Goodbye, English teaching

And just like that, it's over.

Today was my last day as an English teacher. The kids group-hugged me to death and drew me lots of pictures with hearts and I mostly wandered around with a plastered-on smile, ambivalent and a little stunned. No matter how much you know it's coming, ending an era of life is always a bit of a shock. In just a few weeks (three to be exact) I'll board a flight and go back to America, and a few more weeks after that I'll move to Boston to begin law school. Then, on some cold, rainy, blue-toned day in Massachusetts I'll lay down across my bed and lift my face up toward the dark sky and I'll dream of sunshiny Spain. 

Teaching English hasn't been a picnic by any stretch, but I've liked it for the most part. I've worked in three elementary schools over the past two years, and each one had their merits and drawbacks. The kids are cute, but they are also loud and whiny and inattentive, and did I mention loud? Very, very loud. Some days my job was fun because I got to engage with students on interesting topics and watch them actively learning. Most days it was frustrating and a bit boring, because I am not always in charge of the classroom and I'm subject to another teacher's whims and teaching/discipline style. Cultural differences are more alive and well in the classroom than you can imagine, and sometimes I still find myself absolutely baffled by the Spanish system and why things are done a certain way. No doubt, if they came to America they'd think the same thing.

But my teaching days are over and now I can live my life without the constant need to pick apart my language and examine it like a dissected frog. Now I'm free to admit that I have no idea why we say in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening and at night. I don't know why read (present) and read (past) are spelled the same way but pronounced and understood differently. I can't explain why the expression "catch up" has nothing to do with either catching or up. I love words, and language, and now I'm free to dive back into the art of it and let go of the science and tedious mechanics.

 I'll miss the coworkers and some of the kids, the nice ones who are smart and funny and work hard. I won't miss all the behavior issues and the millions of requests to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water. I won't miss sassy nine-year-olds or kids that just refuse to work but then complain to their parents that it's too hard. 

Overall, I'm so glad I've had this opportunity. I am 100% sure that I am not cut out for a permanent position in elementary education, but hey, that's what law school is for.

Overheard

Overheard in English class recently:

"Computers are curly." (Trouble with adjectives.)

"Michelangelo's father was the local hammer." (Correct answer: magistrate.)

"Señorita Sarah, what is a fu*k ton?" (My first thought was "an awful lot of something" before I realized that the student was trying to pronounce function. My mistake.)

"You have McDonald's in America?!" (I told her that McDonalds is American and she said "Oh. I thought it was Japanese.")

Also: "There is Coca-Cola in USA?"

"We have relation boat." (Relationship.)

Not a fan

   

I give private English classes throughout the week in people's homes, and I've got ten students. My youngest is eight years old and the oldest is in her 40s. For the most part, I adore my students and I'm pretty sure I learn just as much from them as they learn from me (I know - cliché alert! Only it's actually true. I teach them verbs, they teach me all sorts of cultural gems like how to properly slice a leg of jamón.)

There is one exception, however. A coddled (I mean it, they literally have a servant in their house) eleven-year-old who hates English and spits fire. She sulks, she pouts, she wants to hang with her friends or look up puppy pictures online or do anything except study English with me. I've tried the sweet tactic and the veiled threats and pouting right back. She won't have any of it. She is unmoved. She does not want to study English and that's that.

Finally, I hit on an idea. She's always telling me how smart she is (she's a real gem), so one day I brought her an English book that's two years above her grade level. "You're smart," I told her, "so let's hit it. Enough with this baby stuff." It's the only thing I have ever said that has actually impressed her.

Anyway, since then she's been pretty docile - for her, anyway - and actually smiling at me occasionally. I thought we were making real progress. And then, the other day we were playing a game out of the English book that called for gamepieces, which I had forgotten. She darted into the other room to get what she assured me were perfect gamepieces.

She came back with these. Can you guess which one she designated as me and which one is her?

Guess I have a ways to go after all.

    

A cold one please

Hey, there are wine grapes in this monastery!

You know what hanging around with one hundred and thirty five 4-9 year-olds makes you want to do?

