The waitress asked what we wanted to drink.
"Agua," I said, and two of the girls followed suit. The third girl wanted a Thai cocktail.
"Might as well go big if you´re gonna pay for water anyway," she explained.
My internal Jiminy Cricket discusses some issues of morality with me, but his passion is making sure I´m cheap. When he heard the quip about water, he went so crazy I thought he´d had a run-in with my internal woodpecker, who tries to eat him from time to time.
"What? We´re paying for water?" I asked.
"Yeah, you have to," another girl said. "I mean, I guess it´s reasonable, ´cuz it comes in bottles."
"We´re getting bottled water?" I asked.
"Yeah, that´s, like, what you get," she said.
I turned to the waitress.
"¿Venga, podemos tener agua del grifo?" I asked.
"¿Como en una jarra?" she asked.
I asked my Canadian and Austrian friends, all of whom were just starting to learn Spanish, whether they wanted bottled water or regular water. They wanted regular water, if it was available.
"Sí, en una jarra," I said to the waitress. (Yes, a jug of water.)
I tried not to look smug as the waiter left the table.
But c´mon. I´m getting special deals in restaurants!
And I just finished my first full book in Spanish -- Harry Potter 1!
So I´m feeling like this whole bilingual thing´s coming along!
---
At a small English as a Foreign Lanuage school today, the director offered me a job paying 22€ per hour, three hours a week. I nearly started singing in her office. Then she told me the hours. They wanted me from 5:00 to 6:30 on Tuesday and Thursday, and I´m already tutoring Hector and Dario then.
Aaaahhhhhhhhh!!! I could have been up 66€ for just three hours of work, weekly!
---
Another Spanish weekend. Today, I went to bed at 7am, the exact same time that I woke up yesterday.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
A religious experience at the Templo de Debod
On Fridays, my Spanish school takes a "cultural tour." The director of the school majored in art history, he told me when I signed up for courses, so he knows his Spanish stuff. He gives a stand-up comedy act in Spanish around every sight we see.This Friday, we saw the royal gardens. Each one is the same story, of kings trying to one-up the kings before them, usually their own fathers, by building bigger and grander gardens.
The most interesting sight was a statue outside the front gardens of Felipe IV riding his horse. His father had commissioned a similar statue in which he rode a horse "a pasello" (trotting along). That statue now sits in a plaza I stumbled across just last night.
The most interesting sight was a statue outside the front gardens of Felipe IV riding his horse. His father had commissioned a similar statue in which he rode a horse "a pasello" (trotting along). That statue now sits in a plaza I stumbled across just last night.
Like father, like son, but flashier. Felipe IV wanted a statue of himself riding "a caballo" (galloping), and he wanted it at the front of the main palace´s royal gardens.
The artist he commissioned didn´t know how to build a statue of a galloping horse. The two legs in the back would be the only legs touching the ground, and the front of the statue would fall forward. He called on Galileo Galilee and Diego Velázquez to help him, and the all-star cast came up with a design that stands to this day, filling the back with solid iron and making the front hollow.
---Later that Friday, I made my first money in Spain, giving a two-hour English lesson. Oscar, the student, was 10 years older than me. He ordered us Chinese food, and we spoke in English and Spanish.
He works in food distribution, so he often goes to China, mostly to buy canned mushrooms. The reason he wants to learn English? To speak to the Chinese!
I laughed. No, he was serious.
A testament to the importance of English in business around the world.
When I came home, Dario and Hector were driving Margie mad. Margie opened the door for me, said a quick hola, and ran after Hector, who had chocolate smeared all around his mouth for reasons I still don´t know. I could tell I was in for a hard lesson.
I started off with a picture book, and the lesson was began smoothly. They named the words they knew. I gave them the words they didn´t, and they repeated them.
After about five minutes, though, Hector started saying "sufey" after every word. It´s a common joke. Hector thinks it´s hilarious, as does Dario, who idolizes him.
