Water, water everywhere

Look, desperate times call for desperate measures.  I couldn't very well go to my private English class in a two-day showerless state of reek (that was exacerbated by Sunday morning's run). I had three options:

1.  Take a cold shower
2.  Cancel the class at the last minute
3.  Heat water on the stove and get clean Laura Ingalls-style (at least I think this would be Laura Ingalls-style. I don't remember reading any of her books (someone else was always reading them and really, when was I going to need to know anything about pioneer life?  Nicki, is this how Laura took a shower?).

I chose option 3.  I was a little over zealous in making sure I had hot water, but after burning my leg I let the water cool and ultimately felt satisfied that I was clean.

I went to my private lesson and then afterward headed straight to the bank to pay for the 5-hour pool pass.  I had to wait maybe 15 minutes (I was 3rd in line), but after I paid I headed home, grabbed my swimming attire and headed (up the hill and down the street) to the pool.

When I arrived and handed in my paperwork for the pool pass, the pool worker discovered they were out of pool passes.  Luckily they had some from 2009 that they decided would function just fine (here's hopin').  Then I was told I couldn't go swimming until 5 PM.  I think they thought I was coming for a class or something.  When I told her I just wanted to lap swim she said I could go in right away!  So to make a long story finally end:  I got to go swimming today!  And I was the only one in the pool (there was another pool full of older adults doing water aerobics of some sort, but no one else in the lap swimming pool).  And although the water was about 10 degrees warmer than I am accustomed to, I am glad I FINALLY got to go swimming. (And Judy, I sneezed a bunch of times, of course.  One sneeze on my way home from the pool was so loud that a man on the other side of the street was startled and asked if I was going to be alright.) And guess what?  When I got back to the piso I discovered we have hot water again! Maybe you can trust Monday, Monday after all...

The pool passes.

You can smell the chlorine but you can't have a swim.

Since my arrival in Spain over seven weeks ago, my only form of exercise has been running.  I have wanted to go swimming (as I used to do weekly in the US) and even took steps to physically do so:  I did online research into the local pools and asked students and friends about where to go.  I was always given the same information that the public pool was nice, but it was always really busy so you either had to wait to swim or, if you got in, you couldn't get a workout in because there were too many people in the pool.  So the suggested solution was to join the gym here in Alcalá.  However, it is expensive:  about $60 a month for a limited access membership where you can just workout from 7 AM - noon, so I wanted to wait until I got paid and got my schedule figured out. Those few excuses led to others and it just became easier not to figure it out and just keep running.

That was until this week, when my knee reminded me that cartilage doesn't grow on trees, so I should probably find something else to do to get my heart pumping.  So, I limped my way up the hill and down the street (about a mile) to the public pool.  I got information on pricing and hours.  If you are 'empadronado'- aka registered in the city as a citizen, then you pay 16.48 € for 5 hours of pool time.  If you are not, you pay 24.98 € for the (same) 5 hours of pool time.  I inquired with the locals as to what that means and it turns out I am (not surprisingly) not a person who is an 'empadronada'.  It requires official registration and paperwork of some sort that I am not even sure I could prove and that also seemed like a lot of work just to use a public swimming pool.  But, I wanted to swim so I thought I would just pay the more expensive price, try it out for 5 times to see how it went and then go from there.

So on Friday I packed my swimming bag and limped my way back up the hill and down the street to the pool.  When I arrived, I was happy to see that there were few cars in the parking lot.  But, I thought it could mean a couple of things: either the pool was closed on Fridays at 3 or I came at a good time to swim.  I entered the front door and told the woman behind the front desk that I wanted to buy a card for 5 hours of pool time.  She said 'ok' and reached for a form while I reached for my money.  'Woah, pardner! What are you doing flashing your money around these parts like that? Pools don't take money, banks take money.  Take this form, limp down the street and hill to the bank and give them the money.  Then, limp back up the hill and down the street with the stamped form (that shows you paid) and we'll let you swim at the public pool.' (I took some creative liberties with my translation of what she said.)  It doesn't sound like much trouble at all (right?) until you consider that I went to the pool at 3 PM on Friday and banks close at 2 on Friday and don't open again until Monday at 8:30.  I realized this in an instant and could see another swim-less weekend laid out before me.  I was so desperate to swim that I forgot I am kind of shy.  I asked the lady if I could just swim today,just to try it out.  She denied my request.  So,with my shoulders slumped and head hung low I limped down the street and hill back home to rest my knee until Monday when I could swim.

