The Showdown: Culés vs. Meringues

I have failed to post about a serious issue that divides the entire country of Spain. During my stay I have encountered this division first hand. This division is the ultimate choice that every Spaniard must make: FC Barcelona or Real Madrid. I'm talking about fútbol, of course.

I don't know the history of the rivalry between Madrid and Barça, but the feud runs deep. Maybe they are just the biggest teams in Spain. Maybe these teams are the two best in all of Spain. All I know is that even people who know nothing about the sport still know about Ronaldo and Messi.


Like most people who aren't partial about sports in general (or just because I'm a girl,) my decision was destined to be based on something arbitrary (Cristiano Ronaldo is hot, Barca colors resemble the American flag, etc.) But I was determined to stay neutral for the sake of my students (and my own personal safety.) This was successful until my trip to Barcelona, when I absolutely fell in love with the city. The weather, the architecture, the Mediterranean, the vibe.. It was all me. So that's when I sealed my fate and bought my first Messi #10 FCB jersey.

The Real Madrid fans are known as "meringues" because of their pure white jerseys. FCB fans are called "culés" (asses) because in one of the club's first stadiums, fans sat on the outermost wall, lending a view of all their butts to passers-by.

Little did I know that my village was strongly in favor of white, as I began walking around in red and blue. Needless to say, the first time I wore my jersey in public, during the last week of school, I felt the wrath of the Real Madrid majority in CRA Pinar Grande. Whoa. Not a joke, let me tell you.

BARCAAAAA!

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye is widely known as one of the hardest thing that needs to be done in this life. I just said hello for the first time and now, so soon, it's time for the goodbyes. The children don't really understand the concept; I'm here, I'm a teacher, I'm part of their lives and they have seen me every day for 3 months.. of course I'll be back after semana santa (holy week/Easter break.) Unfortunately, Europe is kicking me out promptly at the 90 day mark. So I have been spending as much time encouraging them, laughing with them, hugging and squeezing them as I can. This week is my last week, only one Monday, one Tuesday and one Wednesday left.

Sandra, Me & Our Class

As of now, everything has become routine and normal, but I know I will miss every little thing that I have come to take for granted... breathing the fresh air from the pinos, walking everywhere, seeing my students in the street every day, eating lunch with all the awesome teachers, munching on dirt cheap fresh bread, learning something new every day...

Some of my students have already begun to plan my return (I have 30 little travel agents.) According to them, I will come back next summer so we can go swimming (remember that big pool I mentioned earlier?) and of course I must bring Sean (they have recorded several videos and written several messages to him.) Then, of course, they are planning a big trip to Florida so they can see the alligators (strange cocodrilos that live there) and manatees. The older students have followed me around for the past week asking, "Tienes Tuenti, o Facebook?" and "Can I have your phone number please?"

Carnaval con Infantil

I will be lucky if I ever find a boss like this again

Every student in my 1st and 2nd grade class gives me a hug and kiss whenever they run into me now. Some of my 5th grade students showed up at my house last week with a poster and a bag of candy to tell me how much they will miss me. A 6th grade girl drew me a picture and wrote, "Don't forget us, we won't forget you." The Infantil classes are drawing pictures of me in an airplane and draw the sun with sunglasses just like I showed them. There is even a rumor of a special choreographed dance that will be performed for me before I leave.. It's taking a lot to not burst out into tears at any given moment.



Navaleno is small and cold, and many Spaniards laugh when I tell them it's my home, but the people and experiences I have had here make this place warmer than Florida has ever been.

Dave Takes Spain

Green house in El Retiro

Dave decided to make an appearance in Spain, so he hopped on a plane and arrived on Wednesday -- good thing, too, because the general huelga began on Thursday and the entire city of Madrid shut down in protest. Naturally, Mr. B was happy to be part of a history and thoroughly enjoyed the city. I was not so sure about letting him make his own way to Navaleno alone, so I met him at the statue of King Carlos III on Friday night.

Strike

Our hotel, Jardin de Recoletos, was hidden away on a side street but was perfectly beautiful, complete with gardens in the back, marble staircase and chandelier in the front. (I'll take credit for that, thank you very much.) We had the most delightful meal in a back alley street at a locals-only restaurant called Cinco Jotas. Steak, Rioja, 2 chocolate desserts.. hands down the best meal I've had in Spain. But since sleep doesn't come easy when I have access to wifi and I awoke Saturday morning with a wicked sore throat, we decided to leisurely stroll through the city and enjoy the perfect spring time weather. This included a full tour of El Parque del Buen Retiro (El Retiro for short) and a tulip-filled stroll at Real Jardín Botánico de Madrid (botanical gardens.) Quite a lovely way to spend the last weekend in Spain.

