Thursday, December 18, 2008

Gallery






Now that I’m back home and not some place exotic and fascinating, I just don’t feel that my life is worth writing about. I have, however, been wanting to show my pictures somewhere and I thought, “I do have a space and I don’t have to worry about matting and framing.” It’s been snowing unusual quantities here in Olympia, WA, inspiring some seasonal photos. Please enjoy my artzy pics and Happy Holidays!

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

The Good News Or The Bad News?




Hey everybody, after a disastrous journey here and a crazy start, things are finally settling down. So I'm driving to CA with the cat, what's the worst that can happen? I lose the cat.

Everything was fine and dandy, Treff was driving me batty with his incessant complaining 'why are the trees moving? Why is my seat shaking? Why is it so hot, you try wearing a fur coat. My litter box is too small...' but all in all we were making good time. We decided to stop for the night in a little two horse town called Lakeshead just north of Shasta Lake. We found a motel that allowed cats and spent the evening watching the Olympics. The next morning, Robin's dad offered to take Treffly for a walk on his leash. Despite Robin's warning that walking a cat is very different and one mustn't pull on the leash, there was a moment of panic and Treffly somehow got away. Unfortunately, there was nothing surrounding the little town but woods. We spent all morning scrounging through the brush searching, all the while visions of Treffly's leash caught up on something and choking him crept into my mind. By mid day it was hot and we had to take a break. We went to the local deli for lunch where the owner offered to copy some flyers; thus the afternoon was spent knocking on doors and passing out 'LOST CAT' notices. By evening I'd completely lost hope. I felt bad for blaming Robin's dad, but I couldn't help it, I thought he understood cats better. We all geared up for another sweep. Robin's dad sat vigilantly watching the trap he'd made, while I headed out into the brush again. As I began to scan the blackberry brambles for a flash of blue leash, I noticed a feral grey cat darting under some blocks of concrete, and thought to myself, 'now that's a good hiding place' but upon further inspection, saw no sign of his orange plumpness. Yet I kept scanning the area and then all of a sudden I saw it, that flash of blue leash, TREFFLY!!! There he was, huddled beneath the slabs of concrete, looking a bit bewildered but otherwise in good shape. After re hydrating him and a can of tuna, we opted not to stay there another night and hauled it out of Lakeshead. And after hours of searching, straining to hear him meow, I couldn't have been happier to hear Treffly’s disdainful remarks all the way to San Fran.

San Francisco is exactly as it's rumored to be, hilly and foggy. I managed to maneuver the truck successfully and was completely exhausted by the time I parked in front of 547 40th Ave. Before even getting Treffly out of the car, I went in to investigate my new dwelling. I was a bit disappointed, it really was in a basement and a bit dreary. I went back out to the truck to get Treff, and what did I find? A 50$ parking ticket! I had been inside probably no more that 10 minutes tops! There's only a two hour break in the entire week when it's prohibited to park where I did due to street sweeping and yet, of course, I’d managed to parked there just during that period, and in a moment of weakness I completely lost it.

The next day was filled with IKEA and unpacking. Robin had put me in touch with a friend who manages a catering company and I got word that there was an opening to work for something called 'Outside Lands' the following three days. I really had no idea what it was, but it was work and it was in Golden Gate Park which is about 5 blocks away so I more than happy to accept. As it turns out, Outside Lands was a HUGE concert, and I was working in the beer tent not far from the main stage! While serving beer and making an ass of myself trying to do simple math (we had no real cash registers), I got to hear (if not actually see) Radiohead, Ben Harper, Jack Johnson, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Tom Petty and Manu Chao to name the big ones. Despite reeking of beer, trying to catch under aged punks and working 12 hour days on my feet with hardly any breaks, it was awesome!

Needless to say, today was spent catching up on sleep and building my IKEA furniture. Things are coming together and the place is looking much less dreary, and of course I'm just tickled to wake up every morning with Treffly purring in my ear.

I hope everyone is doing well and I miss you all! I still don't have a phone, but incase you want to send me a snail mail, my address is:



547 40th Ave.

San Francisco, CA 94121

Oh, these are just the before pics, I'll put up some 'afters' in a bit.

