tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37954988623369971882024-03-13T13:01:38.863-07:00Plan Ahead...travel chronicles of potential success(and other stories)Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-72805189830109395892011-11-16T17:39:00.000-08:002011-11-16T18:37:54.530-08:00A little bit of updateOur first two and a half months in Costa Rica have been...interesting. About two days after my most recent post, we discovered that someone had copied P´s credit card. We traced it back to a hostal where we stayed our first night in Manuel Antonio, turned the info and our suspect over to the police, and now we´re waiting on "Tico time" to find out what will happen next. As for the money that was stolen from the account, we´ve been waiting since the first week of October for it to be returned by the bank. We had a rough first month spending what little money was left in my own bank account to live on, and then finally a new credit card was delivered last week. This means as soon as our money is returned, we´ll have instant access to it, but we´re still waiting on the bank to return it, and because it´s a French bank we have to wait extra long, apparently.<br /><br />All of this has greatly overshadowed any warm welcome we first felt when we arrived, and also prevented us from doing anything of interest. Our meals have consisted of pasta, rice, and whatever vegetables we can buy for cheap at the local weekend market. We´ve been able to get drunk a few times for cheap, but had to seriously justify the expense when we were eating bread and butter for two days straight. Since the credit card has arrived (with a loan from both of our parents behind it), we´re back to square one and it´s like we´re just starting out here with a new perspective. Money trouble has meant we´re not able to fly to the States for Christmas, as I had really really REALLY hoped we would, but I´m telling myself a trip in January or February isn´t too far off, once I start earning money. <br /><br />And money has been trickling in: I´ve been occupying my time teaching Spanish to a few gringas we´ve made friends with, and P´s busy with several job ideas he´s got in the works: dealing poker is one of them; another is working as a consultant for an eco-friendly hostal project here in Manuel Antonio. Time will tell, and hopefully money will start flowing in TWO directions instead of just one....<br /><br />On the job front, I´m three-quarters of the way through with certification and training for Open English, an online teaching company here. I´m excited about learning a new way to teach and expanding my teaching experience into the online realm. Everything I´ve learned so far has been really interesting and, from a job standpoint, fantastic: working from home - or anywhere!, in your pj´s if you want, making your own schedule, bi-monthly pay direct-deposited into my bank account, lessons of no more than 4 students per class, 45-minute classes, plus I´ll be teaching the same lesson/theme each day, more or less, so prep time is dramatically reduced. It really couldn´t be better, especially considering where we live there are virtually zero English academies or schools (the Ticos are really, really good at English; almost everyone here knows at least 100 words). Also, transportation to and from work could easily become a hassle in Costa Rica, even more so in the remote-yet-touristy area of Manuel Antonio. None of that hassle from me, I´ll be teaching from my bed (if I damn well please!).<br /><br />In the meantime, we´re learning about Costa Rica little by little. There are good things...and there are bad things too. We´re not sure, but the bad might outnumber the good slightly. First of all, it´s expensive here. Like, more than either of us were prepared for, especially since I´ve been living outside the U.S. while prices have surely been rising there, and thus, here in Costa Rica. Also, although I knew Costa Rica had close economic ties to the U.S. (the dollar is accepted here, lots of American tourists come through in huge numbers, etc.), I wasn´t prepared for the unusual mix of cultural discrimination here - which goes both ways, in fact. Case in point, P was offered a job at an American-owned luxury 5-star hotel here a few weeks ago. They offered him 48 hours a week, for an hourly salary of $2. They announced the salary with the disclaimer of, "We know that isn´t much for Europeans who live here, but Ticos are delighted to work for that rate." We were disgusted - how can they be so honest and unashamed about abusing the local culture?! The receptionist job they offered P earns the same as a bellboy; the bellboy receives tips and doesn´t have to say a single word to the customers, while they wanted P as a receptionist because he speaks 3 languages. Where´s the balance here?? We were indignant about it, and of course P rejected the job, but later I reflected on something that happened our first week in Manuel Antonio:<br /><br />As if the financial problems weren´t bad enough, I took my portable hard drive to a cyber café to print out my resumé for job searching, and when I got home I realized my hard drive had been infected. We took it back the next day to the cyber café to see if I could trace the virus I´d picked up and recover the data (which is somehow still on the hard drive but inaccessible due to a virus), and it was closed. Same thing the following day. So we went back and finally they were open. The owner listened to my problem and let me sit on the same computer as before to try and troubleshoot the virus problem. About 30 minutes later, it´s apparent he knows nothing about his own business (or computers!) and he tells me I´ll have to check with his technician tomorrow; then, he tells me, "That´ll be $1.40 for the use of the computer." Was this guy kidding me?! As P and I argued our very justified reason for refusing to pay - it was his effing computer that caused the problem, and now I´ve lost tons of megabytes of data, and the only reason I occupied the computer was to attempt to fix the problem HIS computer caused. I said I could understand him charging us if there were a line of people waiting to use the computer and I was occupying it, but there were only 2 others in the shop. When we refused a final time, he said, "Come on, $1.40 is nothing!" So I said, "Then why do you want it so bad?!" And we left. We knew he meant, "$1.40 is nothing TO YOU, because YOU are RICH." The guy couldn´t get that it was the principle - why should I pay him? If anything, he should return the money I paid him for the use of the computer which implanted a virus - that was his defective service I paid for! Infuriating. On several occasions after that, we became aware that Ticos who own businesses are very casual about overcharging foreigners. They see no problem with it, I guess in the same way that Americans see no problem with coming here with all their money, stealing business from Ticos and paying them close to nothing - meanwhile not learning Spanish even once they´re granted resident status in Costa Rica.<br /><br />Another disillusion relates to the environment. We foolishly expected a tropical utopia where people actually get excited about recycling or at least don´t mind it, where everyone knows the simple routine ways to save energy and water and reuse it, where the whole community works to defend and protect the beautiful spaces here. But I guess my naiive assumption didn´t account for the poverty issue in all of Central and South America - poor people don´t really give a damn about anything other than getting by, and lack of education compounds the problem. Costa Rica gets props from us for having so many protected areas, of course, but they´re a far cry from environmentally conscious here. It´s sad. I feel like a kid who´s found out about the Easter bunny :(<br /><br />I guess it´s normal to feel disappointed with these types of lessons - we´re certainly not in Europe anymore, but we´re not in the place we´d imagined for ourselves, either. The food here, while hearty and filling and is more to my tastes than Spanish food (cilantro, lime, sour cream, onion, avocado, mango, pineapple...mmm!), is very basic and not too diverse (lots of beans and rice, blegh!). I miss red wine, and I miss Granada where it´s easy to enjoy things on a budget. I miss people there, and going out for tapas. I miss shopping (guilty girl pleasure, sorry)!<br /><br />But at this point, at least Costa Rica still feels a bit new, so we´re not running back to Spain just yet. But it´s been talked about. It´s been thought about. It´s a possibility, perhaps. We´ll leave CR for a few days at the beginning of December - probably Nicaragua! And we´ll see how we feel about that country, since it´s definitely a lot cheaper than Costa Rica. If we fail to make it work here, or don´t find what we´re looking for, there´s a lot of other central-American countries we could choose from. At least with a job teaching online, I can jump ship if need be, anytime at all, and take my work with me!Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-22826179930724121192011-10-04T12:43:00.000-07:002011-10-05T17:03:35.046-07:00From tinto to guaro in only a month!Good to know: I prefer the tinto hangover to the guaro - at least I know a good cure for the red wine hangover (eat a raw tomato before bed, licopene, apparently)!<br /><br />Well...a LOT has happened since Semana Santa. The spring and entire summer has come and gone, and with them a swarm of changes - all of which have led me to a new here and now, which is Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica on the 4th of October, 2011 :)<br /><br />How did these changes begin? Long-story-short, somehow between April and June, the plan for Costa Rica became more or less solidified when I discovered the Spanish company I´ve worked summer camps for in the past actually, in fact, DID have a job for me - a guaranteed 6-weeks of work, and a lot of dough for it! That meant, in addition to the savings from my previous year in Granada, I was able to pack up and ship out of Granada by September. Basically, a job changed everything. Which is interesting, because here and now - 2 and a half months after that last job was completed and paid - I sit frantically searching for another job, one that could change everything all over again. Interesting part of all this is I did kind of a reverse of the natural way to move to a different country (if there is a natural way): I bought a ticket, got here, and now am looking for a job. I´m hoping the spirit of adventure that I had when "planning not to plan" this trip will carry me through the humiliating process of job searching.<br /><br />What´s been left out since my last post, thus, is the finalizing of my last months in Granada, saying goodbye to people and places one by one, until I left Granada for good to head for summer camp in Alcantará, Spain (in the extremadura, near Portugal). I spent 6 weeks there in a surreal luxury summer camp with my nearest and dearest, enough time for us to remember why we´ll miss each other, and then left Spain for a final 3 weeks in France to finalize the trip and get last minute details in order. On September 3rd, I flew an exhausting 45-hours to arrive in San José, Costa Rica, where the plan was to float on our savings for 1-3 months before finding a place we liked, renting an apartment, and look for work. The most recent development has proved Costa Rica to be far more expensive than we thought, so we´ve rented an apartment after only 3 full weeks of being here.<br /><br />Why Costa Rica, then? Truth is, it wasn´t my first pick of places to go after Spain. I´ve had a yearning to return to Mexico one day, and felt it calling me once Granada started to feel too familiar. But talking it over with the folks and friends, thinking about the current state of the economy and society there, I got to thinking maybe now isn´t the best time for Mexico. A few people mentioned Costa Rica in several unrelated "cosmic" moments, moments that seemed all linked together, pointing me towards Costa Rica, and after that I couldn´t deny that it was definitely a good in-between destination for someone leaving Europe and wanting to move to Latin or Central America - the economy´s stable, tourism is growing there, and I shouldn´t have much trouble thus finding English teaching jobs. So that´s how I got here, three weeks ago, at the current moment deflating from the newness of it all and trying to find that elusive job that will mean I really do LIVE here.<br /><br />Upside is our apartment and the location, Manuel Antonio, are perfection; there are monkeys that visit twice a day in the trees at the back of our private yard; we go to the beach every single day, rain or shine; today I saw my second WHALE at the beach, so close I could have swam over to it but of course was too terrified to do so; we have everything we could want, except one important thing: WORK.<br /><br />On that front, I´ve got one major lead on an online English company - small world: an American girl I met through Craigslist when apartment-searching actually works for them; she and her boyfriend have been amazing, inspiring friends throughout our move here, and we´re so fortunate to have found them. So I´ve submitted my application (twice!) and all I can do is wait. Something I´m admittedly terrible at. Meanwhile, I´ll just sit and watch the monkeys doin´their thing. In paradise :)Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-32087544668135058022011-04-23T04:24:00.000-07:002011-04-23T05:01:32.190-07:00Lessons of Semana Santa, Fourth time ´roundWell, this time of year is always a bit...nostalgic for me, as it represents my first trip to Spain. The days leading up to Semana Santa are full of memories, my first impressions of Spain and the adventures I had with oh-so-open eyes when I got here. In addition, as I experience the holiday differently each year, I´m confronted with the strange phenomenon that is this traditional, religious Spanish "holiday," if you can call it that.