And now for a short blog about… “Calima” …
Something unique to the Canaries, that one would probably never know or hear about should you not live here, is named Calima. When you hear Canarians talk about Calima, it almost sounds like they’re talking about a person: an old friend of theirs who they don’t really like, whose visits are unpredictable and difficult, but who they can’t quite get out of their life. When I finally asked what it was, I learned that what I had thought was weird fog or smog was actually a layer of Saharan desert dust that blows from the Sahara Desert over the ocean. I’ve included photos so you can see what it looks like from above. Naturally, our islands are the only things out in this ocean, so we too get covered in this dust. In English, it’s called SAL (Saharan Air Layer), but I like “Calima” much better. When you wake up in the morning and realize you probably need an air mask if you want to run, you don’t want to say “oh darn that Saharan Air Layer” – no, you want to say “Seriously Calima?! You were just here!!!” I joke, but Calima is both serious and dangerous and, apparently, climate saving. In the Canaries, I have students with asthma who can’t leave their houses, even for school, when Calima comes and elderly and asthmatics deaths increase with Calima. On the other hand, Calima dust carries phosphorous to the Amazon rain forest, which the Amazon depends on to survive. Here’s the link to the full story from NASA. (Not currently linking, so I’ll link it later, but here’s the page https://www.nasa.gov/content/goddard/nasa-satellite-reveals-how-much-saharan-dust-feeds-amazon-s-plants) How each island experiences Calima is different. For Fuerteventura, for example, where the wind is super strong, apparently sand pelts cut against your skin and eye cover is necessary as the wind whips Calima across its essentially barren shores. Gran Canaria, where I am, it hangs in the air thickly, coating everything in its sand. On the worst days, I find it harder to breathe and I certainly can’t run. On clear-no-Calima days, I can see Tenerife from my house, on days with Calima, I can barely see the closest hill to me on Gran Canaria. The worst part about it to me is that it’s unpredictable; I never know when it will come or how long it will still. Plus, I haven’t found a way to see how bad it is (especially air quality) on any given day until you’re outside in daylight. This is frustrating to me because I want to know when I can run and when I shouldn’t run and I often run before daylight. I’ve asked some of the teachers at my school and they’ve all said they don’t know of anywhere that gives you that info, but if any other Fulbrighters or people living in the Canaries knows where I can get this info daily, please let me know, this would make my life considerably better. Anyway, if you hear me trying to explain that I’m covered in Saharan dust or complaining about air quality, now you know why. Living on an island has challenges that I expected and it certainly has challenges that I didn’t expect, Calima being one of the latter, though I, too, am beginning to think of her like an old friend I don’t really get along with, but who is just a little comforting because it means some order still exists in the world.
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I owe you all a blog! The past few months have been busy with activities that don’t make for super interesting blog posts. After studying daily for months, at the end of January I finally took the LSAT, a week before which I got sick. I proceeded to be sick for the next month. No time is a good time to be sick, but I was particularly disappointed with being sick for both my test, our mid-year conference, and then the week leading up to a big trip to a couple of the islands I’d planned with Kristin, my friend from home. Nearly two years ago when I found out I’d been selected to be a Fulbright TA in Spain, I instantly began reading all of the blogs and materials I could find about people’s experiences. I remember reading one that talked about how she considered November to be her “lost month” because she’d essentially been sick for the whole thing. I remember hoping that wouldn’t happen to me, being happy that it didn’t last year, and now knowing exactly what that feels like. February feels a bit like my lost month in Spain.
