Well, another week is over, and a week from now I'll be in Switzerland. Two weeks from now I'll be in Switzerland (and, later in the day, Málaga). In three weeks I'll be in Grand Rapids. It'll be an eventful December, that's for sure. To tell the truth, I'm pretty excited about getting out of Huelva; I've come to the realization that spending consecutive weekends here isn't good for me. There's just not enough to do on weekends other than go out at night, which is not my favorite thing in the world. But it's okay, since this current weekend will be the last one I spend in Huelva until mid-January, so I think I can make it. Anyway, this weekend was fairly uneventful. Indeed, too much so, since it was Thanksgiving in the US (a top three holiday for me) and it isn't celebrated here. You can't even find cranberries, which are unequivocally the best part of Thanksgiving. I made stuffing yesterday to remind myself that it was Thanksgiving season, but it's not quite the same without the smorgesbord of other food to complement it. But Thanksgiving is as much about the action as the food (part of the reason it's so great), so without further ado, here is a list of things I'm thankful for at the moment:
The auxiliares program: put frankly, this experience has been more difficult than I anticipated, but nevertheless I'm extremely grateful for this opportunity to get real world experience in another country with a decent salary and the chance to explore Spain and Europe. So, thank you, Spanish Ministry of Education.
My girlfriend: for putting up with this long-distance crap. It sucks, but I'm extremely grateful that she agrees that it's worth the effort. Thank you, Elaine.
My parents: for encouraging me to do this. Not every parent would be so supportive of their son's desire to go try his hand at the real world in a foreign country. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
My brother: for starting and enjoying college so far. Congratulations, Ben, and I'm glad you're having fun. Remember, the things you learn at the Taco Bell drive-thru at 3:00 are just as important as the things you learn in class. But that doesn't mean class isn't important. Study hard and keep up the good work in Chimes; you're a good writer.
The Dyno League: a fantasy baseball league which has kept me connected with my former house and has fostered hundreds of online conversations already. And this is only year 2. Thank you, dyno league and it's members, especially the commissioners and Brett Veltema for trading me pick 1.2 and Adam Dunn for Buster Posey and Garrett Jones' expiring contract.
Pedro del Valle, my Spanish roommate: for being really cool and for helping us deal with the myriad problems our piso has had. It's been invaluable, having a Spaniard here to help out.
Whoever owns the Jazztel Wireless WiFi network: for leaving it unprotected, allowing me to steal internet for the two months that we haven't had internet. You made my life infinitely easier.
My host family and Becca, my friend who's doing the same program in the north: for being my safety nets in Spain. I will be visiting the former again at least twice and going with the latter to Switzerland. Life here would be worse if you weren't here.
The good producers of 30 Rock: for entertaining me unceasingly. 22 Emmy nominations was too few.
And finally,
All of you who put up with my ramblings: I like writing, and I like writing even more when I know that the product's being read. Hopefully it's a symbiotic relationship, but at the very least it's good for me to keep writing. So thank you, all of you, for reading this. Here's to hoping you keep humoring me.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
A Brief Story of Time
Having only recently completed 17 years of school in my life, I fashion myself something of an expert on the modern day classroom. In elementary school there are posters lining the walls showing everything from a map of the world to multiplication tables to the different kinds of living things. In middle school things change a bit--there are still posters, but they are more academic and less cartoony in nature: maybe the internal organs of the body or a border showing Pi to 300 digits. In high school the rooms are much more subject-centric: a periodic table in the chemistry classroom, a poster for the Shakespeare festival in Stratford, campaign signs from elections dating back to Eisenhower. In college there is usually very little: some pulldown maps or an advertisement or a semester abroad are among the only things you'll find in a university classroom.
One thing all of these rooms have, however, is a clock on the wall. Any student will tell you that Einstein didn't really discover anything: anyone who has sat in a 78 degree math classroom on a beautiful May day already understands the theory of relativity: the time the minute hand takes to reach the next hash mark seeming to in a stroke double the length of recorded history, amorphous students splayed out on their desks begging silently for the class to be over... watching the clock is a time-honored tradition of the American student.
Not so in Spain. As far as I can tell, not a single room in my school, with the probable exception of the principal's and secretary's offices, has a clock. There isn't even a bell, except for one at the beginning and end of the day (which, well we are on the subject, is not so much a bell as an air raid siren that appears to be a relic of the Civil War) and to signify lunch break. In between these events, time is largely a subjective notion: classes begin and end loosely on the hour, but it's really up to the teachers. I've had classes start on the :20 and end on the :10. For someone who has grown up in the regimented, time-driven schools of the US (and probably, although this is just a guess, much of the developed world), it's somewhat unnerving.
The lack of clocks in my Spanish classroom is a microcosm of the Spanish life in general and the Andalusian life in particular. Everything--from governmental procedures to work days to walking--is done at a more relaxed level than life in the US. Annoying? Assuredly, at times, like when people need to get their temporary citizenship card and the man issuing them goes on coffee breaks every half-hour. I also don't recommend trying to walk anywhere fast; it's an exercise in frustration.
