Nebraska?” (We were by now accustomed to blank stares about our great state). “NO WAY!” he said, and we proceeded to have a nice long conversation with Romaine, who happens to be a med school student at the University of Nebraska Medical Center, right in the middle of beautiful Omaha.
The above picture is of Laura, a very nice girl from New Zealand who Kristin and I met in Sevilla. She was part of our fun Sevilla hostel group (also pictured), and we discovered that both Laura and I were headed to Salamanca to study. She was only going to be in Salamanca for a couple of weeks at a language school, but we enthusiastically made plans to meet up. We talked over the internet in the following weeks, but made no concrete plans. Yet we managed to run into each other three separate times while in Salamanca. I actually bumped into her on her last night here (before she left to travel a while and then head home). We took this picture and hugged goodbye…. Until I saw her the following weekend in the busiest pedestrian district in Madrid, that is. Since this was really really her last night in Spain, we marveled at the odds and said a proper “adios!”
Said weekend in Madrid contained other coincidences. Minutes (less than 5) after Whitney, Nikki, and Elizabeth arrived to our hostel, a guy came out of his room and told Nikki she had a “familiar face.” I rolled my eyes- nice pick up line, right?- but then he said, “Are you from Houston?” And after she said yes, they discovered that they went to high school together and had once attended some musical event together…. Later to reunite in a very small hostel in Madrid. Weird!
On Saturday, Whitney and I were wandering around the Puerta del Sol. Both the day of the week and location indicate that this is a HAPPENING place, filled with national and foreign tourists, street performers (a frog puppet that plays the piano! a mariachi band!), pick pocketers, restaurants, and people peddling goods. Oh, and also Whitney’s former high school classmate. He’s studying in Madrid this semester… but that doesn’t mean that they should see each other in the busiest part of the city on the ONLY weekend she’s in Spain!!
Not yet convinced? Well, today I returned to Madrid with my program. I got to see lots of by now familiar sites, such as the Prado Art Museum and Royal Palace. I returned to the Parque de Buen Retiro, which is literally one of my most favorite places on the planet. (Note to Whitney: the dog whisperer was still there, but the “saints go marching in” band was just packing up when I arrived. And I rowed a rowboat!) ANYWAYS, strolling between the park and the art museum, I saw a boy who looked/walked/was dressed like Brett Major, a good friend from high school who’s studying in Sevilla this semester. I studied him for a good long while. I thought about yelling “Brett!” because what would be the consequences if it wasn’t Brett? But then I let the situation pass. When he turned his head, it didn’t really look like him. 1.5 hours later, in a semi-crowded small room of the Prado (which is GIGANTIC!), a boy invades my tour group and says my name. It is Brett. We embrace. I abandon my tour momentarily (actually we trail slowly behind them), and we chat about our Spanish lives and Omaha. We lament the fact that I am only in Madrid for a few hours more. I marvel that I ran into him not once but twice. We embrace again. We say adios for now.
I am becoming convinced that Madrid is a small pueblo, but a quick reference to Rick Steves informs me that it is actually a city of 3.2 million. Solution? It’s a small world. I rest my case.
domingo, 15 de febrero de 2009
Pure Spanish Joy
I really think my weekend in Madrid might have been the best thing that ever happened to me. Until this week in Salamanca, that is. Because once you’ve mastered meeting your basic needs in a given city, you can move onto new (Spanish) tasks, altogether more enjoyable than laundry. I had so many distinct moments of pure joy this week. A few examples are listed below.
INTERCAMBIO-MANIA
i.e. demystifying the mystifying Spanish
Intercambio: definition: the way to meet Spanish friends. A chance to meet and get coffee, speak in English for a while, and speak in Spanish for a while. Basically the equivalent of a language inspired blind date (even if your intercambio partner is a girl). Intercambios can be found on flyers around campus or on the university’s website. Once you communicate via email for awhile, you agree to meet at some cliché common meeting place: under the clock in the plaza mayor, at the frog on the university’s façade, etc. From there, it is truly a first date: feeling each other out, getting to know the basics about one another, deciding if more intercambios are in your mutual future.
Okay, now that we’re all on the same page, I’ll be honest. I was made for intercambios. Es decir, I am most comfortable one on one, I have an intense desire to practice Spanish, and I have no problems helping people with English. Although we were all eager to intercambio it up immediately, our program warned us that they don’t get up and running until mid February when classes are well under way.
So, this week, I had my first intercambio! And it was amazing. We talked about our lives, we talked about our classes, we talked about traveling and our families and weird dreams we’ve been having lately. We did all of this in a mix of English and Spanish and Spanglish, making it all the more enjoyable and rewarding. The thing about intercambios is that the person is also attempting to learn a new language, and is therefore unbelievably patient and helpful. (Even though our host moms are kind, they cannot possibly relate to attempting to conduct their lives in a foreign language because they have never tried). At certain points in the 2 hour plus conversation, we got tired, couldn’t think of words, and made mistakes (I told him my professor was “corto” instead of “bajo,” communicating that he was stunted mentally instead of short). But we only used the dictionary twice and were able to cover a wide variety of topics. We made lots of plans for the rest of the semester, and I left the café feeling rejuvenated and content.