Hey look, it's Carlos! Again! On a Horse! Again!

Spring has sprung!

Girls Weekend: Valladolid & Salamanca

La Ciudad Dorado

I made a last minute decision to go to Valladolid to stay with Jen, an American girl in the auxiliary program teaching in Spain. Brittany came along and we decided to have a less-than-educational fiesta weekend in Valla and Salamanca. The weekend is certainly worth mentioning but there isn't much to tell... see for yourself.

Americanas

Black vodka .. can't beat it

Black tongues + speaker dancing. Notice the flag ... Camelot, claro

The Adventures of Hugo and Carla

Three of my students are the Munera Gonzalez family: Maria, and her twins Carla and Hugo. They are 4, turning 5 next week, and they just happen to be the cutest children on the face of the planet. I love the whole family if we're being honest here..

Maria was so kind as to show me a bit of the sites close to Navaleno before I leave next week. On the way we passed some really quaint refugios and a river named Mojabragas (wet panties.) We went to three places: La Playa Pita (Pita Beach,) Cabeza Alta (vista point,) and this little natural spring well that is famous for its agua hierro (iron water.) We had merendola on a park bench in a little playground (ham sandwiches, naturally.) On the way we ran into a herd of sheep of about 600 strong (I met a real shepherd, yes they exist.) I was forced to sit in the back between two car seats by a very bossy infant. And I read aloud an oral tradition dating back many years. Here is my Thursday in pictures.

la playa Pita

600 + sheep

Real life shepherd + staff

Cabeza Alta + huge statue carved out of a single tree trunk
Here you can see Pico Urbion, the tallest mountain in this region (2,229 m.) This mountain is the birthplace of the Duero River.

Oral tradition
Spain is a beautiful country, no?

Los Animales del Bosque

Sheep crossing.
Cow crossing.

In Florida, whatever walks into the road is deemed "roadkill" and can easily be decimated by a vehicle. In Spain, this is not the case. If you happen to hit/run over any animals that wander into the road, you've got yourself a totaled car and an annoyed piece of beef.

The Unintentionally Erotic Series: Salchichas Edition

Let me begin by making something clear. In Navaleno, we don't have much. But what we do have is the biggest pool in all of Soria (take that) and the best sausages (salchichas) this side of the Duero. Navaleno boasts it's delicious and plentiful supply of mushrooms, most notably, the coveted truffle (trufa.) So what better way to celebrate Spanish culture than to put something you take pride in (truffles) and add it to something that all Spaniards already love (meat products.) The product of this heavenly union is Navaleno's prize salchichas. What started out as an innocent desire for said sausages turned into a white trash bachelorette party really fast. Despite their less-than-enticing appearance, these sausages were the best I've ever had. Yeah, you can quote me on that.

M'encanta Barcelona

Barcelona. A beautiful city where old school Gothic meets Gaudí, where big city meets the Mediterranean, where the rest of the world comes to experience Spain. It is filled with foreigners from every inch of the globe (we met people from England, Holland and more) who all are just as happy to be there as you. There are tents, shops, bars, pubs, malls, ports, statues, museums, architectural masterpieces, good food and great drinks. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and if I said it once I said it a million times, "Man, I'm just happy to be here."

Brittany, her mom Kirsten, and I took a 6 and a half hour overnight bus to Barcelona (worth it.) We arrived Saturday morning bright and early and stayed in Hesperia del Port, right on Ave Paral.lel which was a 5 minute walk from the huge statue of Cristóbal Colón. We spent most of the first day eating and strolling down La Rambla. We spent more money there than we care to remember. I had the best Nutella crepe of my life here. Casa Pedrera and Casa Batlló, two famous Gaudí buildings, were like nothing we had seen before.

That night we met up with Chastidy, Eva and Heather, three other girls from UCF who came to Barcelona for the weekend. It was St. Patrick's Day, after all, and we passed plenty of adorned Irish Pubs on our leisurely stroll through downtown Barcelona. It took us a solid 45 minutes to find a pub that wasn't crammed to the brim full of people. We found one on a corner street and proceeded to order our Guinness. Not long after, we began to speak to the Hawaiian shirt-clad group of drunken Englishmen standing next to us at the bar. They were a bachelor party, and the groom-to-be was dressed in what I believe was supposed to be a penguin(?) costume and pink tights. Drawn on said tights were a certain body part, complete with huge vein and hair. Try to imagine a British accent coming from a drunken penguin yelling, "Touch my penis! Touch it, go on! It's my penis!" Well long story short we all had to touch it (and poor Eva unfortunately got a handful of the real thing.) I got my Guinness, so I was happy, and Brittany got her vodka negro, so she was happy. Soon we migrated to another bar, where we happened to run into another English bachelor party. We kept the bar open past hours but were finally asked to leave, but our bartender Lucy took us to a club where she knew a guy. All of us, British blokes included, ended up at the biggest and craziest club I've ever seen. It had 2-4 levels/floors/rooms with different music playing and different crowds dancing, and a huge wraparound bar. This was where our night ended at 6 am.