Drink wine.

Lots and lots and lots of wine.

A cold beer would do.

A gin and tonic would be just fine.

Maybe I'll have to pick my own grapes.

FAQs: La Vida Española

Lots of questions came in, so I might do another round on Friday - if you still have any questions, feel free to comment or email!  Today I'm focusing on questions that specifically relate to my program, how I got here, and how I made friends once I did (answer: I hoodwinked them all). If you're not actively planning on moving to Spain, you might want to skip to tomorrow's post, since some of these questions get a little technical, but if you're in the market then come on in!

How did you find teaching positions in Spain? My husband and I are both teachers in Charleston, SC and have been toying with the idea of teaching abroad for the past two years. Any helpful suggestions would be appreciated!!

DO IT!  As long as you're willing to put up with a few paperwork hassles (see: last question in this post), it's totally doable. I am here with a program directly through the Spanish government.  The only requirements are a Bachelor's degree in anything, and an "intermediate level of Spanish", which they don't test you for and which you'll want to hop on anyway if you're planning on coming to Spain. And the paperwork hassles are worth it!  For more information on my program, check out the official site here and a very helpful discussion forum here.  The application season is during the winter for the following fall, so all you have to do is make up your mind and submit your documents on time and you could be on your way to Spain!

What did you do to meet Spaniards? Did you walk up to them in the street? What kind of things would you say when you're first meeting them? Did you join clubs or go to meetings or make friends with coworkers, or what?

Great question!  Okay, first, to all the shy people out there: you'll have to stop being shy for a little while.  Give your extroverted, booty-shakin' inner self a pep talk and let her take over your body for the year.  You won't meet anybody sitting at home.  Second, do a search for Facebook groups in your town that hold intercambio groups (people come together to practice speaking languages to each other) and go frequently. If anybody seems particularly cool, ask them out for coffee or tapas and make friends.  Third, take a class or play a sport.  The Mister plays basketball a couple times a week at the local courts, and we've met a lot of people through that.  Fourth, find a place to volunteer.  You'll have extra time, and you'll make some cool friends. Fifth, and I know the temptation to resist is strong, but don't live with other foreigners (unless, like me, you happened to be married to one, in which case I'll let it slide).  There are a lot of people that have had fabulous experiences living with expats, but I think for a lot of people it can isolate you in a non-Spanish bubble.  

I am wondering if you can give some insight into how much we should plan on paying for utilities every month? I have been able to estimate costs for rent, but I am trying to budget for utilities and am not sure how much I should be figuring for. 

Here in Málaga, where nobody has heat or air conditioning, we spend about 70 euros a month on utilities, including internet.   Keep in mind that we're in a studio, and that could change somewhere else in a trickier climate or if you get a posh place with a dryer!

I'm teaching in Campanillas, Malaga. Would you recommend commuting from the city or trying to find a place right in Campanillas? Also, do you think it would be feasible/a good idea to buy some sort of transportation like a motor-scooter or something to get around?

Yay, you'll love Málaga!  You should be fine living anywhere in the area, since some of the inter-city buses go up there. You'll probably prefer to live somewhere a little more central and then take the bus to work. My feeling is that you won't need anything for transportation except a bus pass and your two feet (they will be sore the first few weeks if my experience is any indication!).

How much money should an Auxiliar initially bring to Spain? 

You should have enough money to pay for a hostel for a few nights while you look for a place to live, pay first month's rent plus a security deposit (typically a month's rent) and living expenses for a month.  In Málaga, rent can run anywhere between 180 and 300 euros a month, and living expenses (includes food, going out, etc.) will probably be in the 100 to 200 euro range.  All told I wouldn't come without having access to anything less than 1000 euros, but I like to be on the safe side.  Some people over the years have reported not getting paid until December, but I haven't heard any stories that are that bad this year.  

Also, were you always paid on time by the Junta?