I usually pretend that they´re making an honest mistake. "No, that´s not right," I said. "What is it?" As long as they know the word, I´m okay with them adding "sufey."
Then Dario inexplicably spit in the book. "No, Dario, that´s not okay," I said. He spit again, and then Hector spit in the book. "What are you guys doing?" I asked, taken aback. "Go to the bathroom, get towels, and clean this up." I led them to the bathroom, and we cleaned up the book.
Time to move on to songs, I thought. But before the first song finished, Hector kicked Dario in the mouth. Utterly shocked, I scolded Hector. I decided to take the lessons outside to release some energy.
Hector and I threw a ball around. At one point, though, the ball fell onto the second-floor balcony.
"Oh, we´ll have to go get it," I said.
As I unlocked the door to the balcony, I saw a ladder leading up to the third story. As the door swung open, Hector bolted to the ladder, not even feigning interest in getting the ball. I caught him, barely, grabbing him by the ankle.
Meanwhile, Dario ambled out and chilled. I concentrated on Hector, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Dario trying to turn a giant water faucet.
"Lucky it´s rusted over," I thought.
I turned my attention back to Hector. He was almost bawling. "¡Quiero, quiero, quiero ver la calle!" he screamed in an absurdly high-pitched voice. ("I want to see the street!")
Suddenly, water burst out of the faucet, drenching Dario. In twenty minutes, they were going to a birthday party for their dad´s colleague´s son.
"Dario, no!" I yelled. I turned off the faucet as Hector raced up the ladder to ver la calle.
Margie changed Dario´s clothes, I retrieved Hector kicking and screaming from the porch, and Hector and Dario proved once and for all how ridiculous, hilarious, and crazy Spanish kids can be.
---
Last night, (Saturday), Madrid hosted "La noche en blanco."
Riga (Latvia) and Rome have already hosted the festival and Paris and Brussels are set to host it as well, but it felt especially Madrid.
Almost the whole city stayed open through the night, which meant business as usual for many businesses. Also, museums stayed open, and small art exhibitions and music shows lined the streets.
I strolled the streets with Carol, a friend from Germany who I met at the Spanish school. Two hour lines at the museums drove Carrrrroh (the correct pronunciation of her name) and I away from the big stuff and towards three music shows and two art exhibitions.
At the Templo de Debod, I had a religious experience. I was watching Fátima Miranda, which the program said would make you ask, "¿Dondé estoy?" ("Where am I?").
Rain was falling as hard as hail, and the wind shook the trees and churned up the water around the temple. At first, I didn´t realize that the music was a human voice. I saw a woman onstage, carrying a clay pot on her head. I soon realized she was singing, something between an Indian spiritual and a wolf howling at the moon. We arrived at a calmer part of the song. Soon, she was almost shrieking, and then something between Bjork and Sigur Ros, and then, she fell silent, and the blue lights dimmed. The audience went crazy.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Private concert
The world has voted, and it has voted for the Red Sox. (I define the world as the readers of this blog who voted. You guys mean the world to me.) The poll answered the vague question, Red Sox or Yankees? Whether the question meant coolness, likelihood of reaching playoffs, or, um something else -- that was up to the reader! The Red Sox handily beat the Yankees, who garnered less votes than those who resent baseball´s affect on our youth. The Yankees supporters can at least brag that they are as numerous as those who voted "C´mon, Tamba Bay, all the way," and "I´m all abute Toronto."
So, to the beloved Red Sox -- congratulations. Now please, please, don´t collapse.
Spanish classes started today. The school is tiny, 80 students, and with that smallness comes quite personal attention. Yesterday, when I signed up, the director of the school personally drove me to the sister school at which I´d be taking my classes.
I´m in the high-level group. The class has seven students, and three were absent today. In addition to my amiable Chilean teacher, my classmates are Bulgarian, German, Dutch, and French. Not one comes from an English-speaking country, which is great. Claudia, the teacher, conducts the class in Spanish from start to finish.