You don’t want to hear about all of my woes, so I’ll tell you a little bit about my trip to Fuerteventura and Lanzarote with Kristin. Kristin visited me last year and we were freezing the entire time, so when she heard I might get the opportunity to live an island life for a year, she jumped on board and planned a trip to see me. We planned to spend the beginning of the week on Gran Canaria and then when I was done working for the week, we’d go to Fuerteventura and Lanzarote (plus Lanzarote’s baby sister island, La Graciosa). When the week leading up to Kristin’s visit, I could barely get out of bed let alone take a plane somewhere, I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make our trip happen. Not only was I feeling physically unwell, but emotionally too. I didn’t want to be on this island anymore. Luckily, by the day of Kristin’s arrival I was feeling physically well enough to be awake most of the day and she brought with her some goodies my mom had sent her, including stuff for my now-dwindling cold. Plus I got to vent to someone who has known me since elementary school. Kristin was a good sport about me not feeling well enough to do much and instead got me hooked on watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine while she snacked on doner kabab. Three days into Kristin’s visit, we packed up and headed to do some island hopping for the weekend. Though I carried three rolls of toilet paper with me to use as tissues (all of which I had to use by the way), I was feeling much more like a human and ready to be outside. From the very get-go, our trip didn’t go exactly as planned. I wouldn’t call it a “disastre” but it was definitely a “rollo” – that is to say, with anyone else, I might have given up halfway through when everything was going wrong, but with Kristin I could be angry or sad for a minute and then we’d do our best to laugh it off. Fuerteventura (or at least the part we saw) just feels barren and empty, but there’s a vegan coffee shop in El Cotillo that has the best fresh squeezed juice (nearly smoothies) that I’ve ever had in my life. Also, the Fulbrighters that live there were lovely hosts and gave us tons of good tips for both their island and Lanzarote. After a day in Fuerteventura, we took a ferry to Lanzarote and I got more of the feeling of wonder and amazement that I could be in this crazy, unbelievable place on that ferry ride. That is a feeling I felt nearly constantly last year and hadn’t felt much since coming to the Canaries, which lifted my mood considerably. We rented a car in Lanzarote (A+ decision if you ask me) and spent the day driving around the island – desperately stopping for lunch at a place that didn’t have a menu and after ordering in our food-depraved state we began to panic about whether we’d accidentally spent hundreds of euros on one lunch (don’t worry, we hadn’t). We visited Timanfaya National Park, full of volcanoes, including one active one. It’s a huge space that looks like Mars and where steam blows up so hot from the ground you can cook food in it. We drove through town after town, marveling at the distinctive contrast between of the black rocky landscape and the white buildings with green trim (nearly every building in Lanzarote is white due to the vision of an artist born on the island) all while blasting music and singing at the top of our lungs. Our trip got better each day, culminating in the perfect beach day we’d dreamed of in La Graciosa. It was Saturday, our last full day together and the sun was out, Calima (see forthcoming blog) was less bad, I could breathe through my nose again, Kristin found the tastiest two apples, and we found the perfect beach. Did we get sunburned trying to ride rented bikes through 1 ft deep sand? Yes. Was it worth it? No, I don’t recommend renting bikes on La Graciosa to get to the beach. But did we have a blast? Absolutely. As our final day came to an end, we went to a section of the capital of Lanzarote where we’d heard there were good food options. Walking by place after place of great looking menus, unable to decide, we finally stopped at the last one and were too hungry to do any research, so we sat down. It was the worst meal of my life. I cannot impart in words how terrible this food was. See photos. I literally had to hide the tuna I’d ordered in my purse because not only did it not look like tuna, THE COOKED TUNA WAS COLD and I was too terrified to eat it and felt bad leaving it on my plate. We’re not totally sure what type of meat Kristin’s cheeseburger was and the fries were almost as bad as the ones I ate at the French Fry Museum in Bruges. We were cracking up the whole time and I think in that respect, it was a good representation of our trip. It wasn’t want we expected, it was a little disappointing, but we did our best to laugh it off and enjoy our adventure. Kristin’s visit, while a bit of a mess travel-wise, perked up my spirits significantly, I felt ready to enjoy my last four (now three) months on this island and to remember that special feeling about this once-in-a-lifetime experience. Delving back into regular life ended up being much smoother than I anticipated and March, while still a whirlwind, is a much happier one. I escaped the crazy partying of Gran Canaria’s Carnaval and exchanged it for a chill week in La Rioja with Gonzalo. After that break I had one week of teaching and now I’m on a plane headed to Germany where I will be attending a Fulbright Conference which invites grantees placed all over Europe to join. I’d really wanted to go last year, but there was a bit of a snafu with the number of grantees who wanted to go from Spain and I wasn’t able to. This made me extra thrilled to be able to go this year. On top of that, being under the weather at Spain’s mid year conference was a big disappointment for me, considering how much I loved soaking everything up at last year’s. The Berlin Conference ends on Wednesday and on Thursday I will fly to Budapest to explore a new city in a new country for the weekend. Perhaps conference and Budapest adventures will warrant their own blogs, but for now, I hope this little update has satiated the approximately three people who asked me where my new blogs were :) Want to find out how my picture ended up in the Las Canarias news? Well, it's kind of a long story...
