Me Talk Spanish One Day

Funny story:  the 'autosave' feature of this blog program autosaved right after I accidentally deleted what I had taken three hours to write and was about to publish. I'd like to laugh about it someday, but it can't be today, as today has been set aside for swearing.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.  So here goes...

I started another process recently:  the process of registering for a Spanish class. Here are the steps:

1.  Read the steps
2.  Download/Print/Fill out the registration forms from the university's website.
3.  Go to the University of Sevilla in person during the designated registration dates/times with your registration forms and a copy of your passport. (M-F from 9 AM to 2 PM and Tuesday and Wednesday from 4-5:30 PM. The registration dates are February 1-15.)
4.  Wait in line for your turn to hand in your registration forms and a copy of your passport. You will receive the tuition forms that you take to the bank and a postcard that you hand in to your professor on the first day of class. You will be registered for level one (times and days TBD).
5.  Take the online placement exam.
6.  Go to the bank and pay tuition.
7.  On the 21st of February, go to the University and check the results of your placement exam and the days/times that you have been assigned classes. (Classes start February 22.)
8.  Now you will sort of choose your own adventure.  If you are happy with the days/times you have been assigned, you just go to class. If you are not happy with the days/times, you must contact the professor of displeasing class and tell him/her you would like to change. Contact the professor of pleasing class to request permission to switch. If permission is granted, buy the appropriate books and attend pleasing class.

I know what you are probably thinking, 'How much is tuition?' Well, it was 265,15€ (as of today, approximately $360.00 for 3.75 months of class). You might also be thinking (as I am) 'Why do you have to go all the way to the University of Sevilla to find out what class you are in?' The answer is simple: because it is easier to print out a sheet of paper and post it on a bulletin board than it is to send out hundreds of e-mails to the people that took the placement test. And really, who uses that 'e-mail' thing these days anyway?

Yet another important question is, 'Why can't you sign up for the class time/days that you prefer right from the get-go?' I haven't figured out the answer to this question yet.

So far I have completed steps 1-6. I took the bus to Sevilla last Tuesday (after morning class) and turned in my forms/passport copy at the Instituto de Idiomas at the University of Sevilla. When it was my turn, I walked up to the window, handed the woman my forms and said, 'Quiero...' (I want...) and the woman finished my sentence with 'to register for Spanish classes' (she said it in perfect Spanish though). Obviously I am making the right move if, after barely uttering one word in Spanish, she could tell I needed help.

In related news, after one week of speaking English (with Mom, Patty and Allison) I am completely inept at understanding and/or speaking Spanish. I don't know what happened. When I went to the bank to pay my tuition, I froze when the lady asked me if I had another copy of the form. And when I went to the other bank to (finally) show them my TIE card (to avoid paying a non-Spanish resident/foreigner fee), I reverted to cavewoman talk when trying to explain that I was just there to show them my card and nothing else. And what happened on Family Matters (yes, that Family Matters) when Clarisse and Jose laughed?  I have no idea because I couldn't understand what the dubbed voices were saying. Not to mention the fact that I had no idea what Jose and Clarisse were saying to each other.  I'll say it again, as I've said it before: I am jealous (and proud) of Clarisse for becoming quite the little Spanish speaker. I am embarrassed at my lack of Spanish abilities. I tell myself that if, after 20 years of trying to achieve something, you are unable to do it, it might be best to move on to something else.  The students in the language school are given 5 years (or maybe its 8) to learn English and if they don't pass after that, they are out of luck. Perhaps I just wasn't meant to speak Spanish. I should use my frustration as a motivation, but right now I prefer to have this pity party. These Spanish classes will make me feel better, right?

On a happier note, and without further ado, I would like to unveil the view from my room. Please, do not adjust your set(tings). There are screens on our windows (contrary to whatever they might tell you in the US):

The direction I look to see if I'll need sunglasses today.

Our neighors airing their (clean) laundry.
Our laundry (garbage, gas, broom and mop)
 can be found behind the other windows.

Now you can quit e-mailing me requesting to see what I see every morning. From now on please print out your your suggestions/comments/complaints and post them on a bulletin board at a designated location within your favorite town. It's all the rage here.

Got it?

