“It’s One School, but Seven Villages.” These were the first words my bilingual coordinator said to me when I asked about the schools (plural) I’d be teaching in. I had been in touch with the Fulbrighter who was at this school last year and she had (and has, present tense) given me a ton of helpful information, but I was still confused what the deal was. Whatever it was, it seemed like my situation was particularly unique. That feeling has only been compounded as I was greeted at orientation with something to the effect of “oh you’re going to have the MOST unique experience” and then again when I started teaching, again when I started hearing about the schools my friends teach in, and again on Tuesday when I began asking questions at our Rioja specific orientation only to get the answer “well, YOUR situation is particular.” The peculiarity of my situation doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I know there will be pros and cons of it as there are for anything, but at the end of the day, I don’t think there’s a better school placement possible for me. All of this “this is so different” talk is just to emphasize, especially if there are any potential or future Spain ETA Fulbrighters reading this, that this will not be the typical experience. First let me explain the one school, seven villages thing. Though I live in Logroño, I actually teach 30+ minutes outside of it in “pueblos” or villages. There are seven different locations, all a considerable distance from one another. You can’t get to them by bus (with one exception you’ll hear at the end), which means the teachers all carpool. Most mornings, I walk 20 minutes [at Jordan pace, which is to say: quickly] to the carpool meet-up location and then take the highway 25 to 35 minutes out to whatever village we’re in that day. My initial thought was that if you have seven unique schools in different villages, they’re just plain old different schools. But no, because these are rural communities, they have a stronger school system if they are all tied together – even if the interaction among the students is minimal. Some teachers do teach in a few of the villages – one (the music teacher) even teaches in all of them like I do. I’ve only been teaching two weeks, so I have no idea what the interaction with the students is, if any, between the villages. It will make the most sense for me to say “schools” sometimes but please know that it is just one school. Some of you may be asking “but Jordan, you teach four days a week, how do you do that?” Or “do you go to all of them every day?” Well, let me tell you. I have an “A” week and a “B” week. On Mondays, I rotate between two schools depending whether it’s an A or B week. I go to the same village every Tuesday and the same two villages every Wednesday. And on Thursdays, I rotate between two other schools, again depending on whether it’s an A or B week. So on any given week, I go to five villages. I see some villages every week and some every other. Major props to my bilingual coordinator for making what seemed like an impossible schedule super logical and as manageable as possible. When I write about my experiences at school, they will vary pretty greatly depending on where I was that day. The English level of these students is generally low as the bilingual program is just starting and from what I’m gauging from the teachers, they don’t have the same access to practicing English as the students in the cities. My only other teaching experience has been in rural schools in Peru and at a school for kids who also worked on the streets in Ecuador. The school here is nothing like those schools. Most of the schools have multiple classrooms, they all seem to have heating and other such amenities, and they all have computers and a nice playground. They are by no means lacking. Though they all technically have wifi, only one of the villages seemed to be able to depend on it daily. The villages range from five kids total to classes of a little under twenty. Even “big” classes are that way because they’ve either grouped two grade levels together (i.e. 1 and 2, 3 and 4, and 5 and 6) or because they’ve grouped three levels together (1-3, 4-6). There’s also “infantil” which is pre-K and Kindergarten (I think- they’re the super young kiddos who tend to be cute but sticky). The two villages with five kids are all taught together in the same room. These kids range from 1st grade to 6th so I’m told I’ll be an expert at differentiation by the end of this, which will be a miracle considering I didn’t know what differentiation was until I read our pedagogy guide four weeks ago. Overall, my experience thus far has been superb. I’ve essentially had seven first days of school, which means going over the PowerPoint I made about myself to every new class I have (which means I’ve done the presentation nearly 30 times). The teachers are all fun and cool and a lot of them are pretty close to me in age. I LOVE the drives out to the villages because it’s all vineyards and countryside. I also use the carpool time to practice my Spanish with the other teachers. I get to help teach not only English, but Arts and Crafts and Music as well. The kids are sweet and want to know everything about me. Spanish schools (or at least mine) seem to be less formal with the teacher/student relationship. I’m allowed to talk about politics (the 5th and 6th graders all ask if I like Trump or if I voted for him) and one teacher even said I could answer the kids who were asking if I had a boyfriend (though a couple