Ski the Alps? Why not?

My last weekend in Europe, before my brief return home, saw me against visiting France. This time I was in the snobby country’s second biggest city, Lyon. After a strenuous one-day workweek, I met Cleighton in the city where he was spending his third semester of business school (apparently you can study abroad in grad school). He had two finals Friday morning but it did not take much convincing to head to a pub for some pints after I had dropped my stuff at his place. We found a pub hosting a trivia night and settled in for a solid night of French beer and games. The questions ranged from popular culture to world history, making the contest quite difficult; however, not to excuse our bad play, we did get one fuck yeah America moment. The group next to us was comprised of a fat Frenchman, an old Englishman, and two chicks who made Lori Beth Denberg look like Heidi Klum all taking the trivia night too seriously. After they only half jokingly accused us of trying to cheat off them (we had given up and were betting rounds of beers on the answers between ourselves at this point). Sometime we said prompted a snide comment towards our intelligence as Americans, assuming we didn’t know the answer to a question regarding our own history. Who are the only two presidents to receive the Nobel Peace Prize while still in office (excluding Obama)? I said we were only sure of one but that we felt confident about the second, Wilson and Teddy Roosevelt, respectively. After they made sure to inform us that our answers were only incorrect but very outdated, the announcer read off the correct answer. The look on thief faces was priceless when the abovementioned leaders were announced.

The next day, while Cleighton was lost in a world of academia, I explored Lyon. The city is gorgeous with impressive architecture lining the two rivers that split it in two and, of course, a plethora of stunning churches. The most impressive of which was the Notre Dame de Fourviere, situated on top of a hill with a commanding view of the city. The walk up was taxing, though a Roman amphitheatre served as a great break/picture opportunity half way up, but worth the hike. The basilica provided a picturesque view of the city as the cloudless day set the background for a perfect day. After a little down time, we got back after it that night, ensuring minimal sleep before we headed at dawn the next day to the Alps for a bit of skiing.

The five o’clock wake-up and subsequent two and a half hour bus ride were all a haze but I awoke hours later to one of the most breathtaking views I have ever seen. The base of the mountain we were skiing was already at such an altitude that all we could see around us were mountain peaks and clouds below. Words cannot do the view justice. Skiing the Alps is just as amazing as one could imagine and my DJ Tiesto podcast only added to the constant rush of adrenaline I felt all day. Conversely, trying to ski through a cloud was not as awesome as we thought it would be. Asides from being surround by complete whiteness, which was surreal, it requires a slow pace to accurately and safely navigate the trail. An experience for sure and hey, how many people have skied through a cloud? It was an absolutely incredible trip and a fantastic way to conclude my first three months in Europe.

Living vicariously through the study abroad students

The first weekend of December I traveled to Rennes in the northwest of France to visit AJ, who is ‘studying’ abroad in the small, medieval town. Asides from a brief stint in Paris two years ago, this was my first true taste of France and French culture. Awesome trip, great time but the French really do not do much to dissuade the stereotype of being douche bags. Generalizing, while not fair with such a small sample, is too easy as the majority were quite rude, especially to my friends studying in the town trying to improve their French.

Douchebaggery aside, it really was a cool city. I spent Thursday night in Paris and headed to Rennes on Friday by train (the efficiency of the European train system still amazes me every time I use it). After catching up a bit, we headed to a pub for a quick pint and the World Cup draw. Many drinks later and a very below par Mexican meal (you may be asking: why would you eat Mexican food in France? Answer: when you are with a group of girls all logic should be thrown out the window. Secondly, women are horrible gauges of good Mexican food. If that offends the lone, if any, reader of this blog then just ask AJ about his Chi-Chis experience in Brussels. Enough said) we headed to a club. Pretty standard European club/night as we stayed out until sunrise making our productivity the next day all but nonexistent.

Our big plans for Saturday were attending a Stade Rennais (French first division soccer team) game. The pre-game involved tubes of beer as we slowly recovered our swag from the night before. AJ sprung for the best tickets in the stadium (only 5euro more than the upper deck Real Madrid tickets we had a fortnight earlier), which placed us two rows back at the midfield line. Baller. To make the experience even better, we ate traditional Brittany (region) food called Gallettes, grilled sausages wrapped in wheat crepes. After another full night of debauchery, we ended up at this little stand for a Scooby-Doo. Cheeseburgers, fries, lettuce, tomatoes, special sauce all inside of a toasted panini, had there been some chili or spicy sauce it would have been no different than Hubbas. It was a fantastic way to conclude the weekend’s festivities.