Then, I had a great idea.  I thought that on my run on Saturday I would run to the gym (about 1.5 miles away) and get their form that I would have to take to the bank.  I was so proud of myself for thinking ahead like that so I would have everything I needed right when I was ready to sign up for the gym.  Nothing would delay my gym membership.  I had it all figured out now.  When I got there (sweaty and smelly) on Saturday morning and declared my certainty and readiness to become a gym member, I was told that they would need the 100€ (membership fee and first month) in cash that day.  That's right.  They handle the money, not the bank.  Lesson I learned:  I have not figured Spain out yet. Touché, Spain, touché.


Other Adventures:

Thursday brought the end of our gas cylinder (bombona) that heats our water.  José called to get another bombona, but unfortunately it is not available until Monday.  So, I have taken a cold shower the past three days.  Today I refused to freeze myself to death again.  I'm traded 'fresh and freezing cold' for 'stinky and warm'.  What I will do tomorrow before the gas gets here will be the big decision.  I have my private English lesson tomorrow at 9 AM, surely before the gas will get here, so it looks like one more cold shower is in my future.  If only I had swimming pool access and could have showered at the pool, right?

Thursday night I ate, for the very first time, food that was delivered right to my piso in Spain.  Megan, José, Clarisse and I got sandwiches delivered and had a nice dinner at home. So nice, in fact that the man downstairs was upset that he wasn't invited.  We met him in person for the first time the next day (Friday) when Clarisse and I got home from school.  We got on the elevator and pressed '4'. The man got on behind us and pressed '3'. When he saw our floor selection he said, 'Oh, you must be the people who live above me. What were you doing last night- moving furniture? There was all this noise about 12 or 1 o'clock. What did you move- the couch, the table, or something?'  We apologized and confessed to moving both. (We had to move the furniture so that we could all fit at the table and eat.)

The bus to Sevilla

On Saturday we took a trip to Ikea (pronounced 'eee kay uh' in Spain). How do you get there?  Well, step one is to take a one-hour bus ride to Sevilla.  Step two is walking across town to another bus stop/station.  Step three is getting on a bus to Castilleja de la Cuesta and getting off at the nearest stop to Ikea.  Step four is walking approximately half a mile there.  Our objective in going there was to find a comforter for 'winter' but we ended up getting other things instead like food storage containers and a set of two potholders for just 10 cents!  I had my camera but didn't take any photos.  If you want to get a extremely good idea of what Ikea in Spain looks like, please visit your local Ikea. Just covert all the prices to Euros and speak Spanish to the people around you to experience the magic of Spanish Ikea.


More photos of Alcalá:

I have declared this the most dangerous place on my running routes.  It is a part of Alcalá where several lanes of traffic come together at a curve in the road.  Here are the lanes from a distance:

Every time I run here I cross my fingers that no other pedestrian is coming from the other direction. (It has actually happened and I have lived to tell you about it.)

What I am is what I am AND what YOU are...

In two of the level 4 classes I had a discussion about what Spanish people think of Americans and what Americans think of Spanish people.  I was really interested to hear another country's perspective on the US.  The first class was really into the discussion and had a lot of good questions and comments about the US.  The other class was less involved and will probably go down as one of my most painful teaching moments.  I have never wanted to leave a class so badly in my life.  I was sweating profusely and my flight or flight response was SCREAMING - "Fly, fly, fly!" because I was doing such a bad job of getting the students involved in the discussion and then of teaching them vocabulary words (and they were doing a bad job of pretending to be interested).  I might have to coax them with candy or money the next time I teach their class.  Anyway, between the two classes I did manage to get some insight into how the rest of the world views our country:

1.  Everyone in the US eats hamburgers.  I informed them that although I do not eat them, hamburgers are widely available in our country.

2.  Every US citizen owns a gun.  I said that was false. On average every US citizen owns TWO guns. (HA) They did bring up a good point, however:  if we do not all own guns why are there so many movies about the US where people do have guns? And if they visit Minnesota why will they see signs on almost every store, restaurant and other business' front door warning people that such-and-such business 'Bans guns on these premises'.  What kind of message is that sending?  To attempt to answer the question, I gave the class a short history lesson about our Constitution and the second Amendment that gives us the right to bear arms.  I cited it as a possible reason that guns are so prevalent in movies- we want to remind the world that we have the right to bear arms, even if the majority of us don't really do it.

3.  The US doesn't know about the world/geography beyond our country's borders.   While that might be true for the general population or what our high school students' geography scores tell us, I wonder if it's not the same for Spain as well.