On the other hand, there is something to be said for stopping and smelling the roses. Indeed, one could argue that there is everything to be said for it. I mentioned in a previous post that my host brother Joan is 26, doesn't have a job, and is living at home with his parents. And yet no one, neither him nor them, are unhappy in the least with the arrangement. One time, after comida, I was talking with them about the family and I asked them what Joan was doing in what I realized afterwards was a sort of conspiratorial undertone. Rosa looked at me for a second and said, "¡hombre, está disfrutando la vida!" or, more colloquially (and in English), "he's living the dream!" And who am I to argue? Great food, free board and room (note the order) in a beautiful town on the Mediterranean, sees his girlfriend frequently; he clearly is living the dream.
Spain, while undeniably a first world country, is still not among the world leaders in commerce or economy. Some experts have suggested that Spain's more relaxed lifestyle may play a part in their continued second-tier economic power status (and dropping). To this I say: maybe they're right. maybe they are slightly less rich and influential because their banks close at 2 (a tremendous annoyance, by the way) and they take a long break in the middle of the day. BUT, but but but but, who cares? They're enjoying themselves. Who are we to tell them to speed up when we really need to slow down.
One thing all of these rooms have, however, is a clock on the wall. Any student will tell you that Einstein didn't really discover anything: anyone who has sat in a 78 degree math classroom on a beautiful May day already understands the theory of relativity: the time the minute hand takes to reach the next hash mark seeming to in a stroke double the length of recorded history, amorphous students splayed out on their desks begging silently for the class to be over... watching the clock is a time-honored tradition of the American student.
Not so in Spain. As far as I can tell, not a single room in my school, with the probable exception of the principal's and secretary's offices, has a clock. There isn't even a bell, except for one at the beginning and end of the day (which, well we are on the subject, is not so much a bell as an air raid siren that appears to be a relic of the Civil War) and to signify lunch break. In between these events, time is largely a subjective notion: classes begin and end loosely on the hour, but it's really up to the teachers. I've had classes start on the :20 and end on the :10. For someone who has grown up in the regimented, time-driven schools of the US (and probably, although this is just a guess, much of the developed world), it's somewhat unnerving.
The lack of clocks in my Spanish classroom is a microcosm of the Spanish life in general and the Andalusian life in particular. Everything--from governmental procedures to work days to walking--is done at a more relaxed level than life in the US. Annoying? Assuredly, at times, like when people need to get their temporary citizenship card and the man issuing them goes on coffee breaks every half-hour. I also don't recommend trying to walk anywhere fast; it's an exercise in frustration.
On the other hand, there is something to be said for stopping and smelling the roses. Indeed, one could argue that there is everything to be said for it. I mentioned in a previous post that my host brother Joan is 26, doesn't have a job, and is living at home with his parents. And yet no one, neither him nor them, are unhappy in the least with the arrangement. One time, after comida, I was talking with them about the family and I asked them what Joan was doing in what I realized afterwards was a sort of conspiratorial undertone. Rosa looked at me for a second and said, "¡hombre, está disfrutando la vida!" or, more colloquially (and in English), "he's living the dream!" And who am I to argue? Great food, free board and room (note the order) in a beautiful town on the Mediterranean, sees his girlfriend frequently; he clearly is living the dream.
Spain, while undeniably a first world country, is still not among the world leaders in commerce or economy. Some experts have suggested that Spain's more relaxed lifestyle may play a part in their continued second-tier economic power status (and dropping). To this I say: maybe they're right. maybe they are slightly less rich and influential because their banks close at 2 (a tremendous annoyance, by the way) and they take a long break in the middle of the day. BUT, but but but but, who cares? They're enjoying themselves. Who are we to tell them to speed up when we really need to slow down.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Denia and everything after, part 2
Hello, and welcome back. I hope you've all been fed and watered. I certainly was when I was in Denia.
Rosa, my host mamá, is a delightful person; funny, easy to talk to, and she corrects me non-judgmentally on my Spanish errors. She's also the finest cook in continental Europe. French, Italian, African, Spanish... there is no cuisine which she has not mastered. Seriously, the last time I was in Spain, I walked home from school everyday anticipating the mid-day comida the way the GOP anticipated the latest midterms: I knew it was going to be good. The question was how good. Unfortunately, here our comparison ends, because not once in the years since have I looked back and wished I'd eaten a different comida.
The first day I got there, she made a giant, sumptuous lasagna dish, complete with the traditional Spanish side of bread and more bread. Additionally, Lorenzo (my papá) is a wine salesman, so it's safe to say that we dine well at la casa Hernández Colomér. For desert, there was a large bowl of mandarinas, which are tangerines and not mandarin oranges, as the name would indicate. Either way, though, the province of Valencia is one of the best places in the world to find good citrus, and this was, according to Rosa and Lorenzo, a particularly good batch. They were not wrong. I had perhaps three after comida, as well as several later that night. In all, in the two days that I was there, I bet I probably ate 15 or more tangerines. They kept asking me if I wanted any and I kept wanting some--what was gonna do? Not eat them?
After comida the rest of the family--Rosa, Lorenzo, and my two host siblings, Joan (pronounced Jew-an and a guy's name), who is 26 and Angelina, who is 31--bedded down for a traditional siesta while I galavanted about online, enjoying a stable internet connection. Rosa and Lorenzo differ a little from the traditional family in that they have 3 children (the oldest lives by himself in Palma): the average Spanish family has somewhere between 1 and 2. And don't be fooled by the kids' ages and think that they're lazy freeloaders; Joan just got his degree in computer science and Angels has a full degree as well, although I don't remember exactly what in--something related to tourism. No, both Joan and Angels are fully qualified for work; it's just that, I don't know if you've heard, but there's been a recent economic downturn, and Spain has been one of the nations hardest hit. They don't have jobs because there aren't jobs to be had. In the meantime, both are living at home, which, given their mother's cooking, seems like a wise move.
