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?

Wordless blogging

Visas and paperwork and red tape, oh my.

Today The Mister and I went to renew our residency paperwork for one more year.  It's been a drama and a half, because I think the favorite pastime of Spanish government officials is cooking up innovative and underhanded ways to confuse and frighten people.  It makes them feel powerful.

Below is a picture I snapped (illegally, as it turns out) at the Oficina de Extranjeros today.  Check out the multiple stapled reminders for NO STAPLES. It's also worth noting that the staples signs are the only thing in the whole office that's translated into languages other than Spanish, including all the official paperwork. At the office for foreigners. 

Well, Spain has other talents, but who says efficiency has to be one of them?

Stormy Skies in Spain

Well, my friends, the Arab Spring has worked its way right up to the lovely shores of Spain.

I'm sure you've read or seen a bit on "los indignados", those pesky young Spaniards who want ridiculous things like non-corrupt politicians and a youth unemployment rate lower than 45%.  Those entitled Millennials, jiminy christmas, what are we going to do with them?

Joking aside, I've got to say, I'm pretty proud of my generation.  I think most generations think the next one is going to be the one that finally sends the whole thing down the toilet, but in our case I just don't think that's true.  Whereas you Baby Boomers and Xers, well...let's just say you have a lot to answer for. Kidding. Sort of. I think.

Anyway, I haven't had my camera on me when there have been protests here, but I promise that if I can snap some pics and give a little insider's view, I shall. For you.  

And the verdict is...

The results are in, the votes have been tallied, and the future is clear...

Your next American Idol iiiissssss...

Oops, sorry there, I was having some Ryan Seacrest flashbacks. By the way, does anyone still watch that show anymore? With Simon gone? Isn't that like The Apprentice without The Donald? Speaking of The Donald, I saw a picture of him recently and I am sorry to say that if he came to Spain there is a 67% probability that his hair would start a new trend. Spanish men love questionable hair styles. Don't believe me? Mullets are considered high fashion in some circles, for the love of Pete.

Okay, I have stalled enough:

The Mister and I have decided to go to

 Málaga!

(after I wrote that I realized that it looks like the name of the town isn't Málaga but Málaga!, which I decided to keep because every girl needs a little panache every now and again.)

The biggest reason we decided to stay put is because we like our friends. Making friends cross-culturally and cross-lingually (totally not a word) can be pretty tricky, and we lucked out like Kate Middleton. Wiping all that away to start fresh in a new city felt a little premature after only a year, and we weren't ready to jump ship yet.

The second biggest reason, is because, uh, this is where we live:

And not to be braggy here but I think you will all understand why I'm not in a hurry to pack up and call it a day.

The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades

About a week after we arrived in Spain last summer, I looked at The Mister and said "one year isn't going to be enough."

He concurred, and we started thinking about the possibility of pushing back our planned law school start for one more year while we extend our contract here to the maximum two years. 

With that came the tough decision: to stay in Málaga or to request a placement in another part of Spain?

One one hand, we've never been the type to turn down an adventure, and it would be great to explore around a totally different part of the country, broadening our experience and adding another layer to our time here. Northern Spain is a totally different deal than where we are in the deep South, and how fun to see new scenery, eat new foods, make new friends.

On the other hand, we love Málaga.  It's got the Mediterranean almost literally at our doorstep, the Spanish sun, and most importantly a growing network of friends and volunteer opportunities that we didn't want to leave. We feel at home here.

What would you do?

We agonized over the decision for months. To explore and broaden our experience, or to stay and deepen our experience?  Finally, one rainy night, we poured ourselves a glass of wine (always good to help one think), pulled up our renewal applications on our computers, and checked a box.  As soon as we checked it, we immediately felt good about the decision.

We just received official word from the Spanish Ministry of Education: for the upcoming school year, we are officially placed in...

(to be revealed tomorrow)

(mwahahaha)

   

A picture buffet - little of this, little of that

Having my family in town was awesome for several reasons:

1. Seeing now-familiar sights through their newbie eyes - it takes me back to the beginning and reminds me how much craziness and wonder is available to me (well, to everyone, to be honest) every time I step outside my front door. For an example of this principle in action, please refer to the above picture, in which my little sister almost barfs on the plate of sardines. This picture is just begging for a frame and a spot on the family mantlepiece.
2. My dad brought me Via coffee singles and - get this - BUFFALO WING SAUCE. You'd better believe that I am preparing my tastebuds for the onslaught of delicious spiciness that Spaniards loathe so much.
3. My sisters make me laugh and let me borrow lots of clothes and jewelry.
4. My mom brought me chapstick and chili powder - please see item #2.
5. Discovering that my little sister Emily is an absolute sniper at guessing in Charades, and that my mom is not above stuffing cards out of sight during a sneaky round of B.S.
6. Because I love them.