As I mentioned in my school blog, my school has a theme each year rather than using textbooks and this year’s theme is migration. They base their theme in a book: Alice in Wonderland this year. However, I didn’t explain the special circumstances surrounding this year’s choice of theme. You see, my school applied for and was chosen to receive a grant for a European Project. The project is a collaboration of six schools chosen from six countries: Italy, Greece, Lithuania, Northern Ireland, England, and, of course, Spain. The project is two years long and representatives from each country visit all the other countries on dates sprinkled throughout the grant years. As luck would have it, we, Spain, were chosen to be visited first. From my very first day “November 26th” loomed large as the date the visitors from these five countries would arrive. We had to plan a big welcome with all the students and were going to do a little bit of a play based in Alice in Wonderland – all in English, naturally. Monday’s visit included many moving parts, themes, and ideas, so I’ll do my best to be as clear as possible, but stick with me. And for the record, this wasn’t fully explained to me, I had to pick things up as I went along. So here we go. #1: Each grade level of primary school was given one of the countries to represent and learn about. 1st graders are Spain, 2nd are Northern Ireland, 3rd Greece, 4th England, 5th Italy, and 6th Lithuania. #2: Students who have parents or grandparents from other countries were to represent that country, and one representative from each of those countries was chosen for the play (i.e. we have many students from Cuba, but only one spoke for Cuba). I’ll refer to the students who spoke in the performance as the student representatives. #3: We had to choose students to play “Alice” and the “rabbit” in the welcome play. #4: We have the people from the European project coming – the very reason for this whole thing, i.e. representatives from the schools in the countries of Italy, Greece, Northern Ireland, England, and Lithuania. I’ll refer to these as the country representatives. #5: We also had some government people come to watch. The theme tied into this welcome meant that we had to teach the kids about geography, migration, their own country (Spain), their family’s country if it was different, and the country their class was assigned. This meant a lot of differentiating the United Kingdom from England and Northern Ireland and differentiating Northern Ireland from Ireland. Plus Alice in Wonderland. If you’re wondering how Alice in Wonderland fits in – we talk about her as a foreigner in a new place and we ask the kids how she must have felt etc. Some of the teachers even asked the students to ask me how *I* felt when I arrived to Spain and the Canary Islands and if I felt like Alice. I think it helped even the little ones understand a little more what it feels like to be in a totally new place, even if it’s for great and exciting reasons. The past few weeks have been crazy with activity. Besides working with the kids, we had numerous other jobs to take care of. We designed our playground and painted it with a giant, geometric map of the world (Raquel, of course, took the lead on this one and executed it beautifully). My jobs were also increased and varied. I worked on writing the script between Alice and the rabbit as well as the conversation between Alice and the kids representing their family’s country, I also wrote and translated welcome speeches and then, maybe the biggest job, I worked with the kids on their lines, especially on pronunciation and making sure they were understandable. All the kids have been fantastic, but all this work meant that our past weeks have been filled with missed breaks and post-school work writing, translating, and practicing. I actually loved this. I felt like I was helping out with a big picture, organizational project, which I love, and it gave me a chance to see how the larger goals of the school were implemented into individual classes. It was busy, but I had a blast. After weeks and weeks of work, Monday was the day. I’m not going to lie, I was a little nervous. The play was to take place out on the playground where the painted map set the scene and the sky was ominously spitting rain throughout the morning. We’d also had pronunciation and memory issues with the students, which is to be expected, but still, you want it to go well. I figured my day-of jobs would be pretty limited. I’d be around to help with anything needed, but I wasn’t in charge of anything. When I arrived Monday morning, I got to meet the teachers and directors from England, Northern Ireland, Italy, Greece, and Lithuania. I was especially engaged in a conversation with the representatives from England when one of them stopped me to say, “your English is sogood.” I paused for a second, confused, thinking honestly that this was a weird jab at American English and then I realized she didn’t know where I was from, so I told her laughingly I was from the U.S. She laughed as well, shocked, and told me she had thought I was Spanish. This is actually the second time this has happened to me on this island, where a someone from an English speaking country has told me that my English was really good for being Spanish and I’m going to take it as a compliment, but it does always make me wonder a little if I talk funny in English as to sound not quite right enough to be native. Alas. By the time all of the representatives were clear on who I was, we went to the playground, where it was no longer raining, to watch the students’ performance. First Alice (played by a sixth grader) and the rabbit (a 3rdgrader) performed their dialogue, with Alice welcoming everyone to our school and then telling them how sad and alone she felt in a new place. Our rabbit quickly ran out to make her feel better, telling her that here there were people from all over the world and that she’d never feel alone. She then welcomed in the students, grade level by grade level. They were announced by the country they were assigned to an entered waving the flags of the country they are