teachers did tell the kids not to ask that question). The kids call their teachers by their first name or “teacher teacher!!!” especially when they’re referring to me, because “Jordan” is really tough to say in Spanish. Almost all of the schools have stunning views of the countryside as well, or playgrounds that back up to gorgeous vineyards. During break time, teachers often go get a coffee together (in the villages that have bars), which is another fun way to both bond and practice Spanish. Some of the harder parts so far include the distance from Logroño, just because I leave earlier and get back later than people at other schools do and I don’t have the freedom to come and go when I do and don’t have class. The trickiest thing has been that the teachers want me to pretend that I don’t speak any Spanish at all so that the students can’t revert to speaking Spanish with me. Some of the best advice I’ve received this week is to pretend I’m playing charades the entire time I’m in front of students for the next nine months. I understand why that helps their language development, which is the most important thing, but it’s obviously hard to communicate and build rapport when we don’t overlap language at all. Nothing too blog-worthy has happened (thankfully! Much like plane rides, you’d rather the days be uneventful and successful than news-worthy), but my first week did include helping to resolve an actual fistfight and having to explain to multiple classes that I don’t commute from the United States every day to teach them. I also successfully pronounced “Uruñuela,” the name of the main village, correctly for the first time, so that was a major accomplishment. In relation to what I told you earlier this week about how my mantra has been that it doesn’t matter if I feel like I can do it, I know I’ll just have to, I do have one more story for you. The carpool for my first two weeks has been the first time I met most of the teachers I’ll be working with, so everyday I’d walk to where we meet and look around at the many young professionals dashing into full cars, hoping that someone would be obviously looking for me the way I was clearly looking for them. I would then usually meet them and a couple other teachers as we piled into a car. On my second day at school, my first at this particular village, I did my usual thing, arriving at the carpool spot early, looking around eagerly to find someone that looked like they were looking for me, and finally getting the questioning (yet welcoming) wave from someone. When I got in the car, she told me that today I’d be taking a bus back from the village to Logroño and that it left at 12:20 (school ends at 1 in September) so that I wouldn’t have to stay for their meetings. I was grateful that they’d thought of that and also a little surprised because I’d been told the only bus that went to Logroño was from a bigger town (not through any of the villages), but I figured it would be fine. I briefly wondered if the 5 euros I had in my bag would be enough for the inevitably long-distance bus I know it would have to be, but knew I could figure something out. However, I then started paying attention to the conversation that was happening in Spanish around me. The other teachers in the car were saying that they had never heard of this bus nor did they know where the bus stop was in the village or if there was a bus, did it actually go back to Logroño?? The first teacher told me not to worry, that we’d figure it out by asking a parent in the village. I decided not to worry about it. By break time, we’d figured out where the bus stop was and as I left to hike down to it, I figured that if it didn’t come or if I didn’t have enough money, I’d just head back up to the school and wait for their meetings to end. If it did come, but it didn’t take me to Logroño, I’d either end up in a random city and make my way back to Logroño somehow, or I’d just call a taxi (I prayed the Logroño taxi number worked outside of Logroño). Whatever happened, I knew it would be okay. This is a pretty major change from the Jordan of the past. Anyway, feeling content with my personal growth, I sat at the bus stop and watched farm vehicle after farm vehicle go by, hoping that soon one of those big engines would eventually be propelling a bus. 12:20 came and went and I started doubting the bus and my personal growth. I decided I’d stay for a half an hour and go back to the school if it didn’t come by then. Unfortunately, I really had to go to the bathroom, so I wasn’t sure if I’d even make it to 12:50. Thankfully, just as I was wondering how long I could make it without a bathroom, the bus rounded a corner. I was so excited to see that the front said “Logroño” that when I boarded I immediately asked how much it cost, to which the driver responded with the Spanish equivalent of “well, that depends on where you want to go.” Thankfully I had more than enough euros to cover the trip and there was even a bathroom on the bus. See? It all works out. Even if I’m not sure what that will look like in the moment. Here’s to more teaching and teachable moments over the next nine months