A good time had by all

Family visit: success!  

Everyone finally got here on Saturday, 24 hours after originally planned, and we had a great time catching up and seeing Spain together.  We didn't have any internet at the house where we stayed, hence the general lack of blog posts.  Everyone left this morning (5:30 a.m. wake-up call after staying up until past 1 a.m....whoops) and now I plan on sleeping for the next 24-36  hours.  

Tomorrow some pictures!

Wishes

My wishes:

1. That my family, who was supposed to be here by now and is currently stranded in various parts of the world, actually gets here tomorrow.

2. That Blogger, who has given me error messages and not let me post since Wednesday night, will start functioning properly again.  Come on Google, we're all counting on you!

3. That Harry Potter were real so I could have a magic wand. And so I could apparate, since that is clearly the most desirable magical skill (debates welcome in the comments).

As an aside, if you want to read my (somewhat grumpy sounding, whoops) interview response on social media and how today's bloggers should use it, check it out over at TravelBlogs.  For a really interesting read, check out the guy whose take is right below mine - I love his thoughts on whether or not it's always really appropriate to over-broadcast cool travel moments, and it's something I think about a lot. Good stuff.

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 are even weirder than they look, in a good way

This is my family.

They are coming to visit next week.

Can't. Wait.

  

A foggy Mediterranean night

   Today was warm and pleasant, with a bright white sun and a smooth aquamarine sky.  But this evening, around six, wisps of fog started flowing in off the sea, and by nightfall the city was enveloped in the hazy cool hush.

An afternoon at the local chiringuito

When my friend Pilar heard that The Mister and I hadn't yet tried Málaga specialty espetos - something we Americans would call "fire-roasted sardines on a stick" -  she was so startled that she literally stopped in her tracks, like in a movie, forcing me to walk three steps without her before realizing that she was still behind me.  "We absolutely must go," she said, "what are you doing Saturday?"

So this past weekend we met up with her and her boyfriend Juan and another friend, Maria del Mar (who I will forever love because her real, actual first name is Maria del Mar) and we went to the chiringuito.  Chiringuitos are little open-air restaurants, right on the beach, that specialize in fish, seafood, and all types of marine life delicacies.  They usually have a little fire somewhere nearby on the sand or in an old carved-out boat, over which lots of whole fish are smoking and roasting.

I belong to the category of people who are somewhat ambivalent about fish.  I try to get used to the taste, the smell, but have never warmed up to the whole thing.  I am, however, a firm believer in food experimentation and strongly in the Anti-Picky Eating Club, so I had to give it a shot.

The verdict was that it was all pretty good.  I didn't mind eating around the head, and when the little fried anchovies came along, I ate them whole like everyone else.  Fins, eyeballs and all.  They ended up being my favorite thing.  So crunchy (maybe it was the bones?) - yum.

So if you're in Spain anytime soon, especially on the Costa del Sol, get yourself to a chiringuito and try some espetos.  And then afterwards, try to find yourself a friend named Maria del Mar. It's even cooler than it sounds.

Pilar, Maria del Mar, and me.

A thing to love about Spain

Conversations like these.

I walk into the local kebab place. Kebab is of Middle Eastern origin, and it's the fast food of Europe. It's roasted meat, usually chicken or lamb, with lettuce and tomatoes and various yogurt sauces stuffed inside a pita.  It's amazing.  I can't believe I haven't taken pictures of one yet; instead you get pictures of a lovely but unrelated spider's web.  Lucky you.

Anyway, I have to be somewhere early, so I'm trying to eat dinner at the unheard-of hour at 6:00 p.m.  The shop's door is open, but it's rather deserted-looking.

The conversation goes like this:

Me: Are you open?

Spaniard Worker : No.

Me: What time do you open?

Spaniard: Six o'clock.

Me: It's 6:12

Spaniard: Six, six thirty.

Me: So you'll be open in fifteen minutes?

Spaniard: Gimme a half hour.

Awesome.

   

Vegetarians please look away

Remember what I said about Europeans liking the whole animal?

Anybody care for rabbit stew?

Because you can get a whole rabbit in Nottingham for five bucks.  Pre-chilled.