Lessons Learned in Spain:

patience is a virtue

Agree to disagree, Spain. Agree to disagree.

Dear Spain, you are quite the anomaly...

Or maybe I meant to say illogical, irrational, and occasionally just loco. I’m not sure, I spend all my time dumbing down my English for my niños, other professors, and Spaniards I encounter on the street (and probably my American friends too- LOLZ). But, anyways, let me count the ways: 

1. Now how does it make any kind of sense to have up escalators... but never, never down escalators, only stairs. Hi, people in wheelchairs (and me, when I’m lazy) need to travel both up and down, por favor. 

2. I get it, I get it- you use moneda (coins). So you’re telling me that if I try to hand the driver a five euro bill on the bus, I will be told that they do not accept effectivo (paper currency) and I have to get off the bus and try to use my terrible Spanish to make change somewhere else? Oh, right. That’s more convenient for everyone. 

3. This is not a third world country. There is a world-wide pandemic of Gripe A (aka swine flu, and yeah, I know that a pandemic MEANS world-wide epidemic but it sounds a little more dramatic). And STILL you are telling me that it is impossible to invest in some toilet paper or maybe even some soap in public bathrooms? This is not a problem solely located in discotecas, either. You should see the cesspool that they call a bathroom at school. 

4. How about the falta de agua (drought)? Yet for some reason, you invest a great deal of time and effort WASHING the streets every night. In America, maybe you’ve heard of it, we just do a little street sweeping and call it a day. On the other hand, I have seen a man go to the bathroom on the streets, so keep it up. I’ll take shorter showers if necessary.

5. Students are taught that there are five continents.

6. How about the work ethic here? You’re dealing with an 18% unemployment rate overall and its staying steady at 37% for people my age(thanks, wikipedia, consider this a citation). Now, I’m no economics major, but let’s just say, if you have a job here, maybe you should actually do some damn work. None of this closed for rest garbage. Everyone gets a case of the Mondays, but I think that in order to make some dinero, your store should be open. Again, I’m Asian, but no math whiz, so let me know if I’m not thinking that one all the way through.

7. I’m pretty sure that I see about 10 policia on Larios every morning. Now how is this the hotspot for pickpocketing? Oh right, because even though Spain doesn’t have doughnuts, they still find a way to stand in groups, talk amongst each other and do nothing. ¡Enhorabuena! You’re useless. (Disclaimer: To all my policia that I know, I am obviously not talking about you. Your colleagues are really bringing down your image). 

Despite the fact that you are utterly ridiculous, I still enjoy spending time with you Spain.  I think our relationship can move past these small speedbumps. That’s another thing- how about some traffic laws?

ay dios mio... wiki-wiki-WHY?

I need to somehow film the crowd's reaction when this song is comes on at the discotecas.









It is positively appalling, let me assure you. 

“Half the fun of the travel is the aesthetic of lostness.” – Ray Bradbury

I think that one of the things that is most difficult for me in Spain is having to accept that I cannot be as smart in the Spanish language as I am in English. I pride myself on my English vocabulary and, despite not being sure of the difference between a present continuous or a simple present noun, my writing and speech is almost always grammatically correct. Perfect, if you will. (haha.... sadly, first - and second, third, fourth... - impressions of me don’t in anyway imply that I’m intelligent. Oh well.)

So adjusting to the fact that my Spanish is, at best, elementary is pretty tough. Yeah, I can convey my basic wants and needs, maybe even tell a story... ocasionally, even in the past tense. But anything more is usually lost in translation. One example is that I’m pretty sarcastic... but trying to be sarcastic in Spanish is nearly impossible for me. Last night, I said “era una broma” (it was a joke) after I received a blank stare from my new policia friend. He said, in Spanish, “I don’t understand your jokes.” Ouch. 

In any language, I think one of the worst things is NOT KNOWING something, anything. One example is that one of the profesoras that I teach English to wanted me to explain the economy in America right now. Umm... I didn’t have internet for 6 weeks, I’ve never taken economics in college and I’m pretty sure that in high school I did about as poorly as I’ve ever done in a class in Economics (not including AP Calculus, por supuesto). So, I will be giving myself a quick crash course on economics and trying to give Lola a free lesson next Thursday. Yikes. 

In general, it seems as though all the useless knowledge that I’ve accumulated in the past 22 years (okay, not sure exactly how much I learned years 0-3 or so) have set me up for teaching English. I can explain the American government to them, talk to them about my pets, explain various sports, talk about all the random places I’ve been to in America (thanks, parents, for taking us to that dude ranch. That’s easily understood by Spaniards), discuss American movies and music. Pretty much all my time wasted in America has geared me up to teach the culture of my country.