While I was on the way to classes, my train car got a private concert. In England, they called it busking. People play for money in the underground halls or on the metro trains themselves. Something like the Promenade, but no freakshows, and better quality. The violinists, singers, and guitarists almost always play beautifully.
Today, on the train, two men entered, mumbled something in Spanish, and took out their microphone, speaker system, and flute. They had a CD playing behind them, drums and backup vocals.
They sounded CD-quality, playing without missing a note. I wondered whether they were lip-syncing and lip-fluting. But then, the flautist put away his flute, and I could hear the whoosh of air as he took it from his mouth. He started shaking maracas, and the shakes lined up with the sounds. Then, after the maraca chorus, he took out a wooden harmonica, and I could again hear that whoosh that proved the playing was real. They were moving, really getting into their music.
I wondered how they made money, thinking that perhaps they sang for fun, out of the kindness of their hearts. The rest of the train car seemed unaffected, as if they were used to the good show. I must have stood out, with my wide stupid joyful grin. But then they finished their second song, mumbled something in Spanish again, and went around the train car. Half the car, maybe more, gave change. I left at the next stop, and saw them in the next car.
So, to the beloved Red Sox -- congratulations. Now please, please, don´t collapse.
Spanish classes started today. The school is tiny, 80 students, and with that smallness comes quite personal attention. Yesterday, when I signed up, the director of the school personally drove me to the sister school at which I´d be taking my classes.
I´m in the high-level group. The class has seven students, and three were absent today. In addition to my amiable Chilean teacher, my classmates are Bulgarian, German, Dutch, and French. Not one comes from an English-speaking country, which is great. Claudia, the teacher, conducts the class in Spanish from start to finish.
While I was on the way to classes, my train car got a private concert. In England, they called it busking. People play for money in the underground halls or on the metro trains themselves. Something like the Promenade, but no freakshows, and better quality. The violinists, singers, and guitarists almost always play beautifully.
Today, on the train, two men entered, mumbled something in Spanish, and took out their microphone, speaker system, and flute. They had a CD playing behind them, drums and backup vocals.
They sounded CD-quality, playing without missing a note. I wondered whether they were lip-syncing and lip-fluting. But then, the flautist put away his flute, and I could hear the whoosh of air as he took it from his mouth. He started shaking maracas, and the shakes lined up with the sounds. Then, after the maraca chorus, he took out a wooden harmonica, and I could again hear that whoosh that proved the playing was real. They were moving, really getting into their music.
I wondered how they made money, thinking that perhaps they sang for fun, out of the kindness of their hearts. The rest of the train car seemed unaffected, as if they were used to the good show. I must have stood out, with my wide stupid joyful grin. But then they finished their second song, mumbled something in Spanish again, and went around the train car. Half the car, maybe more, gave change. I left at the next stop, and saw them in the next car.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
The extraordinary human body
The body can do extraordinary things on two cokes and a red bull. It can hit the bars at midnight, hop clubs later on, dance until 6am, eat a churros and chocolate breakfast at 7am, and head home at eight. It can wake up on the bus ride home just long enough to get off at the right stop, it can make the five minute walk to the house, and it can climb up the stairs into bed. It can´t take the time to shower, but it can undress, pull back the bed covers, and set the alarm for four in the afternoon.
I woke up at four in the afternoon and hit the snooze, getting out of bed at around 5pm. Hector and Dario´s birthday party started at eight. Spain´s basketball team´s victory against Greece in the Eurobasket semi-finals was the night´s main event. Then, the parents opened the piñata (they pull a drawstring and the piñata breaks, a far less exhilarating show than our homerun-derby-like tradition), Eva (the mom) and I handed out cake, and the family brought out the presents. My toy trucks went over damn well.