Do you know what the magic verb is in English?  It's 'got'.  If a Spanish student doesn't know the verb for the thing they want to say, they should just use 'got' because chances are it will work.  I bet this morning you got up, got out of bed, got in the shower, got your clothes on, got online, got an e-mail (or two), got a cold, got the paper and a cup of coffee, got some change (from the barista), got stopped by a cop for speeding, got a speeding ticket, and finally got to work (and maybe got drunk afterwards).  The word 'got' can mean: entered, put, took, received, bought, obtained, became and arrived.  It's very useful.  (As a matter of fact I am IMing with Allison right now and she just said, 'I need to get my hair cut and I have some shopping that needs to get done. And I said, 'Don't you need to get an appointment for a haircut?')  Count how many times you use it in a day.  I think you'll be surprised.

And what about close (the door), close (to my heart), clothes?  How confusing. Two of them sound the same but are spelled differently.  The ones that are spelled the same are pronounced differently.  I'm surprised anyone attempts to learn our crazy language.

The other day one of the English teachers said that she had a question for me. She said a student asked her about a word in a movie he/she watched in English. The student heard the word 'Shocker' as one of the lines in the movie and didn't understand it.  For some reason it struck me as funny.  I think because it is a slang expression that you are used to hearing from teenagers rather than from my generation (or older). I imagine a student doing a speaking activity during English class and using the expression:

                       Student A:  I like to go to the movies, play video games and read.
                       Student B:  Shocker.

Or:                 Student A:  When I was younger I used to walk to school by myself.
                      Student B:   Shocker.

The rest of the week was pretty boring. I had to rest up after the trip to Morocco and before Mom, Allison and Patty arrive this coming Thursday. I did, however, try to cook a couple of things:  spaghetti with garlic and grape tomatoes (which I will forever remember because I have a burn the size of a dime on my wrist that is sure to leave a scar. We don't have an ice pack so I carefully reviewed of the contents of the freezer for something that could be used as such. Ultimately I decided frozen meat or fish on an open wound would be worse than ending up with a scar. Henceforth I will be reminded of Spain when I look at my right wrist. Actually, it is sort of in the shape of Spain too.), an omelette with onions, potatoes and canned mussels (my stomach is still churning) and today I made a spaghetti sauce with mushrooms, onions, garlic, artichokes and crushed tomatoes.

BURNED!  (I got a burn, you might say)

This past Thursday I hung out with Megan, Jose and (for a little while) Cedric, the French conversation assistant at the school the past three years.  (Clarisse went to Portugal this past weekend and we needed a French friend, so he was the stand-in.)  Cedric wanted to practice English at one point, so Megan asked him questions.  A few times he didn't understand when Megan or Jose asked the question but for some reason understood when I asked the question.  I guess that proves the Minnesota and Wisconsin accents are different (Megan is from Minnesota).

Well, I've got to get going.

You say Morocco, I say Maraca.

I left for Morocco on Friday afternoon.  I wasn't really planning on going to Africa this year, but the stars were too well aligned not to go: the flight to Marrakesh is one hour, I could fly Ryanair (cheap, cheap), I had a travel companion and I no longer have to work on Fridays (that's right, people, I have 4 day weekends, every weekend). Top all that off with a half marathon and you've got yourself a tourist!  It's like one of my favorite sayings goes:  Opportunity does not knock and then knock again and then leave a note saying, 'Sorry I missed you'.  And so I went with two main purposes: to run a half marathon and to go to another continent.  I really knew nothing about the city of Marrakesh or the country of Morocco, except what I've heard from Spaniards. They told me that although Marrakesh was a touristy city, it was beautiful and a great place to visit.  They also joked that I should be careful of men trying to trade me for camels.

Me or the camels?  Which would you prefer?

They await your call.

My journey started on Friday morning.  Since a taxi to the airport costs 50€ and the buses to get there cost 3,40€,  I chose to take the buses and a little more time to get there (I'm on a budget).  So I left my house about 9 AM, walked through town to the bus stop.  Took the bus with my suitcase to Sevilla.  Walked about 10 minutes to the airport bus stop.  Got on the airport bus and got to the airport about 10:30.  I was a little early, but at least I know now how long it takes to get from Alcalá to the airport.

