Having spent a miserable night in the hotel, I got up the next morning and prepared myself for my first day of school. One of the things I had done before I turned in the night before was to grab a map and find my way to my school. Mercifully, it was fairly close to the hotel: only about an 8 minute walk from door to door. I had no way of contacting my school, so it was anyone's guess what time school started. I had set my alarm for 7:10, assuming an 8:00 start time seemed a safe guess. It was, therefore, an unpleasant shock to wake up at 8:15. Cursing my life and my situation, I got up and hurriedly showered and put on whatever cleanish clothes I could find amongst the jumbled mess that filled my two suitcases. Having missed the 8:00 start time, I readjusted my sights for the 9, assuming that if school had already started, I could claim, truthfully, that I had no idea what time school started and had had to guess. But excuses aside, it wasn't really the way I wanted to begin a new job.
Threading my way past pedestrians and around cars, I got to school at about 8:55, not knowing what to expect. In this case, however, luck was on my side: school in fact did not start until 9:00, a great relief to me. I entered the school through what looked like the front door and found the administration offices. Peering uncertainly around, I stuck my head into a few offices and was about to ask someone what to do when a woman came up to me and said, "¿eres Andreu?" Sí, era Andreu, and I was gratified that I was in fact supposed to be there and people were expecting me (up to that point only suspected). The woman, who turned out to be the secretary, introduced me to the principal José Antonio, with whom I had exchanged a few emails before I left. He showed me around the school and introduced me in turn to the teachers with whom I would be working, Gema and Charo. Both were very nice, although in different ways: Gema is younger and acted more my age and Charo is older and more a "typical" teacher, but both were very nice.
I spent most of that day feeling my way through the classes. C.E.I.P. Reyes Católicos is a primary school, so I was in classrooms of younger kids my first day. Younger kids are not my favorite thing in the world, and I realized during the course of the day that I would have to amend my attitude and demeanor around them if I wanted to do the job well, but on the other hand all the kids seemed nice, if loud and misbehaved. It promised to be an interesting semester.
After school that day I went back to the hotel and then spent my day exploring the city. Huelva is considerably bigger than Denia, the town I stayed in during my semester abroad, and it took a lot longer to figure out where the city center is, where the main streets are, etc. than it did in Denia. By the end of the day, though, I had managed to sketch a rough outline of the city in my head, at least enough to get by on. What I still didn't have were friends or somewhere to call home. I liked the hotel, but it wasn't cheap and, though I had enough money so that I didn't have to really worry, I didn't want to spend more on lodging than I had to. I had already paid for another night in the hotel, but later that day I went back to the hostel to see if they had beds available. Sure enough, they did, for half the price of the hotel. the best price I was going to get in Huelva. I booked a room and made preparations to move there the next day.
Have I mentioned I love hostels? When I was in Spain the first time I stayed in several hostels, and every one I stayed at I had a great experience, whether it was hanging out with other people in the hostels or enjoying the amenities of the hostel. This experience was no different. The hostel itself was fine; a few more hidden fees than I liked to see, but the beds were comfortable enough and the showers were outstanding. But it's the people that really make the difference. I was walking through the lobby of the hostel in the evening of my first night there when I heard, for only the third time since I'd arrived in Huelva, someone speaking English. It was a girl Skyping with her family. I went over to her, introduced myself, and said I'd heard her speaking English, something that would draw raised eyebrows in the United States but was totally acceptable given the situation we were in. The girl's name was Mira and she was from New Hampshire. She was my first contact and first friend in Spain. We went out for tapas that night, and the next night met up with some friends who Mira had met through a facebook group. Everyone was very friendly and we all went out for drinks and tapas and conversation, and I finally felt like I had something to stand on in my adopted home.
The next day, Mira and I and one of the girls I had met the previous night, Kristine, went apartment hunting. Sometime between checking into the hostel and meeting Mira, I had bought a cell phone, and we used that to call the numbers of people whose apartments were for rent. So we walked around the city, peering up at the apartment buildings around us, eyes searching for se alquila signs, any of which could end our search and give us a home. But it wasn't until 5:30 in the afternoon that we found a piso which we liked. We had met the owner in the street under it earlier and he promised to show it to us later that afternoon. We walked up to the second floor apartment, intensely weary after a day of apartment hunting, and immediately felt at home. It had a big kitchen, three good-sized bedrooms, and a huge living room with a wrap-around balcony. All of us knew more or less at the same time that this was somewhere we could live. The owner offered it to us at the stated price of 600 euros and we accepted. We moved our luggage in the next morning.
Forty-eight hours before I had nothing but myself and my stuff. I now had friends, an apartment, a job, and some grasp of the city. In retrospect, it's amazing how fast things turned around for me. But I guess that's the m.o. in a new place; take risks, make decisions, and trust that it'll work out. Laying in bed that night, I was still a little uneasy about what I was doing, but it was a far cry from the bus ride from Madrid. I'm here. I don't really know where I am or what I'm doing, but I will. Let's do this.
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