I had to travel to Spain to find out that I’m an interesting person. 

Thanks American friends... hijos de putas, jajaja.

la comida de china

Well, last night, due to extreme laziness and general disinterest in cooking, Chrystin and I attempted to have Chinese food in España. 

Pros: 

• free delivery!
• that whole not having to cook thing. Plus, capitalizing on our epic laziness, we opted for the plastic plates and forks. I think that really makes the para llevar (take-out) experience, right?
• In theory, the menu is the same as an American Chinese food menu. For example, they have “rollos de primavera”- spring rolls! Also, recognizable were won-tons, various chicken and pork dishes, noodles, etc...

Cons: 

• Remember how I dropped that “In theory” into the pro’s column... well, guess what? As always in Spain, you never quite know what’s gonna end up on your plate. So, “arroz frito,” aka fried rice, implies that the rice will, in fact, be fried. Sadly, this is not the case here. Instead, we had some steamed rice. Maybe when they were writing the menu they just weren’t sure of the word for “steamed,” because I sure as hell don’t know it. 
• The won-tons were, in actuality, just some of that Indian bread, naan, that was deep-fried. Sometimes, small treats, such as meat or some kind of vegetables, were hidden inside. I don’t actually want to think about the sorpresas de carne (meat surprises, hahahha). 

So is this what its like for a Chinese person to be living in America? Seeing a sign for the Jade Pacific and getting excited for some traditional Chinese food and then... let-down?

Wait... if I’m used to Americanized Chinese food.... do you think that maybe I ate authentic straight-off-the-boat-from-China-but-in-Spain Chinese food last night and I am just unused to such authenticity? Also, what do you think those meat surprises were? I've seen how they treat their mascotas (pets) here, and that thought is scaring me a little. 

Either way, when I go to a Chinese restaurant in Spain, I’m totally ordering a scorpion bowl. 

So, today I felt like I betrayed my Boston roots a little. That’s right, I was complimented on having a very easy accent to understand- because of my LACK of American accent. 

You know what that means. I’ve found my R’s. No longer do I pahk my cah, now I can go to Harrrrvarrrrd Yarrrrrrd and leave the Corolla there (Really, I am in Spain and never go to Harvard Yard, or for that matter, drive anywhere. But that is entirely besides the point of this post). 

Living in Andalusia, I am told all the time that “if you can speak Andalusian Spanish, you can speak Spanish anywhere”. The reason for this is that most of the time, in Andalusia, people get tired or take a mini-siesta about half or 3/4 of the way through a word and move on to the next word. I think it also due to the reason of exhaustion that they speak so quickly- POR FAVORRRR, let this conversation be over soon. Now, everywhere I go, I wave my invisible American flag, making it painfully clear that I AM NOT SPANISH. And when I speak English to Spainards I speak as slowly as possible and enunciate e-v-e-r-y s-i-n-g-l-e l-e-t-t-e-r. How is that they can not slow down or maybe, I don’t know, finish a word? Gra... Graci... oh, you mean Gracias? Sorry that you had to overexert yourself. Take tomorrow off. 

I just went to the Oficina de Extranjeros on Monday to FINALLY, FINALLY get my residency permit (Whoops, did I overstay my 30 days?). Imagine being Spanish and going to the DMV. It doesn’t matter how often, or in what language, you beg, “por favor, mas despacio”... nahhht gonna happen. Especially frustrating was when finally, after using hand signals, smoke signals, and pictionary, I was able to understand what was going on- then learning that the man spoke enough English to convey his point. Come on, pal, help an extranjero out, your accent is unbelievably hard to understand.

That’s not to say that I do not have some speaking fails in the classroom. Something that I never noticed about American accents is how similar our T’s and D’s are. For example, I am asked how old I am: “twenty-two”. But really, we pronounce it “twenny-two”. Always good for a laugh is me pronouncing absolutely any Spanish word- today my best joke was attempting to say “Malagueta”. Hey kid, I know you are very leeetle, but your English accent isn’t the best I’ve ever heard, so cut me some slack, ¿vale? 

I realize this post sounds overly harsh, but to tell the truth I had a few of the most productive days ever here. First, I am in fact legally here, for a year or so (not sure how long a permiso de estancia for estudiantes is valid for). Second, I was able to open a bank account. Now, I can get paid for hanging out with the niños. And, I am fairly proud of myself for having an easy accent to understand. 

Now....... if...... only...... people..... at..... home.... won’t....... judge.... me.... when.... I.... talk..... like..... this.......

¿Entiendes?

vamos al mercado

when bob smile, we smile

Today we went to a street market. It was really fun and cheap, and the best part, I think that I found out what my dad’s personal vision of heaven looks like: a giant yard sale.