Intercambio side note: almost as enjoyable was when I returned home late for cena and faced intense questioning from my host mom. By which I mean, once she found out the intercambio partner was, in fact, a boy my age, she bombarded me with questions. Is he cute? Is he tall? Where does he live? What does he study? He didn’t walk you home in the rain??
Intercambio side note 2: On Wednesday, our program sponsored and intercambio party and invited Spanish students. This is basically an awkward mixer where you feel each other out and decide if you want to trade contact information. Although I spent a while being awkward before jumping into the fray, I had some good conversations at the party as well. Throughout the night, my friends and I had a brilliant realization: the Spaniards can be just as awkward as us. And although there’s no exact translation for the word awkward, this realization is quite helpful for our relations, indeed.
A Real Life University Class
After a scary brush with the Inquisition, I was excited to try another university class. With my English teaching schedule, few options were open, so I selected a gender class that meets Thursday nights. Unfortunately, nobody told the professor about my enthusiasm to try her course, and she failed to show up for the first two weeks. This week was sort of do or die time (except that really the only choice was “do” because I am required to have both a university class and a schedule with five courses). Furthermore, Friday the 13th marked the last day to change our schedules around. Leaving me no time to try out other classes.
Luckily, everything went great on Thursday! The professor is very nice, and although I’ve taken a lot of courses on gender before, I’ve never taken one focused on Spain, and I’ve never taken one taught in the Spanish language. The teacher talks fast, and I missed a few punchlines of her jokes, but at the end of the night, I had to give myself props. It’s not everyday that one enrolls in a course in Spain as if she were an average Joe (Juan? Juana?) Spanish student. I consider taking in the information and making organized notes an accomplishment. So imagine how I’ll feel after writing a paper and taking an oral final! (yikes!!)
Sunny with a Chance of Crazy
INTERCAMBIO-MANIA
i.e. demystifying the mystifying Spanish
Intercambio: definition: the way to meet Spanish friends. A chance to meet and get coffee, speak in English for a while, and speak in Spanish for a while. Basically the equivalent of a language inspired blind date (even if your intercambio partner is a girl). Intercambios can be found on flyers around campus or on the university’s website. Once you communicate via email for awhile, you agree to meet at some cliché common meeting place: under the clock in the plaza mayor, at the frog on the university’s façade, etc. From there, it is truly a first date: feeling each other out, getting to know the basics about one another, deciding if more intercambios are in your mutual future.
Okay, now that we’re all on the same page, I’ll be honest. I was made for intercambios. Es decir, I am most comfortable one on one, I have an intense desire to practice Spanish, and I have no problems helping people with English. Although we were all eager to intercambio it up immediately, our program warned us that they don’t get up and running until mid February when classes are well under way.
So, this week, I had my first intercambio! And it was amazing. We talked about our lives, we talked about our classes, we talked about traveling and our families and weird dreams we’ve been having lately. We did all of this in a mix of English and Spanish and Spanglish, making it all the more enjoyable and rewarding. The thing about intercambios is that the person is also attempting to learn a new language, and is therefore unbelievably patient and helpful. (Even though our host moms are kind, they cannot possibly relate to attempting to conduct their lives in a foreign language because they have never tried). At certain points in the 2 hour plus conversation, we got tired, couldn’t think of words, and made mistakes (I told him my professor was “corto” instead of “bajo,” communicating that he was stunted mentally instead of short). But we only used the dictionary twice and were able to cover a wide variety of topics. We made lots of plans for the rest of the semester, and I left the café feeling rejuvenated and content.
Intercambio side note: almost as enjoyable was when I returned home late for cena and faced intense questioning from my host mom. By which I mean, once she found out the intercambio partner was, in fact, a boy my age, she bombarded me with questions. Is he cute? Is he tall? Where does he live? What does he study? He didn’t walk you home in the rain??
Intercambio side note 2: On Wednesday, our program sponsored and intercambio party and invited Spanish students. This is basically an awkward mixer where you feel each other out and decide if you want to trade contact information. Although I spent a while being awkward before jumping into the fray, I had some good conversations at the party as well. Throughout the night, my friends and I had a brilliant realization: the Spaniards can be just as awkward as us. And although there’s no exact translation for the word awkward, this realization is quite helpful for our relations, indeed.
A Real Life University Class
After a scary brush with the Inquisition, I was excited to try another university class. With my English teaching schedule, few options were open, so I selected a gender class that meets Thursday nights. Unfortunately, nobody told the professor about my enthusiasm to try her course, and she failed to show up for the first two weeks. This week was sort of do or die time (except that really the only choice was “do” because I am required to have both a university class and a schedule with five courses). Furthermore, Friday the 13th marked the last day to change our schedules around. Leaving me no time to try out other classes.
Luckily, everything went great on Thursday! The professor is very nice, and although I’ve taken a lot of courses on gender before, I’ve never taken one focused on Spain, and I’ve never taken one taught in the Spanish language. The teacher talks fast, and I missed a few punchlines of her jokes, but at the end of the night, I had to give myself props. It’s not everyday that one enrolls in a course in Spain as if she were an average Joe (Juan? Juana?) Spanish student. I consider taking in the information and making organized notes an accomplishment. So imagine how I’ll feel after writing a paper and taking an oral final! (yikes!!)