<br /><br />My first year here, I remember forcing myself out of a hostal bed with Matt, my travel companion, on Easter Sunday of all days, just to get to the main cathedral and see the procession and mass there (once in a lifetime, right? I guess we can make this one exception and go to church on Sunday!). I remember it was the coldest day of the year (people in the crowd told us), and I remember the incense smell so thick it made me almost want to vomit. I remember feeling no spiritual or religious inspiration from any part of the ceremony. I remember being inconvenienced more than once during the week leading up to Holy Sunday, from shops all being closed or ridiculously expensive, and fighting crowds everywhere we went. But it being first time, it was all kinda fun too.<br /><br />The next year, I remember getting the hell out of Dodge: in anticipation of 9 full days off work, I booked it to the beach and never looked back. There was almost no sign of Semana Santa that year where I was, which I now realize is because the Costa del Sol is full of British retirees who´ve eradicated (intentionally or not?) the Spanish culture all along the coast. I remember sand and sun, and not much else, from my second Semana Santa.<br /><br />The third Semana Santa, last year, I remember staying put in Granada and trying to save money. I remember the inconvenience of the shops all being closed again, not having food readily available. I remember the hordes and getting to know my new friend, Simone, who lived with me at the time and had just arrived in Spain a few months earlier. I saw Semana Santa through her eyes a little, as we searched for pizza one afternoon and were surprised to find ourselves smack in the middle of a procession. She smiled and played with the people, darting her eyes around and taking it all in. Seeing Simone so entranced by her first procession, I felt a little guilty for wanting to simply escape the crowd. She gave me a bit of patience, just by enjoying it all a little.<br /><br />And this year, my fourth and perhaps final Semana Santa (I plan on leaving Spain and Europe at the end of this academic year/summer), I notice more the inconvenience and crowds, the prices shooting up, and people becoming just a little bit more uptight. I realize now, reflecting on my previous Semana Santas, that my place and mental perspective at the time plays such a huge part in my emotional response to the memory. At the moment, I´m stuck on a rainy day, the 2nd to last of my 9-day vacation from work, in my apartment which is cosy but bored to tears and without money to do anything about it. The people in my life are mostly out of town, and I´ve got all this time on my hands but no productive ideas to put it to use. I´m cursing Semana Santa, but that´s only a coincidence because I happen to be bored and in dire need of SUN.<br /><br />Yesterday we got an unexpected surprise when two friends who live super close to my house came over, and we drank and played a game for a few hours while discussing all the Semana Santa mayhem (a procession was going on just outside my window at the time). My friend Pourri, a Spanish girl, told us in some pueblos and even here in the city center, after some processions, there are people who go crawling on hands and knees after the idols, repenting and grovelling before their God. She says they do this for themselves, that it´s not a part of "making a show" of their repentence - hence the reason for not participating in the processions themselves. It made me remember my first Semana Santa with Matt, standing in Tarifa in the freezing cold, watching a procession of only children carrying an idol, barefoot in the streets. I was shocked: what do 10-12-year-olds know of repentence?? Is contracting an infection a worthy price for their spiritual well-being? It would appear so. I´m humbled by the hold that religion, in particular traditional Catholicism, still has on (some) people here in Spain. My Spanish friend, MariMar, told me the other day that when she was young, even a teenager, her parents always forced her and her sister to attend mass - they didn´t have to go with their parents, but they had to show up, and if they didn´t, the neighbors and people from the pueblo would tattle on them to their parents. I wonder if there are still parents who do this, or if that´s something that changed with the last generation - most of the young Spanish students I teach aren´t even remotely religious, something I attributed to perhaps the globalization of Capitalism since most of these students are born of wealthy parents who don´t need God anymore now they´ve got the "dollar." It´s interesting, anyway. The generation gap here, from all the 2nd- and 3rd-person accounts I´ve gathered in my 3 years in Spain, seems much bigger than in the States. It makes sense, given Spain´s relative young "age" in the non-dictatorial world.<br /><br />Well then, writing a blog was a useful achievement for Semana Santa. Maybe I´ll pick up the guitar here in a bit, maybe take a walk. Holy Week is good for leisure, this I´ve learned above all. Now if only I were a person who knew what to DO with leisure time ;)Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-45837668864633815022011-02-05T08:35:00.000-08:002011-02-05T08:58:01.492-08:00Lessons Not Only TaughtI woke up today with nothing particular to do. P*s at his first day of work in a long while, on a Saturday of all days, the sun is shining, and I´m sat here on my sunny terrace with time to spare. This is a positive take on what´s seeming more and more like a rather lackluster year-and-a-half spent still living in Granada. The days are so simliar sometimes they blend together and I find myself wondering where entire months have gone. Sure, I can look closely and see all the amazing experiences I´ve had and people I´ve met, see the mountains we´ve literally and figuratively climbed, the beaches we´ve camped on and continued to haunt for entire summers. But the bigger picture, the one that comes to me on days of extra free time (too much time to think!), often confuses me - I see many days or even months spent in confusion, time spent lost in foreign languages and trapped inside myself like a child. I see a young woman who´s often so insecure as to push people away by instinct, keeping them at arm´s length, while paradoxically looking for only a little recognition or reward for simply being herself.<br /><br />Maybe this need for appreciation I´ve got is innate or human; surely it´s got something to do with my mother; but nearing 30 years of age feels like I´m on the edge of a cliff. Do I jump in heart-and-soul to the decision I made 2 (or 3??) years ago, to travel the world and not put my feet down until I feel truly at peace? Doing that would mean that I eventually must invent what I´m lacking now - some sense of permanence in a foreign land, some kind of HOME - but can people really do that? More importanly, could I? I´ve spent my twenties a bit differently than a lot of people, but what are the products of my sacrifices (family and friends, familiarity and my own culture)? What have I been so eager to set aside who I am, in exchange for...what?<br /><br />The answer to this has to be that I´ve gained things, learned things, on my journey of living abroad. I´m taking my blog in the direction of these "lessons" that I´ve picked up since leaving the States, and today´s blog is about something I´ve learned to do quite recently.<br /><br />I´ve learned to listen, and I´ve learned to hear. After several months when I first arrived in Granada, I always walked around town, earphones plugged into ipod. Then one day, after reading an internet article on "noticing" and how you can change your luck by being more spontaneous and breaking normal routines, I conducted an experiment. I unplugged. All at once, I was tuned in to the people I pass every day on my way to work. You can hear so many conversations and sounds in any given walkabout in Granada - lost tourists, people arguing in any language, new lovers´whispers and giggles, young, fresh backpackers unashamed to marvel out loud at things they never dreamed they´d see. I wondered that first day how I´d ever made my way to work without this. It literally puts a smile on my face to marvel at the sweet, confusing music that is a foreign (to me) language. my brain activates and engages my ears; I try to decipher first the hand gestures and the body language, then I take in the rising and descending tones - are they joking or ranting, arguing or making small talk? Somehow by putting all this together, I formulate the little life stories that happen ever day in Granada, the things that to me are the color of human civilization itself - relayed through linguistic communication. It´s probably very far from accurate, my interpretation of what the people are saying, but that doesn´t really matter. I feel relief when I´m hearing or listening to another language and there´s no real pressure to understand everything (to the contrary, it´s quite unnerving if you need to understand). Walking to work becomes an escape when you put so much attention on the external.<br /><br />That´s a lesson I´ve learned that I couldn´t have experienced had I not left the States. What was the point in studying linguistics if my future was only in the U.S. of A, where principally only ONE language is spoken? Recalling these little gems of experience make me feel a whole lot better about my decision to move so far away from home. I´m going to recall them more often :)Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-31680084613489258682010-07-15T10:45:00.000-07:002010-07-16T10:21:24.323-07:00N.O.L.A. or BUST! (as in, my waist line : )I´m planning my first trip home to the US of A in over 2 years (less than 2 weeks away)! I´ve been on auto-pilot while lots of stuff has been changing and going on (the end of the academic year, the booking of my flight, the finding of summer work, the starting of summer work and a completely different work schedule, two two-week-long visits from out of towners who don´t speak Spanish OR English, the World Cup, etc etc etc...), and I´m just now realizing how soon I´ll be home. (This of course means I´m just now starting to get freaked out about it.) I´m nervous and don´t really know why. I´m worried I´ll get bored, or gain 15 pounds, or there´ll be a hurricane and I´ll have to evacuate for my whole trip. I´m worried everyone´s lives will have changed so much and I´ll feel guilty for not being there. These are somewhat valid although irrational fears, but instead of letting them take over, I´m going into happiness overdrive and focusing on all the great stuff I´m gonna be doing in just 10 days!!<br /><br />Having been asked many times in the past month what I want to do when I get home, I hadn´t had time to really think about it and I´ve just told people, "Ehhh, relax and see everybody, I guess." Today is the first time in over 3 weeks that I´ve had to myself and I miraculously have the energy to think about and try to plan my upcoming trip. Turns out, come to think of it, I´ve got quite a lot of stuff to accomplish in just two weeks - almost all of it revolving around FOOD (big surprise from a New Orleanian, eh? NOT).<br /><br />I´ve started creating an official list of what I want to do in the States/at home, and I was thinking it´d be funny to post what I have to far. This list says a lot about what I miss back at home, about food for which there is absolutely no comparison in Spain. It also says a lot about how unhealthy my favorite New Orleans food is, jaja!<br /><br />Of course included in my food tour is visiting <span style="font-style: italic;">absolutely everyone that I can</span> since who knows when I´ll get to come back. I´ll need to get creative and incorporate visits and food since I´ve only got 2 weeks...omg, I´m gonna gain 20 pounds!!<br /><br />Anyway, here´s my list of food I want to eat and stuff I want to bring back to Spain, for your viewing pleasure! What I´ve been missing for almost two years:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Eats & Drinks USA:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Eat Out:</span><br />Mushroom & Swiss Burger - Cooter Brown´s<br />Fried Chicken - Popeye´s<br />Fried Crawfish po-boy - Domilese´s<br />Boiled crawfish (probably not possible)<br />Oysters and crawfish etouffe - Acme<br />Chinese - Fong´s in Metairie<br />Thai - Sukho Thai on Royal St.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Eat In:</span><br />Fried fish and bbq shrimp - Matt´s house<br />Lasagña - Gramzie´s house<br />Gumbo - my Mawmaw´s house<br />Pizza - anywhere (pizza sucks in Spain!)<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Drink:</span><br />Mochasippi at CC´s Coffee<br />Snowball at Audubon Park<br />Pointsettia at Mimi´s in the Marigny<br />Hand-grenade in the FQ<br />Hurricane at Pat-O´s<br />Thai bubble-tea anywhere<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Shopping USA:</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Stuff:</span><br />Vintage clothes<br />Okra seeds<br />DVDs from the dollar bin at Wal-Mart<br />Frisbee<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Food:</span><br />Dr. Pepper<br />Kool-Aid watermelon-cherry mix<br />Abita beer<br />Tony´s<br />Liquid smoke<br />Curry paste<br />Hand-made tortillas<br />Mac-n-cheese<br />Classic Goldfish crackersSteviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-57319802022253868642010-04-26T08:02:00.000-07:002010-04-26T15:39:50.486-07:00Keep On the Sunny SideI feel too much like a whining retard to admit this, but I think I´m getting bored in Spain. Things are humming along this Spring quite nicely, I have nothing to complain about, and yet somehow I´m full of unrest. My mind races at night when I´m trying to sleep, about things I must get done before the summer gets here, about activities I´d like to start up, about what this summer is actually going to be like once I get everything finalized. <br /><br />Lots of things are up in the air (i.e. my summer work, my summer trip to the U.S., my next academic year...wherever (most likely in Granada)), but that makes this Spring no different from any other since I´ve started teaching EFL. I think the problem is more on the relationship front than I´m willing to admit.