Reunited






After returning from France, I was home for about 12 days before heading to San Francisco. During that time I was excited to see friends and family, check out the old haunts, eat Asian food and partake in various activities, one of which was horseback riding with my friend Emily on the beach at Ocean Shores. This had been one of our favorite things to do back in the old 4-H days, and although I no longer had my horse, Emily assured me we’d find something ride-able.
The day before our ride, Emily took me out to their friend’s place to “check out what horses and tack they had available”. As we were coming up the drive way Emily suddenly turned to me and said, “I have a surprise; the horse you’ll be riding is Raj!” (my old horse). I couldn’t believe it; I’d sold him over 7 years ago and I’d completely lost track of him, and there he was out in the pasture! I’d like to think he remembered me although he certainly didn’t start whinnying nor jumping for joy, but when I rode him, aside from being a bit arthritic, he seemed to remember it all.
The beach was fantastic, we cantered along the sand, played in the waves (the horses were thoroughly confused that the water was salty and that there was no grass), and jumped over drift wood. It was great to be back in the saddle, although I was really sore, and it was such a wonderful surprise to be reunited with my old buddy Raj. Thanks Griswolds!

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Belves






Well, I was pleasantly surprised to receive multiple inquiries as to when I might be posting another blog. I was sure my parents were the only ones actually reading this (and I even had my doubts regarding that) so thanks everyone for the support!
As predicted in the last blog, my departure from Spain was more sweet than bitter. I left on a chaotic but wonderful note (would Spain be any other way though?). My parents came and I took them to as many of my favorite places and introduced them to as many of my favorite people as I could without overwhelming them. I finally found a home for my car although I had to practically give it away to a dealership; I also learned that I had paid almost triple the value when I bought it, madre mia! Talk about learning the 'cowboy' way. Although I may have lost more than I'd like to admit in euros (damn the exchange rate!), I felt I was extremely fortunate in the friends I made and I don't think it's hit me yet that I don't know how long it will be until I see them again.
It's such a long trip to Europe that we had to see as many people as we could while here, so we hopped on over to Germany. We got to visit with my friend Denise and her family which was fabulous. That strange thing happened which occurs with really good friends, it had been years since we'd last seen each other, but once together, it was like no time had passed, like we were back in high school giggling about boys, musing about the world, and putting off studying biology. It was hot and muggy in Germany and I was used to the slow easy pace of the Spanish way, but good German wine and beer helped fend off the heat and and punctual, efficient German rhythm.
After Germany, we made our way to France; however, there was a transition in the middle involving RUNNING through the Paris underground schlepping five suitcases and squishing toes, dogs and probably small children along the way. I'm still not sure how we made it except that we'd met an angel along the way who had graciously offered to help us (we must have looked like we needed it). He assisted my dad in purchasing the metro tickets, forced the automatic gates open so we could run though with all the luggage, lead us through the maze of stares, twists and turns, hauled our suitcases, and lead us to our train with only a minute to shout out out thanks. So Elion or whatever your name was, God bless you, you should be receiving some major travel Karma!!!
Although quite the adrenalin rush, I wouldn't recommend the experience and we were quite relieved to arrive to Belves, located in the Perigord region, where my grandmother's cousin has an incredible house. This small French village is just like you imagine it. Today happens to be marked day and the hum of neighbors conversing, of venders promising, of silverware clinking at the cafes, float up to where I'm sitting, like balloons being released, carried on the breeze by Frank Sinatra blaring from the tourism office. There's the strawberry woman who compulsively arranges her flats, and the goat cheese stand which makes your mouth water just walking by it. Belves is a medieval village with it's covered market square, surrounded by the "coutellerie" knife shop, the pharmacy, hair salons, cafes, butchers and creperies. It's the perfect setting for a play, and despite its quaint feel, there is quite a bit of drama. The honey lady's husband ran off with the butcher's wife, a bitter sister suing over house hold pets in hopes of gaining recognition from her dead brother, the all day pigeon shoot that resulted in the massacre of almost 400 flying rats. Then there are the tourists and the expatriots, hoping that they can play some minor role. And everyone I've met seems to be in the process of renovating their scrap of history: a five hundred year old house with a medieval toilet, a thirteenth century watch tower, an old forge destroyed during the revolution, a barn... everything here and everyone has a story, it's not hard to stay entertained.
I'm a bit disappointed sometimes though that I'm not speaking as much French as I though I would. Those who do not speak English as a second language, are English or Australian or American. There's a sort of picknick market here on Wednesday nights where, if it weren't for the foie gras, the confit du canard, crem brulee, and bad accordian music, I'd think I was in England. I have sought out a few people to pester with my clumsy French though. There's a Parisian couple who have a wonderful dog named Zebulon and insist I come swim in their pool, "well if you insist!" Then there's a couple, oddly enough from my university town, who are, of course, restoring a home here. Anne is French, so we have a deal that I come learn masonry and help grout the rock walls, and she'll speak to me in French. I'm not sure who got the better end of the deal, but I'm learning all sorts of new skills! I've also found a french teacher who is wonderful and gives me lessons twice a week, and to supplement that, there is Madam Carcenac, the 83 year old retired school teacher with whom I have a conversation hour every day free of charge, simply because she enjoys it! So I am improving which is encouraging.
In short, my days here are spent ambling through the countryside taking pictures, keeping up on the town gossip, cleaning for my hostess, enjoying her fabulous cooking and copying down as many recipes as I can, slapping mud on walls, and making vocabulary lists which I've put up all over my bathroom. I'm also doing a fairly good job at getting anxious to see everyone back home, move to San Francisco, get a job, apply for grad school... alas, time only goes as fast as the church bells dispense it here, and in a medieval village, that's not too fast.
Enjoy the photos! Sorry one of them is sideways

