This past week has assaulted my senses and left me breathless. We had school until Wednesday, whereupon the students sang their little hearts out for their parents in a Christmas pageant. They read poems in English and sang "Santa Claus is Coming to Town."
Since then, town has been in a frenzy of celebration. All the students are home from school, and everyone wants to get together to celebrate. It's really chilly, but lovely.Highlights of my week: learning to use the european washing machine, went out to celebrate with fellow teachers, and made great new friends. Anddd.. I'm eating with a vengence in this cold apartment. Including a good 300 g of Turron, a holiday chocolate here. And lots of baked octopus, because it is amazing!
Without further ado, highlights of the past week:
Monday, December 27, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Week Two- Oh ¿Que Chulo no?
This week I write in complete comfort, as I moved into an apartment with two American gals around my age. We all have the job, just in different nearby towns. So I can shower when I want, eat when AND what I want, and play my music out loud (like I am doing now). Our little apartment is in the middle of the town, and is really a blessing. Since I moved in Wednesday, several things have made me ecstatically happy.
If you know me, you will find the first rather unsurprising: I went to the grocery store here and bought myself a weeks worth of food. I originally went in planning only to buy a few things, like bedding. I took a little plastic basket with this intention; however, by the time I got through the store, the basket was overflowing and I had goods piled up in my arms. Best deals: tiny fully cooked chickens vaccuum sealed in plastic for 1.50 euro and a big jar of olives for 3.50 euro. Things I avoided: whole baby pigs in vaccuum sealed plastic, fresh giant squid (but only because I don't know how to make it ;). But the best part was trying to check out. I had just thrown my produce into those produce plastic bags and kept shopping. When I got to the register, the woman told me I had forgotten to print out the produce stickers that are in a machine at the produce section. I ran back to the section while she continued to check out my countless items. The tomatoes sticker: easy. BUT I SWEAR: there was no lettuce printout available. I searched, I researched, I asked fellow shoppers, I prayed to God to reveal to me the item code of the Arugula, all to no avail. Because there were angry shoppers waiting and stomping around, I dejectedly threw back the lettuce and ran back to check out. To this day, I open the refrigerator and stare moodily at all the items that would go perfectly with lettuce, then close the door with disgust. Next time the produce will not get the best me!
The second happening was beginning to teach at the other school in Monesterio. Last week I only taught at the school in Zafra, but part of my contract is to go to a school a good 40 minutes away two days a week. So now I am catching rides to the other school with a teacher to teach 5th and 6th grade students there. The rides are awkward, as this particular person has habit of blurting out things that no one but one's confidant should know.The kids didn't have the same reaction to me as did the kids in my Zafra school because I am not their first Auxiliar. However, in all other respects they are on the same level of English as my older Zafra kids, so I will probably be able to use the same types of worksheets and music for both.
Besides that, this weekend both my roomates left town for the holidays so I will basically have the apartment to myself for this huge winter break-- three weeks. It will be the longest I have lived alone, kind of weird and fun. This weekend I hung out with my Spanish friends again, and went out for two chill nights: Friday for a few drinks at a bar very close to my house and same Saturday plus dinner at a gambling joint and after, coming back to my apartment and watching a hilarious cartoon, La niña repelente, and youtube clips. Check out the cartoon if you have time, it's about a little bitch girl in Spain, who f's over everyone, including her pillhead mom (who thinks inanimate things are talking to her) and her sweaty, stressed dad.
We did this till 6:30 in the morning. It was fun, and I felt like a little girl at a sleepover party ha. One thing the Spanish girls l meove to do is to imitate hilarious radio segments/ tv voices / random crazy people. They have me cracking up all the time, especially with the imitation of an announcer who says in a very silly way, "¿O que chulo, no?" y "Soy una puta. ¿Y Que? Me Gusta!"
