Preview

The Mister and I had an awesome weekend hanging out with our friends Pilar and Juan at their house in a little pueblo outside Gibraltar. (Yes, as in Gibraltar: Rock of) They took us all around the countryside, stuffed us full of food at every opportunity (seriously, every opportunity) and gave us a different view into Spain.

I took millions of pictures and will share in the next few days - for now here's a preview:




And Happy Halloween! Or as the Spaniards say it, HALL-o-ween.

The Kiddos

Oh, I have the types.  I have one kid who wears argyle sweaters and has excellent posture and always speaks with one index finger pointed in the air for emphasis, like he's been watching Bill Clinton's infamous "I did not sleep with that woman" news clips over and over in his free time. He wears big thick glasses and is absolutely charming. He's about six.

I have one class of charming five year olds in which the contest seems to be who can tell me the most times in one class how pretty I am. They are my favorite class, for obvious reasons.  I am constantly stumbling over small children who are earnestly tugging at my shirt "Seño, que quapa!" they purr, sweet as candy, then go back to their seats and lord over their seatmates that they scored another point in the cosmic game.

I have another girl who has long brown braids and brings an olive oil sandwich to school every day for lunch. Two pieces of sandwich bread, crusts cut off, olive oil and salt in the middle.  Another boy always has a butter sandwich, which feels so genius that I honestly don't know why that's never occurred to me before.

I have a litle boy in one of my preschool classes who has a single-minded focus on assessing the stretchiness and overall flexibility of his *ahem* wee willy wonka.  He pulls it out of his pants and stretches it in every direction, snapping it back occasionally. He is absolutely delighted, and there appears to be nothing lustful about his obsession, just a rather unhappy habit of doing it in public.

On life in a second language

 We speak the language well but not perfectly. We have lots of friends and coworkers who we communicate with only in Spanish and we don't generally have issues, but we are both tired of never getting the joke, or feeling like you're the odd one out that someone has to kindly explain the cultural reference to. I don't know any 90s Spanish pop stars, and I didn't watch Spanish cartoons as a kid. These things handicap you after awhile and make you feel as if you are hanging around the edges, with your face pressed up against the glass, straining to be a part of things even though the barrier stands coldly and firmly in your way.

Living in a second language is also a thankless task. Sometimes I'll try really hard and stick in a fancy subjunctive verb that I've conjugated correctly for like the first time ever, and I don't get a nod.  How can I? If I do everything right, then it just sounds normal and unremarkable to them.

I'd like a Vespa just like this one

It's a long holiday weekend in Andalucía, and The Mister and I are off to visit our friend Pilar (of chiringuito fame) at her home down the coast.

Be back Monday with pictures!

Profound words

"Spain: A whale stranded on the coast of Europe."

 - Edmund Burke

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

  

Google Translate gone haywire?

Spanish people at all age levels are enthusiastic chanters.  For whatever reason they love to learn things by chanting them, which occasionally makes a Spanish elementary school sound like a chain gang, in a "left, left, left right left!" sort of way.

Today I walked into my second grade classroom mid-chant:

I am different,

you are different,

but we all have

the same breath!

I am different,

you are different,

but we all have

the same breath!

They beamed at me.

I coughed/laughed/cleared my throat.

We all have the same breath?

I can't even faintly guess at what that is supposed to mean. Aside from the obvious garlic-breath type connotations, it also sounds vaguely like someone could have meant...no, I honestly can't even make a hypothesis.

In the meantime though, I'll be stifling giggles in the corner.

  

Frigiliana

Well we got hacked last week, didn't we?

I'm inclined to forgive the criminal, given 1.) the sweet nature of the crime, and 2.) the overall cuteness of the criminal himself. That rascal.

Today I wanted to share some images I shot a few weeks ago on a little jaunt to a nearby town called Frigiliana. It's one of those beautiful little villages that southern Spain is really known for, the kind that has whitewashed stucco houses with red tile roofs that slope down through the olive groves to the sea. You know, the postcard kind.

It's so quaint it feels almost fake, like you're inside some Disney version of Spain. But the charm is one hundred percent authentic.

See for yourself:

 

And here's the gang. Francisco, Belén, Javier, Irene, and The Mister. Which one do you think is the American?

A quick Thursday love letter from The Mister

How can you ever be mad at that face? Even after 10 years I still can't manage it.

Here's to the woman who's my best friend, my wife, my travel buddy, and who takes some of the best pictures I've seen.

I almost want to get her one of these just to see what she'd come up with.

Credit: Lytro

Wishy-washy

I adore this sign, because no matter what mood I'm in when I pass it, I always end up suppressing giggles. It's a guaranteed mood-lifter.

Have you ever seen a more pansy sign? I love how even the marketing guy couldn't bring himself to call it the best coffee. I mean, the marketing guy.

But anyway, if you're in the mood for what is maybe, possibly, probably, quite likely, but by no means certainly the best coffee in town, here's your spot.