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Before I left, I was telling a good friend about the various steps I would need to take to arrive in Logroño and she asked if I felt prepared to do that. I was briefly confused by the question because I hadn't considered it before. To me, there wasn't really an option one way or another. I didn't feel prepared, I'd just get it done. There wasn't a choice. I would have to. This actually made me feel better and has since become something I constantly remind myself, like when I was told that there was “probably” a bus that “might” take me back home (full story later). However, with the appliances here, sometimes I really don’t feel like I’m going to be able to do it. I’ve collected a few short stories about appliances and some quirky details household items over the last three weeks for your enjoyment. I’d like to preface this with a little explanation about my family. My dad always calls my brother the “straight A dumbass” because he was valedictorian of his high school did super well in college etc., but wouldn’t be able to find the phone right in front of him. I never earned this title because I didn’t get straight As, instead I just did the dumb stuff anyway. My dad has taken now to calling me the “halfbright” so there’s that. The stove requires a lighter. It’s really not that complicated and I must have used a stove like this once or twice, but I don’t really remember doing so and clearly wasn’t thinking about it when I tried to use our apartment stove for the first time. I turned on the burner and was confused with there was no flame, turned it off, tried again, turned it off and looked in confusion at Ali. Honestly thank goodness for Ali. If she had not been there to say “dude, I’m pretty sure you need a lighter, but let’s let the gas disperse a little bit,” I’m pretty sure the kitchen would’ve burst into flames. We waited a minute, found the lighter, and our pasta night was a-go again. I’ve mainly got a handle on lighting it now, but I keep turning it on so low that I almost turn it off and that, as they say, is no bueno. The washing machine was the main struggle. I’m going to level with you. I do think I’m fairly resourceful and independent most of the time. I want to be able to figure things out for myself. This is why I sat on the floor of the kitchen (where the washing machine is) and literally googled its brand and style number attempting to figure out how to operate it for half an hour or more. I’ve done my own laundry since I was 13, but I’m used to “American style” washing machines I guess, which have you choose what you’re putting in and they do the rest of the work for you. The temperature was easy to Google, it was the unmarked numbers that I couldn’t figure out. Even after Googling extensively, I could not figure out the number settings. With one of my apartment-mates in the DR and the other nowhere to be found, I turned to my only option left: calling my mom. My mom had no idea. Soooo I just chose a random number. After over an hour, the washer turned off and I went to go hang my clothes to dry. Unfortunately, when I picked up one item, I realized that my clothes were still completely soaked – no spin cycle had occurred. I picked a different number on a different section of the number options hoping that that might dry them, thinking there MUST be a spin cycle, and after another hour of waiting, nope, they were still soaking. At this point about a quarter of the Fulbrighters in Logroño didn’t have a piso yet and their airbnb didn’t have wifi so they were all over at my place, so rather than waste more water or embarrass myself further, I wrung out my clothes in the bathroom sink and then hung them to dry. When one of my apartment-mates finally returned that night, I asked her about the washing machine and she showed me where to find the part where it tells you what the various numbers, including the spin cycle. Then, in an embarrassing moment for me, she asked if I didn’t do my laundry much at home. I turned red, awkwardly told her that I did do my laundry at home, tried to explain the difference between American/Spanish washing machines, realized American washing machines are built for dummies, and reverted to thanking her for her help. She laughed and answered the 50 other questions I had about the apartment. Speaking of 50 other questions, there is no tea kettle. This was so shocking to me, that I went through every cabinet searching and finally asked said apartment-mate (who I’d seen drinking tea) what she did. She uses the microwave. She’s from Argentina, so we had a nice conversation about how in Latin America, everyone had tea kettles and how weird we thought it was that many people don’t here. Finally, for today’s blog, there are the sandwich bags. I went to the walmart/target/supermaxi (basically the has-it-all store) of Logroño and one of the items on my list was little sandwich bags so I could a) store things and b) bring snacks to school. I need to check whether the box actually says “sandwich bags” or if it’s in Spanish, but either way, I knew I was purchasing sandwich bags. When I got home, I expected to open the square-ish, classic sandwich bags you’d find in the US. Thus I was pretty confused when I opened the box and unfurled a long, skinny, rectangular bag. A few hours later it occurred to me that “bocadillos” or sandwiches here, are long and skinny. Thus, it is exactly what a sandwich bag should be in Spain. I haven’t used the oven yet, but knowing me that will need it’s own blog and probably won’t happen until February. Until then, I hope you’ve enjoyed my failures with Spanish appliances and home goods. Quick note: I know a couple of you are expecting a blog about my first week teaching, but due to the type of “school” I teach in, I haven’t actually been to everywhere I’ll be teaching this year. Look for a complete blog next week once I’ve been to each of them!