Sunny with a Chance of Crazy
I have decided that I suffer from seasonal depression. I know this not because I feel bad when it is cold and cloudy and rainy. I know this because I feel on top of the world whenever the sun shines for more than half an hour. Coincidentally, the sun arrived in Salamanca this week. As in five days of consecutive sun. As in my umbrella did not flip once this week, doing wonders for my mental health.
Now, before coming to Salamanca, I heard how the city has an amazing student life. I also heard that in Spain, the social life is almost exclusively outside of the home. Everything takes place on the streets and in restaurants. The problem is that it’s somewhat difficult to establish an amazing outdoor social life from under umbrellas, coats, scarves, hats and gloves. Even more so if you have to overcome shivering to talk. This week, all of these problems dissolved. The city came alive. Students lounged on the steps outside of the university. The Plaza Mayor filled up with guitar players and people eating ice cream. People juggled. I nearly died of happiness.
For some reason, my friends and I can’t just be normal bystanders or onlookers. Whenever we sit on the Plaza Mayor, we seem to hold an invisible sign that says: Please talk to us. This would be great if Don Juan responded, but we constantly attract a slightly more mature, senior citizen crowd. Thursday, three of us were sharing a bench with a real life dijeridou player who was providing the whole plaza with mood music. (For those of you who don’t know what that is, I’ve provided a picture above. Just an example. Not the Plaza Mayor man). An older woman came to sit with us, talking to us about America, asking if the dijeridou player was from the United States, telling us horror stories about drinking too much Sangria, describing her cooking, wishing us luck on our studies, and telling us to be safe. Naturally, we had no problem with her. However, the bench became a bit too crowded and uncomfortable upon the arrival of an older gentleman. He touched my hand and talked about my ice cream. He touched Jenny’s hair and said, “RUBIA!” (“blondie!”) He said a lot of other words that we couldn’t understand. Luckily, the woman told him to knock it off: “dejalas en paz. Que son muy maja!” My friends and I were able to briefly overcome our fear of Mr. Touchy Feely to be honored by her compliment. Another person who thinks we are good! Yess! We kindly thanked her and politely excused ourselves from the bench.
El Dia de San Valentin
Thursday, a friend texted me to inform me that I had a package at the IES center. As soon as a got a spare minute, I rushed to the center in great anticipation. I was not disappointed: a valentine’s day package from some of my dearest Tulsa friends! Just in the nick of time! American candy! Adorable cards! I am one lucky girl. The valentine’s package came in a week of increased communication from the homefront: valentine’s day cards from my mommy and daddy as well as both sets of grandparents. I’ve also been able to get internet in my homestay (although inconsistently) which is greatly improving overall communication this week. I had my first official skype date today, complete with audio and video, with Laura, Aaron, and Otis. We were all happy to see each other, although Otis was mostly unaware of what was going on. Sometimes, while here, (like when I receive surprise communication) I get to feeling bursts of love for my family and friends in the States. Rather than making me feel sad, I just get to feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
PS The valentine’s day package presented an interesting situation, as my friends were naturally very jealous. “Your friends love you more than ours do!” they told me. “My friends are the best at being friends” I replied. I found myself walking a thin line between showing my utter appreciation and pride for my home friends and making my Spain friends feel sad. So I just shared my valentine’s candy and kept most of my joy internal. :)
An “Amazing” Day at the Colegio
You may be thinking, “How could the week possibly get any better?” Well, it could end with a beautiful day at the elementary school. Say I unlocked a new communication skill for my English students. Or say they, too, made me adorable valentines. Or say, the hot gym teacher eyed me in the teacher’s lounge and asked me about my plans for the weekend. None of these things actually occurred, but an English teaching assistant can dream.
Here is what actually went down Friday. Miss Lucie and I taught the first graders art, as usual. Due to some glitch in the scheduling, there’s about 10 minutes when we should be in two places at once: waiting for the first graders to get picked up for gym, and starting Science with the fifth graders. Last week, I started the fifth grade lesson. This week, Miss Lucie left me with 26 Spanish six year olds. We had no objectives for the ten minutes, except to just wait them out. Which is possibly manageable, for ten minutes. When thirty five minutes pass and the teacher has failed to show up, things get a little chaotic. (Let’s just pretend they weren’t total chaos from the beginning). I had managed to entertain everybody (most everybody) with a game of “Dr. Monkey Says” (a version of Simon says?) for a while. But after twenty minutes, and with a limited set of English words, the game loses its magic. I attempted to teach “Heads Up Seven Up,” but only had about 8 interested participants. “And what of the other 18 niños?” you may wonder. Well, a few boys were in the back of the room emptying the contents of the trash can and strewing them about. Some kids were sitting on desks. Some were laughing and yelling. Some were crying. A pretty steady stream were filing in and out to the toilet. (because we use British words, it is the toilet). As for me, I alternated between yelling, attempting to reign them in, and just internally crying while surveying the situation.
Amidst the mess, one adorable girl approached me. “Miss Emily, I have a headache.” (internal response: “no ‘kidding’.” (let’s be honest- real internal response was a bit stronger) how could you not in here??). “Me too,” I said. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to rest this weekend.” The day concluded with Miss Lucie rescuing me and being very kind and apologetic and stressed out, and with the distribution of sandwiches for Operación Bocata (Operation Sandwich). This is a fundraiser that the school puts on, meaning several parents arrived to eat lunch with their kids. One mom was explaining to me that she needed to pick up her daughter and her sandwich so that they could eat together. When I failed to form an intelligent response about the sandwich situation, she asked me, “or don’t you speak any Spanish at all?” I was irked. I told her that, sí I speak Spanish thank you very much, but the truth is that I just didn’t know anything about Operación Bocata. Of course, the conversation was a bit strained over the yelling, playing children, who were at this point, exploring the bag of sandwiches. Ay dios mio.