If you know me, you will find the first rather unsurprising: I went to the grocery store here and bought myself a weeks worth of food. I originally went in planning only to buy a few things, like bedding. I took a little plastic basket with this intention; however, by the time I got through the store, the basket was overflowing and I had goods piled up in my arms. Best deals: tiny fully cooked chickens vaccuum sealed in plastic for 1.50 euro and a big jar of olives for 3.50 euro. Things I avoided: whole baby pigs in vaccuum sealed plastic, fresh giant squid (but only because I don't know how to make it ;). But the best part was trying to check out. I had just thrown my produce into those produce plastic bags and kept shopping. When I got to the register, the woman told me I had forgotten to print out the produce stickers that are in a machine at the produce section. I ran back to the section while she continued to check out my countless items. The tomatoes sticker: easy. BUT I SWEAR: there was no lettuce printout available. I searched, I researched, I asked fellow shoppers, I prayed to God to reveal to me the item code of the Arugula, all to no avail. Because there were angry shoppers waiting and stomping around, I dejectedly threw back the lettuce and ran back to check out. To this day, I open the refrigerator and stare moodily at all the items that would go perfectly with lettuce, then close the door with disgust. Next time the produce will not get the best me!
The second happening was beginning to teach at the other school in Monesterio. Last week I only taught at the school in Zafra, but part of my contract is to go to a school a good 40 minutes away two days a week. So now I am catching rides to the other school with a teacher to teach 5th and 6th grade students there. The rides are awkward, as this particular person has habit of blurting out things that no one but one's confidant should know.The kids didn't have the same reaction to me as did the kids in my Zafra school because I am not their first Auxiliar. However, in all other respects they are on the same level of English as my older Zafra kids, so I will probably be able to use the same types of worksheets and music for both.
Besides that, this weekend both my roomates left town for the holidays so I will basically have the apartment to myself for this huge winter break-- three weeks. It will be the longest I have lived alone, kind of weird and fun. This weekend I hung out with my Spanish friends again, and went out for two chill nights: Friday for a few drinks at a bar very close to my house and same Saturday plus dinner at a gambling joint and after, coming back to my apartment and watching a hilarious cartoon, La niña repelente, and youtube clips. Check out the cartoon if you have time, it's about a little bitch girl in Spain, who f's over everyone, including her pillhead mom (who thinks inanimate things are talking to her) and her sweaty, stressed dad.
We did this till 6:30 in the morning. It was fun, and I felt like a little girl at a sleepover party ha. One thing the Spanish girls l meove to do is to imitate hilarious radio segments/ tv voices / random crazy people. They have me cracking up all the time, especially with the imitation of an announcer who says in a very silly way, "¿O que chulo, no?" y "Soy una puta. ¿Y Que? Me Gusta!"
Sunday, December 12, 2010
May I have a rubber please? Week One
Although I haven't officially been here a week, it is Sunday night and I wish to reflect. It has been one outrageous week.
It turns out that the english taught in the elementary school is of the British variety. I actually think that this setup is good, as the British stress the letter t, which increases my ability to understand their Spanish-accent-drenched English. But some of the British phrases they use kill me. In a second grade classroom, we all practiced classroom phrases. They all followed the same pattern: May I have a ___ please? We went through pencil, paper, etc. But I couldn't help but crack up at the question "May I have a rubber please?" said in unison. Many of the children have trouble with my English, so I have to british it up a little.
On the same note, everyone here calls me Jazs. My american accent makes the name Jess they are used to sound way different. So here I am Jazs, which sounds like ja (of basta ya: enough already) and a myriad of other regular agreement or disagreement sounds that Spaniards make. Thus, I am always turning around at the wrong time or ignoring people talking to me completely. The older teachers think I am slightly disabled because I am slow in answering and make grammatical errors, so they yell when they talk with me (which does little to make their difficult accent more clear to understand).
The kids at the school have a soft spot for me, probably because they know there is something weird about me and I am not interested in their discipline. Note on their discipline: nonexistent. Think constant touching/rubbing/pushing/fighting. While its weird as an American to see this with little teacher repercussion, I imagine Korean teachers would have a similar experience in an American classroom. When I walk through the halls, students yell "Hello! HELLO JAZS!" It's sweet, but what is sweeter is the cute smocks they wear to cover to cover their clothes, and the drawings some of them have made for me.