After her siesta, Rosa and I went and had coffee with Ana, the mamá of my friend Matt. I really enjoyed talking with her; learning about what she'd been up to since we left, if she'd had any contact with Matt, how the year after us had gone, and above all, about Calvin moving it's Spain program. Ana and Rosa discussed the decision--a difficult one considering Calvin's almost 30 years of connection to Denia and the familial relationships that have been built, both with families and with the pueblo--with Rosa firmly of the opinion that it was better for the students to move it and Ana wavering somewhere in between knowing that and talking about how hard it would be for many families. Time will tell; there are positives and negatives to the decision, but I think ultimately things will work out fine in Oviedo, Asturias, the site of the new program. But my heart will always be in Denia.
I wandered around with my friend for a while after that, becoming reacquainted with Denia after our absence. It was a gorgeous night--clear, warm, and very little wind, a rarity--and I was extremely content to be back. I felt... tranquil. It isn't a feeling I've experienced very much since coming to Spain the second time around.
We spent a few hours exploring Denia and the seaside, but eventually, both of us exhausted from getting up early and not getting much sleep, went back to our pisos, had dinner, and went to bed.
The next day was a typical lazy Saturday in Spain; wake up, have a light breakfast (apple pastry, a few mandarinas, coffee) and go for a long walk. Rosa and Lorenzo are currently taking care of their oldest son's dog and have since I was there in 2009, so we took him (Maximiliano) on a long walk out to the end of the pier, getting back just in time for Rosa to start cooking the paella, our comida for the day. For those of you who think you've had good paella, don't waste your breath. As paella is a Valencian speciality and Rosa is the best cook in la Comunidad Valenciana (it being a part of continental Europe) and Lorenzo had prepared a special wine for the occasion, we dined like kings. We followed it with more mandarinas. I believe by that time some mandarina farmers must have been alerted that I was in the province, because the bowl was full again. Gluttony? Maybe. But I had to eat them, cuz it's rude to say no, right?
It was the same drill for the family after comida, sleep off the food, but I had an appointment to keep. I went to meet my friend at Café Gormand, one of my favorite haunts in Spring 2009. I had a delightful Summer Night tea and desert while we planned our upcoming trip to Switzerland (about which surely much more anon). I won't ruin the details for you, but our trip centers around Interlaken, the extreme sports capital of Switzerland. It'll be a good time.
That evening, after dinner, we met up again and went to watch the Barcelona soccer game. Upon the end of the match, after Barce had won 3-1, we walked out by the beach and just enjoyed being there for a while. The posse of drunk teenagers nearby only slightly marred the beautiful sky and the beautiful sea. We were leaving the next day. We had to soak in enough to hold us over until our next visit.
I woke up early-ish the next morning, 7:30, because my train left at 8:20. Rosa got up with me and Lorenzo also rose to say goodbye. I promised them I'd visit again, which I will, and, one last mandarina in hand, I headed out the door.
(Actually it was two.)
The train to Alicante, where my flight departed from, is two things: slow and beautiful. It takes a winding, scenic route through the hills of the region and follows the coast line for much of the ride as well. I love the ride; it's like an extended preview of the region of Alicante and a little glimpse into all the towns along the way. I count among my favorite stops Calpe and Paradís. But it is assuredly slow; it takes nearly three hours to go 100 km, from Denia to Alicante. The bus is moderately faster (or considerably faster, if you are fortunate enough to get the express bus), but I have this thing where I hate buses, so if I have time I will avoid them. Plus the train is cheaper and more comfortable.
My RyanAir flight left on time from Alicante and landed in Sevilla at about 2:55 local time. I stepped out of the plane into a steady rainfall. The sunny days of Denia were gone for now. Back to the real world.
Rosa, my host mamá, is a delightful person; funny, easy to talk to, and she corrects me non-judgmentally on my Spanish errors. She's also the finest cook in continental Europe. French, Italian, African, Spanish... there is no cuisine which she has not mastered. Seriously, the last time I was in Spain, I walked home from school everyday anticipating the mid-day comida the way the GOP anticipated the latest midterms: I knew it was going to be good. The question was how good. Unfortunately, here our comparison ends, because not once in the years since have I looked back and wished I'd eaten a different comida.
The first day I got there, she made a giant, sumptuous lasagna dish, complete with the traditional Spanish side of bread and more bread. Additionally, Lorenzo (my papá) is a wine salesman, so it's safe to say that we dine well at la casa Hernández Colomér. For desert, there was a large bowl of mandarinas, which are tangerines and not mandarin oranges, as the name would indicate. Either way, though, the province of Valencia is one of the best places in the world to find good citrus, and this was, according to Rosa and Lorenzo, a particularly good batch. They were not wrong. I had perhaps three after comida, as well as several later that night. In all, in the two days that I was there, I bet I probably ate 15 or more tangerines. They kept asking me if I wanted any and I kept wanting some--what was gonna do? Not eat them?