I took Ryanair and they don't have assigned seating, so it was good to be there early so I could get a window seat.  The boarding process took an hour (or so it seemed).  The people that sat next to me were Spanish and were talking/arguing the whole flight.  Their incessant bickering made for a longer flight.  There must have been a momentary silence though, because I remember drifting off and then a second later the phrase 'I wanted the window seat.' cut through the silence.  I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling the trophy wife beside me that: A. I was trying to sleep B. I could understand her when she whined in Spanish and C. if she wanted the window seat she should have gotten on the plane earlier or used her husband's money to buy a ticket on another airline where she could choose her seat instead of spending the money on collagen in her lips.  But I tried to look at the bright side: I could understand her.  If she were speaking in German or Arabic or Chinese her words would have been just sounds and I wouldn't have been annoyed at all, right?  It feels like a redneck-style joke:  You might be on the verge of becoming bilingual if people can annoy you in two languages.

When we got off the plane in Marrakesh, we all had to fill out a customs form stating basic information like your name, date of birth, country of residence, passport number and hotel/address in Morocco. People were spread out in the 'lobby' filling out the cards.  It was pretty chaotic.  I couldn't tell who was waiting in line or where the lines were.  I got in what I thought was a line, but soon realized was just a group of people filling out the form, I finally found where there was a person inside a booth stamping passports and got in line.  But I got in the wrong line again because this line had a group of Spaniards near the front.  One of them was at front of the line ('holding the place') while the other five were filling out their cards next to him. As the other five finished up their cards, they stepped into the front of the line.  Meanwhile, the line was growing behind them.  After the 4th person butted I had to say something, so I said, 'Pardon me, but there's a line.'   The most recent butter said, 'Yes, but we are all together.'  I said, 'Well, you all have to wait in line like the rest of us.' She restated that they were all together and trying to get their passports stamped together. Again I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying exactly what I was thinking which was that if they wanted to get through the line together, they should all fill out their cards and then proceed to the BACK of the line.  Their 'one person fills out the card and holds up the line while the rest finish their cards' idea was NOT an appropriate approach to getting through customs without a black eye.  I was already annoyed by the non-stop talkers on the plane and this situation was adding fuel to the fire.  The lady ended up letting me (the loca American) go in front of her and re-entering the line just behind me.  I know that if they hadn't been Spanish I wouldn't have said anything, but since they were I felt comfortable imposing the 'American Rules to Waiting in Line' on them. And, as I said, I was fired up from Lucy and Ricky bickering the entire flight.

So I got through customs, got my suitcase and went to get some Euros changed to Dirham.  The line wasn't too long, but my 'friends' were causing a ruckus with one of the tellers there too.  I got in another line.  I really didn't want to be arrested in the airport.  

Then karma came back to bite me (for being so crabby) because my transportation from the airport to the hotel was nowhere to be found.  I paced around the (small) airport lobby and saw no one related to my tour group.  I asked at information and they said, 'Oh, look over there.' (referring to the people standing by the exit door holding up signs with people's names).  I insisted no one was there for me, and so she told me to wait, that someone would be there.  No one came.  I asked someone else and they told me to go to information.  Information told me someone would be coming.  After an hour and a half I asked again.  One person at the desk told me to call.  I explained that I didn't have a phone.  She said something about outside.  I didn't understand.  The other person at the desk said, 'upstairs'.  So I got the idea that a payphone was either outside or upstairs, but I couldn't see it in either location.  So I kept waiting.  I knew that Mary's flight was getting in at 4:30 (and mine had arrived at 1:30), so if I waited long enough someone might show up.  After pacing for 2 hours three representatives from the tour group finally showed up.  The man asked where I had been because my flight was supposed to get in at 1:30.  He said there were two other girls on my flight that came out but I never did.  I wanted to blame the Spaniards, but I didn't.  I bit my tongue again and was just thankful that I would be getting to the hotel soon.

The hotel was quite close to the airport- maybe 10 or 15 minutes driving.  I checked in, dropped off my bags and waited for Mary to get in.  She ended up never coming in that night.  But the time I got the e-mail from my parents saying that her flight was cancelled, it was too dark to leave the hotel.  So I caught up on some sleep.

The next morning, I enjoyed the (free) continental breakfast, where I dined on lukewarm boiled potatoes, lukewarm hard-boiled eggs and hot water (I wasn't sure if I could drink the tap water or not). Then I headed to the market/city center.  I'm not sure exactly what time it was, but I think it might have been 9 AM when I was there this day.  There weren't very many people around quite yet and compared with the afternoon it was a ghost town.  

The market- bright and early before the crowds arrived.