You can’t win ‘em all. But some weeks, you can come very very close. My week ended with a guided tour of Salamanca, thanks to my intercambio. I went to a real life Spanish obra de teatro (play) in which I understood everything except for some jokes. (Jokes are hard because they require both a sophisticated use of the language, and some knowledge of the historical period). I spent more time outside, wandering, people watching, and finding a beautiful park. I hung out with new friends from my program. I went to a hip hop/ break dance battle, which was off the hook (just kidding. I don’t actually talk like that).
An “Amazing” Day at the Colegio
You may be thinking, “How could the week possibly get any better?” Well, it could end with a beautiful day at the elementary school. Say I unlocked a new communication skill for my English students. Or say they, too, made me adorable valentines. Or say, the hot gym teacher eyed me in the teacher’s lounge and asked me about my plans for the weekend. None of these things actually occurred, but an English teaching assistant can dream.
Here is what actually went down Friday. Miss Lucie and I taught the first graders art, as usual. Due to some glitch in the scheduling, there’s about 10 minutes when we should be in two places at once: waiting for the first graders to get picked up for gym, and starting Science with the fifth graders. Last week, I started the fifth grade lesson. This week, Miss Lucie left me with 26 Spanish six year olds. We had no objectives for the ten minutes, except to just wait them out. Which is possibly manageable, for ten minutes. When thirty five minutes pass and the teacher has failed to show up, things get a little chaotic. (Let’s just pretend they weren’t total chaos from the beginning). I had managed to entertain everybody (most everybody) with a game of “Dr. Monkey Says” (a version of Simon says?) for a while. But after twenty minutes, and with a limited set of English words, the game loses its magic. I attempted to teach “Heads Up Seven Up,” but only had about 8 interested participants. “And what of the other 18 niños?” you may wonder. Well, a few boys were in the back of the room emptying the contents of the trash can and strewing them about. Some kids were sitting on desks. Some were laughing and yelling. Some were crying. A pretty steady stream were filing in and out to the toilet. (because we use British words, it is the toilet). As for me, I alternated between yelling, attempting to reign them in, and just internally crying while surveying the situation.
Amidst the mess, one adorable girl approached me. “Miss Emily, I have a headache.” (internal response: “no ‘kidding’.” (let’s be honest- real internal response was a bit stronger) how could you not in here??). “Me too,” I said. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to rest this weekend.” The day concluded with Miss Lucie rescuing me and being very kind and apologetic and stressed out, and with the distribution of sandwiches for Operación Bocata (Operation Sandwich). This is a fundraiser that the school puts on, meaning several parents arrived to eat lunch with their kids. One mom was explaining to me that she needed to pick up her daughter and her sandwich so that they could eat together. When I failed to form an intelligent response about the sandwich situation, she asked me, “or don’t you speak any Spanish at all?” I was irked. I told her that, sí I speak Spanish thank you very much, but the truth is that I just didn’t know anything about Operación Bocata. Of course, the conversation was a bit strained over the yelling, playing children, who were at this point, exploring the bag of sandwiches. Ay dios mio.
You can’t win ‘em all. But some weeks, you can come very very close. My week ended with a guided tour of Salamanca, thanks to my intercambio. I went to a real life Spanish obra de teatro (play) in which I understood everything except for some jokes. (Jokes are hard because they require both a sophisticated use of the language, and some knowledge of the historical period). I spent more time outside, wandering, people watching, and finding a beautiful park. I hung out with new friends from my program. I went to a hip hop/ break dance battle, which was off the hook (just kidding. I don’t actually talk like that).
Sorry about the length of this post. When you’re bursting with joy, sometimes it’s hard to contain yourself. :)
jueves, 12 de febrero de 2009
El Choque Cultural
I. never. have. time. to. blog. After a most marvelous weekend in Madrid, I quickly transitioned back into regular life: classes, teaching English, intercambios, TV with my mom, and café con leche with my friends. For some reason, this schedule has not allowed me to catch up on (much needed) sleep! Además (furthermore), homework is so low on the priority scale (somewhere between terrible Spanish mini-series and showering) that I refuse to do it until midnight-ish the night before. Fortunately (?), I slept right through my three alarms and my nine am class today. And I’m using my free time to write an update!!
You may have noticed that my previous blog posts have not been bursting off the page with pure joy and Spanish bliss. Possibly because I have not been bursting with pure joy and Spanish bliss. During orientation, they brought in a psychologist to talk with us about “el choque culture” (ie culture shock or cultural adjustment). Since I had received this talk many times with Amigos de las Americas and TU study abroad, the information was nothing new. In fact, all I remember from the talk is doing a role play about greeting people with a kiss on each cheek, and how this is strange for Americans (stranger still during a role play with all Americans). However, I have experienced my fair share of culture shock in the last month… feelings of frustration when nobody smiles on the street… feeling like an infant unable to meet my basic needs… feeling like my Spanish is somehow (impossibly?) getting worse… and feeling as though I will never meet Spanish friends and fully infiltrate Spanish society (yes, infiltrate, like a spy). I have been fortunate to find like-minded American friends who share my goals (principally, becoming as close to fluent as four months will allow, and becoming as close to Spanish culture as four months will allow). The only problem with wonderful like-minded friends is that you have somebody to lament your shortcomings with! Just last Thursday, we ate delicious pastries, reflected that we’ve been in Salamanca nearly a month, and moaned about our progress. “Why aren’t we doing better?” “Will we ever find Spanish boyfriends?” (just kidding). “We thought we’d be further along by now,” “boo hoo,” etc. etc.