My late train Sunday allowed us to do our sightseeing/walking tour the next afternoon before my long trip home. Great to see AJ and I am glad that we decided to meet there and not Paris as it was very cool to see a part of France with no American influence.

The Move

After much consideration, I have decided to move. As of December 18th I will no longer be living in the basement of a family’s suburban home but my new, swagtastic apartment. Thanks to a friend (Mike), who knows my soon-to-be roommate, I have found the perfect place in the dead center of town for a great price. Weighing my options I realized that I was living with many more of the cons than the positives in my home stay. The family is barely around to have conversations with, the little kids wake me up way to early on weekends (the Wii is downstairs), and the food is awful.

The timing couldn’t be better with my rent ending two days after I leave for New York, the new place becoming available early enough to give the family fair warning of my departure, and the new roommate not needing the replacement until the start of January. I am storing my stuff in his closet before I depart stateside, and when I return I will have a brand new apartment.

A Tale of Three Thanksgivings

A close second to July 4th, Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. No gift pressure, no expectations, just family and food. Suffice it to say that I was very envious of everyone back in the states able to celebrate the turkey filled holiday. The only time I have missed the holiday was the last time I was in Spain, however, my study abroad program made the promise (and hyped up) a meal for us. Our director had lived in the states for 12 years and his wife was American, I had high hopes they were going to make sure it was done right. Most disappointing meal ever would be a grave understatement. This year, having no program or culinary skills I had not even entertained the idea of a Thanksgiving meal. Two weeks before turkey day begins the story of the most gluttonous weekend of my life….

Meal the first: With about a fortnight until the big day, the other Americans I work with began throwing around the idea of having our own Thanksgiving. As the day approached the talks escalated but as I left for ht eh weekend on Thursday (the actual holiday), nothing had been finalized. Friday afternoon I received a text from the would-be-hostess confirming the details. I had never hung out with my colleagues (for a plethora of reasons); however, it was nice to get to know them a little better. The meal itself was actually chicken (turkey is quite expensive in Spain, especially if you want to buy one in its entirety) but no complaints. It was good food and good company, in reality, what Thanksgiving is all about anyway.

The second course (the real deal): After the aforementioned meal I returned home to a very pleasant email. One of my father’s friends in Madrid had invited me, albeit last minute, to their Thanksgiving celebration the next day. I responded with as much grace as possible at two o’clock in the morning with a few bottles of wine in me, and the next day at three I made my way to their apartment. Full American Thanksgiving…not a detail missing. Full stuffed turkey, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, etc….truly epic.

The final course: Mike and Alex are two of my closest friends in Madrid. Within two weeks of knowing them, Alex assured me that when November came around there would be a Thanksgiving meal for all of us. She took the reigns, Mike and I brought the wine, and we all celebrated with some of our Spanish friends. To echo the abovementioned theme, perfect Thanksgiving conditions.

In the end I would say it was a very successful holiday weekend. Although I was not celebrating with my family, it was quite nice to have so many people open their doors and, most importantly, their kitchens for me.

A weekend of firsts

AJ came to visit from Rennes, where he is studying abroad, this weekend. As he was my first expected guest, I did by best to plan a bro-tastic weekend. After picking him up from the airport on Friday, we proceeded to head into Madrid central where we did a walking tour of the city while stopping at various restaurants for a beer and some tapas. We ended our tour in a younger district of Madrid at a bar with actual pitchers of beer (and the only one I have found in this country with such an amenity) and for only four euro. What happened next may be worthy of considering the greatest mystery of all time, on par with the disappearance of Amelia Earhart, who shot Kennedy and what the hell is going on in Lost…

We awoke the next morning to a weird smell. After some discussion, we figured out that the third couch, which neither of us slept on, had been used as a toilet. I will lay out the facts as we know them and you the reader can be judge, jury and executioner.