The Atlas Mountains are in the photo- look closely.

Anyway, this post is getting longer than I anticipated so I'll try to paraphrase the rest of the trip.  Mary arrived on Saturday and we went back to the city to buy bottled water (which, by the way, costs 13 Dh in the main market (1,30€) and only 7 Dh (70 cents) just a block off the main square) and walk through the market more.  She bought a copper plate at one of the shops.  We had to haggle with the man about the price, but she finally settled on 200 Dh (20€) and my pen.  The man said he wanted my pen 'for his children'.  I'm not sure how he knew I had a pen in my purse or why his children wanted it, but it was part of the deal, so we went with it.

That night we went out to dinner at a restaurant on a main street where I had a butternut squash soup and a vegetable omelette.  We ate outside and it was a little chilly, but not unbearable.  Then we went back to the hotel to rest up for our big races on Sunday.

The races started at 8:30.  The start line was less than a half mile from our hotel, so we didn't have to leave extremely early.  This was especially good because there were no port-o-potties or other bathroom facilities available at the start.  And it never fails that I soon as I am behind the start line I have to go. By the time I returned there were so many people packed behind the starting line that I couldn't get on the street much less find Mary again.  We were packed in like sardines and since it had rained the night before there were giant puddles on the street and thus even fewer places to stand.

The weather was perfect- about 50 I think and the course was nice and flat.  The half marathoners and full marathoners ran together the first seven miles and then split at a fork in the road.  We ran back through the city (the first part was more parks and back roads, as I remember). I remember running through intersections that were just packed with people in cars and trucks and motorcycles.  There was no honking though.  They were just sitting quietly.  The crowd of spectators was also very well-behaved.  For the most part they just observed the race.  I heard little clapping or shouting and they were very respectful of the runners by staying on the sidewalk rather than crossing in front of us.  At one point (mile 10 or 11 if I remember correctly) there was a concrete divider in the road. We were running to the left of it and a man with a donkey hitched to a cart was standing to the right of it.  He appeared to be just watching but for some reason a police officer on our side of the divider was yelling at him.  I would say that perhaps the police officer was concerned for the safety of the runners, but that would assume that this was the first and only donkey on the course.  That is just not true (and I'm not making a joke about some runners/spectators being asses here, I'm truly saying that that wasn't the first donkey (animal) on the course). 

After what felt like forever, I finally finished the race (in an average time for me) and proceeded through the finish area to pick up my medal and water/oranges/dates.  Once again I found myself in the role of Canned Sardine #344.  There was a lot of pushing and shoving to get to the front of the line to get the goodies.  When I finally made it to the front of the line, I got my water and food and turned to let others in.  Instead of easily sliding out of the pack, I met up with the force of a hundred sweaty, smelly, thirsty, hungry runners pushing me backwards, into the medal fence dividing us from the people handing out the food.  I started panicking a little bit and feeling quite clostrophobic.  I didn't want to be the girl that finished the race but tragically never got a chance to rehydrate.  So I did what our ancient ancestors would have done: I made a growling noise and pushed my way through the crowd.

Happy to be alive and hydrated after the half marathon.

Safely out of the crowd and back at the hotel, I freshened up and went back to the start line to watch Mary finish the full marathon.  As 3.5 hours turned into 4.5 and then 5.15, I began to get worried.  I thought maybe I missed her (since I was partially distracted by a Moroccan man who wanted to be my penpal), so I went back to the hotel to find her.  She wasn't in the room, but on my way out of the hotel, I could see her coming down the street (the race ran right in front of our hotel).  I booked it towards the finish line to take my place as the photographer.  Apparently somewhere along the course there was another split and Mary didn't notice this second one, so she ended up running an extra 4.4 miles.  That is what took her so long.  It is now a question I pose to you:  What would you do if you were running a marathon in Africa and you went 2.2 miles out of your way before you realized your mistake?  Would you run back to where you took the wrong turn, would you quit, or would you just cut it short and run to the finish line from where you were?  Remember, there are donkeys on the course.

After she finished, she still had energy so we walked around the old town.  We went to the souks, some tombs and to see the old city wall.  For dinner we went to a restaurant called Red House that was recommended by the hotel.  It wasn't Moroccan food, but it was delicious.  I had chicken with a coconut milk curry sauce and white rice.

The tombs.