Sunday we slept in a bit and then headed out for another adventure. By now I had become a dedicated FC Barcelona fan and wore the jersey all day. Never in my life have I been more popular than in Barcelona with a Messi 10 shirt on. I don't miss Real Madrid at all - I don't care how sexy Cristiano Ronaldo is. But I digress. We spent most of our day on and off the bus around Barca, stopping to see the Sagrada Familia building (spectacular) and the Park Güell, a Seuss-like masterpiece of a park produced by Gaudí. McDonalds in Spain, by the way, is more expensive but of much better quality.

The trip itself was worth the bus rides, train rides, and all the money and time invested. It is truly a magnificent place. The vibe and feeling you get there are incomparable. The beggars, the pickpockets, the calls, the creeps, the cold wind.. None of that can take away the feeling that being in Barcelona gives you.

Barca - Quotes Edition

Spending St. Patty's Day weekend in Barcelona was a hilarious adventure to say the least. This post is dedicated to nothing but quotes from the Barcelona trip. They may not be funny to you or by themselves, but coming out of a drunk Englishman's mouth or Brittany's mom's mouth or a drunk Brittany or Kristen, this shit was hilarious.

• Kristen on Gaudi and Spanish architecture: "I don't know I just love it... God I'm such a slut for mosaics."
• Englishman at the bar to Brittany; Kristen: "You just are like, the epitome of an American, like you're dripping it... and you. You don't look like an American... You just look angry... Like you wanna punch me."
• "Swamp tits."
• "Excuse me while I scrape this eyeball off my fork."
• Brittany attaches her entire broken suitcase together with duct tape. "BOOSHY."
• Zaragoza bus station, finally we find the right line for bus tickets for today. "Here it is, tickets for today." After standing in line for ten minutes, Brittany's mom: "Oh look see here we are this is the right line, it says Tickets For Today right here."
• "Well... I'm just happy to be here.
• "Embarrassingly drunk English bachelor #1 with drawn on penis on his pink tights and penguin costume: "TOUCH MY PENIS!"
• British bachelor #2 with his bachelor party at the bar: "You know I don't usually like most Americans." Kristen: "Yeah well me neither." Bachelor: "Oh well in that case it's a pleasure to meet you and shake your hand."
• Brittany's mom: "You know what bothers me so much? How old people have such bad breath and bad teeth. Why do they all have it. It scares me, like one day I'm going to have really bad breath too!"
• Brittany's mom to the waiter: "HAblo espanyol, no wait, anglais?" TOTAL fail
  
• "I don't care where the hell we go I just want a goddamn Guinness on St. Patty's Day."
• Brittany: "WHY DOESN'T ANYONE HAVE MY VODKA NEGRO?"
• Kristen and BB#2 at bar: "Pretty American girl dancing with meee" .. "So when are you getting married again, 4 weeks?" .. "Why'd you have to bring that up?" as he proceeds to walk away and sit down at the bar.
  

El Burgo de Osma

Burgo de Osma is a small town. Brittany, her mom and I spent the afternoon there as we waited for our 12:00 am to 6:30 am bus to Barcelona. It was quaint and pretty and cold. Some young Spanish boys follow us around to a little shop that had the best eclairs and ice cream. The cathedral and Plaza Mayor were beautiful.

Awkward.

I don't consider myself to be an awkward person. I adapt pretty well in social situations. I can be sociable, I know when to shut up (whether I do or not is another issue,) I try to be careful about the things I say, I try to dress appropriately... But for some reason or other (I can think of about 500), in Spain I am a walking awkward weirdo. It's amazing that people talk to me.

Let me share with you some of my glaring mistakes and the unavoidable silent moments and confused expressions.

• It is natural in this type of situation to be correcting teachers and students on vocabulary, usage, grammar, pronunciation, etc. What is very difficult, however, is knowing when a word is actually correct in British English. For example, a ladybug is in fact called a "ladybird" in England and a "jumper" is not a one-piece for girls but a sweater for boys...
• Holding a conversation after which both parties walk away not having a clue in hell what the other person said (happens every day at least once.)
• People constantly talking about you in front of your face. Yes I am American, yes I speak English, no I'm not mentally handicapped or deaf, I know what you're saying about me... Take it to the other room people.
• Trying to speak Spanish: when your "rr" comes out sounding like a cat noise and your "j" produces an un-swallowable loogey.
• You realize that the super-hot man you've been watching at the bar is in fact the married father of one of your students and the cousin of the woman you have been talking about him to. "Don't tell me you don't think he's sexy!"
• When a student comes out and asks you, "Teacher, what is the meaning of the word 'fucking?'" ... "Google it. And don't say that again."
  