<br /><br />Since moving in together, things with P* have been good...and bad. Ups and Downs, right? Isn´t that what it´s always like? The first few weeks I was in homemaking bliss, happy to discover that my cleanliness and his, though they are thankfully both quite high-standard, are also complementary - I care about where things go, everything in its place, while he actually cares about dust and dirt and streaks on the glass/mirrors. I was happy thinking we were in near-perfect balance with housekeeping, when suddenly one night P* exploded on me without warning. He´d come home from work tired, and because I hadn´t started cooking dinner yet when he arrived, he threw himself into doing it while giving me the cold shoulder. When I got up the guts to ask what was wrong, it came to light that he didn´t think I was cleaning enough! Can you imagine?! ME!!! This was the first time in my life anyone had EVER found fault with me not cleaning enough. (In case you don´t know me very well, I´m quite well-known for being a cleaning control freak and thus a pain in the ass to live with, for most people.) I´ve clearly made too much progress in letting go of my cleanliness control, something I´ve been working on since moving to Spain. <br /><br />Anyway, after about 2 hrs of struggling to understand one another, I gave up and fled outside to the terrace, where I dropped into a fit of sobbing, gut-wrenching tears more intense that any in a long, long time. I felt like a failure. I felt like all the hopes I´d been building up for my new life here, for this new relationship, this new living situation...all of it is ridiculous and pointless if I keep making mistakes without realizing it. And that´s what this argument was - a list of things that P* had piled up all week long, things that I was doing wrong or simply not doing. I felt like the typical man in the argument, while P* was playing the typical woman - pummelling me with a long list he´d unfairly been storing up. I had to explain to him - I can´t avoid doing something he doesn´t like, or do things that he does like, if he doesn´t TELL ME he wants me to (not) do them! I´m not an effing mind reader! And he was frustrated too, the whole ¨I shouldn´t have to TELL you what I want! I ¨just want you to think about ME and just be considerate!¨And then I´m thinking, ¨Yeah, YOUR idea of what a considerate person is must be different from my idea. That´s why you have to COMMUNICATE!¨ Oh god, and it went on and on like that for another couple of hours, and we didn´t really make any progress. <br /><br />The whole time I was crying, I kept thinking about the dream I´d had the night before - it was about my ex-b/f, I*. It was the first time in a loooong time I´d dreamt about him, and I wasn´t sure why I had. In the heat of the argument, I realized why: maybe it´s residual guilt feelings from the way that relationship ended, but I´m starting to see myself in this relationship with P*, except I´m seeing me as I*, and P* as me. I feel like all of a sudden I can understand a lot of the things I* used to complain about, the way he used to react when I got upset - he always tried to please me, to do what he thought I wanted, but most of the time I was never very clear about what I wanted and I expected him to somehow just sense, or magically know, what I wanted. Looking back, I wasn´t very fair during these arguments. It was my failure to communicate what I wanted, not his inability to give me what I wanted, that was the problem. I had this epiphany during my crying spell on the terrace, and I wanted to vomit from feeling so guilty. Karma is a bitch, eh? At least the realization of all this helped me to communicate to P*, as if I was talking to myself. I think he learned a bit about me, and maybe I figured some stuff out. It ended well, at least. <br /><br />Of course there have been lots of other arguments since we moved in together in March, but none so mind-fucking as that one. I think we´ve more or less recovered, but the future will always bring further challenges - many of which to me feel like looming storm clouds which will inevitably burst when I´m not paying attention. But of course that´s only today´s perspective. Tomorrow´s forecast is sunny; gotta hope for the best, eh?Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-86666826160624617192010-03-07T06:22:00.001-08:002010-07-16T10:28:02.694-07:00The Holy EnchiladaFebruary flew by, and there's little to mention other than my unfortunate laptop incident. We were watching something on P*'s computer while my laptop nearby was downloading something, and in one swift move, wherein I was intending to be slick and romantically ease my boyfriend into a horizontal position, I knocked the laptop off the bed and it landed gently on its side, on the floor. I picked it up and the only thing wrong was that end of the adapter cable was bent where it plugs into the laptop. I straightened it manually and re-booted. Strange flashes appeared on the screen, and I started freaking out. I bought a new adapter on ebay and waited for it to arrive. In the meanwhile, I did what I shouldn't have and tried to find ways to rig the broken adapter cord into working - I stuck it into the power source as firmly as possible and propped it up for as long as it would last. Then the new adapter arrived, and when I plugged it in, everything worked fine. Except...the keyboard wouldn't allow me to type more than one letter without rebooting. So I sent it off to be inspected, and the problem was small, just a lack of power for the screen to function, which the new adapter took care of. Except the guy wasn't able to find the mechanical problem connected with the keyboard malfuntion. And the mouse pad doesn't work either. Great. So now I'll probably buy an external Spanish keyboard and use it until I get enough money scraped together for a new computer. NOT a good thing for my savings plan.<br /><br />Other than that technical dificulty, this Spring has been good. The weather is absolute shit - rain, hard winds and cold, cold, cold all the time. 2012 is coming. (Since the film, Spanish ppl say this a lot: "Viene el dos-mil-doce!"). But somehow keeping myself so busy with work, and also with my recent move into a new apartment, I don't dwell too much on the lack of sun. The new apartment came as a surprise - P* was looking for single studios when he got notice that he had to move out before March 1st, and he came upon a 2-brm attic apartment just 20 meters from my house. There are two bedrooms, two terraces (one communal, shaded, with a view of the Alhambra and Sierra Nevadas, the other private and uncovered), a big salon, and tiny but functional kitchen and teeny bathroom. We're having a party this weekend to warm the new piso, plus it's my birthday :) It's weird to think of myself as 28, and to think this Wednesday also marks my 2-yr anniversary of living in Spain. Time is a weird thing.<br /><br />Anyway, not much else to report. I'm cold.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-67222854960576909852010-02-06T05:34:00.000-08:002010-02-06T05:35:36.508-08:00As the (Personal) World Turns...Outside of work, the personal life has also brought new challenges. I spent last weekend up in Prado Negro, a pueblo in the mountains above Granada. We went hiking about 8 km up above the house where our friends live - through piles and piles of beautiful, glistening snow. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that it was the first time I'd seen that much snow EVER in my LIFE (about mid-thigh-deep). I made a snow angel and got bathed in the obligatory "snow virgin snowball fight" before we climbed down a freakishly steep cliff to cross over a waterfall (the only reason we were able to get across is it was covered in snow...which was also what made it very dangerous and difficult). <br /><br />Walking all that way, on a continuous incline no less, I became emotionally introspective despite the 5 friends happily chattering all around me (mostly in French, which might have contributed a bit too). I had a sort of epiphany about myself and physical challenges: I don't like to be on display at these times. Parts of the climb were...not difficult, but not necessarily things I was prepared to do when we left the warm comfort of the house that morning. In my mind, we were 6 friends out to leisurely explore the snow and breathe a bit of fresh air - not climb tediously over jagged rocks and prickly plants all afternoon for the sake of "sport." Because I didn't have a clear idea of what we would be doing (I probably should have guessed, based on the super professional outdoor/athletic gear our friend Rosa changed into before we left), I was unpleasantly surprised each time Rosa and her b/f Sylvain directed us further away from their house, up, up, and up the mountain over muddy, ice-covered patches of land that were nearly impossible to pass through with my pseudo-sporty New Balances (the only athletic shoe I own here in Spain) [side-note: everyone else in our walking party was wearing Merrill-type hiking shoes or boots, most of them water-proof, while I returned with freezing-cold, sopping-wet feet up to my mid-calves]. Anyway, there were moments of the day when I felt quite on-display about my lack of enthusiasm to get past the mountain's obstacles, and quite singled-out as the misfit in our group, and I worried that these people would see me as unadventurous or non-athletic. So I stayed quiet and focused on my balance when the terrain got slippery, I kept up my breathing instead of talking the whole way, and in doing this, I think I (unavoidably) pissed off my b/f just a bit. <br /><br />Later, I thought about a story of my American friend M*, whose Spanish b/f is really outdoorsy and likes to go hiking and trampling through the woods and stuff. M* and I come from the same basic city background, where it's just not normal to go out in the nature and hang around (no electricity? then what's there to DO out there??). We have that in common, but we differ in terms of athletic experience: though I never really liked hanging out in the woods, I've always been relatively athletic in terms of extra-curricular activities; however, M* has never gotten into sports, based on her personal interests and tastes, and while that's different from my experience, I can totally get it - my philosophy is basically that physical effort for the sake of physical effort is DUMB (i.e. wasting hours at the gym) - if you incorporate a healthy amount of physical activity into your daily life, or do fun things that are mildly physical, this is a much better way to stay healthy and fit (hello?! dropping 7 pants sizes simply by walking instead of driving!). <br /><br />Anyway, M* told me once about a day she went "walking" up in Jaen with her b/f and some of his friends. The "walk" turned out to be a hike, and there was a rather treacherous rope-bridge to cross, too. She broke down and cried a lot of the way, and her b/f was disturbed and confused and irritated at this behavior, and they had a big fight in the end. In retrospect, she realized the problem was she wasn't properly informed of what they would be doing, not to mention this type of thing isn't something she's done very often in her life, and most problematic was that her disgraceful reaction to this new experience was being witnessed by others who found the activity easy and fun (including the man whose opinion is most important to her). After the hike this weekend, I identify a lot with M*'s story, and remembering it helped me to cut myself some slack here. I used this story to explain my odd behavior to my b/f afterwards, and I think maybe he gets it now: yes, I like challenges and trying new things, and of course I'm open to different ideas of what's "fun," but I'm still allowed to get a little emotional (read: frustrated, caught off-guard, reluctant…) during new experiences, and it's not exactly easy to go through all that in front of people you barely know. <br /><br />When we got back to the house, we drank tea and sat in the sun to dry out our feet, and we ate a tasty lunch and chilled out as the sun went down. It wasn’t the perfect snowy mountain climb, but it was my first, and I can rest easy knowing the next time I do it, I’ll know what to expect and be able to enjoy it a lot more. I’ll post pics of my first real snow day when I get them uploaded JSteviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-76768224538824485612010-02-06T03:55:00.001-08:002010-02-06T05:34:33.451-08:00As the TEFL World Turns...Things have been...well, pretty great lately. I'm working an all-time BIG number of hours a week for me (28.5...the average number of hours per week for a TEFL teacher is around 25). And while the busy schedule doesn't leave much time for essential activities (eating lunch, for example), my American nature of "work work work" allows me to cope remarkably well. It's like what everyone says: give me just one important task to complete in a day, and I somehow won't find the energy to get it done; give me twenty, and I'll knock them all out, one-by-one, and still have time to cook and eat a nice dinner. It feels good to be productive, and I'm learning little tricks like preparing an energy-packed lunch to take with me before I leave the house on days when I don't have any breaks between classes [side-note: 3 days a week now, I'm teaching for 7 hours straight, with not even 5 minutes between each class to stop and pee or wolf down an apple]. The plus side is that time flies by on class days, and payday is SWEET :) <br /><br />The increase in my teaching hours comes from one or two classes that I picked up from a teacher that left our academy last semester, plus two others which represent milestones for me: private classes taught OUTSIDE of established English schools. I was really nervous, for some reason, when one of these students first approached me about classes at his apartment. My mind raced with questions: is it a good idea to have class in the student's home (especially when the student is an adult male)? is there any way I might get screwed here (in terms of getting paid in full and on time)? am I going to burn bridges here with the two academies that I feel unexplainably loyal to? In the end, I went with my gut