studying and of the country they or their family are from. We also played typical music for the entrances, including The Beatles’ Love Me Do for the 4thgraders studying England. The students were all dressed in traditional dress from either their family’s country or from the Canary Islands. I had been a little skeptical of this before seeing it, because it felt like calling out kids who were “different” and asking that they represent something that I didn’t know if they felt they had any connection to, but it ended up being a blast for the kids and looking so beautiful. I was struck by how lucky they are to have this international community in the school. I think we take it for granted sometimes in the United States. Once all the students were in place around the giant painted map, Alice went to each student representatives to ask them where they were from and then something about that country. I felt like a proud dance mom as halfway through I realized I was mouthing all the words I’d written for the students to perform. I was bursting with joy as I watched them all get their lines and pronunciation (even the tough ones like “flag” and “biodiverse”) correct! Each student’s English was met with big cheers from our visitors and from the parents who had come to support their kids. The map was there so that once they had answered their question, the rabbit could grab the student and run them to their country on the map. Before the student representatives shared a traditional Canarian dance, each of them took ribbon and led it from their country to Gran Canaria on the painted map, showing beautifully intertwined links back to countries in every continent except Antarctica and Australia. We have kids from Germany, Ukraine, France, and Italy, kids from Honduras, Cuba, Ecuador and Brazil, kids from Nigeria, Senegal, and Togo, and kids from China, South Korea, and the Philippines and so many more. After remarks from our director, two students did a short interview of their father, who migrated from Venezuela to the Canary Islands 28 years ago in search of a better life. It was a touching experience and a good reminder that all the talk of migration hits close to home for many people here and is incredibly meaningful. Once the welcome was done, I, still beaming, breathed a sigh of relief knowing everything had went well and that my job was done. I went up to my class to talk with the kids about how they’d liked the experienced, but as soon as we were upstairs in our classroom, another teacher came looking for me, saying that the head teacher wanted me down with the representatives in case she needed help. I dutifully went down to the little auditorium and sat listening to her and our director speak a little bit to the parents, country representatives, and government officials. Then, when they invited the Vice President of Innovation-and-some-other-titles of Education to speak, our head teacher gestured for me to join him on stage. I was a little confused until she turned to the group and told them I would be translating for the VP’s speech. None of the students were there, so I wasn’t giving away my secret that I speak Spanish, but have you ever done a live translation? Or one you didn’t know was going to happen? It’s hard! My face was burning red as the VP talked in Spanish for 30 seconds, paused, let me translate to English, then proceeded to talk for over three minutes before taking his next break to let me translate. (See the photo below, published in this week’s online news, of me attempting to remember everything I needed to say). Both the VP and the crowd knew that it would be tough for me to reasonably translate all of that, so they assured me a summary was okay and smiled encouragingly through my best attempt. Once the meeting was over it was technically break time so the head teacher had me stick around for some more live translating – this time from English back to Spanish. The best moment was when one of the Italian representatives was reading a letter written in Italian. She was reading Italian and translating it to English, I was listening to the English, trying to determine what ideas the letter really wanted to convey, and then translating it back into Spanish. I know this isn’t in my job description, but it was almost because of that that I got to feel like I was just part of the school instead of a separated visitor who bopped around to different classes and I love that feeling. I wasn’t necessarily bringing something specific about my American culture to the table, but I hope that my willingness to jump in and try to meet whatever need I can, can represent my country in a subtler way, that I didn’t have to make it America First in order to share my culture, so to speak. Over the last few days, it has been delightful to welcome these guests into our school. They’ve brought fresh techniques and ideas, shared with us about immigration in their own countries, and seemed just as excited to be visiting us as we were to have them there. In March all the schools, including representatives from my own school, will go to Northern Ireland and then in May they’ll head to Lithuania. Then next year they’ll visit Greece, Italy, and England. I won’t get to see how the project develops over the full two years, but for now I am so in awe of and excited by the way that the countries in this project are already coming together. For me, the past few weeks have been way more fun than I would have imagined. I’ve seen my students eagerly learn about countries, knowing they’d be meeting people from those countries, I’ve learned about countries I knew next to nothing about in order to help lead lessons on them, I’ve watched my students become proficient in geography and migration, I got to work on a short play and see it executed – something I honestly never thought would happen as drama is not a skill in my wheelhouse, I got to practice intercultural communication between seven (including my own) countries, and I even got a taste of what it would be like to translate for someone as they speak. I know this project is bringing so much good to those involved, and I feel lucky to be included in the opportunity. Link to the article/photo in the news: https://www.noticanarias.com/lpgc-el-ceip-pepe-damaso-coordina-el-proyecto-europeo-intercultural-alice-in-wonderland-discovering-our-roots/ Part of the Fulbright grant is the requirement to do a side project. Last year, my friend, Alison, and I created a podcast about life in La Rioja. We created five episodes of our podcast:
1. An introduction 2. Wine in La Rioja 3. Pinchos in La Rioja 4. Teaching in La Rioja 5. Our goodbye If you'd like to listen to them, head to soundcloud and check it out by clicking on this link Much love <3 Of my 23 Thanksgivings, I’ve actually spent 20 in the U.S. and 3 in Spain. My first Spanish Thanksgiving was in 2012 when my parents and I visited my brother who was studying abroad in Barcelona. We replaced turkey and mashed potatoes for doner kabab and I didn’t mind at all because at least we were all together. My second Spanish Thanksgiving was last year which, naturally, I blogged about last year. The recap is that it was hard to have my first Thanksgiving away from my family, but it ended up being a precious experience sharing Thanksgiving traditions from three different Americans with one person from Germany and one from Argentina. Despite turning out to be lovely, last year’s Thanksgiving was actually one of the hardest days abroad for me and I hoped this year would be better. Aware that it was a harder time, Gonzalo planned a visited to the islands for the weekend and we figured that even if I can’t eat turkey yet, we’d cook chicken and do a mini-celebration.
As the week approached, I was definitely sad. My family is lucky enough to be able to get to spend the entire week together and as they gathered in Northern California, I imagined them playing games and eating good food and just spending time together – my favorite things to do. Early in the week though, on one of our drives to school, Raquel asked if Gonzalo and I had plans and if we wanted to do a Thanksgiving dinner at her apartment with her family. It sounded great to me and we started planning the menu for the evening, with Jordan-specific substitutions. Raquel told me she would take care of everything, besides sweet potatoes, which would be my contribution. I did look up dairy, gluten, sweetener free corn bread recipes, but that got complicated fast and I doubted my ability to find sufficient substitutions at the grocery store here. Thursday rolled around, and I was still missing my family, but I was looking forward to my Thanksgiving with a Spanish family. Dinner was scheduled for an early 8pm, so I assumed we’d eat by 9 or 9:30. Gonzalo and I arrived early with sweet potatoes and Riojan wine in hand and asked if there was anything we could help with. In classic Raquel style, she had already taken care of everything. Their Christmas tree was already up and decorated, the table was set beautifully, and the food was ready to be served. I felt instantly at home. Along with Raquel and Oscar, Raquel’s mom, two of her aunts, one cousin, and her cousin’s boyfriend had all put aside their Thursday evening plans to come celebrate Thanksgiving. We put on Christmas music (per my request – there is no Thanksgiving music so don’t give me a hard time) and munched on ham while chatting before sitting down to eat. When we sat down, Raquel asked me to explain the tradition of Thanksgiving. I talked about the myth of Thanksgiving (they know what actually happened) and explained that I, personally, loved Thanksgiving because it means time with family and reminds us to focus on gratitude. With that, I led us in a prayer and we served our food. Raquel had managed to find turkey and had cooked beef and chicken options, potatoes, roasted corn and other veggies in addition to the baked sweet potatoes I’d brought. Raquel even made a chocolate mousse to go on mangos for dessert. During the meal, we started going around the table to say what we were all grateful for – my personal favorite part of the Thanksgiving meal. Though this wasn’t my first Thanksgiving in Spain or my first Thanksgiving with non-Americans, it was my first Thanksgiving speaking in Spanish. Hearing gratitude in a different language from people celebrating a traditional holiday from a country that’s not their own added a special sweetness to the whole day for me. I feel lucky and loved to have this second family welcoming me in for this holiday. I was exhausted by the time we finished eating around 10:30 and as I kissed everyone goodbye, thanking them profusely for totally turning around a day that can be tough abroad, I couldn’t stop smiling. It was one of the most unique and special Thanksgivings I have ever had. I finished the evening by FaceTiming my family and grandparents and, once again, being hit by the overwhelming gratitude I have for this opportunity to explore more of the world, my family, and my friends near and far, old and new :) 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! 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. *written weeks ago, about September 8th - Published now because, well, that's a long story* A long long time ago, at the beginning of my study abroad in Quito, Ecuador, I wrote a blog about an intense Sunday I had with my host family that went for eight hours, involved two different locations, and an enormous family. Little did I know, Ecuadorians have nothing on Spaniards. I have become more accustomed to “vermouth,” the Spanish custom of going out to bars for drinks and maybe have an appetizer or two before lunch and, even while it is still strange for me, I have begun to enjoy the community feeling of having a “vermouth.” However, as I am with everything, I like to know ahead of time that it is going to happen so I can be prepared mentally and with appropriate attire/snacks for the hours it will surely take. Thus when Gonzalo asked me last Saturday if I wanted to come to his pueblo (town) for a ceremonial (outdoor) mass to mark the beginning of Fall, I said yes but asked if that would be all or if we’d be staying for lunch. He assured me that we’d be back in Logroño by two – although did say we