After comida the rest of the family--Rosa, Lorenzo, and my two host siblings, Joan (pronounced Jew-an and a guy's name), who is 26 and Angelina, who is 31--bedded down for a traditional siesta while I galavanted about online, enjoying a stable internet connection. Rosa and Lorenzo differ a little from the traditional family in that they have 3 children (the oldest lives by himself in Palma): the average Spanish family has somewhere between 1 and 2. And don't be fooled by the kids' ages and think that they're lazy freeloaders; Joan just got his degree in computer science and Angels has a full degree as well, although I don't remember exactly what in--something related to tourism. No, both Joan and Angels are fully qualified for work; it's just that, I don't know if you've heard, but there's been a recent economic downturn, and Spain has been one of the nations hardest hit. They don't have jobs because there aren't jobs to be had. In the meantime, both are living at home, which, given their mother's cooking, seems like a wise move.
After her siesta, Rosa and I went and had coffee with Ana, the mamá of my friend Matt. I really enjoyed talking with her; learning about what she'd been up to since we left, if she'd had any contact with Matt, how the year after us had gone, and above all, about Calvin moving it's Spain program. Ana and Rosa discussed the decision--a difficult one considering Calvin's almost 30 years of connection to Denia and the familial relationships that have been built, both with families and with the pueblo--with Rosa firmly of the opinion that it was better for the students to move it and Ana wavering somewhere in between knowing that and talking about how hard it would be for many families. Time will tell; there are positives and negatives to the decision, but I think ultimately things will work out fine in Oviedo, Asturias, the site of the new program. But my heart will always be in Denia.
I wandered around with my friend for a while after that, becoming reacquainted with Denia after our absence. It was a gorgeous night--clear, warm, and very little wind, a rarity--and I was extremely content to be back. I felt... tranquil. It isn't a feeling I've experienced very much since coming to Spain the second time around.
We spent a few hours exploring Denia and the seaside, but eventually, both of us exhausted from getting up early and not getting much sleep, went back to our pisos, had dinner, and went to bed.
The next day was a typical lazy Saturday in Spain; wake up, have a light breakfast (apple pastry, a few mandarinas, coffee) and go for a long walk. Rosa and Lorenzo are currently taking care of their oldest son's dog and have since I was there in 2009, so we took him (Maximiliano) on a long walk out to the end of the pier, getting back just in time for Rosa to start cooking the paella, our comida for the day. For those of you who think you've had good paella, don't waste your breath. As paella is a Valencian speciality and Rosa is the best cook in la Comunidad Valenciana (it being a part of continental Europe) and Lorenzo had prepared a special wine for the occasion, we dined like kings. We followed it with more mandarinas. I believe by that time some mandarina farmers must have been alerted that I was in the province, because the bowl was full again. Gluttony? Maybe. But I had to eat them, cuz it's rude to say no, right?
It was the same drill for the family after comida, sleep off the food, but I had an appointment to keep. I went to meet my friend at Café Gormand, one of my favorite haunts in Spring 2009. I had a delightful Summer Night tea and desert while we planned our upcoming trip to Switzerland (about which surely much more anon). I won't ruin the details for you, but our trip centers around Interlaken, the extreme sports capital of Switzerland. It'll be a good time.
That evening, after dinner, we met up again and went to watch the Barcelona soccer game. Upon the end of the match, after Barce had won 3-1, we walked out by the beach and just enjoyed being there for a while. The posse of drunk teenagers nearby only slightly marred the beautiful sky and the beautiful sea. We were leaving the next day. We had to soak in enough to hold us over until our next visit.
I woke up early-ish the next morning, 7:30, because my train left at 8:20. Rosa got up with me and Lorenzo also rose to say goodbye. I promised them I'd visit again, which I will, and, one last mandarina in hand, I headed out the door.
(Actually it was two.)
The train to Alicante, where my flight departed from, is two things: slow and beautiful. It takes a winding, scenic route through the hills of the region and follows the coast line for much of the ride as well. I love the ride; it's like an extended preview of the region of Alicante and a little glimpse into all the towns along the way. I count among my favorite stops Calpe and Paradís. But it is assuredly slow; it takes nearly three hours to go 100 km, from Denia to Alicante. The bus is moderately faster (or considerably faster, if you are fortunate enough to get the express bus), but I have this thing where I hate buses, so if I have time I will avoid them. Plus the train is cheaper and more comfortable.
My RyanAir flight left on time from Alicante and landed in Sevilla at about 2:55 local time. I stepped out of the plane into a steady rainfall. The sunny days of Denia were gone for now. Back to the real world.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Denia and everything after
I couldn't wait to leave for Denia last Thursday. I didn't even want to go to class. Fortunately, I didn't have to, because one of my teachers was sick all week, relieving me sixty percent of my weekly class. Naturally, however, I had three classes on Thursday with the teacher who wasn't sick, so after a full day Thursday I dashed home to quickly pack my backpack and batten down my room's hatches for a weekend away. Eighty minutes' hasty work allowed me to get the bus station just in time to catch the three o'clock bus to Sevilla.