and arranged these two classes privately with the students, and they're going SO well! Not only do I receive 50% more money for teaching these classes (I don't have to give a "cut" of the profits to an academy), but the students pay me less than they would pay an official English academy - everybody wins, and I think my private students appreciate my time and efforts more than the students I teach in schools. <br /><br />Around the time that all this was getting started (about a month ago, over the Christmas holidays), I coincidentally talked with a friend and former teacher at my main academy who's now running his own "school" - which basically means he's got his own business cards and teaches all in-house, private classes, exactly what I'm doing with the 2 students now. Apparently, he's got so many students wanting classes, he's outsourcing now and "hiring" other teachers to manage the overflow. A light bulb went off in my head as he passed me his card: this is what good, smart TEFL teachers do - they run their own "mini-business". But don't get me wrong here - I'm glad that these past two years I've spent my time working within the system, "paying my dues" as a relatively inexperienced TEFL teacher. I've learned a lot from putting in my time in the established schools, but next year I think I'll be ready to start downsizing the hours I put in at academies and accepting "independent" teaching ventures as often as possible. Especially when you consider the fact that my salary is 50% less per hour at the academies, PLUS the fact that without an official contract there I'm losing money that would cover my healthcare and citizenship costs, it just doesn't make cents or sense to keep shoveling TEFL manure in the schools. <br /><br />Professionally, 2010 is looking good ;)Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-86920822400236696362010-01-14T16:06:00.000-08:002010-01-14T16:13:54.667-08:00Today is Now Tomorrow<span lang="EN"> <p><span style="font-size:85%;">I’m watching The Day After Tomorrow at the moment (don’t judge - we’re all worthy of a little Hollywood trash cinema once in a while), and it’s making me think about who I’d want to be with if the world froze over. [Interesting side note/middle-of-the-moment realization: I taught the Second Conditional today <span style="font-family:Wingdings;">J</span> ]. If I could fit every person I care about onto one huge platform, it’d be a pretty big platform [OMG, I can’t stop!]. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">The question becomes more difficult if you limit it to one or two people. I mean - do you choose the obvious (your lover/mate/companion/whatever), or do you choose your kids (or if, like me, you don’t have kids, your parents)? Love or family? Family or love? Which is more important for your long-term happiness? Oddly enough, this is something I’ve been struggling with for a while. I think I’ve chosen love, at the sacrifice of having my family so far away as to be almost non-existent in my life sometimes. I get caught up in moments when I wonder why this has happened (why I’ve let this happen), and whether it’s not going to cause some huge conflict in the long run, my love life somehow in turmoil because I’m out of touch with my kin.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">On a related yet positive note, this is partly what led to my resolution to pick up the phone more, and I’m happy to report that I’ve talked to three family members and friends back in the States in the past week, plus seen (in person!) and visited with three best friends in Granada, plus had some great conversations with work mates. Hoo-ray for talky times <span style="font-family:Wingdings;">J</span> </span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">This has been a really difficult week, picking up the old work routine at a runner’s pace, and I’ve felt more stressed and anxious than ever, but the social activity is really helping my mental state. I feel optimistic about most things, and I’m looking forward to seeing how some of my students perform on their exams this semester. I started this week with 4 new classes (1 group of young teens and 3 individual students) , which had me in fits trying to figure out my new planning schedule, but now that it’s over, I really enjoyed all of them. There are only 3 teenagers in the group class, and despite my reservations about teaching group kid classes, they’re actually quite charming in their awkward prepubescent way. Each of them has a really distinct personality, and I get a kick out of watching them interact. And they’re certainly not scary anymore, which is a milestone for me. I think that workshop on Classroom Management at the TEFL conference in Seville really changed my perspective on kids/teen classes. I’ve somehow figured out that they’re just little robots in a way - all you have to do is keep their attention so they don’t get bored, and that’s easy enough to learn how to do once you know what they’re into, which is just a matter of picking from a grab bag of popular media/entertainment. After that, give them “treats” like they're little puppies, and they’ll roll over and (try to) speak good English for you as long as you want them to - or as long as your class lasts! It feels good to have conquered my fear, most of all. </span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">I was really worried about one of my new private classes with an adult student (it’s my first class done outside of an academy, so I want it to go well and possibly lead to more students), and though I had a directions snafu while finding his house (I left them at home!), the lesson went really well and I learned a lot about the student in just an hour and a half - he‘s a really careful learner, even meticulous. It was great because I think I identify a lot with this guy - his embarrassment is extreme when he makes a mistake, and I can see the wheels turning as he files the moment away so as not to repeat the error. I imagine that I have the exact same look on my face when I’m speaking Spanish. I want so hard to get it not just ok, but <i>perfect</i>! It will be interesting to teach a fellow perfectionist. I feel like I have more than just language teaching for this one - I also have a lot of advice (does that sound overbearing?). </span></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">It’s the end of the world in the movie now, everything’s frozen and it’s making me feel cold. And I’ve got to turn off my gas heater so I don’t die in my sleep. Suck, suck, suck. </span></p></span>Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-90590776402011417252010-01-09T06:00:00.000-08:002010-01-09T06:01:44.309-08:00Realizations and ResolutionsLately I’ve had trouble sleeping. It started innocently enough, due to a series of ear/nose/throat infections that made it difficult to breathe, and thus to get my much-needed shut-eye. But the holidays this year brought more than the usual rest and relaxation for this TEFL teacher. My 2.5 weeks off gave my body plenty of time to repair and heal, but it’s as if all the physical symptoms of illness suddenly became psychosomatic and moved up into my brain. I’ve spent almost every night of this holiday season tossing and turning in bed, my mind filled with questions and uncertainties about the upcoming year and what it has in store for me.<br /><br />Perhaps the most pressing of these questions and uncertainties for me is “Where will I be living next year? Still in Granada, or another city in Spain perhaps? Or am I finally ready to start a new chapter in Mexico and South America?” The answer to these question is rooted in other questions - the possibility of my TEFL academy getting me a work visa so that I can live in Spain/Europe legally and not have to pinch and save every dime for when I have health problems, or conversely, if they refuse to apply for my visa, will they give me a pay raise so that I can fund my healthcare on my own? In order to manage this “problem,” I’ve presented the idea to the owner of the academy, and time will tell what his decision is. There’s nothing more to do than to wait - easier said than done, of course.<br /><br />Tied to the decision of what country to live in is the fact that now I’ve invested a huge percentage of myself in a romantic relationship with a European citizen. As to whether that will all end in tears and heartbreak, again, waiting is all I can do. Meanwhile, my doubts about the future hover over me like the storm clouds above Granada that never seem to go away. I find myself in moments of panic, without any explanation as to why I feel so anxious, and I’m beginning to “pull out” emotionally because I’m not sure what all my relationship efforts are worth if they won’t (geographically) withstand the test of time.<br /><br />These are the two most important factors in my sleeplessness, and also in my relationship strife. Typically, I take these types of “mental crises” in stride, my ration combating with the dangerous emotional overflow that often comes in cycles for women. I use my scientist’s ability to reason, and I (over)analyze all the self-doubt and insecurity that drives me to sometimes make bad decisions in the heat of the moment with my partner. Trouble is, my partner has become my one and only confidant.<br /><br />I know enough about myself from relationship experiences in the past to know that this is a pattern for me - if I’m content in a romantic relationship, most other friendships become less important to me and I start to put all of my eggs in one basket, so-to-speak. This is natural for me, but that’s not to say isn’t toxic at the same time (though I’ve read that this is ‘normal’ for a lot of people, the adage after all says, “DON‘T put all your eggs in one basket.”). Lately, I’ve noticed my partner’s face as I begin to think out loud, laying my troubles on the table, looking for empathy. I haven’t decided yet if the look on his face in these moments is one of confusion, frustration, or discomfort, but my guess is it’s a combination of the three, and when I see it I instantly feel nauseous. When I note this look, my instinct is to shut up and stop seeking his advice because I know he wants to run for the door, which then leaves me pent-up with emotional overflow that nevertheless will find some way to exert itself in our daily interactions with one another.<br /><br />In recognizing how damaging it can be to rely on just one person for all your emotional needs, I’ve realized there’s only so much your partner can do for you. For me, this usually requires just an active ear and open mind, mainly to listen, and only to offer me advice when/if I ask for it. But the tendency when I start talking about my worries and insecurities is for my partner to try to solve whatever problems there may be by giving simple suggestions as to what I should do to manage them. Innocent enough intentions, of course, but something in me just boils over when I hear those words: “You should do X.” or “You need to Y.” I want to scream, “Of course I should do that! I’m not an idiot, I know how to take care of this stuff, I’m not asking you to fix it for me!” Truth is, there’s a very thin and delicate balance between offering suggestions to someone (what I don’t want at these times) and saying whatever needs to be said to calm my worries and make me realize I’m strong enough to overcome my problems (of which the exact words are often difficult to define, even for me). I think the distinction between these two is easier for women to discern, and I’m learning to be patient in these moments and realize that in those harmless suggestions my partner really is trying his best to be empathic - his intentions are good, so there’s really no need to get defensive. I think he’s learning too, in baby steps, how to be empathic without seeming domineering.<br /><br />I don’t consider myself a particularly emotional, albeit sensitive, person, and in every problem I come up against I always look for the most rational solution possible. In the grand scheme of things, the main solution is to WAIT. And to manage all the secondary “seedling” problems, I need to nurture my friendships outside of my romantic relationship more. Obviously, it puts unnecessary and overwhelming pressure on a relationship if each person doesn’t have more than the one outlet for emotional sound-boarding. I’ve got to take initiative this year in picking up the phone, investing in more social activities despite the stress they might impose on my work life. After all, the main thing I embrace about my new life in Spain is the fact that life isn’t all “work, work, work.” People here know when to leave the job at the door and focus on what’s really important - the people in your life and the things you love to do. I guess the American in me still struggles with that, and probably always will.<br /><br />So, while I don’t expect my insomnia to go away overnight, I’m hoping that in acknowledging some of the negative things I’ve been doing on “auto-pilot” in 2009, I can take action now to repair whatever damage they’ve caused and use new ambition to start making positive changes. Above all, I have to believe in me and in the probability that things will work out in the end. I’ve waited months and even years in the past for things that I wanted to happen; what’s another few?<br /><br />That said, you can likely expect a call from me sooner or later - if you’re in the States, it’ll be to catch up, and if you’re in Spain, it’ll be to go for coffee or tapas one day soon. You’re all on my radar; I hope this resolution sticks.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-22940547924331222242009-10-09T12:09:00.000-07:002009-10-09T12:27:26.529-07:00People Who Need PeopleI'm in a strange state of ambivalence at the moment - one part of me feels like it wants to stay inside and watch old movies, cook a good meal and drink some good wine, while the other is frantic and anxious for any opportunity to run hysterically from the quiet comfort of my house.