Note: in Spain, “wifi” is pronounced “weefee” and often used in plural. I used to use this ironically with my friends, but now it’s how I refer to “wifi” as “weefee” or “weefees” both out loud and in my head all the time. Who’s laughing now??
Anyway, let’s begin: I just had wifi installed in my apartment. I had been trying with all my might to avoid this by working (with Raquel’s permission) to get a wifi amplifier to shoot her wifi down to my apartment too. Unfortunately, after 4 trips to a local tech store buying and then returning various amplifiers, I had to come to terms with the fact that I’d have to get my own wifi. Thankfully, I was able to wrangle a good deal out of my phone provider. Thinking that getting the deal would be the hard part, I waited a couple days to go back to give them my passport and bank details. Unfortunately, I decided the apt time to drop off said details was an hour and a half before I needed to prepare for a flight then catch a bus in order to get to my flight on time. And when I decide to do something, I needto finish it. There is no other option. My passport details were fine, but I needed a different document from my bank which required me sprinting across the street to a branch of my bank, waiting in a short line that took a ridiculously long time, getting a print out of the EXACT SAME INFO I’d already given the wifi company, and then sprinting back. After a much longer process than I’d planned on, they told me they would call in a few days to set up an installation time and I ran back to my house to whip up pancakes, change, and throw my last few things in my bag. Why, you might ask, did I make pancakes when I had less than 30 minutes to get to my bus? I recently added eggs back into my diet and found out you can make delicious pancakes with just bananas, eggs (and I toss in cinnamon and flaxseed) and in my planning of the week I’d decided I was going to make pancakes before my flight on Thursday, so, again, it had to happen. I threw everything together for my pancakes – changing my clothes and doing my last minute packing between pancake flipping and then dish cleaning. I scarfed down the pancakes and was two minutes ahead of schedule when my phone rang. Thinking it must be Gonzalo, I answered without looking at the ID and was slightly surprised to hear a woman’s voice asking me, in Spanish of course, if they could come in 20 minutes to set up my wifi. Honestly. When does that EVER happen?? I explained that I was leaving for a trip and would be back Sunday. She seemed kind of annoyed, but we settled on a time for Monday afternoon and then as she’s about to hang up, she tells me to have the key to a certain room. I, naturally, have NO IDEA what she is talking about, so I ask what that room is. She just repeats the name huffily and as I’m now 2 minutes late, I say okay and hang up. As I begin speed-walking to the bus stop I quickly text Raquel asking for an explanation and who I should ask. Raquel explains it’s an electrical room in the lobby of the building that’s locked and the person who has the key has been sick for a few weeks, but that she’d check with some neighbors. I thanked her and continued my hurried pace to the bus, where I arrive 7 minutes before it left and then arrived to the airport probably and hour and a half before I actually needed to be there. Better early than late though, right? Anyway, I spent my weekend enjoying Rioja, and, not wanting to bother Raquel, I didn’t check with her about the key until we got into her car Monday morning. She’d forgotten, so I quickly texted the person who manages the apartment I rent. That person tried to help me, but tells me that no one is responding. I’ve gotten used to this delayed action in Spain, especially on the Canaries, but I was starting to worry. I couldn’t do anything else that morning as I was teaching, but as soon as school let out for the day, I began furiously searching who to call in order to reschedule my appointment. Finally when I found a helpful phone number (Orange, you need to step up your communication game) I explained my predicament and then asked the man responding to slow down approximately 5 times until I deduced that he wanted me to proceed with the appointment regardless of my lack of key. He said if they couldn’t do it, they’d reschedule directly with me. I crossed my fingers that I wouldn’t waste anyone’s time and waited anxiously for the call saying the technician was on her or his way. Fifteen minutes after my scheduled appointment time, I got a call saying the technician was running late, but he’d be there in between 40 minutes and an hour. I decided to pop down to the ocean to swim and soon after my own return to my apartment (after getting dressed thankfully), my apartment was buzzed and I let the technician in. Now, I was not planning on writing a blog about getting wifi in my apartment, but as soon as he walked in with so many bags of tools and the like hanging around him that he almost didn’t fit through my door, I thought maybe I would end up having a story to tell after all. Immediately after (barely) making it into my apartment, he laid down his stuff all over. Literally, all over. There was stuff on the floor, on the futon, on the kitchen table, and even, yes, on my bed. The then moved my dresser so quickly, a glass bowl nearly slid off. I grabbed the bowl and quickly moved other things off other surfaces, while pointing him to another site that I thought might have the connection he needed (as whatever was behind the dresser was not). Sure enough, it was what he needed. I was too nervous to say anything about the key, so as he pulled out certain instruments to test the connection