 Ha ha ha.  Hee hee.  Ho ho. (okay, I'll stop).  No, I did not always get paid on time.  In fact, I don't think I ever got paid on time, not even once.  I was totally at the mercy of the secretary at my school who processed the payroll.  One month she was sick, and, well, that was that.  I didn't get paid until the month was almost over. With that said, The Mister's school paid him on time, and I think most of my friends schools did too.  Like so much else in Spain, it totally depends on where you are and how lucky you get!

What documents are needed when we apply for the NIE once we get there? More specifically, my consulate does not require the medical certificate to have an apostille, but I got the impression through the manual that the program gives us that the NIE application requires the medical certificate to have the apostille. Any insight? 

There are two forces at work here, one is the NIE (Foreigner Identification Number) and the TIE (Foreigner Residency Card).  First, you have to show up at the Foreigner's Office (Extranjería) in your province where you will receive your NIE, oftentimes written on a post-it note to make you feel extra worried.  This is ONLY the number.  They didn't take any documentation from me for this, though I would bring it anyway, and did it based on the student visa.  Next, you take that number plus your documentation to the Police Station (Comisaría) of your province where you apply for the TIE.  This place required some documentation.  Basically, bring the originals of everything that you used to apply for the visa, as well as copies of everything, EVERYTHING.  When I applied for my TIE, they didn't care one bit about the medical form or the FBI background check.  Unfortunately in Spain though, they love to be inconsistent about things like this and eat auxiliars for breakfast.  Just because the person at my desk didn't require those forms doesn't mean the person at the desk sitting next to me didn't have to produce them.  As for your apostille question, I only had the background check apostilled, not the medical certificate.  If you're in doubt however, get the medical certificate notarized and head down to your state's Secretary of State's services office to get it apostilled.  For any further questions on this, I would go to the Facebook groups or expatcafe.

Please have your kindergartners give their teachers hand-drawn presents

Letting my five-year olds go yesterday was hard.  School year's over, next year they'll be in elementary school (called primario over here), they've grown about a foot since I met them last September, and they are the very best Spanish teachers I could possibly ask for. And so on and so forth. Blah blah blah sentimental crap blah blah blah.

But check this out: they left me with a parting gift.  That gift was intended to be sweet and good-hearted, and it is both of those things; its real charm, however, lays in another realm - belly laughs.  They all drew pictures for me, and let's take a meander through the gallery, shall we?

"For Teacher Sara(h)"

It's impossible to read in this photo, but the yellow crayon on the top says "tú mejor amiga", which loosely translated from both Spanish and 5-year old speak is "yo' my best fwiend."

Please note that I have grown some really serious finger- and toenails.  And eyelashes.  Was it Maybelline, or do you think I was born like that?

The Mister says I look like Edward Scissorhands.

The next one is the one in which I have put on a few pounds. And gone topless, with only a denim skirt to preserve my modesty. Although I don't have anything to be modest about since I am the size and shape of a Patrick Star from SpongeBob.

"Caca" in Spanish means, well, exactly what you think it means: poop. This kid is either giving me a very candid appraisal of my teaching abilities, or he's really got to go and can't get it out of his head.

Like, he really has to go. 

Or, he really has a bone to pick with me.

The one in which I am a flower-wielding princess under a red-clouded sky (dangerous! sailors take warning!) and my student is a humble orange caterpillar.

This one is the guy you really have to watch over your shoulder for if you're trying to get ahead in the kindergarten rat race.  This is pretty much Picasso-level sketching we have here.  I think it is a rendering of an underground ant colony, and this guy's like "color? we have to color it? that's for children."

Needless to say, I adore every single one of them. 

(the kids and the drawings.)

The end of the road

Today was the last day of school.

 Sniff. Tear. Leap for joy. Furtive look around.  Did anyone see that leap?

Teaching this year has been exhilarating, fun, funny, exhausting, frustrating, ridiculous, irritating and awesome. I've loved my 5-year olds and my sixth graders the most, and I'm awfully sad to see them go.

I'll miss fielding questions like:

"Do you know Justin Beiber?"

"Isn't New York in England?" (Followed by someone else rolling their eyes  "Of course its not in England, dummy, it's in the US because it's the city with the White House, remember?)"