On with it then! In Logroño this week is a huge festival known as the wine festival or San Mateo. It has meant a week of no open shops, constant parties and parades marching down the street and free flowing wine. I haven’t taken part in much of it because the school(s) that I’m teaching in out are outside of Logroño, so while my cohorts have had the week off, I did not. However Thursday, on my way to school, my bilingual coordinator invited me to “get pinchos” after school with the other teachers. Pinchos are the Northern Spain equivalent to tapas - small morsels varying in style from kabob to sandwich and everything in between. I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to bond with my coworkers nor to learn how to eat pinchos like a real Spaniard, so by the time the school day was over, I was not only pumped to take part in this experience, but also ravenous. We started at a bar that had the MOST delicious looking sandwich, but no one was eating, so I decided to assess the situation before diving in. Soon I had been handed a glass of wine and was sipping it casually while I met the other teachers and began chatting. Just as I had decided I’d just get myself the sandwich despite my companions’ lack of food, one of the teachers told me it was time to go and gestured for me to finish the half glass of wine I had. I did, wincing at the fact I was downing Rioja wine, but, hey, I was just along for the ride. When we walked outside one of the teachers asked me for ten euros. Normally, I wouldn’t just give away money like that, but when it Logroño… I did ask the nearest teacher as soon as he left what was going on and she told me that it was for eating. I figured that we were going to find somewhere to sit down and that the teacher with the money would order stuff for everyone and we’d all share. I honestly don’t know why I assumed that of all things because I’d already been told we were going to pinchos and if I know anything about eating pinchos it’s that a group of three can barely fit inside a pincho place let alone the twenty or so of us. Alas. We began down the famous Calle Laurel of Logroño, and soon I was being asked my drink order and which kind of meat I wanted. I asked for a “corto con límon” which is a tiny beer with lemon in it and then chose the meat that the majority of the other teachers had chosen (I figured they knew what was good). My god. That was the best mini-sandwich/pincho I’d ever had. I was still pretty hungry so I was hoping I’d get another one, but suddenly it was “vamos!” and we were off. Thank goodness, I thought, I’ll get to eat another pincho. And yes, this one was a kabob style pincho with some meat on it (again I just ordered the more common one). It was also super delicious. I do have a kabob stick shaped burn on my finger now because I didn’t realize how hot the metal stick the meat was cooked on (on an open fire right in front of me) was and grabbed the stick without thinking about it when it was handed to me. I was also given another corto. After that kabob, I was full, and I figured two mini beers and two pinchos could add up to 10 euros, so I thought we all may chat until we were ready to disperse. But, nope. Onward we went! Another delicious pincho, this one with chorizo, and another mini beer. By then, I’d forgotten at least half of the teachers’ names, but was trying to play it cool. We left that place and someone told me that the next one was probably the last. I wasn’t sure where I’d fit the next one in my tummy and was considering asking to have them not order me one when the classic “tortilla de patata” landed in front of me (alongside another corto of course). I love tortilla de patata (a kind of egg, potato, omelette, shaped more like a slice of cake) so I dug right in. As I was eating and chatting, one of the teachers came up to me and I noticed he had a sauce all over his tortilla. He told me it was spicy, that I should try it, and then dumped some on my tortilla. Now – those of you that know me know that even pepperoni is spicy to me, but I was feeling game for anything so I placated myself, telling myself that nothing else “spicy” I’ve tried has ever actually been spicy in Spain and went for it. I took a bite with all of the spicy sauce on it (as other teachers looked on with horror) and promptly regretted all decisions. It was, in fact, very spicy. I was bright red, my eyes and nose were running and I couldn’t hear for a minute. Everyone was laughing at me and shoving red wine in my face saying it would help the spice go away so I took a sip, which made it wayyyy worse for a split second and