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Bitter Sweet

When it comes to endings, to saying good bye, it’s so cliche but the term bitter sweet does seem appropriate. Today was some how my last day of classes. My younger students showered me with gifts and kisses and I practically had to peal myself away, while the older ones (something strange happens between the ages of 12-14) hardly seemed to acknowledge I was leaving. The bitter is that I felt I spent more time disciplining students than actually teaching them. Bitter because I don’t think I did a very good job, although I’ve realized that there are a lot of factors that contributed to this that were out of my control. Bitter because after seven months, I feel my students still have no idea who I am. It was sweet though that they honestly seemed sad to see me go. Somewhere amidst my stern reprimands and botched activities, they hopefully saw my intent; although I also recognize that by dedicating themselves to celebrating my departure, they were getting out of working. The excitement of future plans is also sweet. If anything, this year has helped to focus my perspective and goals.

Very few, lucky people are born knowing what they want to do. Most figure it out along the way though. But how does one go about making such a dedicated decision? How does one come to be a teacher, a nurse, a computer programmer? Perhaps it was a class I’d neglected to take in college, but I feel like I've been wandering through the fog for years now only to stumble upon a clue now and again. In Spanish the question, “What do you do for a living?” is “To what do you dedicate yourself?” and I find that this more accurately reflects today's society that I find myself participating in. I didn't declare my Spanish major until I had completed it. I've never been one to do things the easy way, as Sandra would say, “you're just doing it the 'cowboy' way”. Being here has made me reevaluate my goals. I went into teaching because it was a logical step. I wanted something to accompany my Spanish major that would allow me to travel.

I remember Roberta from the writing center saying that it was important to tell writers what parts of their papers were good, not only to boost their confidence, but so that they would know what to keep and build off of. Recently, in the midst of my existential crisis, my friend Emily gave me some great advice, she said, “Just go with your gut. Often we try to talk ourselves in or out of things and forget to listen to our intuition.” I began to think about this and I realized that I often make decisions this way, but for some reason or another, I'd gotten out of touch with my gut. I came here with the objective of improving my Spanish and I knew that that would take more than 8 months, so I was prepared to stay a minimum of 2 years. I was so intent on that goal that I started to get tunnel vision. I didn't ask myself, “Why is this so important to me?” It was just something I had to do. I was comparing my abilities to what I thought they should be in relation to everyone else, always a dangerous path. I lost touch with what I enjoyed about language learning. It just became this beast I had to conquer and the more I fought it the more I resisted. I became miserable. The prospect of staying another year utterly depressed me. The more I investigated my employment options, the more trapped I felt. I would be confined to teaching children, working illegally and even if I landed a decent job I enjoyed, I'd probably get paid very little. Basically, the only reason I'd be staying would be to improve my Spanish and that had been my goal for so long that I couldn't see any other possibilities.