<br /><br />It's 9:00pm on a Friday night, the first day of my 4-day weekend (due to a festival on Monday, school is closed). I woke up this morning after a night of a bit too much vino feeling quite good, considering, and did some yoga before washing up and sitting down to a good breakfast. I realized this week that I'd earned a little more in September than I'd anticipated, so I decided I can squeeze a new winter coat out of this month's budget, and this is the weekend I chose to do my coat shopping. I've now returned from my coat search empty-handed and strangely frazzled from the experience. I feel like crying, and I don't know why.<br /><br />I really need people. It blows my mind how strong my conviction is to avoid calling people just for the sake of company. I convince myself that I'm happier alone, that I can be more productive if I stay home, that I don't want to stay out late at night and waste the next day's morning, that I'll just be bored when I meet up with whoever for drinks...knowing full well that's a load of BS. Is this social anxiety disorder?? Do I need professional help, or just a good gal pal?<br /><br />The situation is dire: I will not make it through 4 days of free time without a single conversation with a live, face-to-face human. Just being in the shops today for 3 hours or so, alone with my headphones plugged in to avoid having to talk to any of the shop clerks, was enough to set me on edge. I feel like I want to jump off a cliff. Or into a good chat...preferably with someone who doesn't suck.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-159713319139417332009-10-04T11:26:00.000-07:002009-10-04T12:24:48.323-07:00A little gloom never hurt anybodyHow personal should you allow yourself to be via blog?? I'm a person who never wanted to be the type of person who blogs (judgmental, maybe?), but I succumbed about 2 years ago, citing the excuse that it's an easy way to update friends and family, all at once, while living abroad. Easy enough justification. Yet no matter how surface-level I try to keep things when I'm writing a new post, some part of me wants to slide into introspection - perhaps due to the cathartic nature of the writing process itself, but I'm afraid it's also because the only time I find to blog is when I'm B-O-R-E-D, (a.k.a. - a little bit depressed).<br /><br />So, disclaimer: this one is going to be a bit personal, a bit of a purge of self doubts and insecurities and unneccessary worries, although to be point-blank honest about the current state of my life in all sectors (professional, romantic, physical/health), most people have the right to kick me for complaining.<br /><br />But first, I want to give thanks (to keep things in balance, of course):<br />Since moving to Spain, I've come into myself. It no longer seems weird to call myself a "woman," and though I don't even know what the world's definition of that is anymore, I'm proud to say I've got my own and I fit it to a T. I'm not afraid of the future anymore, and I'm not sure if that's just a milestone that comes for everyone at a certain point in life or if it's something to feel good about that I've reached it at all, and especially so young. Whatever the reason, I feel secure in myself and my place in the world - and I'm humbled daily by what a big, big world it is, and what a small, small place I hold. This is not to say that I'm naiive, that I think because life is going so well for me now that nothing bad could ever change it all, but just to say I'm thankful to have what I do, and to be open enough to recognize and appreciate it.<br /><br />That being said, despite all the positive self-development that's happened since moving abroad, I'm shockingly aware as the months drift by of my inequities, namely my glaring lack of a social life. There are things that I want for myself (hello - friends!!!) and that, though I know what I want and how to get it, for the life of me, I can't bring myself to just go out there and get. And I wonder, if I'm so sure that I'm sure about who I am at this point in my life, what's stopping me from making my life not just what I'm comfortable with but what I wholeheartedly want it to be? Some possible culprits come to mind:<br /><br />1) Laziness<br />I love my father and that side of my family to a ridiculous degree, but of course love comes with seeing and accepting the faults of the ones you care about. I'm not blind to my father's family's lazy streak - which is so acknowledged amongst the Knox's as to be joked about as if it were an inherited trait. Making light of our faults is fine and all, but I've secretly always been terrified of being lazy. This logically has more to do with my mother and stepfather constantly telling me and my older brother we were lazy-ass good-for-nothings who didn't appreciate what we had. I grew up with my mother and didn't have contact with my father or his family thoughout my formative years, and so never knew their laziness until I was adult enough to see it for what it was, which is fortunate I guess. But in the back of my mind, as scary as it is to admit, I'd be remiss to ignore my inner sloth that, when the heat is on, wants to just retreat under the covers and sleep til 4:00pm, or until someone just happens to come along or call me and I have a reason to get out of bed. It's fine to joke about a behavior as an inherited trait, but I think my laziness is genetic - otherwise, how do you explain my being lazy if I never had the "nurture" side from my father's influence? My mother might be a nut-bag, but she's anything but lazy; my father's Achilles heel is undoubtedly his laziness. So, admission is the first step. Now what??<br /><br />2) Fear<br />I think I've always been afraid, deep down to my core, of other people. I'm afraid of what they think, afraid of creating conflict, afraid of disappointing others and missing out on opportunties. Lately, my laziness and my fear have been having fireside get-togethers, collaborating and having a fine old time getting to know one another, so now when one has a 'great idea,' the other's always there to back him up for support. When fear sets out to prevent me from putting myself out there, from strolling down to the neighborhood bar where my friend works just because I have nothing better to do than buy a beer so I can chat with her for an hour, my laziness kicks in and says, "Eh, you'd rather not go down there anyway - the conversation is always mediocre." I justify my own chicken-shitness (fear of looking like a retard in front of my friend because I go in there all the time by myself, so eventually she'll notice I'm probably just lonely or bored - both true) by convincing myself I'm happier to spend almost my entire weekend at home, alone in my room playing guitar or wasting time on the internet. Trouble is, though I'm completely aware of this and I know exactly what I want (to make new friends that I can count on, and to have "social outing options" at least 4 nights a week) and what I need to do to make it happen (go out more, call the few friends that I have more, make myself more available, etc.), something always stops me from it because I feel vulnerable and I hate feeling like that. Fear, like everything in life, is cyclical.<br /><br />I hate that every time I write about insecurities it sounds like I need to read a self-help book. I guess the point of all this is to chronicle the fact that this stuff is in my head, too, despite the many good things which I write about in my blog, which are in no way diminished by the presence of negativity from time to time. I'm still generally happy, but there's always room for improvement, right? Hopefully, my improvement at this stage will come in the way I want it to, and like everything in life, I'll have to get around to putting some effort into it. Otherwise, it won't be worth a euro-cent.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-69786820325616305482009-10-03T16:30:00.000-07:002009-10-03T17:20:03.975-07:00Among (many) other things...October has arrived.<br /><br />Professionally, this year has been great. For the record, having a full-time position kicks way more ass than piecing your schedule together hour-by-hour in the first few months of teaching, when it's never a complete month's worth of classes anyway so you have to prepare for small(er) paychecks. I'm teaching 4 full-to-the-brim group classes (12-13 students each) at my main academy, and rounding out the week with a few 1:1's for that school and also some for my other school, with three students that I worked with last year who asked specifically for me again this year :) I've hit the ground running as of September 14 with a whopping 22-hrs/week, which ain't peanuts for a teacher's schedule. I count this as a success, and if I ever feel tired or worn out at the end of the day, my solace is in the recollection of the 40+ hours per week that I used to put in when I lived in the States - I truly don't understand why the American population doesn't just up and riot in the streets the way Europeans do about being overworked. I think they'd be surprised how effectively it could change the way of life there, for the better of most individuals. Also a plus this year is the fact that 2 days a week, my day starts at 4:00pm!! And the other 2 days, it's 12:00noon, and then on Fridays I've got one 1:1 class at 6:15pm that's so easy to teach I could sleep through it. Viva Espana!!<br /><br />As for the specifics of my classes, I couldn't be happier. While 1:1's are my bread and butter (it's like Jerry Macguire when he says, "Send me into the living room - it's my thing."), and while I may have had more than one near nervous breakdown in the first week of group classes this year (going cold-turkey, from no classes for 2 months, outside of cheeky camp kids, to 12 pairs of adult eyes staring back at you which are each paying a shitload of money for your language instruction, can be quite unsettling), I have somehow found my niche in front of groups. Sure, there are days when I feel like planning straight out of a coursebook is a complete and utter cop-out, which of course makes me feel like a failure of a teacher, but most of the time it's days when I still plan out of the coursebook but by being a few simple steps ahead of the students, I can grab their attention and hold it for an hour and a half solid. I'm learning to be less of a perfectionist, I guess, and to cut myself a little slack - meaning, the coursebooks are there for you to use them, so why make work harder than it needs to be by trying to come up with a lesson plan all on your own?? (Note: this is what I have ALWAYS tried and struggled to do, since Day 1 of my TEFL course. BAD IDEA!! It just means MORE WORK, and not necessarily better work.) Meanwhile, I'm still able to answer any quick-fire question thrown my way ("How do you translate the word 'just' into Spanish?" or "Why isn't "helpful" the opposite of "helpless"?), and I get a little rush in my chest, seeing the impressed looks on my students faces when I'm able to just lay it out for them.<br /><br />In other news, I've moved into a new house - wow, I guess I should have led off with that. I felt like staying in Granada another year was a bit cowardly, so in order to keep challenging myself I set a goal of NOT moving back into Casa de Tina, where I spent the last year and some-odd months. I have fond memories of that place, of course, but then again it had its problems. I arrived back in Granada after a week of much-needed summer camp deflation in Madrid, homeless and about to start work in 5 days. Some friends of Pierre let me crash at their awesome 2-story condo high up above the city while I looked for apartments, and luck was definitely on my side when I called the first ad I saw on Loquo.com for a piso in the Albayzin (my old neighborhood). I went in and immediately fell in love with the place, which had all the charm and history of the Albayzin carmens but was much better cared for and peaceful than my last accommodations. I told the landlord I was very interested but still not sure, and then 2 hours afterwards while walking around and mulling it over, I called and said I'd take it. I've got a private bedroom in a 3-bedroom house (1 of which is the landlord, Ana's, and another which was recently rented to a nice woman from Greece, here studying for her Doctorate), with shared bathroom (with a tub!), salon, and kitchen. The best part - my room opens up with double doors to a terrace that runs the length of the whole house and lets in wonderful sunshine, and there's enough space in my room to do yoga here :)<br /><br />I'm really happy in my new place, but it's strange how uncomfortable I feel sometimes around my housemates. I guess that's just a part of communal living, and especially doing it in a foreign language, it's bound to be a bit weird at first. But what's funny is how little speaking Spanish plays a part in any discomfort for me now. Sometimes I find myself alone, thinking or mumbling some off-hand comment, and it comes first in Spanish. ("Que fuerte!?") And I never feel pressured or awkward or locked inside myself from speaking Spanish, the way I did when in France for example or when I first got here to Spain - if I struggle for a word, I just blatantly ask what it is and someone tells me. I file it away and move on through the conversation. I guess my tolerance for this comes from more confidence in my Spanish and also from the time being forced to use it, and maybe also from the classroom where I'm constantly reminded and forced to sympathize with how difficult it is to try to express yourself in another language. Anyway, the awkwardness with Ana and the Greek lady (don't even know her name! but we've had at least 5 lengthy conversations so far, makes me feel really bad!) gets better every day, with every occasion that we have to speak to one another (sometimes there's just no need, so I don't initiate - I think this is part of my problem. I'm sheepish.). Ana and her girlfriend, Yolanda, who's here so often she practically lives here, asked me the other day what state I'm from, and when I said not Louisiana but New Orleans, they flipped out! They were asking me all these questions about Katrina and carnaval (Mardi Gras to us cajuns), about the food and the architecture. I told them when the weather gets cold, if I can find the right ingredients, I'd try to make them my MawMaw's gumbo :)<br /><br />As for negatives, the weather's getting cold now and my skin's drying out. But I've found a loophole for healthcare through the Spanish system, if I can get my landlord to file the paperwork for me, so maybe I'll get to see a dermatologist here in the next few months! Plus a dentist, a gyno, an allergist (!!!). Hallelujah, eh? All is not lost. Also, Pierre will be moving here from France in a few weeks, so I won't be so lonely in my free time anymore.