- I sleep on an ‘L’ couch, AJ on the other coach across the room. The scene of the crime was the part of the ‘L’ that I do not use as my bed.
- The puddle was coming from the cushion, the type of mess that would have been left if someone had peed in their sleep, not if they stood to use the couch as a bathroom. There was no trickle from the puddle, no drunk guy would pee a perfect puddle sans trickle. Fact.
- At some point I remember waking up a seeing a liquid under my laptop (which I had on the couch because we originally going to skype people before we both just passed out). I picked the computer up, dried it off and didn’t think twice about it.
- There was pee at the very base of my bed, in the corner by my feet.
- AJ has a history, peed his sheets in his first week in France
- Both of our boxers were completely dry and did not smell
- AJ’s socks were soaked and on the floor between the two couches
- The floor was completely dry everywhere

There is enough evidence to probably point the finger at either of us but at the same time acquit us as well. The family has a cat, which frequents my living area. After thinking about this for a solid 48 hours (and everyone has seen enough crappy reality TV to know all crimes are solved in the first 48), I have come to the conclusion that the cat did it. It is the only thing that makes sense. Why was there no pee on the laptop? Why is there no trickle? However those are the facts, and I think ultimately this case will end unsolved.

And that was only the first night! The next day we had tickets for a Real Madrid game at the famed Estadio Santiago Bernabeu. After a gluttonous visit to a Mexican restaurant, we headed to the park to meet up with some friends of mine who were joining us. Two years ago, when studying abroad, Nat, Matt, and I came to Madrid to attend a Bruce Springsteen concert. Before the concert, Matt and I rented a rowboat on Retiro Lake and proceeded with the pre-game….AJ and I continued the tradition. The game was incredibly cool and the stadium was impressive to say the least; however, Madrid’s performance was only a spot more than mediocre as the heavily favored home side edged out the bottom-dwelling team from Santander. In short, epic weekend, that’s about all that can be said.

Cordoba: Spain epitomized through a weekend getaway

Two weekends ago I ventured south to the Andalusian city of Cordoba with my friend Mike to visit some friends from Denison who also happen to be teaching English. The Spanish may not know how to do a lot of things but never knock their train system. Albeit relatively new, the AVE (fast train) is very affordable and the most comfortable/efficient/etc. means of transportation throughout the country (not to mention the highway infrastructure is still quite poor).

Suffice it to say the weekend was filled with debauchery and three-euro ‘Super Burritos’ at all hours of the night; however, we did visit the historical sites as well. The Jewish quarter and alcazar (castle with gardens) were both fantastic but Cordoba is known for its Mosque. The Mezquita, as it is called in Spanish, was built towards the latter part of the 8th century during the Muslim occupation of the Iberian Peninsula. After the re-conquest of the south in the 15th century, the Spanish monarchs decided to commission a church to be built on top of the existing mosque. If there is one thing the Spanish love to do it is to take credit for things that are not theirs, like, for example, the Mezquita. The pamphlet distributed to visitors does tell of the Arab Caliphates commissioning the mosque but at tests the grand splendor (the gardens, the current condition, architectural improvements etc.) to “the good spirit of the Church that has made it possible to keep the oldest cathedral in Spain from becoming a heap of ruins.” Regardless, the Mosque is incredible (inside and out) for not only its rich history but the natural beauty and architectural wonder that it still possess.

The next day Mike and I attempted to visit the Castillo del Almodovar, a Moorish castle located less than 10 miles outside of Cordoba. Logically, one would imagine that, since Spain’s main industry is tourism, there would be a bus and/or shuttle to the site. That is where you would be wrong. Even though the castle looked as impressive as the Alhambra, one of the most visited sites in Spain, the only way to the castile was by either 100 euro cab ride (round trip plus him waiting) or by a bus that would not be returning to Cordoba central until Monday afternoon. So while this trip I was unable to visit the castle, I will be back to Cordoba and will make it a priority to organize transportation to and from its location. The weekend was a fantastic time although the bus ride back (6 hours compared to 1.5 by train because of price difference) was very forgettable.

Photo Update

They say you acquire certain traits from your parents. My parents take a lot of photos, any of my siblings can attest to it, and consequently I have adopted said characteristic by taking way too many pictures (which my travel-mates can also testify to). Regardless, they should serve as a visual update on my life here in Spain. The photos below are from my first few day/weekend trips which have taken me to Segovia, Toledo, and of course, Granada.










































Clockwise from upper right: The famous bridge of Toledo, one of the entrances to the city center in Toledo (they all had a bad ass crest on them that is hard to make out), The Alcazar of Segovia, Egyptian ruins that are located here in Madrid, The Alhambra lit up at night (or in this case really early in the morning as we left a club), The Roman Aqueducts of Segovia, and of course Calle Toledo de Ohio... a street name in, you guessed it, Toledo.*


*Apologizes for the general retardation in which these photos are displayed; however, the blog website is not very accomidatting. I guess thats the universise's way of punishing me for being associated with blogs.