I woke up at four in the afternoon and hit the snooze, getting out of bed at around 5pm. Hector and Dario´s birthday party started at eight. Spain´s basketball team´s victory against Greece in the Eurobasket semi-finals was the night´s main event. Then, the parents opened the piñata (they pull a drawstring and the piñata breaks, a far less exhilarating show than our homerun-derby-like tradition), Eva (the mom) and I handed out cake, and the family brought out the presents. My toy trucks went over damn well.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Games of chance
I went job-hunting today in the small main street in Majadahonda. Restaurants, variety shops, haircutters, a hotel, and one place offering English lessons.
Getting a job is like the college process: it´s mysterious what they´re looking for. Some places reject off the bat; others, like the Toll Gate in England, hire off the bat. I got no hires today, but between those who express interest -- a few restaurants, one variety shop, the hotel, and the place offering English lessons -- and the ones that gave a flat "no," my pitch didn´t vary very much. (Maybe the reason is as simple as that some need and others don´t.)
The single-store shops where the owner is present -- those are gold. Otherwise, it´s a game of craps.
Getting a job is like the college process: it´s mysterious what they´re looking for. Some places reject off the bat; others, like the Toll Gate in England, hire off the bat. I got no hires today, but between those who express interest -- a few restaurants, one variety shop, the hotel, and the place offering English lessons -- and the ones that gave a flat "no," my pitch didn´t vary very much. (Maybe the reason is as simple as that some need and others don´t.)
The single-store shops where the owner is present -- those are gold. Otherwise, it´s a game of craps.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Pure Spanish, all the way
"Are the Spanish different than you expected?" my host father asked in Spanish on our man-date of pizza and beer en route to renting a movie for the rest of the family.
"They´re more direct," I answered in Spanish. "I expected the relaxed, exotic Mediterranean type. Maybe that´s more true in Southern Spain than in Madrid."
"Yes, definitely," he nodded.
"And the Spanish are louder, too," I said.
He agreed. The Spanish are loud.
"I like how direct they are," I said. "But the Spanish always think they´re right."
Once, I explained, I had been chatting with a woman about her son. In mid-conversation, out of nowhere, she locked into my eyes and said forcefully, "My Spanish is pure. Pure. You should listen to me"
Alberto, my host father, wondered what she had even meant by "pure Spanish." What did she mean?
They don´t always think they´re right. On average, though, they´re more cocksure than the Californians I´ve met.
You can see some of that hyper-confidence in my kids, especially in the logic used when they don´t get their way.
"I want the whole bag of M&Ms," Hector, the five-year old, said.
"You can have half the bag," said Margie, my host family´s live-in nanny.
"I said THE WHOLE BAG!" (Margie must have misunderstood.)
Or how about:
"Why did you throw sand at your brother?" I asked, when we were in the garden on a short break from English lessons.
"Porque sí."
In English, that´s "Because yes."
And two girls from this program with whom I´ve been chilling both say the same things about their children, right down to the "Porque sí."
Still, I love these kids. Hector and Dario (the three-year-old) are adorable, and they like learning English.
To ask to start lessons, they say "Quiero jugar inglés." "I want to play English." It´s so cute.
At their ages, the lessons are a bit like play. They sing songs from the texbook´s CD -- ("My name´s Cookie, Cookie the Cat, say hello to Cookie, hello hello hello"). They draw in the coloring book section of the textbooks (we review each object that they color in, so they learn vocabulary). We examine toys and objects around the room (I pick up the toy dinosaur and introduce "teeth," "hands," "tongue," etc.). And, we play games (for example, to learn colors, a form of the game "red light, yellow light, green light").
Meanwhile, this Saturday, Hector and Dario are having a joint birthday party. I hope I don´t fall asleep -- the "going away party" for one of the girls in the program is this Friday, so we´re clubbing all night. It´s a bit ridiculous. After traveling 6000 miles, I´m mostly hanging out with Californians. Thankfully, I´ll be saved by an aspect of the Spanish I did know to expect, an appreciation for the siesta.
"They´re more direct," I answered in Spanish. "I expected the relaxed, exotic Mediterranean type. Maybe that´s more true in Southern Spain than in Madrid."
"Yes, definitely," he nodded.
"And the Spanish are louder, too," I said.