This is when a weekend in Madrid with friends from Tulsa comes in very very handy. We juggled extensively. We spent an entire day in a beautiful, gigantic park. We had a picnic in our hostel. And we talked about our study abroad lives. While discussing my issues with my beautiful and wonderful Tulsa people, my darling roommate Whitney reminded me of what I have accomplished in the past month: picking up and moving my life to a foreign country. Okay, okay. Maybe I need to give myself a little credit. Therefore, I have decided to blog about (drumroll please) a list of my accomplishments in Salamanca so far. Be prepared to be envious and inspired. I will try not to toot my own horn too much. (Sorry. But does anybody know a better expression for “toot my own horn?”)
1. Laundry
Impressive, right? Since I arrived to Salamanca with a suitcase full of dirty clothes and very few clean ones, I pretty much immediately followed my friends’ suggestions to a laundromat on their street. It’s a nice small place that smells strongly of cigarette smoke (strange for a place where clothes are cleaned). There I left the dirtiest clothes of my life and all of my unmentionables with a somewhat scary ponytailed muscle man. I proceeded to be a bit preoccupied for the entire hour and half duration, but when I rescued my clothes, they smelled good and were neatly folded (although I don’t like to think of him folding my unmentionables!). Since again using the same place, I’ve decided that ponytail man and I will probably be friends someday.
2. Winning the Affection of My Host Mom/ Being a Good Eater
(essentially the same thing)
My host family is clearly accustomed to having Americans and foreigners of every variety in their home- my mom has been taking in students from the university for over ten years. While things went well at first, I thought we might just have a pleasant working relationship. I never really knew if she actually liked me! Last week, the IES director and housing person came to check out the homestay and take pictures for IES publicity. I was in class when they visited (avoiding what would have been pretty awkward), but my host mom provided me a full report. Apparently, she told them that I spend a lot of time with her, keep my room very clean, and “come bien.” And I do eat well! Whether its fish and a fried egg, or a heaping plate of paella with almost a whole chicken in it, I almost always manage to clean my plate. This has solidified my bond with my host mom (who actually compliments me quite often on my eating habits). It also scored points with the IES staff, who apparently replied that I am “maga” (after a quick check with my friends, I learned that this translates to “good person!”) Happy day!
Sidenote: in other food related accomplishments, I am also impressing Americans with my capabilities. When our program went to a fancy lunch, we were served a giant, rich, creamy chocolate dessert on a plate covered with powdered sugar. I was one of two to finish, and the boys on my program were very impressed. Cute, huh?
A final note on food: I am slowly learning the names of various tapas (which are small portions of appetizers served with wine for the low low price of 2 euros). Before leaving town, I hope to be able to order without using gestures and words like “this” and “that” while motioning at the case of tapas.
3. Being a Good Walker
Okay, so nobody has complimented me on my walking. But I thought I should mention my primary form of exercise after talking about all that eating. And I do spend a hefty portion of my day as a pedestrian. I have learned well the 25 minute walk between home and school, which takes me directly through the Plaza Mayor about four times a day (not bad!). Since the elementary school where I teach is in the opposite direction, I have also mastered taking the bus when I have to hurry from one place to another. Although Salmantinos walk from place to place as necessary, it is also the collective city’s pastime. My friends and I have adapted to “dando un paseo” (going for a stroll) and window shopping with the locals (who take window shopping very, very seriously). The weather is finally getting better, and the streets are only going to get more crowded. I can’t wait!
4. Las clases
The most exciting part of study abroad! Really, I have to give myself credit for attending all of my classes in the Spanish language. Even if they are boring. Even if I accidently skipped the most boring one today. I’ve also tried university classes, including a history course on the Inquisition. The professor just paced and paced and talked and talked, and although he promised he didn’t bite, I didn’t believe him. He talked about forcing us to participate by calling our names off a list and he explained a complicated assignment that included books that are no longer in print. Day one, I maintained my positive attitude. Day two, I tried to stick with him. Then, as class progressed, I started planning which clothes to buy while everything is on sale. After class, I ran away (straight to the stores), never to return.
Okay, I can tell this list is progressively getting more boring. But that’s just the point! I’m mastering daily life. And this week, I’ve slowly been moving on to more exciting tasks. Bursting with pure Spanish joy version of blog to come soon.
martes, 3 de febrero de 2009
Salamanca So Far
Dear faithful blog readers,
I know that January 19th was an exciting day for everybody, and that you’ve probably been dying since then, hungering for new posts, waiting with bated breath for the lowdown on my life in Salamanca. Again, I waited way too long and there’s no way to summarize everything. Here’s another list that captures Salamanca so far. I can already tell that it’s going to go on for miles, so skim and skip at your leisure! The list items are like little chapters of a book. What fun. I miss you all!
