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!

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.