I bought two postcards at a store in the market area.  I then tried to find a place that sold stamps.  Impossible.  The post office only had envelopes (it was Saturday so maybe there were just limited supplies).  The shop in the hotel had stamps, but the store clerk refused to sell us stamps unless we bought postcards in her store.  Since we already had the postcards we declined her proposal.  However, when we could find no other store or post office that would sell us stamps either, we were forced to make a deal with her.  Mary bought two postcards and got two stamps and requested that she didn't put the stamps on the postcards she bought there.  The clerk agreed and finally I was able to send the postcards.  I don't want to ruin the surprise, but if you have lived in the same house since 1947 (or even December of 1946) you might find a Moroccan postcard in your mailbox sometime soon.

I got up early and ran a few miles in Morocco while I had the chance.  As I was in Africa I headed out in shorts and a t-shirt.  During my 4-mile run, I realized that I was freezing.  Then I saw the temperature displayed:  6°C (43°F).  I guess I haven't lost my Midwestern/Northern toughness after all.

I made it to the airport nice and early, checked my bag, traded in my Dirham for Euros, went through security and waited to leave.  There was a group of Americans in line to board the plane who were in Spain living at the army base with their husbands.  They had also come to Morocco for the weekend to run the half marathon.  We were talking for awhile and I heard the Spaniards behind me say, 'Why are there so many English people on this flight?'.  Not long after one of the Americans came back to the line and told us that the flight was delayed 2 hours.  We left the line and I heard the Spaniards saying, 'What's going on?'  One of them left to check the flight board.  I told them that the flight was delayed 2 hours.  They thanked me and also sat down to wait.

When we finally did board, I saw my friends from the previous flight (Lucy and Ricky) and I decided that I would do everything in my power to make sure they did not sit next to me.  When two younger people sat down next to me I breathed a sigh of relief.  And when they reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a six-pack of Heineken I knew it was going to be a great (one hour) flight.  The man offered me one, but I declined.  He asked me (in English) how I liked Morocco.  I said, 'I'm glad to be going back to Spain.  And you?'  'I'm from Morocco.' He responded. (Once again karma slaps me in the face.)  It ended up that he is a Moroccan that now lives in Spain and owns a store in Barrio Santa Cruz (super touristy area near the famous Catedral in Sevilla).  He gave me the name of his store and told me to stop by sometime.

When we got off the plane I saw something I don't usually see at baggage claim: my suitcase.  It brought a tear to my eye.  I wiped it away and went to the bus stop to make the two-bus trip back to Alcalá. 

A Goodbye, a Birthday, a Fiesta and a Trap Door

Today (well, actually last Wednesday) was my last day of class with Sergio.  I've had class with him three mornings a week since October (plus one class very two weeks at school). He is a professor at a university here and got a grant to do research in Germany for a few months.  It was sad to say goodbye.  I learned a lot about how a Spanish speaker learns English, a lot about Spain and a lot about his math class at the University.  I also had a reason to get up before 9 AM.  The search is on for new students.

Wednesday was also my roommate's (José) birthday.  We didn't have a big celebration but Clarisse and I each gave him a gift (a book and some Starbucks mocha drinks I brought from the US) and we ate lunch together.  You should never eat lunch alone on your birthday.

I've taken to cooking lately.  I have a lot of food in the house, so I'm trying to mix and match and see what I can make without buying anything at the grocery store.  So far I've made a cod dish with a roasted tomato and white beans (I made up the recipe) and a garbanzo bean and artichoke stew (I used a recipe from that Interweb thing all the kids are talking about).  Both were amazing.  Then Thursday was a big Fajita Fiesta.  After work Shaelyn, Megan, Clarisse, José and I went back to our piso and I made chicken fajitas complete with chopped tomatoes, and avacadoes and salsa and chips.  And to drink: a bottle for wine.  We ate (and drank) EVERYTHING.  It was absolutely delicious (if I do say so myself).