on the wall, I hovered around with my fingers crossed. Soon after connecting an instrument to the wall, he let out a Spanish “YAY!” Kissed the instrument, and thanked god. I could only hope this meant the installation would be simple. Calmer, he began to ask me the usual questions, starting with where I’m from. I said the US, he smiled and said “Donald Trump!” Exasperated, I responded “ugh, yeah, are you a fan?” He laughed heartily and told me no. His second question was whether I liked the island. I told him I did, that it was very calm and beautiful to which he responded (translations mine) “Yeah, it’s very relaxed, not like the peninsula [mainland Spain] where everyone is running around in a rush, busy all of the time.” I genuinely had to stop myself from laughing out loud. Yes, the islands are more relaxed than the Peninsula, but sometimes I couldn’t even take how “relaxed” the peninsula is! [Read my last year’s No Pasa Nada blog if you have any questions]. Compared to the way many people live in the US, the idea of Spain being in a rush is laughable. As my friend from last year used to say, Spain just isn’t built for A-type Americans. Anyway, he proceeded installing my wifi. At one point he wanted a better angle to the connection in the wall, so shoved the futon without checking the space around it, nearly sending the lamp crashing through the window. Luckily, I saw that happening and like a slow-motion comedy, I ran to the lamp and caught it before it hit anything. He then proceeded to talk on the phone with his mom on speaker phone while he worked and later pulled out a hot glue gun to adhere something to my wall. I didn’t ask questions. When he was packing up, I finally got the courage to tell him about the key. I explained about my call to reschedule and not wanting to waste his time and he was SHOCKED. He just kept reiterating how lucky I was that he didn’t need it and that most of the time I would’ve been S.O.L. All I could think was how relieved I was that I wouldn’t have to go through days of figuring out where this key was JBy the end I was both amused and impressed. It took maximum an hour when they’d told me it could take up to three and so far, my wifi is functioning perfectly. He was very amiable and clearly did a great job. Alright, well, time to use that wifi to get back on my study jam. Until next time!
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Since my last post was a kind-of downer about finding housing, I’m now going to write about how STOKED I am for my school. And let me be the first to say, I honestly cannot believe it took me longer to write this school blog than it took me to write mine last year.
But first, I’m just going to leave these here because everyone needs to vote: www.votesaveamerica.com https://www.overseasvotefoundation.org As I explained in my last blog, my year, school included, didn’t start off too smoothly. For the first three and a half weeks – until last Wednesday – every day, every class period went something like this: Me: *runs to my coordinator’s office* “Hi! Where should I go?” Coordinator: “Umm, I’m sorry I still don’t have the teachers’ schedules” Me: *smiles painstakingly* Coordinator: “Go up to [insert classroom here] and ask?” Me: *runs to classroom* “Hi, sorry for interrupting, do you have English this hour?” Teacher: “No, I’m sorry” Me: “Okay! Sorry again, thanks!” Me: *goes to next door* “Hi, sorry for interrupting, do you have English this hour?” Teacher: “No, I’m sorry” Andddd REPEAT until a teacher would say yes, they had English. At that point, I would slink in, ten minutes late, and look at the teacher awaiting their lead. In the best classes, the teacher would have a lesson planned that I could help with. In the most difficult classes, the teacher would insist that I lead the class – and sometimes even leave the room even though that’s not allowed – and despite me not having known I’d be there until that very moment. I made do, but it wasn’t ideal. Besides that, I loved my school right away. The teachers and staff are clearly incredibly friendly and helpful as I wrote about in my last blog. A lot of the faculty are runners and have promised to show me good trails and parks! Everyone has been welcoming. A little bit about what the school is like: it’s located in a working class neighborhood in Las Palmas and is comprised of many families who immigrated to the Canaries. Each grade level has two classes (divided into Class A and Class B) and it was the first school on the island to have a bilingual program. The bilingual program on the rest of the islands is actually basedoff of my school’s program and many of my friends have told me their schools always talks about my school as the beacon of bilingualism. This cracked me up a little at the beginning, because almost all of my friends had schedules and yet this epicenter of organized English learning did not have class schedules for teachers or for auxiliars. But I digress, that’s been fixed. My school doesn’t use textbooks (except in math, I believe), but rather have a theme for each year and the teachers use the theme to plan various activities and learning objectives relating each subject to the theme. This year, the theme is both interesting and challenging: immigration. They’ve based it in Alice in Wonderland, but they chose the theme because they were selected as part of a grant program that is uniting six schools across Europe who, over the next three years, will be visiting each school and doing a kind of learning exchange. We will be the first school visited, representatives from the schools in Greece, Italy, Northern Ireland, England, and Lithuania will soon be here! The