 

In the spotlight

My sisters are famous in Spain.

I'm in a new school this year, and I teach second, fourth and fifth graders. The older kids are absolutely fascinated to be in the presence of an American, and they stare at me like I'm a zoo animal that they've spotted in the wild. At the end of each class, if they've behaved well, I give them five minutes to ask me questions about anything, anything they want, as long as the questions are in English. They put their heads together, forming little impromptu translation committees, and then one brave kid after another will raise their hand.  

Their questions are usually along the lines of "What's your favorite __________" with soccer player, movie, book, music, color, food, sports, animal, and other varieties. Mainly, I think, because this is the vocabulary that they actually know.

Another question I love is "Do you know Justin Beiber/Barack Obama?" which I can never seem to get away from (by the way, I just got a kick out of writing the names of the Beibermeister and the President in the same sentence, I hope you got a kick out of reading it).

But the fascination about my sisters is endless. I told them on the first day of class that I have two sisters, one older and one younger. Well, that opened the floodgates.  Are they blonde? Do they like dogs? What are their names and ages? Do they eat hamburgers? Do they speak Spanish? Do they like the Madrid soccer team? Do they have boyfriends? 

So Hannah, Emily, come back to Spain soon. You've got a fan club. Hope you don't mind swarms of ten-year-olds.

Ten-year-olds with millions of questions.


 

*picture of my sisters and me taken last spring by The Mister.

isn't it nice?

Ensalada mixta

If you plan on coming to the Iberian peninsula anytime soon, within a short time you are going to see all sorts of menus cheerfully advertising ensalada mixta. In America, no matter how obvious a menu item is (to us), we add little descriptions:

 Cheeseburger

(your choice of cheese from among at least thirteen varieties, bacon or no bacon?, comes with fries and a pickle)

Tomato soup

(made with our special organic heirlooms, with a touch of sherry and topped with basil chiffonade blah blah blah)

The Spanish don't have the same curiosity about their food. Unless we're discussing ham, at which point opinions and tastes suddenly come out of the woodwork, they're more content to be surprised.

Does it come with a side salad? Fried potatoes? The menu is silent.  Sorry, peaches, you're on your own.

So I'm breaking it down for you: an ensalada mixta is the standard garden-variety salad here in Spain.  Typical ingredients are: lettuce (usually romaine), onion, shredded pickled carrots, shredded pickled beets (that was fun to type twice), olives (lest you forget you're in Spain), corn, tomatoes, and sometimes a hard-boiled egg.

The last ingredient isn't pictured here because it is my culinary arch-enemy and I didn't want it anywhere near my salad. It is tuna fish. A whole pile of tuna fish. Just for you.  Hope you weren't ordering the salad as a vegetarian option.

Top it all off with a drizzle of olive oil and a few splashes of vinegar (I know here you are wondering, balsamic? red wine? white wine with garlic infusions? and the answer is whatever's in the little bottle on the table.)

Go forth and conquer.

    

It's not all roses and butterflies you know

Today something big happened, something that has been the focus of worry and stress and annoyance for months; something that at several low moments we thought was never going to pass. As of today, The Mister and I are now the proud owners of two shiny new very official resident ID cards in Spain.

You'd think it wouldn't be that big of a deal to make sure our visas got renewed. After all, we work directly for the government, all of our papers are in order, we filed them well before the deadline, and, as I am sure you are thinking, what else is there to say?  But this is Spain, and when it comes to shenanigans like paperwork, nothing is that easy.

Really, we had to use all our wits and cunning to get our papers processed, including but not limited to: talking our way in without an appointment at the foreigner's office, speaking "tourist Spanish" to avoid the obligatory lecture from the security guard, and providing all manner of extra copies for everything, including our fingerprint cards after the guy got so talkative that he failed to notice that he had entirely fingerprinted The Mister on my card. 

We waited in line for hours, we traipsed all over town, compulsively checked our online status update for months, and in the end you know what happened? The lady at the foreigner's office approved us with a smug smile, saying, oh sorry about that, your paperwork was upstairs on someone's desk for a few months, and nobody had touched it yet.

We were like, "!!!!!!!!" and "#%@#&!" and "!!!!!!!" again.

But now we have our official cards in hand and we can breathe easy. We won this particular battle, but make no mistake, the red tape in Spain is winning the war.

Winning it handily, I must say.

Not even a contest.

In which I dip my toe in the Mediterranean

Yesterday was a holiday here in Spain, the Fiesta Nacional de España, which is a sort of Spanish Columbus Day.  No one works and everyone just relaxes and celebrates.

October got in the spirit magnificently by providing a picture-perfect day to serve as a backdrop for the celebrations. It was warm and sunny under the aquamarine sky.