4.  We are immature.  I asked for more clarification on this, but didn't receive it, so interpret it as you wish.

5.  We are afraid of all Arab/Middle Eastern people after 9/11.  I said that we probably are more quick to judge people from that particular culture after 9/11, but that we are also aware that you can't judge a book by its cover.

6.  Every little boy plays baseball.  I gave a lame answer that was something like, "Yes, a lot of little boys do play baseball and even some girls, but it's not a requirement that you must play baseball in order to be a male US citizen."

7.  We drink more than we study when we attend a University.  Once again I gave a lame answer about how some people do and some people don't, but in general I would say that your studies at a university will probably involve drinking too much at some point.

And apparently we are also well-known for Tennessee Whiskey because in the past week two Spanish people have commented about how good it is. (This was outside of the classroom though.)

And Spain wanted you to know this:
1.  They do not all love bull fights nor have all of them seen a bullfight.  Actually only one or two people in each class actually supported bullfighting as a sport or an art.

2.  They do like to drink wine, as Spain has some really good wines, but they also like to drink beer.  I witnessed this first hand last night when I was out with a group of about 30 Spaniards.  I was the only one who ordered wine.

3.  Siestas are only supposed to last for 30 minutes at the most.  And most Spaniards do not take a siesta, even though stores/banks close people do not sleep during this 'break' time.

4.  Spain ≠ Mexico.  You might eat this for dinner in Spain:

Random comment about Euros:

In the US, if you plan to pay for your dinner with the coins in your pocket, you are surely not going to make any friends at that restaurant. It may be best to stay home and defrost the mystery meat that has been in your freezer since you moved in.  This is what I my brain tells me here too; if you only have coins in your pocket, you should stay home.  However, Euro coins are:

1 cent
2 cents
5 cents
10 cents
20 cents
50 cents
1 Euro ($1.40)
2 Euro ($2.80)

No need to skip lunch just because your only option is to pay with coins.  Just be careful about what coins you use, as sometimes the same rule does apply (obviously):  I paid my (1.05 €) bus fare with .20, 10, .05, .02 and .01 coins and the bus driver swore.

Here are a few more photos of Alcalá:

 

 It's Sunday evening (about 6 PM) in these photos, so that's why the streets are empty.

Hard right view from our balcony.

Slight right view from the balcony.

Looking down at the street below from our balcony.

Woop, there it is- between the jewelry and shoe stores.

Melissa/Missy

Spanish Steps

This week I came several steps closer to becoming a temporary Spaniard.  First, I picked up my ATM card from the bank and confirmed that, indeed, I have money, or should I say, EUROS, in my account!  (Now if only I can keep some there until the beginning of December.)  Next, I had my second appointment to get my TIE card.  I was told to come to the office for an appointment from 3:30-6:30.  I arrived around 3:15, got a number and sat and waited.  An Argentinian man who was also there getting his identity card spoke to me while we waited.  For the most part I had no idea what he was saying.  I know the general idea of what he was saying, but he used the 'vos' form of Spanish (an alternative for the 'tu' form used in other countries) and had an accent that was really hard for me to understand.  The good news is that I got to practice saying 'No entiendo'.  After maybe 30 minutes my number was called.  I only had to hand the man at the office my papers, photos and passport and then give him one fingerprint.  I barely said a word.  Step three for the TIE is to wait 45 days and then go and pick it up (in person).  Let the count-down begin. 

Step three in become a Spaniard is dressing the part.  This week I bought a shirt (the arms are a little tight, so I just can't button them), pants (straight leg because I'm not yet ready to try to sport tapered-leg jeans), a couple of scarves (only 2 Euro each!), a purse and a pair of boots.  When I was packing to come here, I thought long and hard about bringing my two pair of boots, but I told myself I would never wear them and that it was a waste of valuable suitcase space.  They will be the first things I'll put in my suitcase to take back when I return to the US for Christmas.  Boots of all lengths are quite popular here in Spain and they are worn outside your pants.  This is probably the style in the US too, but I pay less attention there for some reason.  At any rate, I can now look (more) Spanish for at least one day.

It feels like school/work actually started this week.  I have activities to do in each class, I have English conversation classes for which I have to have activities created, and I have private conversation classes 3/4 days a week with a man who is a mathematics teacher at a university here in Sevilla.  He has applied for a grant to study in Germany starting in February and wants to be able to speak English so he can communicate when he is there.  He is really good at English so basically he just talks for an hour and I correct little errors in word choice or pronunciation and teach him some vocabulary.  It's pretty easy, but at the same time it's really interesting to gain insight into what things a native Spanish speaker has trouble with in English.  I'm sure it will help me plan lessons and understand what speakers are trying to say in the future.