"Aren't you from England?"

"Why do I have to say 'can't' instead of 'no can'?"

I've also gotten about 200 sloppy cheek kisses over the past two days, which is the accepted Spanish form of saying goodbye, so I am currently both utterly charmed and coming down with some rare mix of viral diseases.

All in all, I'm ready for a vacation but glad to be coming back next year.

How's that for some paradox?

They don't want to go to rehab either apparently

Today I arrived to school to see a band setting up speakers in the outside area. They were giving a little concert/educational-ish talk on music, types of instruments, and all that.  It was a good time, and there was a whole lot of clapping and dancing going on. The best part of the whole things was that a lot of the songs were in English, leading to some seriously alarming appropriateness issues.

I mean, the thing that really got me wanting to learn my ABC's when I was three was a good live rendition of Santana's "Black Magic Woman", don't you think?

And you haven't seen a kiddie mosh pit until you've seen them rock out to Amy Winehouse "Rehab".

I don't want to go to rehab, baby, no no no...

  

In which The Mister is a rock star and I am a failed Mexican/American cook

Over the past few months, The Mister and I found a way to help others, practice our Spanish, make new friends, make our part of the world a little friendlier, and use up some free time - all in one fell swoop.  We started volunteering.

Our location of choice is a cool organization here in Málaga that transitions new refugees into living a normal Spanish life.  To declare refugee status under the existing international conventions, someone's life has to be in imminent danger in their home country, so people who are granted refugee status are usually scared, confused and just a teensy bit stressed.  We started heading down there to pitch in some various organizational efforts, and just recently The Mister and I started an intensive English language class a couple times a week.

I haven't blogged about it much at all because, of course, there are some pretty serious privacy and safety concerns, and there isn't much I can say (or show, pictures-wise) in such a public forum. But it's been without a doubt one of the most rewarding parts of our time here in Spain.  Who doesn't like cuddling sweet babies, watching adults bravely sit down for reading and writing lessons, and making all sorts of new international friends?

Anyway, this past weekend, the center celebrated La Fiesta de la Primavera - otherwise known as a spring festival, for those of you who took French in high school.  We were each supposed to bring something representative of our culture.  The Mister played the guitar and sang a short concert of American hits like Hotel California, and I made 7-layer dip (an American friend here argued that this is actually Mexican, and I said, show me a Mexican who even knows what this is and I will grant you the point, and she said, touché.)

I thought you might like to know that a.) Nobody wanted to touch the dip and I still had 80% of the pan full at the end (they don't know what they're missing), and b.) The Mister is, was, and forever will be a rock star.  Dude killed it, as they'd say in industry parlance.  Who am I kidding? I don't know any industry parlance.  But anyway, if you see The Mister around, give him a pat on the back.  He represented well.

    

They always want to hold my hand - an evil conspiracy, no doubt

It's a lovely day outside, and I am stuck in with a cold. Sore throat, headache, stuffy nose - the works.  It feels like about the five billionth cold I've had this year, despite getting a flu shot, and I know exactly who to blame: my five-year-old students.  

They are big-eyed, chubby-cheeked, filthy little cherubs.

They wouldn't know what hand soap was for if it hit them in the face.

Those little punks.

Spanish school lunches involve a lot of lentils.

Behold a Spanish school lunch menu.

Things of immediate interest:

• Eating at school is optional, because lunch is at 2:00 and is after the school day has officially ended.  About three quarters of the kids at my school stay for lunch, and the other quarter go home to a home-cooked meal. This probably fluctuates a bit depending on the school.
• There is only one meal option every day, and nothing is a la carte like in most American schools. There is no option to bring your own lunch. Students who eat at the school eat whatever the school is serving that day.  I like this idea myself, being heavily in favor of non-picky eating.

Here we go.

Each day has total calories listed, as well as carbohydrates and protein and all that jazz.  I shudder to think of what that would look like on an American menu (today your child had a corn dog, tater tots, canned peaches in heavy syrup, and topped it all off with sugary chocolate milk.  Total calories: THREE BAZILLION.) They serve vegetables everyday according to the guide on the back, and at least half of those vegetables every week must be raw (i.e. salad and fresh fruit).