Over the weekend, I went to a horrible '80s off-Broadway type of show (think gay caberet with strip teases, poor, cheesy show choreography, and Spanish singers trying to sing all the American hits of the '80s over a recording of the original karaoke song. Only, they don't speak English, so "Last Chance for Romance" turns into "Laaast chann forrroman." I also went to a high school play, a comedy, that I actually found awesome and hilarious. Saturday night I went out to a discoteca in a nearby town, Almendralejo, with some some awesome Spanish friends I made in the neighborhood and a new American friend, Elle. She has worked as an English teacher here for more than a year, and even has the Extremadura accent down! While she can actually dance, I danced like I always do (like a crazy) and all night I drew the wrath of Spaniards. However, I drank enough vodka con Fanta que me daba igual.
This week, I will move into an apartment, go to the police station in another town to apply for a residency card, and more. Keep you updated. However, question. Anybody want to go to the running of the bulls with me in the beginning of July?
It turns out that the english taught in the elementary school is of the British variety. I actually think that this setup is good, as the British stress the letter t, which increases my ability to understand their Spanish-accent-drenched English. But some of the British phrases they use kill me. In a second grade classroom, we all practiced classroom phrases. They all followed the same pattern: May I have a ___ please? We went through pencil, paper, etc. But I couldn't help but crack up at the question "May I have a rubber please?" said in unison. Many of the children have trouble with my English, so I have to british it up a little.
On the same note, everyone here calls me Jazs. My american accent makes the name Jess they are used to sound way different. So here I am Jazs, which sounds like ja (of basta ya: enough already) and a myriad of other regular agreement or disagreement sounds that Spaniards make. Thus, I am always turning around at the wrong time or ignoring people talking to me completely. The older teachers think I am slightly disabled because I am slow in answering and make grammatical errors, so they yell when they talk with me (which does little to make their difficult accent more clear to understand).
The kids at the school have a soft spot for me, probably because they know there is something weird about me and I am not interested in their discipline. Note on their discipline: nonexistent. Think constant touching/rubbing/pushing/fighting. While its weird as an American to see this with little teacher repercussion, I imagine Korean teachers would have a similar experience in an American classroom. When I walk through the halls, students yell "Hello! HELLO JAZS!" It's sweet, but what is sweeter is the cute smocks they wear to cover to cover their clothes, and the drawings some of them have made for me.
Over the weekend, I went to a horrible '80s off-Broadway type of show (think gay caberet with strip teases, poor, cheesy show choreography, and Spanish singers trying to sing all the American hits of the '80s over a recording of the original karaoke song. Only, they don't speak English, so "Last Chance for Romance" turns into "Laaast chann forrroman." I also went to a high school play, a comedy, that I actually found awesome and hilarious. Saturday night I went out to a discoteca in a nearby town, Almendralejo, with some some awesome Spanish friends I made in the neighborhood and a new American friend, Elle. She has worked as an English teacher here for more than a year, and even has the Extremadura accent down! While she can actually dance, I danced like I always do (like a crazy) and all night I drew the wrath of Spaniards. However, I drank enough vodka con Fanta que me daba igual.
This week, I will move into an apartment, go to the police station in another town to apply for a residency card, and more. Keep you updated. However, question. Anybody want to go to the running of the bulls with me in the beginning of July?
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Hell Post (summary of trip over)
Okay. I wanted to document this, and this is a good way to do it and then if anyone wants to know, you can look, and if not, I don't have to force it on you. I have wanted to return to Spain since my first trip here, an amazing school study abroad trip where I lived in the city of convivencia, at one time a place where Jews, Muslims, and Catholics lived in supposed harmony. Though this is an overstatement, they did live in the same city (Toledo) and interacted. I made some friends, travelled around the country, and partied. A lot. I saw castles, and as it was my first time, and I was paying to do it, I got a lot of attention and help.
Two years later, and here I am, back in Spain. But all is the same, and different. I am now in Zafra, or rather, a tiny village close to the town of Zafra. The family I am with for the moment is fabulous, well-off, learned, and artistic. They are completely different and better than the last family. It was truly a relief to finally end up here, because the trip over was almost a tragedy from the very beginning stages. Stop here and wait for the next post if you don't want to read complaining, because I would understand. But this is what really happened to me, and that's that.