Here, you could literally buy A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G.  I saw skis, clothing for 50 centimos, olives, scarves, earrings, more socks than a Wal-Mart typically has in stock, porn, vegetables... there was table filled with useless kitchen gadgets that are typically labeled AS SEEN ON TV. I’m pretty sure that if I wanted to purchase a child or a goat, or barter a child for a goat, this would be the ideal place to carry out such a transaction. 

Ultimately, we only bought a few (very key) items. For example, we had a small miscommunication and accidentally bought 4 kilos of aguacate (avocado). Sure, you may ask what the hell will we do with 4 kilos of avocado, but for only 4 euro, who cares if I have to eat guacamole for a week? We ended up buying about 6 kilos of produce for 8 euro... and the best part is that all the veggies I will eat for the next week will have been purchased from the trunk of a car. Stay classy, España. 

This is a picture of a milk crate filled with snails. I’ve spent 22 years on this planet and never before have I seen such a thing. In Spain, natch, I see not just one crate of snails but several. (PS- The woman selling the snails thought I was a joke for taking pictures of them. REALLY? You are judging me? Your occupation is selling snails on the sidewalk). 

tres pescados

titled contributed by my amigo de SK, Ray Sammarco

So I've come to the realization that moving and living abroad, a person needs to be both brave and resourceful. But after thinking that through for a minute, I feel as though I can amend that to naive and foolish, con frecuencia. 

The last few days have been really busy and really... interesting. For starters, there was the day that everything in my life decided to break: bathroom light, my computer charger (yep, that's definitely donezo, thank you Apple), my sandal. Also, not broken, but definitely empty would be the gas tank that we use to the heat the water for showering purposes. So, classified as resourceful: taking a cold shower by the light of my laptop. Yes friends, this is the glamor of living in another country. 

Also resourceful, is beginning my new career as an English teacher, or as I like to call it, a mime. I have done everything short of painting my face white and pretending that I am stuck in an invisible box to get my point across. But, you know, usually it works. And I think I have also picked up some Spanish along the way. Favorite Spanish words used in the classroom: "Venga, POR FAAAVOR, callate, sientete..." 

To be brave encompasses the simple act of moving somewhere random and attempting to live there. It kind of hit me that, yeah, this is not the norm, and it is something very different, when we ran into an older group of Oregonians who had just traveled throughout Europe. While we were on the bus, they asked us our names and told us that they had children our age and that they would think of us and send us maternal prayers. 

Of course, living in my barrio is a whole different kind of brave. Literally, I tell people where I live and they suggest that I move. We have a contract, so that's not going to happen, but its not a reassuring feeling to have such a reaction. So yeah, I will say that's brave and also downright stupid. But I feel safe and as you have seen in previous posts, there is some pretty serious musical talent aqui. 

Also, I have been trying to find new friends to talk to in Spanish and in English (for their benefit, I think my English skillz right now are about a 7 on a scale from 1 to 10). Therefore, I have been answering online anuncios (I know, I know.... already received one BU/Craigslist killer joke, keep 'em coming) that offer "mi espanol para tu ingles". It was actually really fun, I met one guy who is unemployed- wow, so different from estados unidos- but he used to plan trips to Cadiz for Carnaval, with literally thousands of people that attend.  So, going to a random plaza/bar/cafe to meet with a new friend might be dangerous, but it was also very useful because I made a couple new Spanish amigos and I think they may have actually helped me with my Spanish. Hopefully I did the same for them. 

I guess everything that I do here is alternately brave or stupid. It's nice to bring a little piece of my American traditions everywhere that I go.

Thank God for Youtube: The Pride of My Barrio?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93QcgumAHYw

Easing My Parents' Fears...

Before leaving for Spain (and since arriving here), I've been asked several times if I am going to meet someone here and get married and never come home. First of all, how is this a rational chain of thought? Second of all, no. This will not happen, for many reasons.

Now, I am not sure that I want to have children anyway, because they make me nervous and I am incapable of taking care of myself, let alone another human being. But, if I were to marry a Spanish man, there is a huge probability that our child would also be Spanish. And since working in a high school, and seeing them on the streets and beaches and doing whatever children do, I think there is no way I could ever deal with owning a Spanish child.

They are LOUD. And rambunctious. In the halls, there are always children throwing books, notebooks, bags, other children all over the place. They run, they scream, they barely speak English - they are just so much noisier than American children. There are just no consequences for their actions. It's very much a culture shock to see how they behave.

But I will give the niños some credit. They do sound a lot more precioso when just passing by them in the street. Or is that just because I don't understand what they're saying? And they are definitely cuter than American kids, but they could definitely calm down with the amount of overalls they wear.