<br /><br />That's about it, as for updates. Hope this wasn't too boring!!Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-83079329675824797832009-07-12T10:52:00.000-07:002009-07-12T11:36:48.372-07:00Lost in LanguageI've been here in Marmande for about 2 weeks now. I've eaten the best petit-fours in Toulouse and I've shopped the biggest sales of the year in Bourdeaux (and guzzled lots of their wine). All the while, I'm picking up French words here and there, which is thrilling and whatnot, but I can't seem to get comfortable with not having a damned clue what's going on in the conversations around me.<br /><br />I can't ask simple questions of the new people I meet to get to know them better; I can't make small-talk with the lovely people in the boulangeries; I'm lucky when someone in the group knows a bit of either English or Spanish, but I don't get my hopes up, ever; I just put on a placid smile wherever I go (sometimes it's actually genuine) and wear my heart on my sleeve and wait for the human interaction around me to slow down or stop so that I can ask Pierre what the hell was discussed. Sometimes, I wish I hadn't asked. My patience waxes and wanes throughout my struggle to meet people, be myself and make whatever connections are possible with what little language faculty that I have. I find myself feeling so alone, so trapped inside my own skin, the words I'm dying to express just swirling around like a windstorm in my mind, and there's no window to open and let out all the built-up pressure. I get really sad when I find myself in a moment and realize how much I'm missing out on - whether it be random drunken stories told by friends who haven't seen each other in years; subtle nuances in the ways in which people are interacting that would tell me much more about how I should conduct myself here; or just plain small talk between a shop clerk and a customer, the things that make them smile or chuckle or make a strange face as they are buying their groceries. I miss out on all of that because of language, and I figure out some way to guess at the meaning of everything by watching intently like a child. Having your language removed reduces you to a child. It's ridiculously humbling.<br /><br />I'm taking this as a lesson I need to learn if I want to be a true teacher and especially if I want to travel the world. Here, I'm learning how it feels to have your most self-defining asset (language) utterly stripped from you, to the concern of no one around you, and how to cope with that feeling, manage it, and use it as a tool rather than a hindrance. That tactic I mention above, how I'm learning to pay attention to body language and verbal cues rather than the literal meaning of the sounds I hear - that's a bit of what I'm talking about here. I know I'll be all right, hell I may even come out of this remembering a bit of French! But it's not just a mental process, I guess is what I'm just now figuring out; it's also very much an emotional one.<br /><br />There's another saddening aspect of learning French for me. I truly love learning new words and hearing the sounds of forign tongues change as I become more and more accustomed to them. But at some point, the French that I heard on occasion which had such a magnetic and alluring mystery to it now just sounds like simple funtional noise, nothing to really marvel at. It's like how people say the more you learn about something, the less you want to learn, or something like that. This feels to me like a coming of age story, like it was inevitable that I had to figure out some time that languages are more than just hypnotic sounds that make my ears perk up to distinguish them or figure out where they come from. Language isn't some mystical, intangible frivolity of nature but a direct, purposeful and unbearably functional manifestation of it. I've always been most fond of art that serves a functional purpose - pottery, if you will, or a decorative coat rack. I guess I should think of language not as one or the other - not a mysterious artform without purpose, and neither a staunch and scientific machine. It's a bit of both - look at poetry, for example. That's one of the aspects of language that most fascinates me, how we can study something to infinity, but at the end of the day there's always something new to learn about it and be awed and inspired by.<br /><br />Here's to life lessons!Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-50372482809737566102009-07-01T05:41:00.000-07:002010-01-14T16:34:33.257-08:00France and stuffLet's see...where to begin? I left Granada last Saturday and spent a total 14 hours travelling by bus to San Sebastian, where I spent my last official night in Spain for the next month. During the ride, I had a connecting bus to switch to but didn't realize it was at a different station in Madrid, so I obviously missed that one, but all I can say about that now is THANK GOD for ticket insurance with ALSA! All worked out in the end and it only meant 1 extra hour of travel time, and NO extra cost to me for a new bus ticket. It was cool to see the andalucian landscape gradually change during the ride. I did the cheesy tourist thing and took pictures from the bus of the sun setting over the green Basque country mountains.<br /><br />The next day, I crossed the border by car into France and bought cigarettes en la frontera. Driving up the Atlantic coast, we stopped and I got my first view of the Atlantic from <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">the other side</span>. I was thrilled to see signs written in French. We stayed with Pierre's 'aunt and uncle', who are perfectly liberal French hippie types who have a penchant for French beer, an enormous 'herb' garden, and thus a very laid-back approach to life. I spent my first official day in France sitting at a table surrounded by lovely French people, smoking and drinking Rioja and Bourdeaux, eating european pizza, French cheese, and Spanish chorizo in a lovely garden until sundown. There was a break in between where we went to lie in the sunshine near a lake, and I got some guitar time in. I spoke in Spanish the entire time, far too nervous to break out what little French I barely know, but amazingly, my comprehension was quite good! I was able to follow the conversation and participate quite a bit with the help of translation from Pierre, and his aunt spoke decent Spanish so there was that too. I did go to bed more exhausted than I remembered being for a long time - it was the kind of fatigue that comes from being locked into another language, unable to truly follow the conversation of a group of people without putting every ounce of effort into listening and translating and processing the whole time - I think I did pretty damned well, considering we were talking for a total of about 10 hours all-told!<br /><br />The next day, I got kinda sunburnt on one of the most remote beaches I've seen in my life. We took a break to eat lunch (hamburgers - real, non-Spanish ones!!) and then drove up the coast to the biggest sand dune in Europe (the Dune du Pila). We climbed up the dune and were met with the blazing sun cast over Sahara-sized sand dunes, with the tranquil Atlantic meeting them down at the bottom. Stretching out in the other direction from the ocean were over 300 miles of French forest, one of the biggest in Europe as well. Pierre and I sat on the dunes taking sun for a while, left and said goodbye to our wonderful hosts, and drove 2 hours to his house in the countryside near Bourdeaux. We had one day of chillax-down-time yesterday, and today he's off to work while I try to soak up the Frenchness.<br /><br />As for talleys: so far, I've tried 3 French beers, all of which were excellent and one of which I was already very fond (Stella Artois); I've eaten locally raised duck confit (amazing) and ground horse (very similar to hamburger but with a distinctively different flavor); I've bought bread at a boulangerie; and I've noticed so many similarities between France and New Orleans, France and the United States, the French language and the English language...this looks to be the beginning of an eye-opening holiday.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-69853532635180042422009-06-17T08:45:00.000-07:002009-06-17T09:13:12.562-07:00And then there was blah...I'm rounding out my final trimester of the academic year, it's excruciatingly hot in Granada, and I am awestruck by how ambivalent I feel about leaving this city for two months. On the one hand, I can't wait to escape the heat, the crowds, the super energetic pace of Spanish life; and on the other hand, I have this panic feeling in my guts when I think about it, like I need to spend each day until the 27th (when I leave for France) soaking up all of the familiar Granada that I can get.<br /><br />The next few months, though only a short interim between this academic year and the next, will be quite a change for me. I'll spend the first month in southern France (where I will know NOTHING of the language - frankly, I'm terrified), then the second teaching again at summer camp. No more running around, trying to make it to class in time. No more crazy nights out with members of the house. When I get back to Granada, all the people living here will have changed, and I'll find a new house to live in and probably put my life at Tina behind me. It's the only way to make a valid distinction between this year and the next, and it's important for me that they feel like different experiences so that I don't get bored :)<br /><br />Anyway, here's to making the most of what little time you have left! Viva Granada!!<br /><br />A random anecdote from today:<br />I was eating lunch on a bench near my bus stop today, sitting in the shade, when a well-dressed Spanish man of about 50 years old or so walked up to me and hovered close to my face, staring quizically into my sunglasses. I had my earphones in and probably shouted bit, "Desculpa? Perdon? Puedo ayudarte??" He said something that I couldn't hear, so I took out my headphones and stared back at him with this confused look on my face.<br /><br />"Eres Espanola?" he asked me. Then, "Are you Spanish?" (in English this time). I kept talking in Spanish and told him no, I'm not. Yes, I speak English as well as Spanish. "Do you work here?" he asked in very good English.<br /><br />"In Granada? Uh...no, I study. I'm a student," I lied. (I thought he might be some kind of policeman or immigration officer in disguise...sounds stupid, I know, but this sort of thing has never happened to me, so I panicked.)<br /><br />"Do you want to work?" he asked.<br /><br />"Uhm...no, I, uh...what? I'm finishing my exams right now then I'm leaving Granada in two weeks. I don't have time to work!" My mouth was wide open in disbelief.<br /><br />"Oh, well if you want to work, let me know," he says and walks away, sliding his hands gently into his pockets and sortof confidently stepping around my crossed ankles. The guy didn't say his name ONCE or give me any kind of business card. It's like he thinks he's someone famous and I'll know where to find him if I 'want work'!<br /><br />The funny thing that occurred to me afterwards was that I don't really know what made him approach me in the first place. Was it because I was eating my lunch quickly on a park bench instead of sitting lazily at a cafe for an hour and a half like most Spanish people? And just what kind of work was he talking about?? Obviously, it must be English related, but how the hell do I know? And if it is English related - how did he just look at me and know I was an English speaker?? Super weird, yo.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-37441137366873054232009-06-05T00:33:00.000-07:002009-07-12T11:37:42.752-07:00Spring to Summer<span style="font-size:85%;">As usual, I'm long overdue on a little blog maintenance, so this will be my obligatory update on the past two months or so (how long HAS it been? I don't even know...)....</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Things in my TEFL world are finally falling into place. Somehow, I've managed to figure out this whole teaching thing and get through each week this Spring like coasting on the nice warm breeze blowing down from the Sierra Nevadas. I don't really have to plan much more than making a mental note of what I want to teach each day and then teaching it - no more endless hours of stress-ridden sleep before an arduous day of lessons; no more worrying that I'm doing my students a disservice by being unprepared. I've realized somehow that all the planning I need is in my head - that's where the good stuff is, and I'm equipped to answer any question a student may throw at me, regardless of how many internet sites I've looked at to get ideas or how many coursebooks I've reviewed and copied to piece together a lesson plan. I think this is normal for TEFL teachers in their first year, because most of the seasoned teachers I've met seem to be nothing more than slacker vagabonds who chose this profession because it's an easy way to make a buck by milking the fact that you're a native English speaker and English happens to be in high demand right now. When I thought of these teachers before, there seemed to be a huge difference between them and me - obviously, they must care much less than I do about their students if they're not stressed and running around trying to make their lessons the best they can be. Somewhere inside my head, the perfectionist in me is always thinking there must be something wrong here if I'm not freaking out about improving my teaching skills every day. But now I realize it's just a matter of experience and the confidence that comes with it. Quite a revelation.