Let's check out one day: Tuesday, the 15th. We've got a green garden salad, followed by lentils with chorizo (a Spanish sausage), whole wheat bread and fresh fruit for dessert.  The children that eat at the comedor range in age from three years to eight years old, and they are having green salads as appetizers.  Being American, I'm naturally impressed by a three-year old that doesn't run screaming from anything that doesn't involve chicken nuggets.

Look at Tuesday the 8th: cream of zucchini and potato soup, followed by a stewed pork dish in tomato sauce, with whole wheat bread and fruit.

Monday the 14th: spiral pasta with tomato sauce, followed by fish in a garlic and olive oil sauce, vegetables, white bread, and yogurt for dessert.

All this begs the question: if you have a small child, would they eat this stuff? Oh yes, they would. If they were Spanish.

Inside out

Inside out. Happens to the best of us. Apparently.

Last night I had one of those sleepless nights - toss and turn, toss and turn. Spaniards are enthusiastic double parkers when it comes to city streets, and there's etiquette involved. The person that's caged in just sits in his car laconically and honks his horn until the offender comes out and moves his car.  It happens daily, to the general exasperation of the surrounding neighborhood.  Last night must have been a double parking bonanza, because the horns went on, and on, and on.

Then I woke up an hour early against my will - Daylight Savings Time, I'd like to have a few words with you.  Went to school, yawning all the way, and lo and behold, second graders aren't any more fond of Daylight Savings day than I am.  They were unprepared, cranky and generally unhappy, and the teacher let them know exactly what she thought of this behavior, in a voice that can be described as nothing other than...shrill. Very, very shrill.

This was not a promising beginning.

In my class of five-year-olds, it got worse.  Out of their seats, screaming and yelling with energy and a zest for life that is frankly more admirable when one has slept soundly the night before (as I'm sure all parents can attest).

Then, finally, a breakthrough.  One of my kids, a mischievous little soul that looks startlingly and adorably like a tiny Barack Obama, turned to me.

"Seño, Seño!" he pestered, pulling at my leg.

I looked down.

He had two colored pencils, one yellow and one red, fixed firmly in each nostril and pointing downward like tusks on a walrus.

"May I go to the bathroom?"

I giggled.

He grinned wickedly.

I belly laughed.

He was delighted.

And then I looked down and realized that I was wearing my shirt inside out.

And it returned to being a so-so day.

Peanut Butter and Salsa

This week is the week schools in Málaga celebrate the home town culture.  The school schedules are chock-full of cultural activities, and The Mister's teachers asked if he could bring in some American food as a little cultural demonstration for his 7th and 8th graders.

We thought, and thought, and thought.  The food needed to fit within strict guidelines: be 1.) available in Spain, 2.) not super expensive - the school gave us a budget of 10 euros, 3.) be individual-serving friendly, i.e. doesn't require forks and plates, 4.) not require too much prep work, and 5.) be sufficiently American. Tall order, no?

We took peanut butter and salsa.  I mean, we didn't serve them together.  But we served peanut butter and crackers, and chips and salsa.  The kids went nuts.  

First, we had to explain what these two foreign concepts are and what salsa even IS. They were a bit nervous to try the foods at first - they kept furrowing eyebrows and saying, "now WHAT is this again?!".  They were also pretty worried that the salsa would be spicy (it wasn't in the slightest), because Spaniards, bless their hearts, generally can't handle anything spicier than black pepper without crying out for agua. 

But once they had their first bites, we were off to the races and it turned into something like feeding time in the shark tank.  I'd say the peanut butter had about an 85% success rate, and the ones who didn't like it were mostly walking around moving their mouths around saying "it's just so sticky."  The salsa had about a 104% success rate.  In the end, all that was left was a trail of chips.

The Shakira comment made up for the ego bruise

I should have known it was going to be a funny day at work when one of my five-year-olds approached me this morning, looked up at me with her big crinkly brown eyes and said "my mom says you look just like Shakira."