 
On a completely different subject, for some reason the two purses that I have purchased in Spain have acquired holes in the pockets. (The purses were 20€ and 8€, so they were fairly cheap, but still...) The holes are exciting because they are like trap doors.  I'll throw some change in one of the pockets one day and reach into the pocket to use it the next day and it will be gone!  Or I'll need my nail clippers and I'll swear I put it in the inside pocket of my purse.  I'll be able to hear the jangling, but I can't get to the clippers.  Trap door!  The other day I felt some coins in the lining of my purse.  I located the trap door in the pocket and carefully dug out the coins.  I retrieved two (US) dimes and one 10 cent Euro piece.  I put the Euro coin safely in my wallet.  I'm not sure where I tossed the dimes.  I treated them like they had the word CANADA on them or something.  (It is worthy to note that the current exchange rate is  $1 US to .99 Canadian. Perhaps you should check your coin purse for stowaway coins with the word CANADA on them and toss aside your dimes as well.)

It's Time to Decide Just What Side You're on.

It's been another slightly boring week.  It's been 'cold' here- it even got down into the 30's one night.  But I would like to reiterate the fact that there is NO HEAT in the piso. You would turn on your heat if it got down to 38 degrees where you live.  And if you didn't have heat (like I don't) you would break down and buy another blanket for your bed (like I did) (it was 6,95 € or about $9.45).  It was the best $9.45 I've spent this year.  Aside from the stifling heat of the swimming pool locker room, last night is one of the few times I remember being comfortably warm here in Spain in the past few months.  I look forward to another toasty rest when night falls today.  This morning at school I was struck (special thanks Shunter Synonym Services for finding the perfect word to convey my thoughts here) by the crispness of the air inside the building.  The students were huddled around the coffee machine awaiting their turn for a warm beverage.  I think they are tougher than they themselves or any stereotype gives them credit for.  They survive 'winter' (the equivalent of a MN/WI fall) without heat and sultry summer temperatures without the air conditioning in every room and every store that we have grown accustomed to.  The temperature at school is teetering on the line of comfort for an indoor space.  I would guess it was about 55/60 degrees. The floors are marble and and the walls are white (which makes it seem colder somehow) and bare.  The school is just not built to hold heat.  I will be thankful for this in a few months.  For now though, I dress myself in a tank top, a sweater, a jacket (an overcoat, you might call it) and a scarf when I go to class.  With body heat and the electric radiator I'm usually ok in the classroom.  My hands get cold, but really that could happen anywhere.

This past Saturday it was too cold for my roommate to leave the house.  So, I went to a movie (También la Lluvia) alone.  It was a little harder to understand than the last movie, but I still got the gist of what was happening.  Though, during the part where the Australian was speaking (in English) I had to use the Spanish subtitles that were provided.  My ear is tuned to understand British English and English with a Spanish accent.

But back to it being too cold to leave the house- I disagree with this, of course, but a few mornings I have found myself wondering 'Is it too cold to run because I don't have the proper clothing?'  Then I have a little talk with myself that goes like this:  It is 45 degrees outside.  You will be fine in a long-sleeved t-shirt and pants.  You could even wear shorts if it is not windy.  You are going running.  Don't be ridiculous. 

Class Story:
I had another run-in with the 'y' and 'j' sound differentiation in class today.  The advanced students were talking about what they did as children.  One student said that he played in the 'jar'.
 'Jar?' I asked.  'A little glass container where you keep food?'
'No,' he said, 'Jardín, patio'.
'Oh, YARD' I said.

Switching subjects completely (again), my roommate and I went shopping yesterday (when I bought the blanket).  On our walk home, I was surprised when Clarisse said, 'Sometimes I just stop and think to myself, I'm in Spain.  I'm living in Spain.  I am doing my grocery shopping in Spain.  And sometimes I am having a conversation with someone and I stop and think how amazing it is that the other person is speaking in Spanish and I can understand what they are saying.  I am having a conversation in other language.' I was taken aback and a little creeped out because she completely read my mind.  I had that exact same thought as we stood in line at the grocery store just a few minutes before this conversation.  And those weren't her exact words, of course, I am translating because she said this all in Spanish.  I think about this sometimes too: how everything she knows about me and everything I know about her has been explained by one of us via the Spanish language.  There have been times where I've been speaking to José or Megan or a student and I've asked myself, 'Were we talking in Spanish or English?' and most of the time I can't be 100% certain.  (Most likely it was both. I probably in English while the other person spoke in Spanish. Or I said the 'easy' words in Spanish and the rest in English.)  Somehow my brain works it out.    