  

Working Together

1st grade working as a team to create a beautiful landscape, with each students contributing a specific part.

I always hated working in groups. In fact I still hate it. I'm not a big fan of the group mentality and I work much better by myself. I don't like to share, I don't like listening to others and their ideas (because let's be real, they're never as good as mine) and I really don't like criticism (we can all guess what kind of grades I got for "Works Well With Others" as a child.) But of course it is essential that we promote group work for the students, because sharing, compromising, and incessant arguing are all necessary components of living in a community-- villages especially.

One of the most valuable lessons that Spain has taught me is that working alone isn't always the best, or easiest, mode of being and doing. For example, alone, it is much harder to order meat from the butcher or ask for gift bows from the cashier. With a friend, fellow teacher or student, completing what may seem to be menial tasks is infinitely more accurate, fluid, and easy. So.. maybe groups aren't so bad, maybe there is some merit to listening to others, and okay, fine, I'll share some of my sausages with you.

Two students helping me to explain comparisons to my after-school class.

Maybe it's not just the students who are learning here...

Look what working together can do.

The Forest

Navaleno is essentially a space cleared on the flattest area in the midst of densely mountainous terrain. Everywhere one looks one is overcome with green pine trees. Why someone chose this location to start a village is beyond me. Nonetheless, it is a beautiful place and it is my home. A short hike up a nearby mountain leads to a little look out. This vista is one more thing that makes my village so special.

Navaleno Todo Bueno

I'm teaching, learning, eating, studying and hugging my way through Spain. I'm also struggling, listening, developing, stumbling, screwing up, fixing, smiling, laughing, dancing, singing, explaining, memorizing... any other -ings you can think of, it's happening to me.

It still feels like a fairy tale, a dream land. To think that self-proclaimed "villages" actually do exist is mind-blowing. Not only do they exist, but I'm living in one. What is the hardest part about living in said village you ask? The answer is knowing that I have to leave. Soon. At first, I got through each new day knowing that in a few short months I'd be back home. Now it is this very same thought which once inspired me to get through the day that keeps me up at night. I know that when I leave, I will leave a part of me here. Yes, this place is small and cold. No, there isn't anything superbly enticing or exciting about it. Most of the villagers still stare at me and not many people outside my normal circle speak to me. I still don't understand half the things these people are saying to me everyday. Nonetheless, Navaleno is my village.

You try coming here for 3 months and tell me then if you ever want to leave.

3 R's

No litter at this gorgeous old castle

The 3 Rs:
Reduce.
Reuse.
Recycle.

It's a big deal in Spain (although nearly impossible for them to pronounce.) The Spanish are very conscious of their ecological footprint. Instead of giving you 37 unnecessary plastic bags, grocery stores give you one, maybe two, and cram all of your items in. Instead of turning on the lights, the classrooms are equipped with big windows that provide all natural light. You never leave the water running, you always turn off a light even if you're coming right back into the room, you always turn the heat down (or off) when you leave the house. And you always recycle.

Nothing is easier in my village than in America. Navaleno has one chain grocery store that is only open for about 5 hours a day (in the morning for a few hours and then in the afternoon for a few hours,) and that's only weekdays -- I have yet to discover the weekend hours (which may not even exist.) Buying food and exchanging simple pleasantries are more difficult for me than at home, naturally, because of the language barrier. But there is one thing that is very simple here: recycling.

Now let's be real. In America, I don't recycle. Frankly I was born before the big green movement got in full swing and I wasn't raised to be super conscious of things like that. I don't know what items go in which colored bins, I don't even know where you're supposed to take things to be recycled. Is it like the trash, do you leave it outside on Thursdays? Or do you have to drop it off somewhere? It's a bit of extra effort that I never put forth, in addition to my skepticism about the merit of the system and the amount of energy used to complete it. But now that I'm in Spain I recycle everything. Paper, plastic, you name it and I know a colored bin that you can put it in. It's only a short walk away from my home (well it's a short walk from everywhere.. it's a village) and there's nothing complicated to it.

In Cabrejas, we did an activity about recycling using pictures of items and pretend bins.

It's good to be green folks, and I think it's time to get on the green train. (The green one is for glass, by the way.)