1. A dark karaoke bar at 5 pm (reeking of stale smoke). The dance classroom in a sweaty gym (reeking of things other than smoke). An arcade filled with American games (knockoff version of DDR?). Matinee showing of Desperdeuax dubbed into Spanish (um, the kids movie with the mouse with big ears) at the mall. A basketball court with no heat in the middle of January. Oh, the wondrous places IES orientation can take you. I found myself dancing flamenco, singing Juanes on stage, playing some good air hockey, and participating in an indoor soccer tournament. None of which I had planned before coming to Spain. :) We all learned some valuable lessons through orientation, however. Including…
Do not sing “Loveshack” in a karaoke bar in Spain. Ever. You may think it’s lighthearted and in English (que facil), but the music video with the words may include what amounts to soft core porn. We all felt awkward, and I’m not sure if it’s because we’re American or because we have morals…
Sometimes, you just have to be a good sport. Disregard the people on treadmills and stair steppers eying you, and participate fully in the flamenco lesson. Who cares if you’re slow and you can tell the instructor thinks so? Who cares if the pace is painfully slow and you still can’t keep up? It’s good to try and clap your hands and imagine yourself in a pretty Flamenco dress.
Speaking of being a good sport, sometimes, you just have to suck it up and do the scavenger hunt. After giving us a talk mere days before about how to blend in and not look touristy, the IES staff sent us out with maps, cameras, and ridiculous clues. My team and I took pictures with a Spanish boy and girl, we discovered the typical jewelry of Salamanca (a button), and we learned about the holiday “Lunes de Agua.” Apparently, the Monday after Easter marks when the prostitutes were let back into the city after getting the boot for holy week. Party! We failed to find the frog on the famous façade of the university, which sucks because it’s supposed to bring good luck. Anyways, we came in second place and won free university t shirts. And vowed never to speak of it again. :)
To be fair, IES orientation took us to some really cool places, as well. We visited Segovia which has amazing Roman aqueducts and a castle that is rumored to have inspired Walt Disney. We visited a winery in Toro and took a taste test. We ate in a bodega (old wine cellar) that has been converted into a crazy restaurant with crazy staff. Our lunch there included: sausage, bacon, ribs, bread, salad, red wine, flan, café con leche, two different kinds of shots, and cigarettes. Just what I was looking for on a Saturday afternoon! IES also funded an afternoon at Valor, which has amazing chocolate and churros (mmmm), and a pizza party at the Irish Rover (an Irish pub known for attracting American students). We went on a Monday night and had our own personal Tuna performance. Tuna refers to a mariachi type group that wears medieval outfits and plays love songs. The tradition started when medical students from the university couldn’t pay their tuition and therefore started playing music on the side. Anyways, the performance was fun and they made people sing into the microphone (while I hid in the corner). Immediately after the tuna performance, the bar transformed as they set up for the weekly Monday night beer pong tournament. Ha. Another good orientation experience.
2. As some of you know, I was planning on dating one or both of the 23 year old twins that I live with (or at the very least, befriending one or both of them). As of now, my plans have been foiled, mostly due to the fact that they never ever exit their room when they are home… except to get their food and bring it back to their room. You might be thinking, “But Spanish families are supposed to eat together! Even lunch! That’s like their trademark!” I know, I know, but apparently nobody told Pilar (my host mom) and her sons.
To be completely honest, Jorge (twin 1) and I have been building a strong relationship recently when we run into each other in the hallway. I’ve translated a brief example for you below:
E: Hi
J: Hi
E: How are you?
J: Well I cut my head open playing indoor soccer and had to get stitches.
E: That sucks! (internally grateful that she learned the word for stitches just the other day in intensive Spanish class).