That is not true, by the way.  I do not look like Shakira. My look is slightly less...Latina pop star.  But I'm not saying I hated the comment, is all.  I might even give that mom a hug when I see her next.

So then my second graders are learning how to tell time in English.  They learn the British system, so I have to get used to them saying "half past eleven" and "quarter till five" with their little accents. The effect is precious but annoying, since the North American (look how inclusive I am! Canadians, you can come too) way of telling time is much more intuitive: twelve fifteen. One forty three. Six thirty two.

The problem came when their curriculum helpfully illustrated the time with little pictures of what children should be doing at that time of day.  Eight o'clock, have breakfast. Four o'clock, have tea (warned you it was British).  The world stopped when the children read that they were supposed to have lunch at twelve o'clock. "Have lunch at 12!" they chortled. "TWELVE!"

"They really mean it" I explained, "it isn't a mistake.  In my country also we have lunch at 12 too, not at 2 or 3 like here in Spain."

For a moment there was incredulous silence.  

And then someone snickered.

And then side-splitting, falling-off-the-chair laughter.  "TWELVE O'CLOCK!" they gasped between guffaws, "IF YOU EAT LUNCH AT 12 O'CLOCK THEN WHAT DO YOU GET UP AT LIKE 3 A.M. OR SOMETHING?!"

I looked at the heaving crowd rather grimly, thinking to myself that this was going to go nuclear when I they get to the picture that says dinner is at five o'clock.

I wish you could've been there to see it, I really do.  The insults rained down.  Everyone should have the experience of being openly ridiculed by a group of seven-year olds that eat dinner at 10 o'clock.

It's good for the soul.

The Mister gets taken to school

I know this isn't the photographic quality you all have come to expect.  But this is what you get when I blog, so tough luck.

The Mister here.

As a disclaimer before continuing with this post, I would like to point out that Spaniards on the whole have been unbelievably friendly, helpful, and welcoming.  And as for my experience described below, I'm not positive that it was meant seriously or as a joke.  Possibly a mix of the two.  Anyways, I digress.

Upon walking into the staff room at my school, opening my shoulder bag (NOT a man purse, despite what Sarah thinks.  No really, it's just a laptop bag.  Don't listen to her.) and finding myself without my trusty #2 hexagonal pencil, no rounds here thank you, with the extra cap eraser on top (you know the kind, they become necessary because the eraser that comes attached to the pencil is designed to last approximately 0.3 seconds), I took immediate action.

Not yet having intimately familiarized myself enough with my surroundings to know where the school supplies are kept, I did the obvious and spoke to the person nearest to me.  I told her, in an extremely polite manner, that, alas, I had forgotten my pencil and asked if she would be kind enough to tell me where I could find another.  She didn't immediately respond, but instead gave me a quizzical look, which left me wondering if I had completely murdered my Spanish when I spoke to her, but I dismissed that outright since I had definitely been thinking about what I was going to say for like 5 minutes before I even said anything.

She looked at me for so long that I began to think that maybe I had accidentally spoken to her in English without thinking about it.  Finally there was movement.  She pursed her lips, furrowed her brow, and said, "Look, wait here", and walked out of the room with purpose.  I was a little surprised, and still not even sure if she understood me, so I continued on to the next closest person and asked him if he knew where I could find a pencil.  He promptly produced one from his bag, I thanked him, sat down, and started writing.

A few minutes later the woman I had first spoken to came marching back into the room with her hands full.  I immediately hid my newfound pencil in my pocket and stood up to meet her halfway.  She motioned and told me to stay seated.  She came right up to the table where I was sitting and put down the objects in her hand one at a time while saying, "Look, here you have a red pen, a pencil, another pen, an eraser, and a roll of tape.  Now you've got everything you could possibly need, so never ask me for anything ever again".

I was too stunned to do anything except say thank you and then continue looking stunned.  I'm choosing to believe that she has a very dry sense of humor and meant it as a joke, but we haven't spoken since, so I'm not really sure.  