He agreed. The Spanish are loud.
"I like how direct they are," I said. "But the Spanish always think they´re right."
Once, I explained, I had been chatting with a woman about her son. In mid-conversation, out of nowhere, she locked into my eyes and said forcefully, "My Spanish is pure. Pure. You should listen to me"
Alberto, my host father, wondered what she had even meant by "pure Spanish." What did she mean?
They don´t always think they´re right. On average, though, they´re more cocksure than the Californians I´ve met.
You can see some of that hyper-confidence in my kids, especially in the logic used when they don´t get their way.
"I want the whole bag of M&Ms," Hector, the five-year old, said.
"You can have half the bag," said Margie, my host family´s live-in nanny.
"I said THE WHOLE BAG!" (Margie must have misunderstood.)
Or how about:
"Why did you throw sand at your brother?" I asked, when we were in the garden on a short break from English lessons.
"Porque sí."
In English, that´s "Because yes."
And two girls from this program with whom I´ve been chilling both say the same things about their children, right down to the "Porque sí."
Still, I love these kids. Hector and Dario (the three-year-old) are adorable, and they like learning English.
To ask to start lessons, they say "Quiero jugar inglés." "I want to play English." It´s so cute.
At their ages, the lessons are a bit like play. They sing songs from the texbook´s CD -- ("My name´s Cookie, Cookie the Cat, say hello to Cookie, hello hello hello"). They draw in the coloring book section of the textbooks (we review each object that they color in, so they learn vocabulary). We examine toys and objects around the room (I pick up the toy dinosaur and introduce "teeth," "hands," "tongue," etc.). And, we play games (for example, to learn colors, a form of the game "red light, yellow light, green light").
Meanwhile, this Saturday, Hector and Dario are having a joint birthday party. I hope I don´t fall asleep -- the "going away party" for one of the girls in the program is this Friday, so we´re clubbing all night. It´s a bit ridiculous. After traveling 6000 miles, I´m mostly hanging out with Californians. Thankfully, I´ll be saved by an aspect of the Spanish I did know to expect, an appreciation for the siesta.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Slave and Master Recruitment Officer, or just a con artist?
Here´s an email I got a few days ago from a man named “Kenneth”:
I searched through a web and i confirmed that you are a teacher so i will want to bring it to your awareness that my son will be coming to madrid in sept(15st-30th) . So i need you to help me teach him.His name is Sam, and He will be coming to your house for 1 hour each day for two weeks from monday-friday. So i will want you to let me know your availability and your charge per hour
In a blog post subsequently deleted to make room for this fuller explanation, I said the email sounded more like a “thinly veiled slave and master recruitment ad” than a request for a tutor. Still, explaining that "I need money like eggs need rosemary,” I responded positively:
Hi Kenneth,
I would be happy to help you teach your son. In terms of availability, I am free until 1pm and from 2:30pm to 4pm. What works for you?
In terms of location, I don´t have a house to offer because I am staying with a host family (not my own family), and I can´t offer their house as a base of my own teaching. Is there another place we could meet? Perhaps a quiet coffee shop?
I charge 15 Euros per hour for one-on-one lessons, but I am flexible in terms of payment. By the way, if you would like to speak to me by telephone, my number is (34) 693 254 667.
Thank you,
Andrew
The response was strange:
Greetings Thanks very much for the mail.That is okay with me.So for ten lessons ,it will be 150euro. He will come along with his text books and all necessary accessories,i am from the United Kingdom.I hope i will be able to trust you with my money,since this requires honesty and transparency.I have an associate of mine owing me the sum of 2500euro,i will instruct him to write out the cheque to you,so when you receive it you will have to deduct 150euro the cost for ten lessons and send the remaining funds to person who will be taking care of my son during his staying in the State.The remaining funds sent to him,will be for his feeding and other commissions.So if this is understandable i will want you to get back to me with the following in formations of where the check will be sent to. name in full address in full city state zip code country contact phone number Looking forward to read for you
Let´s count the ways he´s telegraphing a scam:
1. He says he´s from the UK, but writes like he is an army general with shrapnel in his head.
2. Why wouldn't he send me the 150E and the remainder directly to the person who will be taking care of his son?
3. He did not respond at all to my comment that I can´t use my house to teach.
4. His salutation is pretty form-letter. Doesn´t even bother to use my name…
5. And, speaking of names, this email came from a different address. “Kenneth” became “Mathew” in the blink of an email. No explanation!