Fin. Inspires hope though, si?? I would summarize my relationship with Nacho (twin 2), but I have yet to meet him. Instead, I’ll describe my emotions towards him. It’s been a rollercoaster. First I anticipated meeting him, thinking he must be the cool twin because he’s never home. And maybe he and Jorge took different paths since their very identical photos (displayed in the living room) were taken? (This hope was squashed when my host mom told me they share a gym membership photo ID card to save money!) Sadly, Nacho has recently been spending more time at home but has not yet met me (I hear him talking in the room next to me as I type!!). Naturally, I first turned bitter towards him, but have since resolved to deal with the situation. And he can’t avoid me for a whole semester…
An alternative theory is that this “Jorge” with whom I’ve been having hope-inspiring chats is actually each of them rotating and that Nacho just skipped the step of meeting the foreign girl living in his house. I’ll keep you posted after more investigation…
3. My host mom herself happens to be amazing. I knew I liked her the moment I got off the bus, when she told me that the embassy called with my returned passport, spoke to me rapidly in Spanish, gave me the double kiss, and marched me to the car. It’s evident I have a great host mom at other times too, such as when she makes me get out my map to mark every single place I might be able to find a hair dryer. Very matter of fact. My love for her is confirmed every time I enter the piso (apartment) and smell something delicious cooking. Also, she carefully takes into account what kind of nutrient each food is providing me, and it has been a very very long time since anybody has cared about my nutrients. Every meal starts with her describing to me how she made it, so I’m obviously learning a lot of cooking vocabulary. All of our meals last at least an hour, and since it’s just the two of us (refer to number 2), I get tons of practice listening and speaking. We watch the news or Pasapalabra (game show), or the cooking show with the singing, joke-telling chef (more cooking vocab for me!). Usually, the tv provides us good conversation starters. Talking about American celebrities is the best because there’s always a 30-45 second gap between when she says the name of a movie or celebrity while I translate in my head or interpret her pronunciation and then respond. But discovering that we both love Dirty Dancing, for example, is pretty awesome. She always calls me “hija” and worries about me when I go out and I like her a lot! This weekend, I was late meeting up with my friends to go out because we watched “Just my luck” (that terrible Lindsay Lohan movie?). I had to tear myself away to meet up at midnight :)
4. Speaking of going out, it’s safe to say that the Spaniards win at doing it well and doing it all night. As Americans, we play along every once in awhile, but we have a lot to learn. (And about Americans, I can proudly say that people have guessed my friends and I are Swiss, German, and Finnish before we tell them ESTADOS UNIDOS! Maybe we’re not blending in with the Spaniards, but if we’re euro-ish we must be doing something right!) It’s fun to try new places and get to know the city and its people, which is surprisingly easy to do after dark. Its fun to see the Plaza Mayor filled with life of all ages at midnight in the cold cold January temperatures. (This was the spot of a spontaneous and enjoyable Tuna serenade). As for actual places to go, one of our favorites has been Camelot. It’s a discoteca that plays a mix of Spanish and American music and is great for people watching if nothing else. It is crammed from about midnight to five am on the weekends. But during daytime hours, it may be hard to pick out. It blends in well with the monastery that it is a part of…
5. Okay last thing. I really need to self edit. But today I started my education internship at the Colegio Montesori, ie the most expensive and elite private elementary school in Salamanca. The niños wear uniforms and ties and coats with the school’s emblem on them, and I’ve been warned that it’s the school of the pijos (Spanish slang for spoiled brats). Nonetheless, I’m really excited and they’re cute and it’s a bilingual school so they speak amazing English. The entire fifth grade Science class I attended today was conducted in English, and I might have felt right at home if it wasn’t for one thing. The teacher is neither Spanish, American, nor British, but rather Dutch. Nevertheless, she speaks with a British accent and so do all of the students. I literally felt as though I stepped through the classroom door into England. Before the class started, Miss Lucie and I talked about logistics, and she spoke to me in English. In the process, she asked me if I had a timetable. I looked at her confusedly and glanced at my watch. “Schedule!” she said, apologizing for sometimes using the British word. Madre mia. If I can’t communicate with people in my native tongue…
I promise to write more about life in Salamanca soon. And possibly with more frequency. But one last last thing. Life here is cold. And rainy. And sometimes frustrating. Its hard to get out and enjoy the city when you’re freezing cold, and since my friends and I live scattered in homestays I spend a lot of time walking alone. It’s a little bit different than my crowded, comfy TU apartment complex or the small town Mexico atmosphere of last summer. It takes some adjusting! But when I sit in the Plaza Mayor and watch the old men on their afternoon stroll, or when I sneak into the Cathedral (hundreds of years old) between classes, or when my homestay actually starts feeling like home, I know I’m in the right place. I can’t wait to aprovechar (take advantage) of almost four more months aqui!
lunes, 19 de enero de 2009
Worry Dolls
Me and my mom are worriers. She won’t even object that it’s written on the internet. For Christmas, I got her Guatemalan worry dolls so that we could each put one under our pillow- the idea is to whisper your worries to the doll so that it can work on them for you during the night. In any case, I liked the idea of having one in Spain while my mom had one at home. Our dog Sadie apparently had other plans and consumed the first worry dolls whole, so my mom and I had to get replacements. While I traveled on two continents, I had not a permanent bed nor pillow, so I tucked the worry doll within my money belt. However, this did not keep me from worrying about my money and passport almost constantly. I faithfully wore the belt in the crowded Madrid city center and through the markets of Morocco. As I hiked to the waterfall and rode the camel, I wore my belt and could check often to make sure it hadn’t fallen off (see Mexico money belt experience). I either kept the money belt with me at night in the hostels, or safely locked it away. I faced very light hearted teasing from Kristin, but was determined to keep my belongings safe.
On Sunday, we travelled from Sevilla to Madrid on the fast, comfortable, and expensive AVE train. It was the last leg of our journey together, and all went smoothly although we were both tired after a night of flamenco clubbing and discoteca-ing in Sevilla with friends from our hostel. Kristin slept while I watched Mama Mia en español, which is quite possibly the only thing cheesier than Mama Mia en ingles. But I digress. After arriving in Madrid, we relaxed in the train station for a while, called Jorge to arrange to get my suitcases, and resolved to head back to our same hostel (We hadn’t made sleeping plans because Kristin’s flight required her to head to the airport around 3 am). I was excited to hop back on the Madrid metro (subway), which I love navigating, although I was less excited to do so with our luggage from Morocco. It was a simple, three stop journey on one line from the train station to the city center. I was surprised that this Sunday afternoon was our busiest metro experience to date. I was more surprised after getting off the subway, when a lady came up to me and said in English (insert British accent here) “can I tell you something? I saw two gypsy women in your bag, but I was too far away to say anything. You might want to check that you have everything. You really have to be careful about these things.” Her “helpful” advice came just as I was searching frantically in my bag for my money belt, which had been within my purse which was in my bag which was across my shoulder and closed. And was no longer there. The only time I didn’t wear the belt on the entire trip. I wouldn’t have believed that they had taken it had somebody not seen it. These pickpocketers are truly professionals. Increíble.