Who knew Goth had become so formal?

The picture shown (the link is below for better quality) has become one of the most popular subjects of conversation throughout Spain. Shown in the photo next to our President and First Lady are Spanish Prime Minister Jose Luis Zapatero and his family. And yes, those two Goths shown in the photo are his daughters. So why is this a big deal? Well asides from the obvious hilarity of the situation, I learned a very interesting fact about Spain. This picture is such a big deal because it is the first time the Spanish public have seen the PM’s daughters. There is a rule in Spain that, without the consent of the parents, photographers cannot publish photos of minors below the age of 18. It does not matter if they are playing soccer or walking to school, it is illegal. Zapatero, who is under some pressure (Spain has the worst economy in the EU), seemed to throw caution to the wind for this great PR opportunity with Obama, who the Spanish adore. To be honest, I am really not what to think of the photo but regardless it has provided me with some entertainment as well as a great conversation starter at a bar.

In regards to the aforementioned law, I think it is brilliant. Interesting though when you consider the age of consent for photography is 18 yet for sex the age is 13. I guess Spain believes in picking and choosing their battles.

http://gawker.com/5368039/spains-goth-first-daughters-embarrass-embarrassed-by-dad

Halloween, Spanish style

The week preceding Halloween was quite hectic here in Espana for two reasons. The first being the Spanish substitute teacher policy…it doesn’t exist. With one of my teachers sick, I was forced to take over not only English grammar but also history in Spanish. The classes should have been video taped because no words can describe what really occurred. Hangman can only suffice to entertain 9 year olds for so long. The second challenge of the week was that the Spanish professors expected us to prepare a class on Halloween; however, they didn’t see it fit to tell us we were running the class until the morning. My improvisation skills were put on display, though it helps when the student’s English is limited and you can spend 45 minutes explaining a short ghost story.

Perceptions of the holiday are also very different, as is to be expected, in Spain. Trick or Treating is not as popular and those that do go prefer to ask for money (and not for UNICEF but for themselves). As for the adults, although the same does apply to some extent to the children, they too have a skewed view of our traditions of Halloween. Where we dress as whoever/whatever we like, the Spanish believe that a Halloween has to denote something horrific or grotesque. During Carnival they have festivities where they dress as whatever they like so it makes sense as to why they have said preconceived notions.

As for my holiday, which pretty much epitomizes my last few weeks of social life, I spent the weekend at either my friend Mike (American) or Alex’s (Spanish) apartment for parties. Cleighton was in town so apart from part duex of my tour guide duties, we relived the glory days a little bit. I am pretty sure that Bruce Springsteen’s song was playing in the background during everything story reminisced upon (or at least it was in my head).

Finally settled in...I think

For the last few weeks I have spent most of my time away from the classroom in either a) countless Caja Madrid (bank) or Orange (cell phone) offices or b) in a plaza drinking one Euro beers. Nothing overly exciting, hence the lack of posts over the past couple weeks. Spain has an interesting policy when it comes to contracts, bills and payments. Well, that is to say, they do not really believe in any of the above. My bank neglected to inform me that I needed to pay for my debit card before I received it while my mobile phone provider does not provide me with a bill denoting charges but in fact just debits my account (as is standard throughout the country). Needless to say it took a few trips, it does not help that nothing is really open after 4, but everything is now handled. Although with the prospects of a move insight, everything may once again get complicated for a bit.

The real good news is, however, that my temporary residence card papers have been processed so that I can legally stay here to see out the end of my contract…if not longer. My private lessons schedule has also been solidified. It is amazing how badly Spaniards want to speak English (Riding home on the night bus and speaking English to a friend, the Spanish will stop and move closer to listen). I teach 5 hours a week and pocket about 100 euros doing so, more than enough to spend Thursday-Saturday. My students range from a 7 year old beginners to a colleague of mine at the school who is practicing vocabulary and conversation (I do a lot of color by number with the former). It has taken a while to finally say that I am 100% settled in but so would be the case with any big move, domestically or internationally. I am just happy to be done with it.