difference between my experience this year from last year is that of night and day. The English level of the students is extremely high here. I don’t know exactly the percentage, but a large portion of their day is in English. They are engaged in class and most try really hard to communicate in English with both me and their teachers. The teachers’ standards are also high and, while challenging for the students, it seems to me that, in the end, the students like to be held accountable. The teachers even always speak English to the students (except occasions with the littlest ones where they need a telling-off or a serious conversation that will only come through in Spanish). I teach both classes of 4-year-olds and then each class of 1stthrough 4thgrade and I have one group of 5thgrade. This group of 5thgraders just put on an entire play in English about the human immune system. In English. When school started just over a month ago. To say I was impressed would be a major understatement. For me, teaching these groups of students means two major things: First, I’m only teaching one grade level at a time. Though of course different students are at different levels within each class, my experiences last year of trying to teach a 1stgrader at the same time you teach a 6thgrader or even 1stand 2ndgraders at the same time etc. was way more challenging than it has been to differentiate for within just 5thgraders or just 2ndgraders etc. This means I spend way less time trying to get everyone on the same page and way more time enjoying English conversation and activities with the students. Second, I have class with most of my students twice a week with the exception of the two groups of 4-year-olds and the one group of 5thgraders, who I see once a week. That’s a huge difference from the maximum once every two weeks and minimum once a month (sometimes even less) I saw my students last year. This makes all the difference in the world for me as a Teacher’s Assistant (aka auxiliar aka TA). The students remember what we talked about last class and we are all building a classroom culture and relationship together. Last year, I felt like I had almost zero control of that because of how little I saw my students and how many different teachers I worked with. I’m already better with most of my students names than I was in February last year – and not for lack of trying. The biggest [related] difference, however, is that it’s only one school. I repeat: ONLY ONE. And yeah, yeah I know it was “one school, just seven villages” but do you have any idea how nice it is to be in the same school every day??? Even when I don’t have class with my kids, I see them outside and in the hallway. The majority of the students already know my name! And the great thing is, if they don’t know, they don’t hesitate to ask me. Note: I don’t want to, in any way, be a damper on the pueblos. I learned so much last year and I’m grateful that Spain doesn’t just put the TAs in schools with the most resources. I did and do have such a deep fondness and love for the pueblos last year. Plus I had adventures I could never have had anywhere else. This year is just easier in every way. For example, last year, the students (and even some teachers) often commented on my short hair – saying I should grow it out or going as far as to say I was ugly with short hair. This isn’t a big deal and I’m confident enough to wear, and like, my hair however I want it, but it’s a downer of a work environment. In contrast, when I walk into class I am often greeted by students running up to hug me then saying “Ms. Jordan you are BEAUUUUUTIFUL!” Again, I’m not waiting on 7-year-olds to tell me I’m pretty, but it makes a big difference in the work vibe. Through everything, the biggest thing with having one school and seeing my students in class once or twice a week and then EVERY DAY in the hallway is that I think it humanizes me, as described above, and it definitely helps me get to know and humanize them even more. I’m getting to know their personalities and thus am already figuring out what encourages or discourages different students. I’m learning about their siblings, where their families are from, and so much more. I tell them they’re smart and thoughtful and they actually believe me. In turn, they’re getting to know me better too and we all work better together. The teachers I work with are fundamental to this exchange. No teacher has spoken to me in Spanish in front of the kids and each of them makes it clear to their classes that the same level of respect given to the main teacher, is given to me. Basically, I’m so happy to go to school everyday. That is not to say that there aren’t classes or students that are more difficult than others, because of course there are. And there are still classes or days where I feel overwhelmed and like all I’m doing is classroom control or days where I wonder why exactly I’m there, but overall? It seems productive for everyone and I’m very much enjoying myself. Other little things that made a big difference:
While finding an apartment wasn’t the easiest, I’m so grateful to be having this school experience and am looking forward to more joys and challenges of the year ahead. Two weeks ago, when I finished and published the blog about the bulls, I was writing from a hostel room: staring at a grimy beige ceiling and abrasive yellow walls and one window. Today, as I write this, I’m looking out at the ocean, watching some of the biggest waves I’ve seen in my time here roll in as rain and storms pass through. It’s a gorgeous scene. So much has changed in the last two weeks, but I’m going to try to capture both how I felt as all of this was happening.