I arrived at the airport early, some two hours before my flight was scheduled to leave (which is actually when they tell you to get there, but seriously, who does that?). I was flying with the winged bus that is RyanAir, and having had all too much experience with them in the past, I wanted to make sure every t was crossed and i was dotted (there's a 5 pound fine if they're not) before passing through security, the Point of No Return. So I got my boarding pass stamped (if you pass through security without having done this, you are not permitted to fly, despite holding a perfectly good boarding pass and passport in your hand. I speak from personal experience.), went through security without incident, and a few hours later, boarded my RyanAir Boeing 737-800 with service to Valencia.
The Home Backpackers Hostel, where I checked in to in Valencia, is the same hostel I stayed at the only other time I stayed in a hostel there--when RyanAir told me passport and boarding pass weren't enough for me to go to Rome. It's a nice place--clean, cheap, comfortable, with all the amenities you expect from a hostel (free wifi, towel provided) and some you don't (full kitchen and lounge). I have a certain affinity for it because I was homeless and it took me in, so it felt good going back. After checking in, I found my friend, who had arrived a few hours earlier, and we went out for tapas. I had apples and hummus (take that, tradition tapas stereotypes!) and a glass of the house Bordeaux. It was very enjoyable; to see my friend, to be back in la Comunidad Valenciana, and to be going to Denia the next day.
And go we did. The 8:30 bus from Valencia landed us in Denia at 10:30, just in time for mid-morning coffee with our respective host families. The weather was perfect; between 65 and 70 and brilliant sunny. As I made the suddenly familiar walk to el piso de mis padres, at 5 Pintor Victoria, I couldn't keep a wide smile off my face. My time studying in Spain had more than it's share of difficulty, but for none of that was Denia at fault. I love Denia--adore it immeasurably--and if I found a job there, any job at all that could support me, I would be there in a heartbeat. It has so much to offer: mountains on one side, Mediterranean to the other, excellent food, remarkable weather, the most fiestas of any city in Spain (true).
It also has Rosa and Lorenzo, who were waiting for me at the elevator door when I stepped out onto their--my--floor, setting the stage for a brief but joyous reunion. Within minutes, I was inside and having coffee with Rosa, feeling like I'd never left.
(END Part 1)
It's getting late and I have to go to bed, but the second part of this post is coming tomorrow. My headline-writing skills are probably a little rusty, but I'll attempt a teaser to the second part:
"Part two of Orlebeke's 'Denia and everything after' filled with food, fun"
Don't know if it's technically in AP style. Stephen always knew that better than me.
I arrived at the airport early, some two hours before my flight was scheduled to leave (which is actually when they tell you to get there, but seriously, who does that?). I was flying with the winged bus that is RyanAir, and having had all too much experience with them in the past, I wanted to make sure every t was crossed and i was dotted (there's a 5 pound fine if they're not) before passing through security, the Point of No Return. So I got my boarding pass stamped (if you pass through security without having done this, you are not permitted to fly, despite holding a perfectly good boarding pass and passport in your hand. I speak from personal experience.), went through security without incident, and a few hours later, boarded my RyanAir Boeing 737-800 with service to Valencia.
The Home Backpackers Hostel, where I checked in to in Valencia, is the same hostel I stayed at the only other time I stayed in a hostel there--when RyanAir told me passport and boarding pass weren't enough for me to go to Rome. It's a nice place--clean, cheap, comfortable, with all the amenities you expect from a hostel (free wifi, towel provided) and some you don't (full kitchen and lounge). I have a certain affinity for it because I was homeless and it took me in, so it felt good going back. After checking in, I found my friend, who had arrived a few hours earlier, and we went out for tapas. I had apples and hummus (take that, tradition tapas stereotypes!) and a glass of the house Bordeaux. It was very enjoyable; to see my friend, to be back in la Comunidad Valenciana, and to be going to Denia the next day.
And go we did. The 8:30 bus from Valencia landed us in Denia at 10:30, just in time for mid-morning coffee with our respective host families. The weather was perfect; between 65 and 70 and brilliant sunny. As I made the suddenly familiar walk to el piso de mis padres, at 5 Pintor Victoria, I couldn't keep a wide smile off my face. My time studying in Spain had more than it's share of difficulty, but for none of that was Denia at fault. I love Denia--adore it immeasurably--and if I found a job there, any job at all that could support me, I would be there in a heartbeat. It has so much to offer: mountains on one side, Mediterranean to the other, excellent food, remarkable weather, the most fiestas of any city in Spain (true).
It also has Rosa and Lorenzo, who were waiting for me at the elevator door when I stepped out onto their--my--floor, setting the stage for a brief but joyous reunion. Within minutes, I was inside and having coffee with Rosa, feeling like I'd never left.
(END Part 1)
It's getting late and I have to go to bed, but the second part of this post is coming tomorrow. My headline-writing skills are probably a little rusty, but I'll attempt a teaser to the second part:
"Part two of Orlebeke's 'Denia and everything after' filled with food, fun"
Don't know if it's technically in AP style. Stephen always knew that better than me.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Settling in
Today marks the 6th week that I've been in Spain. It's been fast at some times and utterly slow at others, but finally, finally I feel like I'm settling in to some sort of a weekly routine; a rhythm, if you will. I go to school, I swim, I prepare tutoring, I tutor, I come home. With a few breaks in there, of course, when I stop at home to eat, check email, etc. Then, after I get home, I chat with the housemates for a while, make something to eat, and eat it while watching 30 Rock on my computer.