What followed was a trip to the Spanish police station to file a report, a trip to the American consulate to report the loss of my passport, a search for a hostel near the consulate so that I could return in the morning, and a cena at Pizza Hut (lame, but after which I felt better). After a nearly sleepless night in the creepiest hostel ever, wishing Kristin farewell at 3:15, and a long morning at the consulate, I was able to meet up with my group in the airport and travel by bus to Salamanca. (Actually the consulate people were incredibly nice and sped up the process so that I wouldn’t have to travel to Salamanca on my own). I know that had I not travelled beforehand, meeting my group in the Madrid airport would have been something of a big deal. After my trip and my experience the previous 24 hours, it seemed like a breeze! When we arrived in Salamanca, our host families waited outside the bus for us. They stared at us like animals behind the glass, and we stared back, hoping to see signals of kind heartedness and good cooking. When I stepped off the bus and met my mom with the customary double kiss, she told me immediately that the consulate had called the house because my original passport had been turned in. Apparently, these thieves were not part of the sophisticated mafias that study and reproduce American passports. What joy!
To complete this somewhat sad, meandering story, tonight I came home for cena and my host mom told me that the package from Madrid had come. I eagerly opened it, excited to see my beautiful passport in its original condition. Instead I found the entire money belt, complete with my passport, TU student ID and international student ID card, and 2 debit cards. In the corner I found my small worry doll. Although I’m out 150 euros of cash, I must say that it’s a satisfactory end to the story. Included in the package as well is the email of the person who recovered it, who I plan on thanking profusely. It all goes to show that no matter how much you worry, shit happens. But we’re capable of dealing with it, and instead of sweating the small stuff, we should focus on all of the good. Think Said and Jorge (huge help from the police station on) and Moroccon mint tea and camels and Spanish soccer and people taking the time to return your things. A lot of good indeed.
On Sunday, we travelled from Sevilla to Madrid on the fast, comfortable, and expensive AVE train. It was the last leg of our journey together, and all went smoothly although we were both tired after a night of flamenco clubbing and discoteca-ing in Sevilla with friends from our hostel. Kristin slept while I watched Mama Mia en español, which is quite possibly the only thing cheesier than Mama Mia en ingles. But I digress. After arriving in Madrid, we relaxed in the train station for a while, called Jorge to arrange to get my suitcases, and resolved to head back to our same hostel (We hadn’t made sleeping plans because Kristin’s flight required her to head to the airport around 3 am). I was excited to hop back on the Madrid metro (subway), which I love navigating, although I was less excited to do so with our luggage from Morocco. It was a simple, three stop journey on one line from the train station to the city center. I was surprised that this Sunday afternoon was our busiest metro experience to date. I was more surprised after getting off the subway, when a lady came up to me and said in English (insert British accent here) “can I tell you something? I saw two gypsy women in your bag, but I was too far away to say anything. You might want to check that you have everything. You really have to be careful about these things.” Her “helpful” advice came just as I was searching frantically in my bag for my money belt, which had been within my purse which was in my bag which was across my shoulder and closed. And was no longer there. The only time I didn’t wear the belt on the entire trip. I wouldn’t have believed that they had taken it had somebody not seen it. These pickpocketers are truly professionals. Increíble.
What followed was a trip to the Spanish police station to file a report, a trip to the American consulate to report the loss of my passport, a search for a hostel near the consulate so that I could return in the morning, and a cena at Pizza Hut (lame, but after which I felt better). After a nearly sleepless night in the creepiest hostel ever, wishing Kristin farewell at 3:15, and a long morning at the consulate, I was able to meet up with my group in the airport and travel by bus to Salamanca. (Actually the consulate people were incredibly nice and sped up the process so that I wouldn’t have to travel to Salamanca on my own). I know that had I not travelled beforehand, meeting my group in the Madrid airport would have been something of a big deal. After my trip and my experience the previous 24 hours, it seemed like a breeze! When we arrived in Salamanca, our host families waited outside the bus for us. They stared at us like animals behind the glass, and we stared back, hoping to see signals of kind heartedness and good cooking. When I stepped off the bus and met my mom with the customary double kiss, she told me immediately that the consulate had called the house because my original passport had been turned in. Apparently, these thieves were not part of the sophisticated mafias that study and reproduce American passports. What joy!
To complete this somewhat sad, meandering story, tonight I came home for cena and my host mom told me that the package from Madrid had come. I eagerly opened it, excited to see my beautiful passport in its original condition. Instead I found the entire money belt, complete with my passport, TU student ID and international student ID card, and 2 debit cards. In the corner I found my small worry doll. Although I’m out 150 euros of cash, I must say that it’s a satisfactory end to the story. Included in the package as well is the email of the person who recovered it, who I plan on thanking profusely. It all goes to show that no matter how much you worry, shit happens. But we’re capable of dealing with it, and instead of sweating the small stuff, we should focus on all of the good. Think Said and Jorge (huge help from the police station on) and Moroccon mint tea and camels and Spanish soccer and people taking the time to return your things. A lot of good indeed.
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