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">In other news, my whole summer "plan" has been uprooted by a life-changing decision not to move back to the States for quite some time (we're talking years). This came from an opportunity here in Spain that I couldn't pass up, but also from the sense of jadedness and exasperation that I have at present with everything American. Now that I've seen my country from "the other side," had an objective viewpoint on the effects our country has had on the rest of the world...well, let's just say it's intensified the sense of guilt and shame I have as an American abroad. I'm so thankful that most people here think I look Spanish (and my Spanish usually has them fooled too!)</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A small side-note on that: I was teaching at Lux Mundi on Wednesday, and we have a new schedule that we were test-running that day, so I ended up with some students that are normally in another teacher's class. This one kid, named Kike,"(pronounced "kee-kay"), who's quite the <em>cool kid</em> in class, overhears me speaking Spanish to some of my 3- and 4-yr old students. And after that, he was constantly in my face trying to get me to speak Spanish in class. He tells me that he wants me to speak Spanish "porque eres nativa" (because you're native)! HahahaHA! (uh, I mean JajajaJA) Then he keeps asking me where I'm from, what's my name (he forgot), etc...and from that point on I only spoke in English. [note: You may think I chose to speak only in English because that's what an effective English teacher should do in that situation, but honestly I didn't want to speak Spanish anymore because I was afraid he'd find me out! Sortof a "quit while you're ahead" strategy.] I love it when people mistake me for Spanish, especially when it's because of my language/accent and not my appearance...it happens almost every day, but it tickles me every time. It's even better when at first they think I'm Spanish and talk to me as such, then once I make a grammar mistake, they give me this confused look like I've not just made a grammar mistake but said some new Spanish expression they're not familiar with yet! I can see the wheels turning in their heads, trying to figure me out, and I absolutely love it :) It further reinforces the feeling that Spain was my destiny - like somehow I was always meant to be here. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Anyway, in case you weren't privy, I'll be here in Spain for a while longer (no complaints here!). I've cancelled my trip home due to logistics and money-saving strategies, which means now I've got a whole summer abroad to play with. The first half will be spent in southern France (Toulouse, to be exact), staying with a friend I met here in Granada recently who lives there. I'm sure I'll have lots of interesting stories from that venture, considering when I try to speak the miniscule French that I know, I always panic and instinctively revert to Spanish. I bet the French people will find that quite interesting :) After France, it's off to Riomundo (Spain) for another summer of teaching at English camp. Camp should be better on all fronts this summer, except of course the FOOD one - I'm planning to bring a full stock of whole grains and produce with me to spare me from the sugar-salt-yet-no-flavor diet provided by the camp (the only thing I can really say about the food there is at least it's free!). Then, after camp I'll have two weeks of vacation before returning to Granada to a new academic year - this time, full-time with block schedules!! (This means fewer one-to-ones, but no more running around town all day wasting precious hours for which I'm not paid. Yay!!) </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">In short, the Spring has been swell, and I'm looking forward to summer :) Should be good, folks. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span>Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-65062008352615359672009-03-28T04:11:00.000-07:002009-03-28T04:49:57.048-07:00This time...and that other time...oh, yeah, and then there was....My friend M*, an American girl who is now dating a very, very Spanish man, told me a few weeks ago she got into an argument with her man because he stood her up at the last minute. He'd suggested a few days before that he pick her up in his car one evening after work. Well, he decided to change his mind and not pick her up - which meant she then had to walk all the way home late at night, carrying the several heavy bags of groceries which she'd bought earlier because, of course, she'd thought she'd have a ride home and wouldn't have to carry them. Amidst what I'm sure were very reprimanding comments from M* when they were later arguing, the Spanish b/f dropped this little gem as explanation: "When I say I'm going to do something, <em>it's just an idea</em> - not a commitment or anything."<br /><br />It's neverending here, the list of times that I've been stood up or had to change my plans because someone else bailed on me (if not a whole group of people). And it aggravates the crap out of me every time, no matter how used to it I am after living here for over a year.<br /><br />Thing is, I just don't understand it. I mean, I can totally get why it's okay to be a few minutes late here - maybe it's the lackadaisacal way many New Orleanians live seemingly without schedules (always running late, always apologizing to others, and in return always telling others it's okay when it happens to you, etc.). I actually embrace this aspect of Spanish culture - the fact that if I get there a bit early, great! But if I'm running a few minutes late, who cares? Nobody's counting minutes here.<br /><br />But...to me, being relaxed about tardiness is so different than the "commitment" issue in Spain. I understand that making a commitment, saying you're going to do something, is a bit of an obligation and you should have every right to do it when you damned well please - if you're a few minutes late or have a slight change of plans at the last minute, I'm cool with that. Shit happens, you know? But, the difference for me comes when (and this happens like clockwork, friends, EVERY time...), always at the last minute, people who have said they'd do things with me, who seemed nothing short of thrilled to do these things, not only change plans but CANCEL them altogether, citing a regular handbag of excuses that I'm all too familiar with by now.<br /><br />And I just don't get it! This is honestly the most perplexing thing I've discovered about Spanish life and culture, and it is simply beyond me.<br /><br />And I honestly try hard to figure it out - here's a little example of what goes on in my head, with regard to cultural differences: Hm, maybe it's rooted in the language? Maybe the word "plan" in English is different than the word...wait, wait, Spanish has the word "plan" too. Okay, so maybe the definition is different? Do the Spanish have the metaphor "time is money" built into their language? - can you <em>spend time</em>, in Spanish? I think you can, at least my students never make a funny face or tell me I'm wrong when I say "gastar tiempo" - but then that can mean to spend time, or to waste time. Hm.... ok so if it's not in the language, it's definitely in the social attitude as filtered through the language - what the words <em>plan, commitment, idea, date, meeting</em> mean to the Spanish is very different from what they mean to Americans. Ok, ok, so maybe I can understand a bit - it's just a cultural difference, right? But wait! No way, because with every single other cultural difference, I can relate to the Spanish perspective. But this one, I absolutely can not see why this is a preferable way to handle the making of arrangements with other people. It's so selfish! And that's perhaps what's confusing me the most - I can almost ALWAYS understand decisions made out of selfishness. I get it, you know? You gotta "Look out for number 1?" But...oh I'll stop my ranting now.<br /><br />If anyone's got an anecdote to throw at me, or something to offer a bit of clarity, I'd greatly appreciate it :)Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-82192996827825280372009-03-27T12:42:00.000-07:002009-03-27T13:07:52.446-07:00Not for NaughtI've always loved that expression. Let's bring that one back, ok?<br /><br />This week has been amazing, and it's assured me that, indeed, life comes in cycles. Especially life in Granada, where the every whim of the local peoples seems to be entirely dependent on the weather. Now that the sunshine of Spring has arrived, now that everyone can walk around without their heavy coats and boots, people seem physically and metaphysically lighter. (As I consider this, I am simultaneously wondering if perhaps it's just me that's feeling this way, and whether I'm projecting this onto everyone else??)<br /><br />Whatever the real case may be, the energy here now, so reminiscent of this time last year here in Granada, is truly inspiring me. With my lightened work load, I've been able to go out and meet new people, hang out with some not-so-new people, and take it easy once in a while during my week. It's exactly what I needed.<br /><br />In other news, I've gotten some really great reports from students this trimester - FOUR are increasing their hours, they're so pleased with my classes! This really makes me feel good. And it's so much more encouraging than seeing dollar signs add up as your validation for work; I don't care that this means I'm getting more money each month. To know my students are willing to pay their hard-earned money just to have an extra hour of MY instruction. Well...that's humbling. Sigh.... It's taking me back to my days at the Writing Center. I feel good about what I do now, like no matter what challenges I may face as a teacher, I'm good at this - and one day, I will be damned good. That's all I could ever really ask for - just to have others appreciate what I do, to affect people's lives personally, and to know that I may not be the best at what I do, but by god, I'm pretty close. <br /><br />Anyway, it's Springtime and I'm a teacher. My job defines me, and I define my job. How awesome is that??Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-61271888077318295932009-03-21T11:01:00.000-07:002009-03-21T11:23:58.389-07:00Crowds for Crowds' SakeIn case anyone was curious about whether the Spanish are every bit as enthusiastic as the rest of humanity is about gettin' plain ol' <em>drunk</em>, well...the Fiesta de Primavera (this weekend - basically just a general term for the coming of Spring, not like an organized party or anything) is a prime demonstration of the Spanish lust for the sauce.<br /><br />Last night there was a huge Botellon, and I kept hearing people mention it all day like it was this big, exciting event not to be missed. When I'd ask someone where it was going to be, they all replied, "El Hipercor." ("Huh??!" I thought - "Why would a big fiesta take place at a supermarket?") Well...it seems a botellon is just a massive crowd of people getting drunk in a parking lot. And I mean MASSIVE. I didn't go, myself, but every single person I talked to yesterday was going - all 15 students from my Business English class, my 2 students preparing for the FCE, and even my 14-yr old student who was going there directly after her private class which ended at 7:45pm.<br /><br />Obviously, my younger students were not going to the botellon to drink alcohol, just to be with their friends and hang out. So maybe it's not about the alcohol. Spanish people just really effing love to crowd up a place, man.<br /><br />So, that's one example. Then, there's the Dragon Festival (pronounced with an accent over the O). This, also, was something I kept hearing about all week: "Vas a la Dragon?" Before I ever had a chance to answer someone when they asked me this, a huge group of people would all start speaking excitedly at once, in a mixture of several different languages, and I never even got to find out what the hell it was. When yesterday I finally asked a Spanish girl (A*) living in our house, "What IS the Dragon Festival?" she laughed and said, "Un festival normal." Effing Spanish - so direct! It's like when you ask someone at a restaurant, "What kind of cheese comes with this cheese plate?" - the response to this is always, "Queso normal" followed by a confused look as if you are either an alien or an idiot for asking. So, needless to say, I had to probe A* for more information about the Dragon. What I found out is that it's just another massive group of people, this time not in a parking lot but way the hell out of town, getting drunk and imbibing in illegal substances, sometimes listening to or playing live music. For two straight days.<br /><br />"No, thanks," I say. I don't know if I'm just too old for this stuff anymore, if I've finally embraced the fact that I prefer to either be around a crowd of people I semi-know or else NOT around a crowd at all, or what. Or maybe it's just that I don't have any friends here that I'm completely comfortable and happy to be around. Whatever it is, it's seriously harshing my social life. I've gotta get on the <em>crowd bandwagon</em> sooner or later, dammit.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-55021508095540760592009-03-21T10:51:00.000-07:002009-03-21T10:56:51.645-07:00the Good StuffWoke up early today to a casa tranquila, made myself a nice breakfast and a stout coffee, toked a bit, then took a cat nap in the sunshine. After that, I did yoga in the newly opened salon upstairs in the house, sat in the sun again, took a shower, and then went out for a daytime tapas crawl with two lovely ladies from the house, during which I enjoyed a double-scoop ice cream cone of menta y tiramisu flavors (my only actual goal for today was buying an ice cream).<br /><br />It's 7pm, my day's not half over yet, and already it's been rock solid. Bring it on, sunny springtime. Bring it ON.