It's nice to know, more or less, what's ahead of me the next day. I'm all for spontaneity, but I like it on my terms, not on the world's terms. No, I now know my route to school quite well and how long it takes me to get there. I know which classes are the bad classes and which are the good classes, and I know which kids are the good and bad ones in each of those classes. I'm starting to learn what my fellow teachers expect of me (although since this is the school's first year having an auxiliar, a lot of what I do is just go along for the ride until they need me for something) and starting, at an even more basic level, to learn how to get through the students. It really is unfortunate that I have no education background, because I feel like I'm learning on the fly things I could have learned student teaching a few years ago. I mean, given the amount of organization I've seen out of the Spanish government regarding this program, I don't think they could organize a birthday party, yet alone a complicated interview procedure for overseas, English-speaking students. It's far too much to ask of the Spanish Ministry of Education. Having said that, I did get paid today, so I guess I can't get on their case too much.
But seriously, November promises good things for me. First, I'm going back to Denia this coming weekend to visit my family from when I studied there (Spring 2009), which I'm really, really excited for. Just the thought of sitting down to comida with Rosa and Lorenzo makes me feel warmer (and fuller) inside. Similarly, the sound of Rosa singing sweet songs to the dog while she cooks and cleans makes me yearn to return permanently to the apartment on the calle Pintor Victoria. I can't wait to go back to all those places I frequented a few years ago--Café Gormánd, Cíber Denia, the beach, Marqués de Campo, maybe stop by the UNED to say hi my old professors... everything. It's gonna be great.
After that weekend, back to Huelva for another few weeks of the same--teaching, pool, tutor, home--with a possible trip to Portugal mixed in one of the weekends. It's just so close. It'd be a shame not to. Then, in early December, I've got a long, more-than-a-week trip to Switzerland, which promises to be excellent. I'm really looking forward to that trip. We (my friend and I) are planning on going to Interlaken, which is extremely naturally beautiful and, apparently, the extreme sports centre (I'm in Europe) of Switzerland. Hang-gliding through the Alps is a possibility, as is skiing and (for a less modest fee) skydiving. We'll see how wide my purse-strings will open. But whether I spend a lot of money or a little, it'll be fun. My entire life I've had a fascination with Switzerland; for a brief period in middle school it was my most desired country to visit. And now I can. It's great to grow up.
(and sucky. But that's getting far too philosophical for right now. Let's move on)
So yeah, my life is settling down for the moment; not too much on my plate other than what I've already mentioned. Soon after getting back from Switzerland I leave for Christmas and home, so December will be a whirlwind, but until then it's Fresh Prince time: chillin' out, maxin, relaxing all cool, shooting some fútbols outside the school. We should get our own internet soon, barring the inevitable but unforeseen difficulties which have thus far impeded our quest. So we'll see. But either way, life here is slowing down for me. Which is exactly what it wanted to happen. You let down your guard, and it lulls you into a lifestyle of long meals, late mornings, and plentiful breaks. Sounds fine to me.
It's nice to know, more or less, what's ahead of me the next day. I'm all for spontaneity, but I like it on my terms, not on the world's terms. No, I now know my route to school quite well and how long it takes me to get there. I know which classes are the bad classes and which are the good classes, and I know which kids are the good and bad ones in each of those classes. I'm starting to learn what my fellow teachers expect of me (although since this is the school's first year having an auxiliar, a lot of what I do is just go along for the ride until they need me for something) and starting, at an even more basic level, to learn how to get through the students. It really is unfortunate that I have no education background, because I feel like I'm learning on the fly things I could have learned student teaching a few years ago. I mean, given the amount of organization I've seen out of the Spanish government regarding this program, I don't think they could organize a birthday party, yet alone a complicated interview procedure for overseas, English-speaking students. It's far too much to ask of the Spanish Ministry of Education. Having said that, I did get paid today, so I guess I can't get on their case too much.
But seriously, November promises good things for me. First, I'm going back to Denia this coming weekend to visit my family from when I studied there (Spring 2009), which I'm really, really excited for. Just the thought of sitting down to comida with Rosa and Lorenzo makes me feel warmer (and fuller) inside. Similarly, the sound of Rosa singing sweet songs to the dog while she cooks and cleans makes me yearn to return permanently to the apartment on the calle Pintor Victoria. I can't wait to go back to all those places I frequented a few years ago--Café Gormánd, Cíber Denia, the beach, Marqués de Campo, maybe stop by the UNED to say hi my old professors... everything. It's gonna be great.
After that weekend, back to Huelva for another few weeks of the same--teaching, pool, tutor, home--with a possible trip to Portugal mixed in one of the weekends. It's just so close. It'd be a shame not to. Then, in early December, I've got a long, more-than-a-week trip to Switzerland, which promises to be excellent. I'm really looking forward to that trip. We (my friend and I) are planning on going to Interlaken, which is extremely naturally beautiful and, apparently, the extreme sports centre (I'm in Europe) of Switzerland. Hang-gliding through the Alps is a possibility, as is skiing and (for a less modest fee) skydiving. We'll see how wide my purse-strings will open. But whether I spend a lot of money or a little, it'll be fun. My entire life I've had a fascination with Switzerland; for a brief period in middle school it was my most desired country to visit. And now I can. It's great to grow up.