So I decided to follow Emily’s advice and change the way I thought about choosing a career path. I thought about not choosing a profession, not choosing a career but just looking at my natural abilities and finding something that is compatible with them. Once I made that shift, where there had been few possibilities, suddenly things started sprouting up. I realized I really don’t enjoy teaching children; excellent, so I’ve found I can cross that one off the list. I began to think of the things I'm naturally good at and what I enjoy. When I look at the assortment of jobs I’ve had over the years, I am able to recognized a pattern of the things I like and do well. Among my varied resume my favorite jobs have been working at the writing center and teaching adult ESL. I am an extreme global thinker, meaning my mind needs the big picture in order to understand the pieces (perhaps that explains why I was terrible at math. I’m convinced that if they’d taught math theory sophomore year instead of geometry I would have had a much more successful math experience). Anyways, I get really excited when I can connect theory to practice and then turn around and communicate that. I like working with people and I think I’m good at it because I can see the bigger pictures but also have empathy for the individuals point of view, something which is not easy to do. And the communication that happens to connect the two is what I find fascinating. That’s why I loved working at the writing center because it is so idea based, and for me the most exciting part of teaching is planning a lesson based on theory and then executing. Of course language fits into that idea well because apart from communicating, it’s dealing with patterns that fit together to create something intangible yet vital.

Well, it’s all very exciting for me to realize after 25 years how my own mind works and what I’m good at, but how does that translate to a career? Perhaps it is being in a classroom but I really got the yearning to go back to school. Excellent, so now I know that I want to go back to school, I’m looking for something that involves global thinking, proactive communication, languages, and lets not forget creativity. After spending time in a warm climate I realized that my ancestors must have been from the Sahara. I do love the heat, but I also found that, perhaps, small town living isn’t for me. And then I remembered, what about that international grad school in Monterey California that I’d considered? When I’d looked into it a year ago I thought I was interested in getting a masters in international education or ESL; however, there was another school in Vermont that was more specialized in that field so I forgot about CA. But once I shifted my sights off teaching, I discovered that Monterey actually has more things I’m interested in, and it’s in a better location. It offers four distinct programs: interpretation\translation, international policy, international education and ESL, and international business.

Language majors have pretty much two main paths to choose from, teaching and business. I went into teaching because of my prejudices towards math and the cooperate, “Donald Trump” attitude towards business. Teaching has been excellent and I’ve gained a number of skills, but I’m ready for a new challenge and Monterey’s responsible, conscientious approach to international business may be just the match for my skills (ok I’m starting to sound like I’m writing my application essay). Having made that decision, I am able to breath a huge sigh of relief. Of course by the time I had figured all this out I had missed the application dead line, but this gives me plenty of time to work out the details. Unfortunately, the school is extremely expensive and I’m extremely poor so I’ve decided to move to CA for the coming year so that I am eligible for additional scholarships. Sweet! I won’t be stuck working illegally for chicken scratch in Spain! I feel like an archaeologist, but instead of uncovering clues to the past, I’ve made a major discovery in terms of my future.

Now all I’ve got to do is focus on relaxing and being on vacation. My parents are coming in a few days and I’m really excited to share my life here with them. Dad and I are going to road trip to Portugal! On the 20th of June we’re heading to Germany to visit family friends and then I’ll spend 6 weeks working on learning French! So in the end, I think this transition is more sweet than bitter and I find myself coming full circle seeing as how, once again, I’ve got to sell my car! Gabriel García Márquez would have something to say about that...

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Agua Amargas






One thing I love about Spain is the caves. There is something so primitive about them yet they endure for hundreds of years. These ones are from prehistoric times, the most interesting feature is the carved in furniture, shelves, and cubby holes. Enjoy the photos!

A List for San Juan

The 23rd of June is Saint John’s Day (el día de San Juan); yet surprisingly, it has more Pagan roots than Christian and corresponds with the summer solstice. Apparently, the beaches fill with people and bonfires. The tradition is to write all your negative thoughts on a piece of paper and to burn them in the fire which is then followed by jumping over it. Other versions of the rituals include collecting the ashes and putting them in a vase with a specific type of flower. Having gone through a rough couple of months, I’ve decided to start my list ahead of time.
If I fell in love with Spain the first time, well I’m now ready to file for divorce. Why this drastic change of heart? Working and living in a country is an entirely different experience than studying abroad and living in the shelter of a host family. I have been exposed to the much uglier, yet more realistic side of Spain. Is it any better or worse than the U.S.? I really can’t say, but I have definitely become disillusioned. In the beginning, things would happen at work or at home and I’d be bothered by them but couldn't’t really attribute it to anything, except perhaps bad luck. But after awhile, when the same types of things kept occurring, I realized that what I was experiencing had more to do with larger social and cultural patterns than my own fortune. As I began to see my mishaps as a whole, this is what I came up with:

Category I: The Educational System
Just as health care is crippled in the United States, the education system here is struggling to pull itself forward, but due to structural and social instabilities, its threatening to topple and any point. I shall start with the structural failures.
The life of a civil servant: In an attempt to avoid the unequal distribution of teachers, resources and skills, and to assure a job to all teachers, Spain’s solution is this: teachers are given positions based on a lottery/point system. Basically, it’s a genuine three ring circus, complete with juggling, flaming rings, monkeys and ferocious lions.
Flaming Hoop Numero Uno: Graduate from the university with a bachelor’s degree.
Flaming Hoop Numero Dos: Complete a Pedagogical Aptitude Course that covers basic educational theory, followed by a short practicum.
Lion, Tigers and Bears “Oh My”: Los Oposiciones. This is the mother of all exams that is comprised of three parts. This is an exam that tests your knowledge of the subject you teach. HOWEVER, due the high number of applicants and competition, the tests are outrageously difficult!!! To give you an idea, the level of knowledge required is equivalent to that of a university professor in the U.S. (although here, they will never teach the majority of the material they are tested on). For example, if your especiality is history (albeit contemporary, prehistory, medieval…) you are tested on ALL history; that’s to say the entire world’s history and I’m not exaggerating. There are 71 themes related to each subject and a lottery determines which of the 71 you will be tested on; therefore you must study them all. People spend months, even years studying for the Oppositions. It is normal to fail, a matter of luck if you pass and common to take it multiple times.
The Monkeys; Step Four: If you haven’t passed the Oppositions that doesn’t mean you can’t teach (if this were the case there would be hardly any teachers) it just means that you are a temporary or “substitute” teacher. Here’s where the show just begins and the point system comes into play. As a temporary teacher you can be sent to anywhere within the community (equivalent to a state). So imagine that you have your house and family in Seattle; well, whether you like it or not, you get sent to Walla Walla for one, two years or an indefinite amount of time. If you reject the offer you get bumped to the bottom of the list and might end up unemployed. It doesn’t matter if your mother is being treated for breast cancer or your wife is pregnant (real situations of some I know).
Juggling: Passing the Oppositions isn't the only thing that determines your value. One can also receive points based on service time, if you’ve taken extra training courses, have a doctorate or any publications. All these things can earn you points which will eventually factor into your final placement. Then based on your points and the exams, you are then assigned a permanent position, although there is still little one can do to influence where that final destination may be. I have a friend who passed her exams a few years back and still hasn’t received her permanent placement.
Would you do all this for a steady, permanent job? The Repercussions: As you can imagine, this system, although quite entertaining, causes a ripple effects:
i. The teachers are far from their homes and families and generally unhappy.
ii. Who knows where they will be next year so why invest in the development of future programs? Why rock the boat and stick up for injustices? Why try to better your community and establish nurturing relationships with your students?
iii. Due to the extremely brief practicum, most teachers are given very little instruction on actually how to teach and are basically thrown to the wolves.
iv. They are not hired they are sent somewhere like soldiers so there is not much alliance amongst the teachers nor are they their based on their merit nor ability to actually teach.
v. If one is studying for the all consuming Oppositions, that is their priority, and they lesson planning (although basically non existent to begin with) is reduced to nothing and the quality of the classes suffers.
vi. Basically, every year is like starting with a new staff with the exception of a few people. For those few who remain it means they must carry the weight of keeping any existing programs or projects alive. They have much more responsibility but are not compensated and rarely recognized for it and continuously have to incorporate and train new staff. While those who are there temporarily have to adapt to each institution with its hierarchy of directors and ways of doing things.
The Time Warp:
The School: Unfortunately, the school I'm at is long overdue for a remodel and has a striking resemblance to a juvenile detention center. There is supposedly a library, but it is locked, as is the one shelf with the books. The books themselves are from the century before Christ and the majority lost their covers somewhere back in the Middle ages.
Technology: They decided to enter the twenty-first century a few years back and got computers in many of the classrooms, yet most of the students still don't know how to type.
Methodology: Most of the teaching strategies are still centered around reading text, translating it and answering questions. There is little interaction with the information and the thought of catering to different learning styles is unheard of.
“Spain is just a bit slow”: Failure to recognize different learning styles is less surprising than the fact that they are completely blind to learning disabilities. A child with A.D.H.D. is called “nervous” where as a slightly autistic one just has “problems”. I'll be the first to admit that the U.S. goes a bit overboard with these labels, but naming them is the first step to helping a child. I can really identify with the frustration I see many of the students going through. Here is a prime example of how old school ways of thinking don't meet new school needs.
One of those most pressing needs is accommodations for immigrant students. More and more students who don’t speak Spanish as their firs language are entering the school and no one is prepared for the additional resources required. There are students who come from Africa who may never have learned to use the Roman alphabet nor even to read and they are just thrown in to a class. There is “language support” but it only lasts a few months at the most and must be recommend by the teachers. Of course, when one sets up a student for failure, one is really setting up the entire system to fail. Maybe it’s still too soon to see the repercussions, but what will eventually happen is that those students who are forgotten about and left to drowned academically will develop a sense of resentment which will eventually fuel greater problems.
No Frills Added: Whether for lack of resources or imagination, there are no school sports, no clubs, no band, no drama, nothing extracurricular here. On the bright side, that makes for less clicks, but it also makes for less opportunities in general for students to develop their character.
No discipline = Lord of the Flies: There is absolutely no established disciplinary system here. Meaning, when a student is acting up, there is no “study hall”, no talking to the principle, no visit to the school counselor (they don’t exist), no Saturday work, nothing. The reason being that the teachers are considered “responsible” for maintaining control in the classroom. Perhaps this logic worked in the past, but now with larger class sizes and a more complex student body, putting all the responsibility on the teacher is not only unrealistic, it’s setting the stage for a bigger problems down the road. The only solution they have for bad behavior is to send a note home to the parents which as we are now discovering, most of the students forge any ways. Aside from the informative parent notes the teachers can give “partes”. Students can receive up to 3 partes before they are expelled. But you know, “so and so really is a good kid” and the teachers don’t want to be the cause of a student being expelled. So basically, there are no consequences for bad behavior.
It wasn’t until recently when I couldn’t hold it in any longer and let loose at the teacher’s meeting (I just happened to be using a computer in the room and didn’t realize it was a meeting, classic Lauril) that I expressed my utter surprise and disgust at how the students acted in class; I told them that what I was observing was NOT normal. They came up with a set of very clear rules and consequences and shared them with the students. Things went great for about a week and then teachers and students slipped back into their old ways. In the words of Sebastian the crab from The Little Mermaid “Teenagers, you give them an inch and they’ll walk all over you.” According to Caesar Millan (The Dog Whisperer) success is achieved by giving: A) Exercise B) Discipline and then C) Affection. In this case I’d have to agree (exercise may being mental in the classroom setting of course). If I learned anything from horse riding it is that consistency is a must. If you talk the talk you’d better walk the walk, practice what you preach... the clinches could go on. It’s obvious that if the teachers just set up a system to support discipline and then followed through with their threats, things would drastically change. But alas, here’s where I get to the sweeping generalizations about Spaniards that I’ve developed throughout my experience which may explain how the situation got to where it is.
Spanish children are EXTREMELY SPOILED!!!! Everyone agrees that in that in the past 15 years things have changed drastically but no one can exactly say why. Some attribute it to technology saying that with with MSN, cell phones and such, it’s easier for children to entertain themselves and parents have less and less control. However, I’ve witnessed parents give into their children’s demands time and time again, coddle them and re enforce bad behavior. In my opinion, a temper tantrum should never be rewarded and a seven year old should not still be drinking from a bottle, but maybe that’s just me.
Along with being spoiled, the children have absolutely no work ethic. The truth is that learning a language is work; although I try to make it as fun as possible, one can not learn without working. But the second they have to make any mental effort they simply shut down. There is no curiosity for learning. They don’t have after school sport nor clubs, although some play on private teams, this means that they are not learning how to work from the “normal” sources. They have very minimal house hold chores and as stated before the sense of consequence is very slight. If you wonder what happens when children with a relaxed work ethic grow up, continue reading.