Either way, I've got a red pen, which every teacher needs, especially one teaching English in Spain, AND one of those sweet pens that has four different color pens inside it, including green.  I mean, where else can you find a green pen?  I definitely came out the winner.

The pros win on both counts

A bracelet present I got from my student Lucía today

Today I just missed my bus.

I was on my way to work, and I saw it pull away just as I ran up.  Brutal.

Pros of public transportation: no hassle of owning and maintaining a car.

Cons: They set the schedule, not you.

So I ran into my first grade class five minutes late, a little out of breath.  The children all turned to me as I came in, shouting hello and delighted to have any distraction so they could stop listening to the teacher.

"Sarah's just a bit late" the teacher soothed, trying to shush the students.

"Well, of course she is!" one little boy cried out, indignant at the apparent insensitivity of his classmates, "she came all the way from the UNITED STATES!"

And he was totally serious.

Cons of teaching children: they are loud, unruly and not nearly discreet enough about bathroom matters.

Pros: stories like that.

I speak both English AND Normal

Today one of the little boys in my class of five-year olds looked up at me.  "How many English teachers do you have?" he asked.

"Well, I don't have any. My parents taught me English."

He looked at me, perplexed.

"How did they learn?"

"Because my family speaks English, just like yours speaks Spanish."

"Oh, Seño" he laughed, sure I was jesting with him, "my family doesn't know how to speak anything.  We just speak NORMAL!"

In which I observe impressive self-government

  
    
Today I saw a stabbing, a criminal trial, and a perpetrator brought to justice.

Never fear, I was safe the whole time.

Here's what went down:

I'm in class - second grade - minding my own, when the teacher gets a cell phone call.  She takes the call, mid-sentence, and walks out of the room without a backward glance. Nice.

So there I am, Daniel in the lion's den.  Me and thirty 8 year olds.  I walk around the class, biding time until the teacher gets back. They don't really have any work to do, so they are bored, and the classroom starts buzzing.

All of a sudden, behind me to the left, a screech. I whip around, zeroing in on the source - one outraged boy holding his arm like it's in a sling, another glaring at him with calculating eyes.  A crime!

Pandemonium breaks out. SOMEONE just got STABBED in the ARM WITH A FREAKIN' PENCIL!!! they are all gasping.

One girl is well-dressed, pretty, and not a demure bone in her body. Her head flies up. "WHAT did he do???"  Clearly, we had just attracted the attention of the Alpha Female.

She flew to the injured party's side, using her powers benevolently. She examined the wound, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together tightly as if she were witnessing unspeakable atrocities. When she was done examining the (to other eyes) negligible scratch, she patted the victim comfortingly on the cheek.  Then, she whipped around to face her kingdom.

In a loud, clear voice she detailed the alleged crime to her subjects.  They swooped in, full of righteous indignation and questions.  Did he stab you? Yes.  To the allegedly guilty party: Did you stab him? Well, yes.

The class pronounced the defendant guilty as charged.  He had a strong enough sense of self-preservation to look rather abashed.

Finally, Alpha Girl administered the punishment. She grabbed his whole chubby face in one delicate little hand, tilting his jaw and squishing it, and began to loudly denounce his sense of moral right and wrong.

Obviously, this is where I intervened.

Some of you are undoubtedly wondering why I didn't before.  But a.) they were kind of handling it, in their own way, and b.) are you kidding? that was interesting. It was sort of like Lord of the Flies meets the Little Rascals.

No way was I passing that up.

The Mister loses 100 points

While I'm working on some other writing projects, The Mister has taken the reins today. Enjoy.


While sitting in my usual spot in the corner of the room at the teacher's desk the other day (while the actual English teacher proceeded with the lesson and did his best to forget that I was there), the two students sitting at the two desks opposite me asked me if I knew any jokes.  Apparently they were as bored as I was.