then started to dull the pain. Soon I was laughing too, but I scraped off all other remnants of spice. Despite having been full two pinchos before this one, I polished off yet another. That seemed to be the last one and they all went to coffee, but it had been three hours and I’d promised another friend I would meet up with her, so I said adios and bowed out. I left with my belly incredibly full – I ate nearly nothing else until this morning – but my heart even fuller in the most cliché way possible. It was so easy and fun to be with them, even to be talking (poorly) in a language that isn’t my own, and just feeling like Spain is an excellent place to be right now. The title is a lie. I don’t know if there is a key to living abroad and if there is, I certainly don’t have it yet. However, this blog IS about Spanish keys. This all started because I was planning on blogging about piso hunting (finding an apartment), but I don’t have too much to say about that. I took the Fulbright commissions’ advice and wrote a list of things I really cared about and starred my dealbreakers (no smokers, clean, good vibe, certain price range etc.) and then took advice from a former Logroño Fulbrighter about where to live (Dakota, you’ve saved my life many a time). With those limits I had about 5 rooms I could look at, I had a favorite going in, visited that apartment, loved it instantly, and said yes. My apartment-mates seem super nice, I have my own shelves in the kitchen, fridge, and bathroom and my room has bunk beds. What more could you want? So basically my piso hunt was not normal. However. Keys. I’m not going to say I’m any kind of master of keys at home, but usually I can get in and out of places just fine. I didn’t think much of it when I arrived, especially when I was able to easily unlock the door to the building and the door to the actual apartment of the airbnb. So when my landlord gave me the keys and an explanation for which key goes where, I looked at them in utter confusion because one is shaped like those fake keys they give people who have done good for a city, but assumed it wouldn’t be any different than my other key experiences. That was until I left for the first time and realized there were five deadbolts. Well, that’s fine, I thought. We’re clearly very safe, I won’t have a problem. So I left to do whatever it was I was doing and when I returned I placed the key in the lock and turned. And turned it and turned it and turned it and turned it to no avail. Being the logical person that I am, I reversed my key turning direction. So I turned it and turned it and turned it and turned it and turned it again until it was completely stuck. I tried forcing it more in that direction then the other direction. I prayed that my landlord wasn’t hanging out inside listening to this. And then I turned it some more. Thankfully Nelli and Alison were with me, so I asked if one of them would try and in two seconds Nelli had it unlocked. Naturally, I assumed she was a key genius and we went inside. When it was time to leave again, I figured I should make sure I could get back inside because I’d most likely be alone when I returned. I warned my roommates about what I’d be doing and stepped outside. I proceeded to attempt to unlock the door for between 10-20 minutes while Alison took photos and Nelli laughed. Each time I couldn’t, Nelli would reach over and do it easily. FINALLY I was able to unlock it. I practiced a few more times so I was sure I could get it done alone and then the three of us started going downstairs, laughing at how long it took me to figure it out. As we were walking and laughing, Nelli dropped the best gem of all with, “and they gave you a Fulbright?” Which I’m sure many of you (ahem, Dad) were already saying to yourselves. I’ve since been able to unlock the door at least twice and can update you once I’ve returned. Shoutout to my roommate for keeping a straight face while I explained why it would sound like someone was trying to break in, to Nelli for her unlocking abilities and for her quick wit, and to Alison for her photography and for also not being able to unlock her door and thus making me feel not quite as bad. Orientation, which is held in Madrid, officially started yesterday, so in the spirit of adventure, Nelli (a fellow Fulbrighter) and I decided to leave Logroño on Sunday to explore the city. Naturally, good blog stories ensued. I want to note that I’ll be writing a blog about the initial days here (and the adjustment) soon, so while this blog and others may sound like everything is perfect, I promise it’s just the highlight reel.