It's been one week

I've been back in Spain for one week, eh, a week and a half now- going on two.  When I got back to Spain that Sunday, I went to sleep for 4 hours, got up and went running, ate dinner and went back to bed.  That entire 24 hour period of rest really did a number on me and I've needed the past week to recover from it.  I've had to take naps and get up at 10 instead of 8.  I think I'm back on track now with my 8/9 AM - 12 AM schedule (and no naps or 'siestas', as you might call them).

My missing suitcase reappeared after an apparent (unplanned?) trip to Barcelona.  It was delivered to my piso at around 9 PM on Tuesday  (after getting home on Sunday).  So that means that I owe Spain an apology:  I'm sorry that I ever thought my suitcase would be lost forever and that you wouldn't deliver it right to my house (although a Spaniard did tell me that I'd have to go pick it up, so that one isn't entirely my fault, however, I still apologize for believing it.).  I got a call from the airport telling me that someone would deliver my suitcase the next day.  I had class in the morning, but my roommates were home until I got back. I waited from 2 PM-8 PM at my piso but by 8 I couldn't wait any longer so I left to go running. My roommate was home just in case that my suitcase showed up while I was gone. Shortly after I left she got a call from the person whose suitcase was dropped off before mine letting her know that mine would be arriving soon.  Since we technically live on a pedestrian-only street (that allows exceptions for deliveries, mail vehicles and motorized vehicles in parades), the driver himself called soon after to say that he couldn't deliver it to our piso because of this restriction.  He requested that she meet him in a plaza (that he didn't know the name of) so she could pick it up.  My roommate (who is quite brave), told him that it wasn't her suitcase, she wasn't going to change out of her pajamas and back into street clothes to meet him at a plaza he didn't even know the name of and that he should just drive down the street like every other 'confused' person or delivery truck does.  That was all the convincing he needed.  I met up with him outside our building's main door at the end of my run just as he was leaving.  My (filthy) suitcase and outraged roommate were waiting for me upstairs.  My suitcase had a TSA lock on it and it didn't look like it had been open so therefore everything was accounted for.  My packing job , however, was lacking:  I don't need half of the clothes I packed (so I just left them in the suitcase to send home later) and somehow I grossly underestimated the number of pairs of underwear I'll need and grossly overestimated the number of pairs of socks I'll need.  Don't worry though.  I have a plan.

These past two weeks at school have been really boring.  The students haven't come to conversation classes so I have even more free time.  There's a new teacher at the school that I have four classes with. She's currently my favorite teacher (in the non-roommate category, of course).  Unfortunately she is just a sub and thus will not be teaching here for very long.  The first teacher for those classes, who taught from Oct-Dec was actually the sub for the sub (the second runner-up, if you will).  The real teacher is on sick leave and the sub was pregnant so they brought in the sub for the sub.  So now the sub is back from maternity leave and will pass on the teaching duties in March when the real teacher returns from sick leave.

Yesterday in class some 4th year students and I were discussing creative punishments for criminals.  There was a question of what to do with teenagers who 'paint grafitti all over walls in a small town'.  The first reaction from the students was to ask 'Well, what kind of grafitti?  Is it nice?  Is it art?'.  They were very lenient in their punishment for these private-property-destroying hooligans.  Based on their reaction, you might expect Alcalá to be covered in tagged buildings and to smell of aerosol paint, but I don't think there is more grafitti here than in any other city.

Another interesting moment came in one of my second year classes.  Out of nowhere a student asked me (in Spanish), "Can you say the words for 'jefe' and 'autobus' in English?"  So I said (not knowing where this was going), "Boss, bus".  Ah, ha!  There it is.  Those words have just a slight difference in vowel sounds.  Slight but important.

To show you just how messed up my brain is between the two languages here are two examples:

1.  My roommate asked me a question like 'Why is everyone so loud?'  My answer was 'Because estamos en España'.  She just looked at me and said, 'Because?'  And it took me a minute to realize that A.) she was saying an English word and she generally only speaks French and Spanish and B.) that there was anything wrong with my response.  All the words made sense to me.  I didn't notice that there were two languages in one sentence.

2.  A student was speaking (in English) and didn't know a word so I offered 'bother' as a possible fit for what she was trying to say.  She asked if I could write it on the board.  So I went up to the board and wrote 'molestar'.  Before I turned around I realized my mistake and added '= to bother'.