Category II: “I Can’t Function Without My Siesta,” Results of a Relaxed Work Ethic
Public transportation leaves much to be desired. The buses normally run late or sometimes just don’t come at all.
I have 9 euros and 44 cents in my bank account and I was supposed to be paid 6 days ago!! No one seems to be too concerned about it but me.
Plan your meals ahead on the weekends because everything will be closed on Sundays.
If you want anything at a restaurant, be ready to shout it out, the waiter will not come otherwise.
Libraries (if you can call them that) aren’t even open on the weekends. The librarian just upped and quit, so now it’s closed.
I’m still waiting on a couple of letters. The mail carrier likes to wait to deliver until a pile accumulates so I tend to get everything all at once.
The highways are strewn with road kill; yet under closer examination, the Spanish road kill greatly differs that of WA. In Olympia, one will typically run across (pun intended) deer, raccoon, Opossum and the occasional unfortunate porcupine. Here the highway victims are almost exclusively made up of dogs and cats (with the occasional fox thrown in which we always joke about saying “well, there goes the last fox in Spain”). The reason being is that, in most cases, according to the Spanish mentality, a “pet” is more animal than member of the family. An animal’s job is to be an animal and an important part of that is to breed. Spaying and neutering is seen as barbaric, it’s basically taking away the animals purpose to live (plus, it would be a petty matter to spend money on). As a result there is an over abundance of stray cats and dogs, many of which meet their end in the glare of headlights.
There is garbage everywhere. Again, I can expect this from a country with less resources but Spain is supposed to be “modern” and “developed”. Recycling has just come to this country, but there is still quite a bit of confusion as to how this works (apparently Styrofoam is recyclable). In the 1970s Almería (my province) decided to boost its economy by putting a number of greenhouses up (what else is one going to do with all that wide open desert?). It worked wonderfully, where there was nothing before, Almería has now become Spain’s bread basket. These stretches of greenhouses are known as the “sea of plastic”; however, once they are no longer in use, they are left abandoned and the wind carries off the plastic, choking up the rivers and tangling in the cacti.