Okay. Logroño (where I’ll be living) is about a four hour bus ride from Madrid, so on Sunday afternoon Nelli and I boarded a bus in order to arrive around 7pm. It doesn’t sound like a big travel day, but considering I’d had my first Spanish “night out” which involved staying out way later than any other time in my life (sorry Mom), I’d slept in to almost noon and then had to throw my stuff together to make sure I had what I needed for orientation. It had also been my first night in my new piso (story forthcoming) so I was unfamiliar with the schedules of my roommates and thus was trying not to disturb anyone. Long story short, I boarded the bus having only eaten a small croissant with a tin of pringles in hand. By the time we got to Madrid, both Nelli and I were exhausted and incredibly hungry. To make matters worse, starting immediately from stepping off the bus, there was extensive PDA everywhere! There was a couple making out on an escalator — an escalator!! He had his back turned to the ground, so there was a brief moment where I thought they might just forget where the escalator ended and go toppling over. Apparently, they were pretty practiced so they stopped in time. I’m not sure I’ll be getting used to the PDA – it’s even worse than Ecuador. Anyway, after taking a circuitous route to the hostel and arriving ready to eat then melt onto the bed in a deep slumber, the owners told us the following: 1. They had lost the key to the room we were supposed to be staying in, so they only had a room with one bed in it 2. The said bed was huge so it wouldn’t matter 3. Despite not getting what we asked for and having to downsize, we had to pay the same 4. We wouldn’t be getting a key to get inside the building (only one for our room) so we had to be back before 1am (not that that is a problem, but it was the principle of the thing) We were upset, but couldn’t do anything about it, so we begrudgingly paid and made our way into the room which turned out to be tiny and to *maybe* have a double bed – definitely nothing huge. Alas, that is part of traveling, so we put our stuff away and went out to eat. Upon returning, we found out that not only did the wifi not work in our room, but that the shower was broken so that you had to hold up the shower head with one arm and wash yourself with another. I suppose that’s how hostels go sometimes, but I’m definitely more partial to airbnbs at the moment. Beyond that, I have been enjoying Madrid. We walked around (aka got lost in) Parque El Retiro, saw the Plaza Mayor and viewed the outside the Royal Palace. Madrid is beautiful and has a nice vibe to it. I was even able to meet up with a friend who is also teaching in Spain, and I ate at McDonalds when nothing else would do. Once I had my American food fix, I ate my first paella for dinner, and loved every moment of it. Note: the nicer paella restaurants put “per ration” on the menu and make you buy at least two rations, which are huge. Nelli and I found this out after being seated somewhere fancy and realizing we didn’t want to pay 30 euros for dinner or eat that much. We left and found some good paella on the street. Now, I really like the metro station in Madrid. It seems pretty easy to navigate as long as you know your route (which is color coded) and your stop (which is pretty clear). What I did not anticipate was not being able to exit the metro station once having arrived at our stop. On our way to checking into the hotel for orientation, Nelli and I got off at our stop only to find that the exit signs only pointed us deeper and deeper into the underground of Madrid’s metro. I was sure we’d be stuck there and have to call the Fulbright Commission to be rescued. I couldn’t stop thinking about the “The Charlie and the M.T.A.” song where Charlie can’t get off the train and gets stuck there forever. Eventually, after following exit signs three different ways and asking three different people, we did manage to make it to daylight and street level again. I’ve never been happier to see a metro exit. Orientation has been busy and fun. I’m enjoying meeting everyone else from the region I’ll be in and many people from other regions. And, while I didn’t like my first sangría, everything else seems to be getting better and better. I arrived to Spain two days ago now and drafted a blog about my first impressions. When I went to edit it yesterday, I accidentally pressed “delete” instead of edit, so I wrote a much better version and pressed “post” which somehow deleted everything again. So, here’s to hoping the third time is the charm. For my first blog post in Spain, I’m going to give you my first impressions!