Also, maybe they could start leashing their children in the calles?

But I think that there is such a huge cultural divide that marrying a Spaniard would be utterly ridiculoso. I always say that I will make someone a terrible wife someday and that's by American standards. I can't cook, cleaning is low on my list of priorities, and I'm not what is typically defined as "nurturing". It seems that, in Spain, women are still expected to, like, stay at home all the time and be a housewife. The thought of that is reminiscent of my hangover from yesterday.

On the bright side, we have been searching for novioS, plural. So yeah, I don't think I'll be having a Spanish wedding anytime.

mi calle es un poco peligroso?

I'm beginning to get a little concerned that many, many people have told me and my roommates that our street is somewhat dangerous. After shelling out 600 Euro, I would hope that our landlords or maybe the realtor would inform the three young chicas Americanas that perhaps this is not the best neighborhood to live in.

That said, I have NEVER felt unsafe on calle carríon. Despite the fact that it is up this hill:

I really, really love our piso. I feel like I'm living in a real Spanish barrio- complete with the aforementioned fruteria, carneceria, supermercado, ting ting (roommate's racial slur for the Asian store that has, quite literally, EVERTHING. Items purchased: wine opener, clothes hangers, trash barrels, pedi-eggs, nail polish, construction paper......), and rowdy neighbors.

Also, today, amidst the worst hangover I have had in Spain, I discovered that these neighbors have a rooster.

Think about it. I'm going to siesta now.

random piensas

1. I lived in the United States for, you know, 22 years of my short yet exciting life. In this period of time living 30 minutes from Boston, I have NEVER managed to figure out the T system. Inbound, outbound, makes no sense. Now how is it that in a week, I have successfully managed to learn the bus system of Málaga?

That's not ENTIRELY true, considering the minor panic attack that I had today when I took a 5 minute siesta on the bus and woke up and nothing was familiar... but it turned out that all was well and I was not lost at all.

2. How is that there are panaderias (pan = bread), carnicerias (carne = meat), papelerias (not translating that for you idiotas) all sell pretty much what is in their title? Yet I feel as though it would not be possible for me to go into a ferreteria and order a ferret. This upsets me.

Also, one night we went out and a group of dudes had a ferret in the trunk of their car. Sadly, the language barrier prevented us from learning why.

3. I really hate that in Spain there is an abundance of stray cats. And dogs. Sometimes I see lizards but that doesn't affect me in the same way.

4. Today I had my first class teaching the other professors and loved it. I'm glad I get to just sit and talk for awhile and basically shoot the shit and be paid for it.

5. Looking at my bank account makes me physically ill and I do not get paid again until November 1. Yikes. Necesito euros ahora.

i'm now a profesora... and i have a home!

livin la vida de la costa del sol

Well, I finally have a (temporary, 9 month) home. After living with my senora for a month, then bouncing from hotel to hotel for five days (including three different hotels in three different cities for three consecutive days), I have a place to unpack my suitcase.

For those of you who have never tried to rent a home in a different country, I advise that you don’t. Some highlights:

walking around for hours, looking for “se alquila” signs in windows. Then cold-calling said owners of the signs. Numerous, numerous times.

finding a four bedroom apartment for a decent price. Visiting said apartment and realizing that it is, in fact, an unfurbished former office building.

Seeing an apartment that was fairly nice... then seeing a cockroach in the kitchen. Then another. When we question the realtor about the “cucarachas en la cocina,” he merely shrugs and says that its because its in the center apartment. No, Juan, we will not be renting this apartment.

Despite all this, we finally found a fully furnished, three bedroom apartment for 200 euro (cada persona) per month. It also has two balconies, brand new appliances, and two bathrooms. Plus, the nicest landlord/landlady I think I’ve ever had. Not that I understand a single word that they say, but I fully comprehend when new comforters, duvets, and pillows are purchased for me. Still, its a little intimidating to sign a contract and understand about 6 words on it.

Today was also my first day of escuela. I am teaching a secondary high school, kids from about 12-18 (no big deal, I have 4 years on some of these children). Its a huuuuge school, with over 100 profesores, 1000 estudiantes and 3 edificios. From what I understand, I am teaching kids for some of my 12 hours of work per week, and for about 4 or 5 hours, I will be teaching other professors who are trying to learn the language.

Highlights of the first day would include being asked if I have a boyfriend (awkward? from a 12 year old? yep.) and also if I like American or Spanish boys better. I told them I had only been in Spain for a month so please give me time to decide. Also, teachers YELL at their students here. I thought the profesora I was teaching with was about to pop a blood vessel. On the other hand, all the people I’ve met thus far absolutely love me, so what more could I ask for?