His plan was probably to give me a bounced check and leave me down 2,300E by the time the dust settled.
I thought it might be fun to turn the tables and take this guy for a ride (without giving him any accurate information), but I decided to play things safe:
Hi Mathew, I´m sorry, but I will not be able to tutor your son due to time constraints I had not foreseen. Thank you for the offer, and I´m sorry I could not be of more help.
Thank you,
Andrew
Eggs don´t need rosemary that badly.
I searched through a web and i confirmed that you are a teacher so i will want to bring it to your awareness that my son will be coming to madrid in sept(15st-30th) . So i need you to help me teach him.His name is Sam, and He will be coming to your house for 1 hour each day for two weeks from monday-friday. So i will want you to let me know your availability and your charge per hour
In a blog post subsequently deleted to make room for this fuller explanation, I said the email sounded more like a “thinly veiled slave and master recruitment ad” than a request for a tutor. Still, explaining that "I need money like eggs need rosemary,” I responded positively:
Hi Kenneth,
I would be happy to help you teach your son. In terms of availability, I am free until 1pm and from 2:30pm to 4pm. What works for you?
In terms of location, I don´t have a house to offer because I am staying with a host family (not my own family), and I can´t offer their house as a base of my own teaching. Is there another place we could meet? Perhaps a quiet coffee shop?
I charge 15 Euros per hour for one-on-one lessons, but I am flexible in terms of payment. By the way, if you would like to speak to me by telephone, my number is (34) 693 254 667.
Thank you,
Andrew
The response was strange:
Greetings Thanks very much for the mail.That is okay with me.So for ten lessons ,it will be 150euro. He will come along with his text books and all necessary accessories,i am from the United Kingdom.I hope i will be able to trust you with my money,since this requires honesty and transparency.I have an associate of mine owing me the sum of 2500euro,i will instruct him to write out the cheque to you,so when you receive it you will have to deduct 150euro the cost for ten lessons and send the remaining funds to person who will be taking care of my son during his staying in the State.The remaining funds sent to him,will be for his feeding and other commissions.So if this is understandable i will want you to get back to me with the following in formations of where the check will be sent to. name in full address in full city state zip code country contact phone number Looking forward to read for you
Let´s count the ways he´s telegraphing a scam:
1. He says he´s from the UK, but writes like he is an army general with shrapnel in his head.
2. Why wouldn't he send me the 150E and the remainder directly to the person who will be taking care of his son?
3. He did not respond at all to my comment that I can´t use my house to teach.
4. His salutation is pretty form-letter. Doesn´t even bother to use my name…
5. And, speaking of names, this email came from a different address. “Kenneth” became “Mathew” in the blink of an email. No explanation!
His plan was probably to give me a bounced check and leave me down 2,300E by the time the dust settled.
I thought it might be fun to turn the tables and take this guy for a ride (without giving him any accurate information), but I decided to play things safe:
Hi Mathew, I´m sorry, but I will not be able to tutor your son due to time constraints I had not foreseen. Thank you for the offer, and I´m sorry I could not be of more help.
Thank you,
Andrew
Eggs don´t need rosemary that badly.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Leaving the English woods for the Spanish city
Just a few days after everyone was settling into the first week or two of college, I was also in transition, heading back to Spain.
In my last week in England, I went camping with Naomi (the friend I was staying with), her best friend, Olivia, and her best friend´s boyfriend, Nathan. Naomi and Olivia knew of a random field about an hour out of London. Though they knew the location, they had no idea who owned it. We guessed it was a farmer´s fallow field, but who knows? We went hiking, played cards and scrabble, built a camp fire, and roasted marshmallows.