1. Friendliness- Let me paint you a quick picture: My two “checked” bags weighed in at just 2lbs less than me, so with my two carry-ons, my luggage far outweighed me. That wouldn’t be such a big deal, except that I had to navigate them through the Madrid airport onto an airbus through a train station onto a train, off the train, through a second train station, on and off a second train, through a third and final train station and then to my airbnb where I found that it was on the “2nd” floor (which in Spain means three flights of stairs as the first floor is called ”planta Baja” then after the first flight of stairs is the first floor etc.) with no escalator. To those of you saying “you should’ve packed less”: no. I’m here a year and I need my popcorn popping bowl. Anyway, I genuinely do not think I would have made it to Logroño had it not been for the extremely helpful people on every train and train station who were helping bring my bags on and off trains, gave me reassuring smiles, and even taking one of my bags up an escalator for me. When I arrived to my airbnb I collasped on the bed and started crying out of exhaustion, hunger, and good old fashion home-sickness. I pulled myself together to shower, get a SIM card and an apple, but when I returned and began eating my apple with my airbnb host (a mom of young twins), I promptly started crying because their family was so sweet. She too was unbelievably kind, and even offered to help me find an apartment if I couldn’t find one myself. Pretty much everyone I have met here has been so kind. 2. No escalators- I expected no escalators in some of the apartments I’ve been looking at, but what I did not expect was no escalators in airports and train stations. Instead of escalators, they have sloped moving ramps, which are probably helpful for timing, but are incredibly unhelpful when your heavier-than-you bags are dragging you rapidly downwards regardless of whether you’re trying to go up a level or down one. I have the bruises to prove this. 3. Drivers stop for you- This is remarkable to me. My main comparison for living outside of the US is Ecuador, and if I learned “defensive walking” anywhere, it was Ecuador. But here, cars stop for you when you’re walking on a crosswalk - often even when they got there first. Maybe this goes under the “friendly” category, but it really amazes me! 4. Smoking- I was expecting this, but nonetheless it’s a big thing. People smoke everywhere and finding a non-smoking apartment gives me less than half the options. 5. Food- To be honest, it’s hard for me to eat when I’m unsettled, so I’ve only had two truly Spanish meals/food items. I had an amazing sandwich in the airport that was just Brie and ham, but WOW so good. Then last night I had a tortilla España (or tortilla de patata) which was also very tasty. 6. Alcohol- I’m currently taking antibiotics, so haven’t had any of the famous Rioja wine yet, but what I have noticed is that people here often have beer with lunch. 7. Directions?- I can’t decide if this is a pro or con yet. People always seem more than willing to give directions and seem to want to be as helpful as possible, however, I was led astray twice in my first 5 hours in Spain. The jury is still out. 8. Spain Spanish isn’t Latin American Spanish- yes yes, I hear you all saying “duh.” I knew this would be true, but I wasn’t expecting the extent to which it’s true. Someone told me I had bad luck as my biggest bag swung around off its wheels to hit me in the shins and I responded with thank you. And it’s not even just that it’s harder for me to understand, it’s harder for others to understand me. I know my Spanish is by no means perfect, but people in Latin America can usually understand my meaning at the very least, here? Not so much. I know this will come with time :) 9. “Looking” Spanish- After being constantly stared at in Ecuador for my blonde(ish) hair and blue eyes, I was expecting more or less of the same here- at least for people to know automatically that I’m not from here. But there’s way more diversity than I was expecting. Unless I’m giving it away with how I dress or until I begin to talk, people don’t know that I’m not from here. 10. Hours of operation- The bank closes at 2:15! 2:15!!! Things open around 9 or 10, sometimes just close for a few hours in the early afternoon then open again in the evening, or they close altogether for the day. This is very strange to me and I will have to adjust! 11. Dogs- So many people have dogs here! It makes me both super happy and miss Gus at the same time. Yesterday while waiting to open my bank account, a German shepherd mix jumped up to lick my face and it was absolutely the best part of Spain so far. 12. Safety- I’ve never felt so safe so early on in a city. When I asked my airbnb host if I’d be safe to walk around the first evening I arrived, she nearly laughed because the question was so silly to her. Apparently you can be walking around at 4 in the morning and be fine. Overall, I’m still adjusting and I know that there will be good and bad days filled with good and bad moments, but I feel really good about being here and about this city. More blog posts and hopefully some photos to come soon! |
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November 2018
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