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-22150969813673313012009-03-15T09:26:00.001-07:002009-03-15T09:48:25.329-07:00A long, unexpectedly blessed day...The word "blessed" has this strange gospel-Christian connotation to it for me (as in, "Leave a message, and have a blessed day!" as said by turbo-Christians on their voicemails, which always gives me a bit of the creeps), but I really can't think of any other word to describe yesterday. Just to be clear, however - the day was blessed by fortune, not by baby Jesus or his father, or any such diety. If anything, it was blessed by the sun and by some really, really nice people.<br /><br />I got home on Friday 100% depleted - my work week was HELL, and my Friday work kept me out of the house all day from 8:30am til 9pm, and just before my last class at IML, I started to have an allergic reaction at the school after "hoofing it" from one class to the next in the pollen-infested Spring air. I'd taken an antihistimine earlier that day, but it obviously wore off around 5:00pm. Unfortunately, I didn't have any more allergy meds on me except for my epi-pen, and if I'd decided to cancel class and try to make it home before it got too serious, I'd have to either walk pretty far to the nearest bus stop or climb up the monstrous hill to my house; luckily, I had about 45 minutes before my student arrived, so amidst near panic, I decided to try to relax and push through it. I sat completely still in the classroom the entire time, with my head down, unable to breath, face and body writhing in itchiness and completely red, eyes itchy and watery, etc etc...just trying to pretend like all was ok and not panic. Thankfully, this worked, and once my student showed up to distract me from freaking out, the symptoms started to subside. The one great thing in all of that is that I made it through without any antihistimines! Now I know that if I can just calm down in a place that's relatively well insulated and allergy-free, I can slow the reaction and avoid DEATH. Good to know.<br /><br />Anyway, I got home after all of that and discovered that Daniel and Pils (from Denmark, who have a van) still wanted to go to the beach, as well as Simone (from Beliz). All was not lost! I went to bed early and happy.<br /><br />On Saturday, I was perhaps a bit too anxious. I woke up at 7am and showered and packed everything I would need for 2 days and a night of camping on the beach. Once everyone else woke up, we not only decided to just come back the same day but also to change the location - instead of Nerja, we'd go to the closer Salobrena because some friends of Daniel and Pils' were going there also. I was fine with this - as long as I had a ride and some company, and as long as I'd get some time in the sun and sand, I was ecstatic.<br /><br />We made the journey to Salobrena relatively quickly, bought some food and beer, and by 1pm we were sitting on the beach in style. Salobrena turned out to be lackluster - as I'd heard from multiple people I've known who go there often, but it's closer than Nerja and for a simple day trip, it made more sense. After a few hours and an amazing lunch on the beach, we decided to head to Lajaron in the Alpujarras - that's the city where they get the water from; the snow melts from up in the mountains and falls down into natural pools, where they collect it, bottle it, and ship it out all over Spain. We found a beautiful vista with a nearby bar, drank tinto de veranos and watched the sunset. By the time we got home, it was prime tapas time, so I headed out with Daniel and Pils for a few drinks and some patatas asadas at a nearby bar. We got full really quickly and decided to head back to the house around midnight.<br /><br />All-in-all, a very good day. I had time outside of Granada - two places that I'd never been to but heard a lot about, and there were lots of new people to chat with and get to know. And I still had all of Sunday to get ready for the coming week.<br /><br />I am content. Time for yoga.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-28953328079496868752009-03-12T14:53:00.000-07:002009-03-12T15:36:21.658-07:00Lows and WoesM* said something to me today, amidst discussions of the upcoming trip to the beach for my birthday (which was Tuesday), that made me think: I was talking about how I'm always disappointed on my birthday, when I make plans with friends to do something, and everyone seems super excited and into it, and then come the day of, they all bail. When I mentioned this, M* said, "Classic middle child syndrome."<br /><br />So I'm wondering, now, whether this is all in my mind, or whether there's something more to it. Since the birthday has come and gone, and since I'm just about to reach the summit of my ridiculously busy schedule (the module will be ending soon, which means 15 more hours of "free time" each week), I've been thinking about myself, how I live my life, the people I choose to include in my life and the people I perpetually keep at a distance.<br /><br />I've realized how long it takes me to make a connection with people - a really long-lasting connection, more than just a random "Hey, me too!" moment once in a while. The thing about my current situation is, I've been really busy lately - the past two months my workload has doubled, and when faced with the option of partying with the people who live in the house and have way fewer obligations than I do (and then feeling like shit the next day at work), I generally prefer to stay home, watch a movie on the internet, and wake up semi-ready for my long day of work. This has resulted in fewer and fewer people I can genuinely relate to, as the people in the house are constantly changing and it takes time and opportunity to get to know the new people who come in. Although I was aware of this when my busy days began, I opted to put my nose to the grindstone, save some money on the nights I wouldn't be going out and partying, and sacrifice the potential friends I might make. The only time I've had available to socialize is on the weekends, when the people who've already made bonds have their own plans and don't even think to include me, because I always say "no." I had to explain the saying, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" to one of my students the other day, and it was one of those strange, dejavu-y moments where I felt like the universe was talking to me.<br /><br />So, that's one part of the problem. But it's making me think about deeper problems, and I now realize how the insecurity I always suffered from when I was young still plays a big part in my social interactions. I think I hold people at a distance because I'm afraid they'll judge me, afraid they'll see the American in me creeping out no matter how much I try to conceal it, afraid of...well, just afraid really. So, of course I love my work and love to be good at what I do, no matter what I do but especially now that I do something I love. But that's no excuse to avoid making friends, to put on this confident, "I don't need you" exterior and always do my own thing. Because in the end, doing my own thing means doing it alone. And I'm starting to realize how much that sucks.<br /><br />So anyway, what's happening with the beach trip is this: I started planning this thing 3 weeks ago. I mentioned it to several people, and they were all excited and even talking about plans for food and alcohol, camping and activities we could do while there at the beach. I researched bus prices and schedules, looked up hostal locations and prices in case it rains, and put up signs all over the common areas of the house to remind everybody. And now that I've seen the weather report (perfect) and there's the possibility of riding in a van instead of the bus (read: FREE), the anticipation of this trip has been the one thing that's gotten me through my hellacious week - I keep telling myself, "Just get through this, and on Saturday, you'll be sitting in the sand, soaking up the sun, without a worry in the world." On my actual birthday, even, at least 4 people flaked out on the casual tapas/drink meeting I'd planned, and I ended up having a relatively lackluster "celebratory drink" with a few friends that I barely know, but I told myself it was okay because we would celebrate my birthday this weekend. And of course, now, 2 days before the trip, I come home and ask a few people if they're still coming, and every single one says they've got something else, some reason that they can't go. One even told me there was talk in the house of, instead of going to the beach, having a house party for two members who are moving out this weekend to a house down the hill. That, honestly, was the last straw - the fact that I've been planning this for 3 weeks, and someone only has to mention another idea for everyone who parties together routinely to jump ship.<br /><br />And no matter how much I tell myself it's not a big deal, jesus CHRIST am I disappointed, and angry, and depressed, and let down, and upset with myself. Because somewhere inside my head, I feel like it's my own fault for not letting people in, not telling people how much they mean to me on a daily basis, how much it means to me just to have ONE day, one fucking day where people come to not only support me but just to be in the same vacinity as me and enjoy themselves. I don't feel like that's a lot to ask. But I can't be angry with everyone else - all the reasons they've got are valid, of course (money problems, obligations, moving weekend, etc.), but I am angry and I'm just too self aware to try and pretend I'm angry with them. I'm angry with myself. Which makes it all the more disappointing.<br /><br />Anyway, all truly isn't lost. The guy who owns the van, and his girlfriend, as far as I know are still in. And M* has told me she'll do whatever she can to make it, even if it's just for the day and we don't stay and camp overnight. Even if we have to take the bus. It's just not what I imagined it would be - I had hoped, at best, for 5 or so people from the house to come along. I had hoped to make a barbecue on the beach, camp out in our sleeping bags under the stars, welcome the coming Spring in style. And to finally have time to talk to the people I live with, to connect with them in a way that I never have time or occasion to do because I work so damned much.<br /><br />Anyway, this is me. Wallowing in birthday self-pity. Waah, waaaah, waaaaaaaaah.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3795498862336997188.post-64809011984116765012009-02-26T11:23:00.000-08:002009-02-26T11:56:01.973-08:00Grrrr....I HATE CARS. AND PEOPLE WHO DRIVE CARS. ANGERRRRRRRRR.<br /><br />Here's a synopsis of my thoughts this afternoon while walking to work today:<br /><br />'Hmmm, the bus dropped me off with 15 minutes to walk to Rafa's house [Rafa is my student]. Great, I can take my time [the walk takes 10 minutes, more or less]. Wow, I've had this song by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on my mp3 player for months now, and I'm just now listening to it? Stupid! This song's fucking great! If I were a stripper, this would be my SONG, man. OMG, I'm walking in the outskirts of Granada in only two layers and I don't even need my scarf. Amazing. Look, the weather's so nice, the group of little old men who I used to always see sitting on the bench at the park have returned - and they have a dog with them! Great. That means summer's on its way. I wonder what the old men talk about, all huddled together in their little golfer hats and sweater vests? Hmm, which crossing should I use to get across the motorway? There are about 8 along my way...at the first one on the corner, you have to wait for a green light, which takes like 4 minutes, but then I'd have to run to make it to class on time. I'll keep walking and try one of the other 7 crossings - after all, they've all got BIG BLUE SIGNS which mean that it's MANDATORY for cars to stop and let you cross, so there's no waiting at those...yes, that's what I'll do. Yes.'<br /><br />Then as I approach one of the PEDESTRIAN HAS THE RIGHT OF WAY crossings, of course I pause and don't just walk into oncoming traffic. There are about 30 cars headed down the motorway, and I lock eyes with the drivers of the first car in each lane approaching the crossing, as I always do for my own safety, to make sure they see me, which today they definitely did - just in time for them to FLY past at warp speed, followed by the other 28 cars, following suit. If I'd stuck my arm out at a 90 degree angle from my body, I'd be an amputee right now.<br /><br />I generally refrain from flipping the bird EVER, whether it be at home in the States or anywhere, let alone in Spain where I like to be as courteous as possible. I'm rarely brought to such justifiable rage against others that a ridiculous gesture like this seems necessary. But today, oh sweet jesus christ, did I want to pull each of those drivers from their LAZY POLLUTING ASS MOTHERFUCKER automobiles and SMACK them in the face over and over with not ONE but BOTH of my middle fingers.<br /><br />And THEN, OMG. It happened again, on the way home. TWICE. It seems if one person has a rod up his asshole and just can't be bothered to stop for pedestrians, everyone behind him thinks they shouldn't either. What is UP with that?!? The more I think about it, the more I think every privately owned automobile in the world should be fucking bombed as an environmental and social courtesy. I could blame the drivers, sure, say, "Oh, it's not every driver, just the assholes, and you can't do anything about them...they're everywhere. That's life." But the fact of the matter is EVERYONE has moments like this, where they're just too wrapped up in their own bullshit to realize they're not the only human being on the planet. And as much as we may deny it, everyone's had a moment where they've ignored the poor chicken just trying to cross the damned road. BUT...if we REMOVE the cars, if we REMOVE the road, if EVERYONE is that chicken...perhaps I'd get a bit more empathy, goddammit.<br /><br />If you read this, please stop for pedestrians, even when you're not required to do so. We ALWAYS notice and appreciate it. Also, just a suggestion: leave your stupid-ass car in the driveway one day and walk to work, or (Gasp!) use public transportation to get there. What a thought?! Amazing!!<br /><br />Sheesh, I'm angry.Steviehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04874703457070534195noreply@blogger.com2