As it turned out, I had just heard a "real" Spanish joke on a Spanish-teaching podcast that I listen to.  So, puffed up with my recently acquired cultural savvy, I replied that indeed, I did know a joke.  Their eyes lit up and one of them yelled "cuenta!" (do tell!) so loudly that the English teacher interrupted his monologue and looked in our direction.  I gently reminded the student that this is a classroom and is no place for that sort of behavior, waited until the English teacher went back to his monologue, and then proceeded with telling my joke.  (As The Missus will confirm, I can't resist the opportunity to try and be funny, however doomed it is.)

The joke precedes as such:

Hay dos peces en el mar.
There are two fish in the sea.

Un pez dice al otro pez, "Que hace tu padre?"
One fish says to the other, "What does your father do?"

El otro pez dice, "Nada."
The other fish says, "Nothing/He swims."


The "funny" part of the joke comes from the double-meaning of the word "nada".  It can mean "nothing" or "he swims" in Spanish (from the verb nadar, for those who care).

I knew I wasn't bringing the house down like I'd hoped when the two students stared at me blankly for a few seconds upon my finishing.  I was afraid they weren't going to get it, and then I was a little excited at the prospect of having to explain the joke, being in teacher mode and all.  But then everything changed.

Their little noses both started to crinkle at the same time, and then came the boos.  Loud boos.

Loud enough that the English teacher started throwing quizzical looks in our direction.  I frantically tried to get them to hush, so they decided to express their disappointment through other means.  One student quickly drew a stick figure with my name and an arrow pointing to it, and the words "-100 puntos".  He held it up for me to see and loudly proclaimed in Spanglish, "YOU" (pointing at me then at the stick figure), "MENOS ONE HUNDRED PUNTOS".

I sat there, thoroughly chagrined, but not too chagrined to be sassy. "You mean minus one hundred points".

To which he vigorously nodded his head.

And I went back to being bored.

Your Questions Parte Dos

Part 2!


How is the language barrier?
Once we got past the twin hurdles of finding an apartment and getting our foreign resident papers at the Spanish consulate, the language barrier has been not too bad at all.  We speak decent Spanish at this point and it's getting better every day, and I'm at the point where if I don't know how to say a word, I can talk my way around it like in that game Taboo. I was trying to say the word for "spread" the other day, and I didn't know it, so I just said "you know, that word for when you put the butter on bread with a knife". And they knew exactly what I was talking about.


What's the best part about living there versus visiting?
It's easy to love a place after being there for a week, or ten days.  But I don't think you really can start getting the feel for a place until you've been there at least a month.  There are experiences available to a resident that wouldn't really be possible for a tourist, because you have to speak Spanish and know some locals. I love being able to really dive into this town, and find favorite restaurants and tapas places, and local basketball courts and to have my baker and my market.  Also, I love the language, and so the ability to really immerse myself in Spanish for a long period of time is pretty awesome in my book.


What would surprise me most about Spaniards?
You know, one thing that I think is surprising is that Spaniards are not nearly as homogenous and as swarthy as we think they are. I used to think of Spaniards as looking more Mediterranean, with olive complexions and brown hair across the board.  Not so.  I have students that are brown haired of course, but I also have a fair amount of blondes, and and curly redheads, and Spaniards of Asian and African descent.  There are Spaniards with freckles, and blue eyes, and this surprised me a little bit.  It's still a little weird hearing a little blonde-haired green-eyed kiddo unleash a string of fluent Castilian Spanish, but I'm getting used to it.


What foods are you most excited to have daily access to in Spain? 
I think I've mentioned it before, but, geez louise, the olives here are worthy of a parade. The bread here is also freshly baked and always good.  And - you're going to have to trust me on this one - berenjenas con miel - fried eggplant crisps drizzled in honey or molasses.  They are SO good. If I could pull off the whole kissing-my-fingers-like-an-Italian-chef thing, I totally would.


Has The Mister got a new guitar yet? 
The Mister is hoping to find one inexpensively, which means that he will probably get a guitar around the time Lindsay Lohan takes her convent vows. Le sigh.


Have you started learning flamenco yet?
Not yet! But my friend Claire let me know of a class around town, so watch out Shakira, these hips don't lie either.


Did YOU pass the Legolas dork test?
Are you kidding? I love those movies. Of course I failed.