may grab a drink or two before heading out. Saturday morning by 10:30, we’d picked up Gonzalo’s friend and were heading down the freeway to the pueblo. Though the ceremony was held outside of a church, the crowd was large and I couldn’t see or hear anything besides a mariachi band. Yes, a Mexican mariachi band at this Spanish tradition. Why? No idea. An hour or so later we went into town for our vermouth. Due to the whole “healing my stomach” thing, I can only drink water so as we went from bar to bar to bar I got more and more and more hydrated. The party in town was filled with traditional dancing, regular dancing, hordes of people chatting, drinking, and enjoying their Saturday fiesta. The mariachi band also made it back to town, so the music was excellent – and still unexplained for this Spanish festivity. A few drinks in, Gonzalo’s mom joined us and after one more we ran into some other family members who insisted we come over for lunch. They assured me they had something I could eat with my very limited diet – planning out my particular menu in front of me. I had suspected this would happen and could tell from the tone of asking that NOT going to lunch was not an option, so we said yes and joined even more of the family at another bar. I was confused, thinking we’d planned to eat at someone’s house, but sure enough it was just another stop of the vermouth. I got yet another water and chatted with relatives and friends of Gonzalo’s until we finally began to wander to the house. Once there, I stood around having YET MORE WATER and, of course, chatting. Eventually I helped set the table with dish-ware and then ham. Pork, being one thing I can eat, the ham was immediately removed from the table and handed directly to me. I took a piece and tried to put it back because it is awkward being the only one holding a plate of ham as people smile at you encouragingly, but was told to keep it, after all, it was basically all I could eat! Gonzalo’s friend took pity on me and began eating the ham too so I felt less singled out. By this point, it was past 3pm. I don’t remember exactly what time we finally sat down and were dished out soup and poured wine (or were grilled beef and poured water if you’re me), but I was perfectly content talking and eating and enjoying the huge and wonderfully welcoming family. Plus, I figured it may be 4 or 5 by the time we left for Logroño, but that’s not too bad all things considered. The meal was delicious and though I insisted the steak had filled me up, I was plied with more and more ham as the others had their first and second plates. We eventually finished with coffee and I got to check out the family chickens before leaving for Gonzalo’s family’s place. It was raining and I figured we would head out shortly. As with many things while living abroad, I figured wrong. I began to hear rumblings about bulls running through the town “like Pamplona but smaller and not dangerous”. I couldn’t figure out whether it was a joke or not until Gonzalo’s mom ensured me that they had “mini bulls” run around a circle of buildings within the pueblo – in fact, they would run right in front of their front door. I’ll be honest with you, I did not want to stay. It had been a long (and unplanned) day, I was tired, I was hungry and running low on snacks, and honestly, I have trouble with the whole bull thing. I’ve never seen a bullfight, and while I recognize it as integral to Spanish culture and interesting in terms of “human vs. beast,” my bleeding heart hurts for the bulls. Thus, I was hesitant to watch whatever was about to happen in this pueblo. Due to my shorter fuse, but tempered by the fact I was a guest, I resorted to slight sarcasm as I asked and then prodded what was about to happen and why. Just as I was realizing no one would be able to explain this tradition to me, someone in the street called out “viene!!!” which basically means “he’s coming!” and meant that the small bull was on his way towards us. At first, this was all ridiculous. I watched from the door as first people then a small bull ran by the door. Then there would be nothing for awhile until the bull would arrive back at our point in the circle, which we were forewarned by the shouts of “viene!” They’d pass again. Not much to it. We realized we’d have a better view from the garden, so we took advantage of one of the moments where the previous bull was put back in the pen and another was released, to sprint down the street to the garden. From the garden, we were above the street and had a much better view. Though I was even colder, this was the moment that despite my irritation and reservations, I began to enjoy myself. It was actually fun, the anticipation of the bulls rounding the corner, the people from the town watching from windows, houses, or hanging on gates and fences, other townspeople sprinting ahead of the bulls – stopping to allow them to get a little bit closer and give the audience a scare. One man put out an old chair with a reflective blanket covering it so when the bull saw it, he charged, throwing the chair into the sky with his horns, nearly missing those of us perched on the garden wall. It was thrilling. No one got hurt and the bulls left safely and happily for their next town. After dark, we finally began back towards Logroño. I was too exhausted to speak in English, let alone Spanish and was more than happy to fill up with an apple and almond butter before crashing into bed, chuckling to myself about my Spanish day and my classically skeptical approach to it. It’s been awhile! During the past two months, I traveled with my cousin, soaked up time at home with my parents in California, enjoyed hanging out around Spain, and prioritized getting my health together. My plan had been to blog while at home about my adventures with my cousin and to catch up on stories that I hadn’t had a chance to refine and publish. But then, I got home and binge watched Parenthood with my mom, caught up on New Girl with my dad, played games with my brother, met my friends’ babies, slept a lot, and started fixing my stomach. Essentially, I didn’t do anything and it was wonderful.