I told Jimmy that I had been accepted into a prestigious program in Spain but would be back in three months, and, to my utter shock, he told me that I would probably be able to have my job back when I returned.
Leaving was sad, especially saying goodbye to Naomi, Olivia, and Nathan. (And to my gruff but loveable employer.)
A two hour plane trip landed me in Madrid. I walked through the same terminal of the same airport where the Eurotrip began, and I really felt the deja vu and nostalgia.
I´m tutoring English again, but with a program behind me, as well as valuable experience from tutoring in Santander. The kids here are much younger than in Santander, three and five years old, so the "textbooks" I bought are heavy on songs and coloring in, which makes the teaching easier.
What´s more, I don´t have any responsibility to babysit the kids, and the fact that I can concentrate on teaching makes it easier for me to play that role and that role alone during lessons, and for the kids to see me as the teacher. They even call me "Professor"! The days up until 5pm and after 8pm are mine.
I hope to get a job in the mornings and afternoons, probably in Madrid, which by bus is 20 minutes away from Majadohanda, where I live. I can work in a shop or restaurant, or I can teach English. I´d prefer to go the shop/restaurant route, so that I will be speaking in Spanish, but I may end up teaching a lot of English. An ad I put up on Craigslist for English lessons received a response from a dude who wants a tutor, and I´m meeting him tomorrow. And an English teaching center I visited to buy books offered me the possibility of a job. And a guy I met in Santander who works for a competing English teaching center has also said he may be able to get me a job. It would be really cool to be a waiter, charming tables in Spanish, but teaching has its plusses too. I´ll see how things go, take the teaching jobs that come while I ask around restaurants and shops.
By the way, I´m back to the old Spanish number: 011 34 693 254 667.
In my last week in England, I went camping with Naomi (the friend I was staying with), her best friend, Olivia, and her best friend´s boyfriend, Nathan. Naomi and Olivia knew of a random field about an hour out of London. Though they knew the location, they had no idea who owned it. We guessed it was a farmer´s fallow field, but who knows? We went hiking, played cards and scrabble, built a camp fire, and roasted marshmallows.
I told Jimmy that I had been accepted into a prestigious program in Spain but would be back in three months, and, to my utter shock, he told me that I would probably be able to have my job back when I returned.
Leaving was sad, especially saying goodbye to Naomi, Olivia, and Nathan. (And to my gruff but loveable employer.)
A two hour plane trip landed me in Madrid. I walked through the same terminal of the same airport where the Eurotrip began, and I really felt the deja vu and nostalgia.
I´m tutoring English again, but with a program behind me, as well as valuable experience from tutoring in Santander. The kids here are much younger than in Santander, three and five years old, so the "textbooks" I bought are heavy on songs and coloring in, which makes the teaching easier.
What´s more, I don´t have any responsibility to babysit the kids, and the fact that I can concentrate on teaching makes it easier for me to play that role and that role alone during lessons, and for the kids to see me as the teacher. They even call me "Professor"! The days up until 5pm and after 8pm are mine.
I hope to get a job in the mornings and afternoons, probably in Madrid, which by bus is 20 minutes away from Majadohanda, where I live. I can work in a shop or restaurant, or I can teach English. I´d prefer to go the shop/restaurant route, so that I will be speaking in Spanish, but I may end up teaching a lot of English. An ad I put up on Craigslist for English lessons received a response from a dude who wants a tutor, and I´m meeting him tomorrow. And an English teaching center I visited to buy books offered me the possibility of a job. And a guy I met in Santander who works for a competing English teaching center has also said he may be able to get me a job. It would be really cool to be a waiter, charming tables in Spanish, but teaching has its plusses too. I´ll see how things go, take the teaching jobs that come while I ask around restaurants and shops.
By the way, I´m back to the old Spanish number: 011 34 693 254 667.
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