The Mister and I spent the day with our friends Francisco and Belén. They took us to a secret little swimming cove about 20 minutes from where we live. It's hidden away from the tourist scene, and it was just our little group and a smattering of locals. We went swimming, and the water was fresh and so clear that you could see the ripples of sand on the bottom even when you were treading water ten feet up. If you stood really still in the shallow water, little fish would come up and bite at your toes.

It would have been a terrific day anyway, but throw in the fact that it was a Wednesday in October and we should have been at work and it should have been too chilly to go for a swim, and the day was just about perfect.

 

And because I know you love The Mister, here is one snapshot of our resident hero sporting some serious post-swim beach hair.

The view from where I sit

  

Oh, hello sunset. 

I took this picture out of our apartment window - it's the view from our living room.

Cons of living on the tenth floor: relying on the rickety, barely-functioning elevator. There are actual ropes that haul it up and down - hardly confidence-inspiring.

Pros: Seeing over the rooftops clear to the cathedral.

Cons of living on the backside of a beachfront building: the view isn't as pretty.

Pros: It still doesn't suck, does it?

   

A tour of Málaga's best

 This statue is in one of the main plazas in Málaga, and I gotta tell you, I just love this thing. It's artsy in a senseless, are-we-supposed-to-pretend-we-like-it? sort of way, which is just so....European.

The best way I can describe it is two short, stocky cherubs doing a nakey-time ballerina dance of some sort. Her position is, um, a bit compromising, to say the least, and he appears to be rubbing his right ear against some of her (gravity-defying) lady parts. 

Oh, and the best part? The little guy has hair that looks exactly the same as Robert Pattinson's in the first Twilight movie.

   

Autumn

Fall is in the air. It's still warm and sunny, but no longer stifling. 

Last night was chilly. The Mister disappeared for a while while I read a book on the couch, and when he came back he had wine and snacks. He told me to put my shoes on, and then took my hand and led me outside to our front yard - the Mediterranean.  Everything was black and white, the color drained away by the glowing light of the brilliant moon.

We drank the wine, laid down on the chilly sand, and listened to the waves breaking softly on the land. We imagined the lives of the people whose boats were floating, all lit up, off the shore. This one is an old retiree from Greece, we guessed, and that one is a Spanish family from Galicia in town for a wedding (if you don't play that game, you should try it sometime.)

And then we went to bed and dreamed dreams of autumn under our warm blankets.

  

Back in the realm of normalcy

Oh man, it feels good to be back in Spain and back at work again. 

The Mister's students are going on strike tomorrow (as they do a few times a year) (absolutely no one knows what the conditions of their strike are -- the grown ups don't ask and the kids don't say). I've been asked to explain various elements of British culture (no matter how many times you say American, unless you walk around wrapped in the stars and stripes you will be British to them until the day you die). I still don't have a class schedule after three full days of work (mañana, mañana). And jokes that would only be funny to a native English speaker are popping out left and right and making me giggle at inappropriate times.

Exhibit A:

Unit 2: Your amazing body.

Exhibit B: self-explanatory.

Both pictures were taken surreptitiously with my iPhone at school.

All in all, life feels back to normal.

   

A Slang Dictionary

Uy - Spanish "oops!".  If you stumble or trip or drop something and say "oops" they will laugh at you; say "uy!" and they will laugh with you.

Jesús! - the polite response when someone sneezes. Multiple sneezes do not necessary elicit multiple cries to Jesus. Learned that the hard way.

Tin-foil wrapped bocadillos - the national Spanish mid-morning snack: a sandwich wrapped in tin foil and a juice box.

Sandwiches without condiments: Bread, two slices of meat, butter, done. Mustard, lettucetomatoonion? Hell, no. We're Spanish.

Vale: (BAH-lay): Spanish "okay".  As ubiquitous as olives. If you suddenly understand something, it is expected to say "ah, valevalevalevalevale" all together like that.

Guiri: (GEE-dee) Pasty white person.  Dang furriners.  It's iffy whether or not this is a pejorative.

Cape Lovely

I got several messages yesterday along the lines of "yay, you're back, can we have more Cape Cod pictures please?"

And then answer is: yes, yes you can.  Cape Cod was camera magic, and photographing it is like photographing Heidi Klum - there's no bad angle. I say that like I know anything about Heidi Klum, which I don't, but you get my meaning.

 

The checklist

America: check

Maryland, Virginia, DC, New Jersey, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New York, Massachusetts, Michigan, Arizona: check, check...oh you get the point.

Do all that in five week's time: check

Have quality time with awesome and ridiculously good-looking family: check

See lots of friends: check

Acquire a spare tire from eating delicious American food: check

Visit law schools: check

Fly back to Spain: check

Find new apartment: check

Preferably one where the kitchen and bedroom aren't the same thing: check

Go out for tapas: check

Get stared at in the grocery store for being too blonde: check (oh how I missed that!) 

Start work in my new school: check

Get hopelessly lost getting to new school: check-a-roo