(and sucky. But that's getting far too philosophical for right now. Let's move on)
So yeah, my life is settling down for the moment; not too much on my plate other than what I've already mentioned. Soon after getting back from Switzerland I leave for Christmas and home, so December will be a whirlwind, but until then it's Fresh Prince time: chillin' out, maxin, relaxing all cool, shooting some fútbols outside the school. We should get our own internet soon, barring the inevitable but unforeseen difficulties which have thus far impeded our quest. So we'll see. But either way, life here is slowing down for me. Which is exactly what it wanted to happen. You let down your guard, and it lulls you into a lifestyle of long meals, late mornings, and plentiful breaks. Sounds fine to me.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Piso Problems
I'm told that not all apartments are as problematic as ours. For the sake of everyone who lives in this country, I hope not. Hardly a day has passed that we haven't had a technician of some kind or other in our piso, poking around in the apartment's guts. Usually he's in the kitchen, but sometimes he'll switch it up and go to the bathroom or the living room or the laundry room. Since I've lived here, we've had problems with, in chronological order, the oven, the shower, the hot water heater, the phone line (which we need to get internet), the phone line again, the other shower, the hot water heater again, the plumbing in general, and the washing machine. The other shower and phone line have yet to be fixed and the second hot water heater problem left us bereft of hot water for almost a week. That's not even to mention the various small annoyances, i.e. the sliders have no curtains on them, the door doesn't shut well, the shades on my bedroom window are really finicky, the tables are all unbalanced... I could go on.
I won't lie; I'm used to a pretty comfortable lifestyle. I like things to be comfortable. But I can deal with less comfort. What I have the hardest time dealing with is when pivotal things that should always work--hot water, washing machine--don't. Partially it's my fault; I neglected to ask enough questions when we were moving in and made assumptions that I should have just asked about, particularly in regards to the phone line. But I did not anticipate that hot water itself would be a problem; perhaps the price, but not the availability. By the same token, I saw that there was a phone line when we first examined the apartment; what I (and my landlord) didn't expect was that it was cut right outside the door (for what reason I cannot imagine).
Fortunately--extremely fortunately--we have a good landlord who lives close by, so he, and Pedro, have been able to help out a lot fixing all the problems. Should it have been taken care of before he rented it to us? Of course. But I don't think he's trying to screw us. Our apartment belonged to our landlord's mother until she died (creepy, I know) and it's been un-lived-in for two years, which is part of the problem; nothing had been checked for a long time before we moved in.
Thank goodness for Javier (our landlord) and Pedro. I think I probably could deal with the problems by myself, but it would be a huge hassle and much more diffficult and frankly, when it comes to those things, I'm way more interested in fixing the problem than practicing my Spanish. There's time for that after I shower and put on clean clothes.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Weekend trips
One of the nicest things about the program I'm taking part in--which, by the way, is called auxiliares norteamericanos and is run by the Spanish Ministry of Education--is the amount of free time we have. I'm only under contract to work 12 hours a week at the school, which means I have a lot time outside of school to do what ever suits my fancy, whether it's tutoring to earn some extra money or joining a local club or group to practice Spanish. Moreover, the 12 hour work week is spread out over 4 days, which in turn means that we have a three day weekend every weekend. This arrangement greatly facilitates weekend trips, and while you usually can't go anywhere really far away, there's plenty to explore around here. The second weekend Pedro was living with us he drove us to the Sierra, a mountainous region about equidistant from Sevilla and Huelva. The countryside was gorgeous; plains turned into rolling, tree-covered hills, which eventually turned into small mountains, dotted with the occasional pueblo. Our destination, Cortegana, was known for the 14th century castle perched on a rocky hilltop overlooking the village, but we passed through other villages with claims to fame as well; Jabugo, for its ham; Aracena, for its caves; Almonaster, for its mosque. We didn't have time to stop, but I would have loved to have explored each of them.
Which isn't to say that Cortegana was very nice in itself; it was, particularly the castle. It had obviously been restored since it was built--it was in far too good a shape for something almost 700 years old--but it had been restored quite well and I didn't mind. The castle provided great views of Cortegana and the surrounding area, which looked even more quaint with the sun setting around it. After descending from the castle, we went to a little restaurant in one of the main squares and had some very tasty traditional Spanish fare: pizza and Coke. I apologize for nothing.
The following weekend I went to Sevilla for the first time and explored the city, which was a lot of fun. Sevilla is a really interesting city with a lot of historical significance, probably why every study abroad in Spain program on earth has students there. Seriously, depending on where you are in the city, I bet there are more English speakers than Spanish speakers in a given area. But that aside, the city has a lot to offer. I didn't actually go into anything, just wandered around in the streets, but everything I saw was very impressive. Standing out in my Sevilla once-over was la Giralda, the immense and soaring cathedral whose lone tower is the tallest point in the city, and the Plaza de España, a massive semi-circle of two-story pillared façades with a huge tower on either end. The Plaza de España in particular was a revelation for me, because I'd heard about la Giralda and its immensity before. The Plaza, however, was something completely new to me, whether because it was never mentioned in high school Spanish or because I didn't pay close enough attention I have no idea.