The day after I bought my ticket to Sevilla, I learned that there was an airline strike all over Spain, so I had to change the date I left. (People here think its really f'd up the government brought in the military to regualte).On December 5th, the airlines were unable to find my return trip, though I bought the ticket round-trip. After waiting for 1.5 hours in the Columbus airport while Continental tried to fix it, and couldn't, I left for Newark. In the Newark airport, they had issues finding my info anew. They believed me and the paperwork I had with me, and issued me another ticket. From there, it was a flight to Portugal followed by a 12 hour wait-time till my next flight. When I arrived to Lisbon, Portugal, it poured rain the whole 12 hours. I dozed in the airport, sprawled out in a low traffic corner (to the disapproval or amusement of those around me) and then ate, bought some internet time, and read. Then I did said routine all over again about 3 more times.
When it was time to board, I was itching to push people down just to get to the front of the line. While in line, I saw a thought had to be American or Swedish, a tall blond with curly hair in an airtight embrace with a crying, beautiful Portuguese girl. After showing our passports to the airline workers, we boarded a bus to the plane. The boy kept looking at me as though he wished to talk. I looked at his shoes, saw that they were old-school Nikes, and took a chance and asked in English "So, where you from?" he smiled and said Minnesota. We chatted, and it turned out that he was studying in Sevilla. He helped me get my luggage and rode a bus into the city, where he helped me drag my luggage to a cute hostel called Hostel Picasso.
Thank goodness he was there, because when I got out my luggage, it was torn apart with some duct tape strapped haphazardly around it. As soon as we started walking, the tape came unstuck and we had to hold it shut as we walked. When I got to the hostel, the staff was hostile toward me, and assigned me a room on the top floor, so I had to drag my luggage up four flights of stairs to get to the room. All night long caged parrots sang loudly in the corridors.
The next day, everything changed for the awesomeness, and so there will be no more posts like this!
Two years later, and here I am, back in Spain. But all is the same, and different. I am now in Zafra, or rather, a tiny village close to the town of Zafra. The family I am with for the moment is fabulous, well-off, learned, and artistic. They are completely different and better than the last family. It was truly a relief to finally end up here, because the trip over was almost a tragedy from the very beginning stages. Stop here and wait for the next post if you don't want to read complaining, because I would understand. But this is what really happened to me, and that's that.
The day after I bought my ticket to Sevilla, I learned that there was an airline strike all over Spain, so I had to change the date I left. (People here think its really f'd up the government brought in the military to regualte).On December 5th, the airlines were unable to find my return trip, though I bought the ticket round-trip. After waiting for 1.5 hours in the Columbus airport while Continental tried to fix it, and couldn't, I left for Newark. In the Newark airport, they had issues finding my info anew. They believed me and the paperwork I had with me, and issued me another ticket. From there, it was a flight to Portugal followed by a 12 hour wait-time till my next flight. When I arrived to Lisbon, Portugal, it poured rain the whole 12 hours. I dozed in the airport, sprawled out in a low traffic corner (to the disapproval or amusement of those around me) and then ate, bought some internet time, and read. Then I did said routine all over again about 3 more times.
When it was time to board, I was itching to push people down just to get to the front of the line. While in line, I saw a thought had to be American or Swedish, a tall blond with curly hair in an airtight embrace with a crying, beautiful Portuguese girl. After showing our passports to the airline workers, we boarded a bus to the plane. The boy kept looking at me as though he wished to talk. I looked at his shoes, saw that they were old-school Nikes, and took a chance and asked in English "So, where you from?" he smiled and said Minnesota. We chatted, and it turned out that he was studying in Sevilla. He helped me get my luggage and rode a bus into the city, where he helped me drag my luggage to a cute hostel called Hostel Picasso.
Thank goodness he was there, because when I got out my luggage, it was torn apart with some duct tape strapped haphazardly around it. As soon as we started walking, the tape came unstuck and we had to hold it shut as we walked. When I got to the hostel, the staff was hostile toward me, and assigned me a room on the top floor, so I had to drag my luggage up four flights of stairs to get to the room. All night long caged parrots sang loudly in the corridors.
The next day, everything changed for the awesomeness, and so there will be no more posts like this!
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