Segovia….definitely not the home of Cinderella’s castle

The Spanish have a strange sense of accomplishment, taking credit where credit is definitely not due. For example, the people are very xenophobic yet boast about brilliant structures like the Alhambra, a palace not built by Spaniards but the Moors during their occupation of the Andalucian providence from 711-1492. While build on what is now Spanish soil it is epitomizes Islamic architecture while the population of Spain are still outwardly racist towards the Arab people (not to mention that whole Inquisition thing that forced out or killed many Arabs over the centuries following the Moorish occupation).

In similar fashion, many Spaniards claim that the Alcazar of Segovia was the inspiration for Walt Disney’s Cinderella Castle. It is not. In actuality said inspiration can be found in Neuschwanstein, Germany.











Neuchwanstein, Alcazar de Segovia, Cinderella's Castle- Orlando

Regardless, Segovia was an amazing town. An easy day trip from Madrid, the city is home to two impressive monuments: the aforementioned Alcazar and the Roman Aqueducts. The aqueducts, which still function today, are roughly 2000 years old with some scholars placing their construction back as far as the middle of the first century AD. Astonishingly, the aqueducts were built without the use of a bonding agent meaning that there is nothing in-between the rocks keeping them connected. The structure is basic rock on top of rock, mind-blowing how it is not only still around but also still functioning two millennia later. Remarkable architecture, a pleasant small town feel, delicious cuisine (home of Spain’s best suckling pig made our Saturday excursion to Segovia a very enjoyable escape from the capital.

Midland Reunion Madrid

They say it is a small world, and I do not doubt it. Facebook and Gmail are our two main sources of communication on this side of the pond because of the rip-off that is pay-as-you-go phones. Consequently, I am checking both sites frequently. Last Wednesday I logged on to have my news-feed notify me that Elise Michaels’ status was ‘Madrid until Friday.’ Elise and I have known each other since nursery school though I have not seen much of her lately since she moved to North Carolina. I have never been confused for someone with much common sense, but I assumed she was referring to the same Madrid that is my home. After exchanging a few emails/phone calls we were able to meet up the next night for drinks. A brief walking tour of the city was parlayed into a pretty standard Madrileno night: pre-game in a plaza and then onto a bar (we skipped the nightclub because they had an early train to Valencia). It is always enjoyable to see old friends but this was definitely an amazing surprise, giving us the chance to catch-up on a lot over the past few years. Goes to show how small the world really is while, and say what you want about the use of social networks like Facebook, how said sites can be utilized to stay in touch with old friends.

Utah Jazz 109 – Real Madrid 87

A few weeks ago the Utah Jazz were in town to play Real Madrid as part of the NBA’s preseason European tour. But you may be asking isn’t Real Madrid a soccer team? Throughout Spain those team names you associate with soccer are actually those of athletic clubs, home to teams of many sports from handball to field hockey to basketball. Much like in soccer, though, Real Madrid and Barcelona control the money and therefore the best talent. The game, however, was a blowout with every member of the Jazz taking their turn to clown on Spain’s top club.

The most interesting part of the night was not actually the game but how we got into the stadium. For some incredibly logical reason the ushers were employees of the NBA league office….who didn’t speak a word of Spanish. Sure enough problems arose in the ticket lines (not enough windows open for ticket purchase, online ticket mix-ups, etc). Being the only ones able to serve as intermediaries, we helped convey a few messages, only to be rewarded with free courtside seats. I felt like a Spanish Spike Lee (courtside, shit home team) though had it not been for free tickets and the scrumptious stadium burritos the game would hardly have been worth the listed ticket price (30 euros for the upper deck).

American vs. Spanish Primary Schools

As the teaching continues and I begin to get a feel for leading a classroom full of eight year olds, I thought it would make my stories easier to understand by comparing our system of public, primary education to that of Spain.

Class Structure: In the U.S. the classes have lesson plans, teachers prepare ahead of time how they are going to relate the class material to their students; In Spain the teachers do not prepare…at all. The class is taught directly out of the book as well. If you do not answer word for word what the book says (even though they are being grammatically correct, answer the question correctly, etc.) you are wrong.

Class Etiquette: While Spain has the same rules as most United States schools (raise your hand to talk, share, respect others, no hitting, etc.); however, the enforcement of said rules is a lot more laid back here. Hitting is common practice, teachers are called on a first name basis, teachers look the other way with cursing amongst the children, and there are few consequences for behavior that deter a child from repeating his/her actions.