I have also set up an intercambio (exchange) with two other students from the 5th year class (the highest level).  We agreed to speak in Spanish half of the time and English half the time so that we can each practice our second languages.  I really need to practice speaking.  At home (as in most other places) I tend to let the more vocal people talk as I am content to listen.  Being in a smaller group with these students will force me to talk.  That is the only way I will improve.  I am determined to leave this country speaking Spanish much better than I do now. 

Yesterday I had my first discussion with the 4th year students about stereotypes that the Spanish have about the US and vice versa.  It was really informative and the students were so involved that we didn't get to the rest of the lesson.  We spent one whole hour discussing stereotypes.  I have another 4th year class tonight, so I'll compile all of the stereotypes they have about Americans and post them in another entry.

For your viewing pleasure, a photo of Alcalá and some of the trails I run on:

Hasta pronto,

Melissa/Missy

Meet New Friends. Stay awhile. All Together Share a Smile.

It has been just over a month since I arrived in Spain, according to the calendar.  A month already?  No puede ser.  It just doesn’t feel like a month to me. It feels more like a week.  I am only going to be in Spain for eight months and one month is already over?  If this were a marathon I would be past the 5K mark.  And while the 5K mark is definitely not the end of the race, it is the first significant chunk you mark off in the race distance.  I must slow the pace down a little bit so I don’t wear myself out before the end.   

I, for one, am completely shocked to be feeling this way.  Before I got here, I was positive that I would get to Spain and feel completely out of my element, with no one to talk to and nothing to do.  I imagined myself standing all alone in a room with nothing but a calendar hanging on the wall, black marker in hand, crossing off the days until I could go home for Christmas. I was coming up with weird excuses for having to come home, like I wasn’t sure that I would be able to run and swim here and prepared myself for the possibility of early departure due to my inability to get a(n almost) daily dose of exercise endorphins.  I was preparing for the worst and expecting it too.  I had little faith that quitting two jobs, leaving my nice (rented) house complete with a nice roommate, great running routes and a close proximity to two pools and moving to Spain at the age of 29 would ever really work out.  I convinced myself that I would go and within a few weeks come to my senses and realize that this ‘bucket list’/ ‘living my dream’ stuff is all just a bunch of bologna (special thanks to the Oscar Meyer commercial that allowed me to spell that word correctly without using spell check).  I gave myself a month, tops.

Spain had other plans for me though.  And it started before I even got here.  When I got the news about where I would be teaching, I set out to get some first-hand information about the city.  I contacted my host mom from my study abroad experience back in college.  She didn’t have great things to say about the town, so I set out for a second opinion.  My Spanish teacher was kind enough to give me the name and contact information of a friend of hers who lives in Sevilla.  He, in turn, was kind enough to ask around and find out what kind of place this Alcalá de Guadaíra was. He also made the suggestion that I contact the school to find out if they knew of a place to live.  So I did, and they led me to an English teacher who had a three-bedroom piso available for rent in Alcalá.  That contact with the school gave a name to one of their three ‘helpers’ for the year (the school knows that they will get people, but they don’t get those people’s names), which they shared with one of the (American) helpers from last year, who was still in contact with the school.  She, in turn, contacted me via Facebook.  We ended up meeting up and she told me all about Alcalá (the teachers, the classes, the buses to get there and my options for which city to live in, among other helpful facts).  She was kind enough to ride the bus to Alcalá with me, showed me how to get to school, how to get to my new piso and introduced me to one of my new pisomates. From there, I was put in contact (again) with the director of the school, who was kind enough to pick me up in Sevilla and bring me (and my 4 pieces of luggage) to Alcalá. And it of course doesn’t stop there.  I have two really fun, friendly roommates. Among several kind gestures, one is that one of my roommates was kind enough to call a bunch of Internet companies and find the best one for us and get it all set up for us (I could never have communicated with the Internet companies about what we needed, that is for sure.  I would be typing this from and Internet café if it weren’t for his help).  My other roommate is always willing to talk, go to the shoe store, or just for a walk. Spanish may be a second language for both of us, but we still manage to figure out what the heck the other one is talking about (most of the time).  