On paper, this year should’ve started so much easier than last year – I’m doing a job I have experience doing, I’m only at one school, the weather is great year-round, you can’t live more than 10 minutes from a beach, I not only have the support system from home, I have a great support system already in Spain etc. etc. When I considered these things as this year began, I felt ridiculous and weak for my response to the challenges I was facing. However, I had failed to consider what it means to deal with a slightly different health situation. It’s not that big of a deal, but it sucks. It sucks not to feel well and it sucks to have to think about food all the time. And it’s just something extra. My school JUST gave me my schedule after three and a half weeks of teaching [blog on school coming soon] and I didn’t move in anywhere until a week ago. So, on top of the lack of stability in housing and at work, I had to think about food all the time. Cooking in hostels and Airbnbs is complicated, to say the least. My mind was constantly working: What am I going to eat? Where am I going to get it? Where am I going to cook it? How am I going to cook it? What will I do if I don’t finish all of it? Where will I store it? If I buy this much of x will I finish it before I have to move all of my stuff somewhere else? Do I have enough food for today? For tomorrow? For Sunday when everything is closed? And if I do eat out or if someone gives me food: how exactly was it cooked? What was it cooked with? Just olive oil? Really? But no, REALLY? And no pepper? Only salt? Promise? It’s an allergy concern…? That was my life for three weeks while I moved between multiple Airbnbs, a hostel, and finally onto one of my coworker’s couches. Each of my problems on their own would not have been a big deal. No apartment? Annoying and hard, but doable! No schedule? Be flexible! Specific food requirements? I’ve been doing that for awhile now! It is the fact that they come together that is challenging for me, and it’s why, two Tuesdays ago, one of my worst days, turned into one of my best. That Tuesday was my day to move from one Airbnb into another. I had it all figured out. Because I had work, the original Airbnb allowed me to keep my bags there longer, but they had to be out before 3. The second Airbnb had given me permission to check in at 2. This would give me time to lug my first load of luggage the 10 minute walk from one Airbnb to another, get in the second Airbnb, and then go back for my second load to be out before three. Then, during recess, I got a call. The owner of the second Airbnb called me to tell me that I couldn’t check in before 3, but that I should be there right at 3. I explained my situation and he refused to do anything about it. This wasn’t and shouldn’t have been, a big deal, but it was the last straw for me and I began to cry. I was the corner of the teacher’s lounge farthest from the exit and I tried to figure out how I could stop crying long enough to exit the room and get to the bathroom without anyone noticing that I had been crying. I took a deep breath, turned around, saw every teacher staring at me, and broke down in tears again. Immediately teachers rushed to me asking what was wrong and what they could do. I could only cry saying, “it’s just everything” until one teacher asked what happened on the phone and I explained my dilemma with the Airbnb – saying I’d figured out how to do it all myself, but that now I didn’t know how I’d do it. Right away the teacher, Raquel, responded telling me, “no problem,” right at 1:30, she would drive me to the first Airbnb, we’d load my stuff into her car, which she assured me was big enough, and then she had a lunch, but she would drop off my stuff later at the second Airbnb. I asked if she was sure and she told me “Jordan! Just take the help! If you need help, ask! We’ll all help you!” I was passed on to another room with the administrators and they asked what else was going on, to which I explained I was dealing with some health stuff and that I hadn’t found a place to live and so it was just difficult to deal with everything, like cooking. Everyone sprang to action immediately. The director told me to send a list of everything I could eat to him and that the school cook could prepare me things to eat, every member of the administrative team offered either their own houses or their parents houses – saying I could stay with any of them or bounce around until I found a place. They told me not to worry and that