Recess: Certain schools are outlawing dodgeball and other games that single kids out in the United States, if things continue we will usurp France on the biggest pussy power rankings. There is one courtyard in my school. The kids have a two-hour minimally supervised break. All hell breaks loose. Where are the teachers? Enjoying a three-course meal of course. And the kids? Locked, literally locked in the courtyard with very nominal supervision. And if you think rules didn’t apply in the classroom, you have never tried to cross said courtyard to get to the staff cafeteria.

Punctuality/Schedule: As you might have ascertained by now, the rules at school are very arbitrary. For one, there is no time allocated in between classes for the students to move in between classrooms. By the time the students are settled in their next classroom, ten minutes of the forty-five minute period have passed. They are also recipients of a very Spanish schedule. The teachers, of course, need a forty-five minute coffee break and two hours for lunch. Almost three hours of their seven hour day are dedicated to running around a courtyard.

You may be thinking, there are definitely unruly public schools in the United States; however, my school caters to an upper middle class neighborhood. The students are great, the problem is, because English is a difficult language to learn, they have no drive to comprehending it. I am learning a lot about myself throughout the process as well, lessons that I am sure will stick with me for a long time after this experience is done (as well as some great stories to retell later).

OH...IA

I am shocked and kind of disappointed with myself that this story was not relayed earlier. A quick preface, for those that did not attend Denison, is a little background on the obsessions that can be Ohio State football. Denison being right outside of Columbus was essentially located at the epicenter of Buckeye country. Guyana: Jim Jones :: Columbus Suburbs: OSU Football. The sport was more than a religion; riots were always a threat to the downtown area. Wearing a Michigan jersey could be perceived as a worse idea than wearing a blue jumpsuit into the Blood’s neighborhood in Compton. I think the point has been made. Suffice it to say that on any given fall Ohio Saturday, people were dressed head to toe in Buckeye gear. So how does this have to do with my life in Madrid? Well, I had only been in the Spanish capital for two days when (and not even a Saturday) I saw my first Buckeye fans. A married couple, I presume, wearing matching Buckeye hats and sweatshirts. I couldn’t make this up if I tried. Anyway, the moral is the story is this: you cannot escape the Ohio State Buckeyes, no matter how far you get from the ‘shoe.’ Thus, in honor of the scarlet and grey, I leave you with this inspirational quote:

“Not everybody’s the perfect person in the world. I mean everyone kills people, murders people, steals from you, steals from me, whatever.” –Terrelle Pryor, Ohio State Quarterback, on Michael Vick’s reinstatement to the NFL

Go Bucks

Profe Mikey?

Last Thursday was my first day as an elementary school teacher. Suffice it to say that almost everything they told us/taught us was useless and incorrect; however, the job itself is a lot of fun. While we are only working four hours a day, we are actually at the school for seven (thank you Spanish work schedule). The idea of working more than an hour and a half without a break is complete absurdity to these people. At 10:30 we have our coffee break and at 12:30 we have a two-hour lunch break (and no details are sparred including a full three course move with waiters….I am at a public school in a poor part of Madrid). They are going to be long days; however, I was fortunate enough to get a schedule with no classes on Fridays so I cannot really complain.

As for my classes, I teach English and Science (in English) to 3rd and 4th graders. I work with all the teachers from the aforementioned grades, taking control of the classes when it is time for those subjects. In English they are studying very basic vocabulary, but in the process of me explaining what the objects are, they are forced to learn English. Science was never my strong suit and even 3rd grade science seems foreign to me. Luckily the book is very simplistic and I can just read ahead to stay ahead of the 10 year olds (and they gave me a college degree).

Apparently there is not a strong emphasis on classroom etiquette here as there is in the states so discipline can be a problem in some of these schools. The rules are just different here. One thing that transcends cultures, however, is the threat of losing free time. One of the teachers let me in on his classroom control strategies. Soccer, as you probably can imagine, is kind of popular in Spain so this professor parlays the love of the game into keeping order. If a child speaks Spanish during English lessons, misbehaves, etc. then he gets a yellow card. A second offense (or a serious action like fighting draws a straight red) produces a second yellow card. Like in the game, two yellows or a red equal suspension, but instead of missing their next match, the students just miss recess. Once the first yellow is pulled on a student, the problems all stop.