Now, however, I am back in Spain! More than that, two weeks ago, I took my first trip to my new home: Las Palmas de Gran Canaria in the Canary Islands. In visiting the islands I had three goals, which I’ll get into later, but first, some things about the Canary Islands. There are seven islands and I’m on one of the two main islands, Gran Canaria (Gran Canaria and Tenerife switch off holding the government etc.). In Gran Canaria, I’m in the capital, Las Palmas. Roughly 380,000 people live in Las Palmas, which means it’s over double the size of Logroño. It’s about 575 miles from the continent of Africa (closer than the span of the archipelago) while a whooping 1,235 miles from Madrid. With that in mind, I set out for my first time in the Canaries. The Las Palmas adventure started well before the flight landed. Because Gonzalo was coming with me on this trip, I packed one of my big suitcases (optimistic I’d find an apartment) and I’d packed it with the heaviest things I had, knowing Gonzalo would be able to help me. We were flying RyanAir, so I don’t know why I thought I could get away with a potentially overweight piece of luggage, but alas. When I arrived to the check-in counter (after panicking that I’d be too late to check in my bag until Gonzalo assured me I’d read the information wrong), I placed my bag on the weigh station and was told that my bag was 28.9 kilos. The limit was 20. I asked what it cost for overweight luggage and was staggered by the 11 euro/kilo price tag. 100 euros was a definite no, so Gonzalo and I pulled my bag to the side and began to take the heaviest things out. After removing my three LSAT study books, other books/journals, and some clothes and stuffing them into both my backpack and Gonzalo’s and then taking out my two heaviest seeming shoes and tying them to the outside of our bags, I crossed my fingers and towed my suitcase back to the counter. 20.9 kilos and 0 extra euros needed. Unfortunately, we’d at least doubled the weight of our personal backpacks, but RyanAir didn’t weigh those. Another disaster averted. Once actually in Las Palmas, I could focus on my priorities: a) find a place to live b) see what my school is like c) get to know a little bit of the Canary Islands. We arrived to Las Palmas at nearly midnight, so my ability to accomplish any of my priorities were limited. I did, however, make my first observation about the Canaries. I knew the moment the Airbnb host opened her mouth I would be in trouble if I didn’t have a native Spanish speaker with me. The Canaries accent is not, as I’d been told, like that of Latin America (that I knew) and it’s certainly not anything like the Rioja “sing-song” accent I’d adapted quickly to. Between my exhaustion and unfamiliarity with the accent, I barely understood anything our host was saying. Thankfully, she was very kind and understood my struggle and thus directed her suggestions to Gonzalo. The next morning I woke up to see the beach and ocean flowing out from basically directly under the airbnb. From the terrace, you could see the entirety of the famous 2km beach: Las Canteras. Gonzalo and I went to walk the beach where I was delighted to find warm water and sea glass everywhere. Our beach walked turned into checking out the areas by apartments that I was interested in and then into finding food from fresh and bio markets. I was feeling great about my new hometown, feeling like I was getting to know important parts of the city, until we sat down on the terrace for a breakfast of fresh fruits from the local market. I texted the owners of four apartments I was interested in and cut into my peach. Noticing that the colors in my peripheral vision didn’t match colors I associated with peaches, I looked down and was horrified to find it swarming with black worms. After sealing the peach into a bag and tossing it into a closed garbage can (okay, Gonzalo did this, but still) and I cut carefully into a second (and worm-free) peach, I looked back at my phone. Two apartment owner’s told me there rooms were no longer available, one told me they had to go out of town suddenly, and one first told me to come over, but then asked to wait a day. Between the apartments and the peach, I tried to convince myself that my time here wasn’t already cursed and that all would soon be well. After setting up some other, less ideal, apartment visits and soaking up some of the warm Canaries sun from the blazing hot sand of the beach, I decided I might as well figure out how to get to my school. Luckily, getting to my new school is easy with the extensive bus system of the city. It’s mainly easy though, because it’s just one school. Gonzalo was on board with my plan, so we hopped on a bus and navigated down the steep steps until we reached a HUGE (for my pueblo standards) school surrounded in a giant wall. The super hilly area is called “escaleritas” which means, appropriately, Little Stairs. I couldn’t see much due to the wall, but it was nice to check it out. Goal #2 of Las Palmas, check! The following days I had no success with apartments. Even since then, I’ve gone through feeling good and bad about this process, but I recognize that it just seems trickier because of how easy it was last year. I wrote about my process in one of my earliest blogs: I had a favorite, I saw my favorite, I chose my favorite, and I moved in. This year, I came back to Spain with one favorite apartment and a couple back-ups. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to see my top choices while I was there and the ones I did see, I didn’t like. I resigned myself to instead find a place to keep my huge suitcase for the two weeks before I’d be back. Luckily, our super airbnb host offered to keep my suitcase and I was set. Since then I’ve continued looking for apartments online and have firmed up dates to see my two favorite apartments as soon as I get back from orientation. Essentially, Goal #1 of going to Las Palmas is still in the works. That left me with Goal #3: get to know my new area. This process naturally happens slowly, but surely and I’m glad I got to start the process before being thrown into the thick of things with school starting. I began to get a feel of the city and the zones within the city and the neighborhoods within the zones. I have ones that I like more than others and I know where I’d like to live. I got to see which side of the beach was mostly locals and which end held the tourists. I learned that the historic center is an hour walk from the main beach and living area. I learned that the completely tourist populated beach on the south of the island is only 40 minutes by bus. I learned where the big, busy, bustling street was, where the massive natural food store is (and smaller alternatives) and where the fresh market filled with glassy eyed fish and fruits and vegetables of every color imaginable. As I got to know Las Palmas, I began to note the things I liked and disliked about the area. It’s hard, because I know I’m comparing it to Logroño, and I (if it wasn’t blatantly obvious) love Logroño. I’ll give you my first impressions, but I’m going to keep an open mind about the things I liked less. The accent is automatically more challenging, but I know I’ll adjust to it. I had more people brush me off when I asked for help or tell me to ask the next person than anywhere else I’ve traveled in Spain. At the same time, some people really went above and beyond and were so kind, so like anywhere else, it’s a mixed bag. The city is bigger than Logroño as I mentioned above, so it’s not as walkable and I’ll have to take the bus to get to different parts of town. I know this is very “boo-hoo” for everyone living in Madrid and that I was spoiled being able to walk everywhere in Logroño, but still. Locals told me the food was nothing special and that’s a big change from the pinchos of Calle Laurel. ALSO with the food, I cut into various fruits and veggies throughout my week to find bugs. I’m *really* hoping this doesn’t continue, but now I feel too nervous to just bite willy-nilly into any produce. These are all small things really, and over all I am SO excited for my new city. Naturally, I love the beach. The water is warm and swimmable and the beach is perfect for sitting and reading. The weather, though often cloudy in Las Palmas, is warm and will continue to be so all year, which is a huge relief considering sometimes I still feel like I’m thawing from my Logroño winter. Though going out for drinks before meals is less prevalent in the Canaries than on the mainland, you still see groups of locals of all ages meeting up for their beers or coffees and I love that. The food stores, including the huge fresh market and the giant natural supermarket, are remarkable and seem more navigable than those I’ve experienced thus far in Spain. The natural supermarket is particularly helpful with my current “getting healthy” process. Along with this, I’ve found various (and already have a favorite) restaurants that just grill things so you can take them home. The rotisserie chicken is particularly delicious. I also found a new dish that I fell in love with: gambas al ajillo. It’s just shrimp cooked in olive oil with garlic, but I ate at least one ration a day. Monday I headed to Fulbright orientation and tomorrow it’s back to the Canaries, so wish me luck as I try to find a place to live, move in, and start my first day as an English Teaching Assistant at a new school! I have another blog coming soon about a particularly Spanish Saturday I had and I’ll keep you all updated with my fails and tales from my new adventure. |
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November 2018
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