everything would be solved. Naturally, everyone’s kindness made me cry more. After school, Raquel drove me to the first Airbnb and we loaded my bags into her car. After parking, I began grab stuff I wanted for the next few hours – including chips I could actually eat – when she stopped me and told me not to be ridiculous. She told me she would cook lunch for me and she wouldn’t even hear of me going to a café and eating chips until 3. A break in the story. I think I’m bad at help. I’ve gradually begun learning how to ask for it and even how to receive it, but I often look at it as a last resort. Most of the time, I will think of every way to do the thing myself and only when I’m sure I can’t, do I turn to someone else. But I’m learning. I realized that sometimes waiting until it was the only option actually made it more difficult for the person I was asking or that trying to determine the terms on which they help makes me seem ungrateful when I’m really just trying to make it easy. So this is something I’m working on. Back to it. I tried to tell Raquel there was no need for that kind of help and that she’d done so much already by getting my bags, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. As we got to her building and then almost to her door, she stopped suddenly and said, “I forgot to ask! Do you have a problem with dogs?” The joy in my heart knew no limit with that question and I responded gleefully that I loved dogs. She looked relieved and opened the door to not one, but TWO tiny balls of fur jumping with excitement at their mother’s return. I was already in heaven as Raquel got me on wifi for a call I had to make and then began pulling items out of her fridge asking, “can you eat this?” If I said yes, she would lay it on the counter and if I said no, would throw it back into the fridge. With the foods I could eat splayed out on the counter, she began to throw everything on different appliances. The cooktop, oven, and various other machines whirred to life as she cooked me the best meal I’d eaten since leaving Logroño over a week before. Energized with good food and dogs, I felt hopeful for the first time in awhile and I was ready to continue tackling challenges, thinking that I was thiiisclose to having a place to live. I was wrong. It took another two and a half weeks to move into my place, but what ended up being important was the asking for (well, having the problem dragged out of me) and then receiving help. If that day hadn’t happened, I can assure you that the following Wednesday, when I left work and immediately began to feel ill, I would not have texted Raquel asking if I could come over to cook real food at her place. It still took me a couple hours of feeling unwell to ask for the help, but when I did, she picked me up from the hostel, I cooked a good meal, and then she helped me whip up tons of food that I could store in my hostel mini-fridge and reheat in the microwave. She even let me crash on her couch that night so I didn’t have to stay in my depressing hostel room. I cried a lot that day, feeling exhausted, homesick, and unsure about where I’d be living. Her husband came home and heard about my housing dilemma and told me that the apartment below them had just become available. Quickly, they called and were able to let me see the place. It was perfect. And it’s where I’m writing this blog now. Though I got too sick to leave my hostel room the following day and I couldn’t move into the apartment for another week (Once my hostel reservation had ended, Raquel and her husband let me stay on their couch where the dogs slept with me every night) and I didn’t have my school schedule, I began to feel better. I still cried a few more times after that, but mainly because I was anxious something about my contract would fall through, but as soon as I signed that piece of paper, I felt 20 pounds lighter. My housing situation worked out better than I could’ve imagined, all because of someone offering to help and later, because I asked for it. I know this year will be filled with other, new challenges and I’m still learning to look at help as something other than a last resort, but it’s getting better and I am so grateful for that. I’m grateful for a place to live and cook. I’m grateful for my parents who let me call and cry… a lot. I’m, obviously, incredibly grateful for Raquel and her husband. I’m just grateful. |
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November 2018
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