This past weekend I went to Cádiz and Gibraltar, both really cool places that I didn't get to enjoy fully due to bad planning. Located on a narrow spit of land reaching out into the Atlantic, Cádiz was originally founded by the Phonecians sometime before 1000 BC, making it the oldest continuously inhabited city in Western Europe. The old city has a rich and eventful past; from being Hannibal's Iberian capital to a prestigious city in the Roman Empire (there is a Roman theatre dating from the first century BC) to the home of the Spanish treasure fleets (and, consequently, a target for foreign nations and pirates), much of Western Europe's history has passed through Cádiz. It certainly has the feel of an old city, though I confess I wouldn't have guess that it is as old as it is. The narrow, winding streets and brick sea walls reminded me more of San Juan than anything else. But a city can't exist for as long as Cádiz has without reinventing itself a few times, and so it has been there; even now, a glance down the beach reveals the high-rise apartments and condos in the new section of the city. But that aside, I definitely liked Cádiz and would love to go back to enjoy the justly famous beaches as more than window dressing.
The next day, yesterday, was... frustrating. I took a bus from Cádiz to Gibraltar at 10:15 and got to Gibraltar at 1. The last bus for Sevilla left at 4, so I had less than three hours to explore all of Gibraltar. It was not nearly--not even close--to enough. All I had time to do was walk out to the Europa Point lighthouse on the tip of the peninsula, which was really cool, but there are other things to do in Gibraltar, like the monkeys which live up on the rock and the old siege tunnels and a huge Victorian-era cliff gun (not to mention that the whole thing is British), that I missed out on because I had to be on the bus by 4. It was totally my fault for not planning better, and I probably should have gone to Gibraltar the day before and done Cadiz on Sunday (because there are later trains and buses from there to Sevilla). So it was really my doing. But the upshot of the weekend was that I got incredibly sick of buses and busing, so much so that my goal now is to do anything and everything to avoid long distance bus travel. Hopefully that will include renting a car, which based on what I've seen, is really the best way to see the closer portions of Spain.
So after all that, here I am back in Huelva, preparing to begin another week. I have no idea what I'm doing in school this week. I guess I'll find out tomorrow.
Which isn't to say that Cortegana was very nice in itself; it was, particularly the castle. It had obviously been restored since it was built--it was in far too good a shape for something almost 700 years old--but it had been restored quite well and I didn't mind. The castle provided great views of Cortegana and the surrounding area, which looked even more quaint with the sun setting around it. After descending from the castle, we went to a little restaurant in one of the main squares and had some very tasty traditional Spanish fare: pizza and Coke. I apologize for nothing.
The following weekend I went to Sevilla for the first time and explored the city, which was a lot of fun. Sevilla is a really interesting city with a lot of historical significance, probably why every study abroad in Spain program on earth has students there. Seriously, depending on where you are in the city, I bet there are more English speakers than Spanish speakers in a given area. But that aside, the city has a lot to offer. I didn't actually go into anything, just wandered around in the streets, but everything I saw was very impressive. Standing out in my Sevilla once-over was la Giralda, the immense and soaring cathedral whose lone tower is the tallest point in the city, and the Plaza de España, a massive semi-circle of two-story pillared façades with a huge tower on either end. The Plaza de España in particular was a revelation for me, because I'd heard about la Giralda and its immensity before. The Plaza, however, was something completely new to me, whether because it was never mentioned in high school Spanish or because I didn't pay close enough attention I have no idea.
This past weekend I went to Cádiz and Gibraltar, both really cool places that I didn't get to enjoy fully due to bad planning. Located on a narrow spit of land reaching out into the Atlantic, Cádiz was originally founded by the Phonecians sometime before 1000 BC, making it the oldest continuously inhabited city in Western Europe. The old city has a rich and eventful past; from being Hannibal's Iberian capital to a prestigious city in the Roman Empire (there is a Roman theatre dating from the first century BC) to the home of the Spanish treasure fleets (and, consequently, a target for foreign nations and pirates), much of Western Europe's history has passed through Cádiz. It certainly has the feel of an old city, though I confess I wouldn't have guess that it is as old as it is. The narrow, winding streets and brick sea walls reminded me more of San Juan than anything else. But a city can't exist for as long as Cádiz has without reinventing itself a few times, and so it has been there; even now, a glance down the beach reveals the high-rise apartments and condos in the new section of the city. But that aside, I definitely liked Cádiz and would love to go back to enjoy the justly famous beaches as more than window dressing.
The next day, yesterday, was... frustrating. I took a bus from Cádiz to Gibraltar at 10:15 and got to Gibraltar at 1. The last bus for Sevilla left at 4, so I had less than three hours to explore all of Gibraltar. It was not nearly--not even close--to enough. All I had time to do was walk out to the Europa Point lighthouse on the tip of the peninsula, which was really cool, but there are other things to do in Gibraltar, like the monkeys which live up on the rock and the old siege tunnels and a huge Victorian-era cliff gun (not to mention that the whole thing is British), that I missed out on because I had to be on the bus by 4. It was totally my fault for not planning better, and I probably should have gone to Gibraltar the day before and done Cadiz on Sunday (because there are later trains and buses from there to Sevilla). So it was really my doing. But the upshot of the weekend was that I got incredibly sick of buses and busing, so much so that my goal now is to do anything and everything to avoid long distance bus travel. Hopefully that will include renting a car, which based on what I've seen, is really the best way to see the closer portions of Spain.
So after all that, here I am back in Huelva, preparing to begin another week. I have no idea what I'm doing in school this week. I guess I'll find out tomorrow.
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