And then I met the teachers at my school. Those that live in Alcalá offered their phone numbers in case I ever needed anything, wanted a ride somewhere, or just wanted to go out for a drink or some other social activity. The students are just as kind, asking me where I live and offering their phone numbers for if I ever need anything or want to hang out in Alcalá. Just a few days ago Clarisse and I were at the grocery store and I was in the produce aisle selecting a melon when one of my students came up to me and starting talking. A few aisles later I met up with another student, who introduced me to his daughter and wife. A few minutes after we parted, he found me in the store again and he offered me his phone number in case I ever needed to know about anything here in Alcalá. I have one student for private lessons too, who also offered his Alcalá wisdom. The other American teacher at the school (who lives in Sevilla instead of Alcalá) is also always around and ready to eat lunch, go shopping or do whatever. Suffice to say, I am very far from being alone.

I am also far from being bored.  I have lots of stuff to do.  For example, Clarisse and I made a trip to the bank and got ourselves our own bank accounts.  Since she is only 22, she got an account that doesn’t cost anything.  The man at the bank tried to set me up with a young person account too, but when he entered my birth year, the computer stopped him.  He asked me if there was an error on my passport because there was no way I could be as old as it says.  He thought I was 22 or 24 tops.  I was flattered, but told him that my passport wasn't lying. It is true that I am an old lady.  And that meant that I had to get a big-girl account where I pay about 1.25 Euro per month as a processing fee as well as a 1 Euro per-month charge to have and use an ATM card.  It’s the price you pay for being a big-girl.  The whole bank account experience took about 2 hours, but the man at the bank was very kind to us, speaking to Clarisse a little in French and speaking to me little bit about Tennessee whiskey (I have the face of a whiskey-lover), whether Kansas was near Minnesota and telling me that another American came to that very bank the day before to get an account.  To his dismay, I did not know her, even though she and I are from the same country (according the information he showed me, she is from Pennsylvania). (Special thanks one of my elementary school teachers who taught me how to spell that state correctly without spell check).  I have to go back to the bank this week to pick up my ATM card and then return a third time when I actually have my TIE to officially have a Spanish savings account.  Speaking of which, I went to the watch store/identity-card-photo-taking place this past week and got my photo taken for the identity card.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a better 'official' photo taken.  I may not have understood a single word the watch store clerk/photographer said to me besides ‘pasa’ (come here) to direct me to the camera, but he took one hell of an ID photo. On Tuesday of this week I'll  head to Sevilla for my second appointment for the identity card. 

PHOTO OF THE PHOTO:

Clarisse’s birthday was on October 21. I made her a banner that said, ‘Feliz Cumpleaños’ and hung it up in the living room on her birthday. José and I were co-conspirators in the rest of her birthday celebration plans. It really came in handy that we could make the plans in English so she wouldn’t know what was going to happen.  We got her a chocolate cake, a birthday card, a Spanish cookbook (which had to be purchased in Sevilla because Alcalá has a cookbook store deficiency), gloves (for ‘winter’ in Spain) and a bracelet. After work, Megan, José, Clarisse and I headed out for tapas and drinks/darts to further celebrate the occasion.  

CAKE, TAPAS AND DARTS:

We had so much fun that we decided that we will make Thursday nights a weekly occasion. 

And the fun did not stop there.  Megan, Clarisse and I went to Cádiz as another way to celebrate.  We took the bus from Sevilla in the morning and arrived in Cádiz after about an hour ride.  Our first stop was the tourist office, where we found a map/tour guide.  The city had several different color-coded routes for us to take.  You simply follow the corresponding colored line on the ground to arrive at the designated tourist attraction. We spent the day in Cadiz following the lines.

 

(Notice the purple line on the right.)

And I of course, in my spare time, I go to class.  I am assigned certain activities in each class, some of which require preparation.  Then there are the conversation classes I have throughout the week for which I need to plan activities, as well as private lessons 3-4 times per week (which, truth be told, haven't really started yet; I've only done one so far). 

I've also fit in a couple of trips to the Festival of Nations in Sevilla (a bunch of outdoor booths with food and or craft/clothing items from different countries) and a shopping trip this past weekend. I tried to find some jeans and other clothes, but to my dismay my calves did not fit in the jeans and my upper arms did not fit in shirts. You can't make this stuff up.)  After shopping we (Megan, Clarisse and I) went to a movie- Rumores y Mentiras (Rumors and Lies) (Why yes, Deb. Amanda Bynes is in that movie). It was dubbed in Spanish, but it's a movie that is pretty easy to understand, even if you miss some of the lines.