It is the first full week of work this week, which will be nice to finally settle into a routine, but it has been nice having so much free time to get to know the city. I am sure hours spent at an elementary school will provide more than enough stories this year as long as I can keep my sanity.

Government Run Orientation = Full Retard

Monday I spent 8 hours of my life learning everything the Ministry of Education and US Embassy thought I needed to know to avoid being rapped, stabbed, and taken (or any combination of the above) during the next 9 months. The problem being that they spent more time explaining every thing not to do (all of which was common sense), coupled with anecdotes from the peanut gallery, than they did explaining our job of the next nine months. It took until hour 7 for them to finally start imparting some useful knowledge (methodology, strategy, etc for teaching a foreign language). And just when you think the process couldn’t get any more retarded, the next speaker would enter to prove you wrong. Classes start Thursday… I now know 56 strategies for backing up my passport information but I think the teaching bit is going to be run on the fly.

Reliving the Dream: a Granada Reunion

After a week of solitude and settling into my new housing situation, I got away to Granada this past weekend to relive the debauchery that was abroad. A couple friends from Denison that also studied with me in the Andalucian city were meeting me from Cordoba, where they too are teaching English. It was a long wait in the Madrid bus station followed by a grueling 5-hour bus ride until I arrived. The feeling was surreal. Gill and Brian (in addition to some of their friends from their program) had arrived a few hours earlier so we dropped my bag in the hostel and headed to a bar. Granada is one of the last cities that still honor the old Spanish tradition of a free tapa with a drink; however, there is a very important difference between tapas bars, those where you can choose your tapa and those where it is random (and can be as simple as a shitty piece of cheese on a cracker). It was incredible how our knowledge of the city has not diminished much; it took very little time to find ourselves back in the barrio where the tapas of choice are free individual pizzas with a beer (for 2,70 euro).

Because we only had a short 40-hour stay in, without question, the most incredible city in Spain, if not Europe, we made sure to hit all of our favorite spots. After a few tapas bars, we made our way to Botellon. Botellon, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Botell%C3%B3n) for those that have not spent significant time in Spain is a giant tailgate….for nothing. Granada is a student town, with close to 70,000 people coming to the city starting at the end of September, the majority of whom will start their night at Botellon. Before going out to a club, the Spanish youth congregate at the Hipercore/Corte Ingles (think a combination of wal-mart and Bloomingdales on steroids) parking lot and proceed to get inebriated. We ended up at a club called Camborio, which may be home to the greatest location of a club in the world. Imagine leaving a danceclub that is situated in a group of caves above the city and, as you exit at six o’clock in the morning, your view consists of the sun rising over the Alhambra.

Shockingly the next night consisted of much of the same, including a stop at the famous shot bar, Chupiteria, where every shot is only one Euro. We did do a little sightseeing too, although we had all seen it many times, by walking up to the vista overlooking the Moorish castle Saturday afternoon. All in all it was an awesome little get away before my job started and an even more surreal feeling to be back. While I was unable to see my host dad (I did stop by Cosme’s palace of love), I was able to get his number and talk with him…a reunion will be in the cards before I return to the states. Por Granada, Para Siempre.

Why Spain?

Halfway through my senior year at Denison, my jobs prospects were dwindling. Coupled with the bad economy and the fact that Denison career services make Sean Penn’s character in “I am Sam” look like a Rhodes Scholar, it was February and I still had zero job offers. Then came an email from the director of my abroad program from junior year, an application for a grant to teach English from the Spanish government. The application seemed simple enough and on the very minuscule chance I didn’t have a job it would be a good back up plan. The months came and went with no job, no interview, and not even kind letters of rejection. So when the email came from Madrid’s government (Barcelona was the first choice but I’m in no place to complain), I was Spain bound. Seeing as I wanted a job in a Spanish speaking country to fine-tune my language dexterity, this appeared to be a great compromise.
While I hope to avoid the Spanish penal system, I would like to think I will find myself in some good story producing scenarios. The next nine months may seem like an extension of college, another semester abroad if you will, but it is also my introduction into “the Real World.” I hope this blog can serve as not only a good documentation of my experiences living/working abroad (I do regret not writing while living in Granada) but as a tool to stay connected with those in the states. After a summer of funemployment, the adventure has begun. Let’s see if Madrid can handle the swag….