Although it may sound like I am completely capable in both languages, the truth is that I am not.  My roommate is much more talkative than I am and has improved by leaps and bounds.  I'm convinced more than ever that speaking is an extremely important part of learning a language.  And it is exactly what I haven't done in the past 18 years that I have studied Spanish.  So, I'm signing up for Spanish classes at the University starting in February.  I am here and I am going to speak Spanish before I leave if it is the last thing I do (or the only thing).  Plus, since my 3-day-a-week private lesson student is leaving for Germany for nine months, I will have a few extra hours on my hands each week.

Other exciting happenings this week:
- Went to 'The Tourist' with Clarisse.  We liked it and best of all- understood it!
- Went to Sevilla to get the right size t-shirt for Jim.  I didn't see it on the shelf in the store, so I asked the clerk if there were any XLs in blue (my Spanish speaking practice for the day).   He walked over, looked at the shirts and said, 'No, I don't have any XL'.  He then recommended that I go to their other store (that I didn't even know existed).  He gave me a map and directions (and insisted it was easy to find).  When I walked into the second store the clerk asked me if I was the girl that was there for the XL t-shirt.  I said I was.  Needless to say I was there on a Monday afternoon. You wouldn't get that kind of service on a Wednesday evening I bet.
- Went out for tapas with the Thursday night crew.
- Learned that they say 'marshmallow' in French.  I was talking about the ingredients in Rice Krispie Treats and I didn't know the word in Spanish.  I said they were white and looked like little pillows and she said, 'marshmallows?'
- Got a photocopied guide for Marrakech from my private-lesson student.

And if that all sounds boring to you, remember that I'M IN SPAIN.

Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car

"But it wasn't a dream. It was a place. And you and you and you...and you were there."  

 

In 2.5 weeks I saw almost all of my immediate family members and friends (sorry to those who missed a photo opp.).  It made me realize exactly what it is that I am missing here.  (But not for long-I'll have several visitors over the next three months!  Let me know if you'd like to be added to that list.)  Being back, I jumped quickly back into the American way of thinking, like expecting things to be resolved immediately.  Take my lost luggage, for example.  I expected it to be at my HOUSE the very next day.  Here in Spain my baggage is also missing and I'm having a hard time accepting the fact that there is NO information on it after over 24 hours and three flights from Lisbon (where I arrived from the US). And when there is information I will have to go PICK up the suitcase from the airport.  This will require a 1.5-2 hour bus ride (one way and not including wait time).  I find myself thinking that this is completely ridiculous.  But it is not ridiculous for Spain.  It is normal.  As my roommate said, 'tu- paciencia' (You - (have) patience.)  A week or so will be a normal time frame for my bag reappear.  

I also find it disappointing that stores are not open here.  I asked my mom how late the grocery store was open (I really wanted some grapes at 9 PM).  When she said 'all night' I couldn't believe what I great country I was born in.  I could buy grapes at any time during the day or night!  

The little taste of freedom I got from having my very own car to drive wherever I wanted whenever I wanted (like to the grocery store, Noodles, Dairy Queen and friends' houses) was hard to leave too. (Although brushing the snow off my car off and scraping my windows part I could do without).  My feet and the bus system here can take me places, but it requires more time and patience.  

Central heating is one of the best things about the US.  I wasn't ever as cold there (inside or outside) as I am inside my piso here.  I actually have to go outside to warm up (the sun is shining!).  And along those lines I love the clothes dryer.  It makes washing clothes so much less of a commitment.  You don't have to plan how many days it will require to dry the clothes and whether or not you have that time to live without them.

What wasn't hard to leave was the accent we all have.  I was very sensitive to our whiney, nasaly 'a'.  Sometimes I wanted to stop talking because I couldn't make my accent or the burning in my ears go away. 

I also won't miss the store clerks constantly nagging (a word we can say with our accent) me to open a credit card account and save 10%, helpfully suggesting a car wash with my gas purchase, just reminding me that if I find 2 shirts that I like I can get one free, holding out a sample for me take or calling out 'excuse me, can I ask you a question?' as I walk through the mall.  I much prefer the Spanish way- being silently stared down by a clerk or ignored completely while they talk to their coworker or friend. 

And I won't miss looking like an ad for Tommy Barlett's Exploratory when I take off my winter hat.  My skin and hair did not like the lack of moisture in MN and WI in the winter.  My skin was scaly and my hands full of hangnails. 

And what can we learn from this, boys and girls?  That the grass is always greener on the other side and that absence makes the heart grow fonder.  

Class dismissed.