I'm sure I've forgotten to tell you about a lot of exciting things, such as how we came to have two home phones, one that doesn't ring and the other that rings, but is more of a challenge to dial since it is a rotary phone. Or how last week I had to give a demonstration on how to carve a pumpkin in front of the entire school while wearing an apron with a cow on it and being videotaped. Or about our amazing oven that cooks things, but for some reason they come out of the oven cold. Or about my plans to run a half marathon in Morocco in January. Or about no matter how hard I try, people do not call me Missy. I am known as Melissa.  But hey, I've only got seven months left in Spain.  I don't have time to tell you everything.

Melissa/Missy

Walk with me...

This is an exciting video of my walk up the hill to school. Try to stay awake for the whole minute and half.  You'll love the end, where I can't figure out how to shut off the camera.

Here's the hill from afar:

 

El Naranjo

Today I checked another item off my bucket list- to run a race in a foreign country.  (Just a warning, this entry is all about running/the race.)  I ran a 10.7 KM race (it was supposed to be 11, but it was changed.  Kelly V., I can see you laughing, shaking your head and saying ‘Ah, Spain.’ right now.).  Besides the initial sign-up process being a little different, the race itself was pretty much the same. To sign up, I had to print out the registration form from the website and fill it out.  Then I had to go to the bank (Cajasol) and pay my registration fee.  Essentially what you are doing is depositing the money directly into the race’s bank account.  The bank gave me a receipt of the deposit.  (As a side note, the bank teller asked me about my last name- where I was from because Robles is a common name in Spanish.  There is some vineyard or wine region here with that name.  He pronounced it quite nicely too- no extra syllables even.)  I faxed my registration form and receipt to the race’s office to register.  Since I registered at the last minute, I never really knew if I was in the race officially or not.  So, I gave myself extra time to get to the start just in case there was a problem.  I left the house at 9 AM and arrived at the race area about 9:30.  I followed the crowd to the packet-pick up area.  My name wasn't on the registration list, since I had sent in the form at the last minute, so I directed to the ‘incidents’ line.  There, they did have my registration information, however, I needed to take a few more steps to be officially entered in the race.  The man at the incidents line handed me a red ticket and told me to proceed to the race announcer’s van and give him my information directly (again) to be officially entered into the system.  Why the registration papers in the 'incidents' line couldn't be delivered to the van man directly by say, the man in the incident line, thereby taking the van man out of the picture for me, I will always wonder.  But, I followed directions and took my red ticket to the van.  The man there asked for my name and birth date, handed me a  race number and then finally, I was officially registered.  I walked back to the pick-up area for some pins (for my race bib) and then to the bathroom.  I walked past the line for the men’s bathroom and right into the women’s bathroom.  That is to say that there was NOT a line for the women’s bathroom, but there was for the men’s.  It was like a parallel universe.  Nevermind that there was no toilet paper- I didn’t have to wait in line!

The kids race was first.  I don’t know how far they ran- maybe 2K.  Our race started at 10:20 (it was originally scheduled for 10).  By that time, not only was I weary from my half hour walk to the start, I was running at an unusually late hour (for me) and the sun was up and baking me (I may be exaggerating with the word ‘bake’, but still…).  What other disadvantage could I have?  Hills and fast runners, that’s what else.  I don’t think there are any slow runners in Spain.  If there are, they don’t go to races apparently.  I was one of the last people to finish.  There were maybe 50 people behind me.  And I was running approximately 8:30/mile.  Anyway, if you have ever run a 5K or a 10K in the US you know that although ultimately you run a distance in kilometers, each mile is marked off during the course (it's quite contradictory now that I think about it).  Kilometers mean something to Spaniards though, so in this race each one was marked.  I could use only the 5K and 10K markers to measure my pace.  I tried to do the math in miles/hour before those but I was distracted by running up hills and minding the uneven terrain, dog poop and puddles (it rained all day yesterday).

After finishing the race, we got our bibs scanned (notice the barcode to the left) to show we finished and then we waited in a monstrous line to get our t-shirts and other goods:

Not shown:  Cruzcampo beer, a plate of garbanzo beans and the raffle ticket. Yes, I walked over a mile back (through town) to the piso will a 2-liter bottle of water, a sack of potatoes, a bag of onions, an orange, a banana, bread, two sports drinks, a granola bar and an Aldi ad.  PLUS:

The race t-shirt! Since the race was called ‘El naranjo’ (the orange tree), of course the shirt should be orange.