Category 3: The Racism
With the opening of the EU has come a flood of immigration from many eastern European countries, especially Romania. There is also a work visa agreement with many Latin American countries so large numbers have emigrated from Ecuador, Colombia, Argentina… Of course many Africans also undertake extremely dangerous journeys to make it to Europe. In addition, there is the “British Invasion” consisting of all the Brits who buy up the coast and move to Sunny Spain. All this immigration has happened within a relatively short time period, about the last 10 years, and the Spaniards who were under a nationalistic dictatorship for so many years aren’t exactly sure how to react. Of course nationalism is based on exclusion not inclusion, and although the dictatorship ended over more than 30 years ago, many people aren’t as quick to update their world views. To give an example all Asian people are known as “Chinese” or more commonly and socially acceptably “pigs”. All Africans are known as “Blacks” and all whites are “Giris”. The director of my school is of the old way of thinking and has openly, in public settings, blamed problems on the immigrant students and made racist comments. In addition, today they still celebrated a holiday called “The Moors and the Christians” where they rein act the conquering of the Moors; this would be similar to dedicating a day to “The Cowboys and the Indians”. Once again, I’m not saying that these problems don’t exist in the States, but it’s more commonly recognized what is politically correct and what isn’t.

Minor Grievances:
a. Bad dental hygiene is common and socially acceptable. The mixture of coffee, cigarettes, ham and infrequent brushing makes for some pretty putrid bad breath at times. Luckily, things are changing and most kids go at most once a year to the dentist. There are just certain people I have to talk to in well ventilated areas.
b. Speaking of hygiene, I feel pleasantly surprised when there is hand soap in a bathroom! Toilet seats are nice as well, but not always to be expected. And I find that if you leave food out, it just lasts much longer than in the States, how curious…
c. The cigarette smoke has honestly gotten better since I was here 5 years ago, but I still miss smoke free cafes, bars, bus stations, everything. Although many facilities have converted to non smoking, it is common to see a non smoking announcement and someone smoking just below it.
d. You can’t drink the water here, I would expect this of Nicaragua, but honestly, even if you wanted to the water tastes so terrible here. It is filled with lime scale, so much that my hair has turned brittle and dry. Joanna’s water heater broke after only a year and when opened up they found actual stones. Luckily, I found a public fountain in the next village over and I’ve taken to filling my water jugs there (I feel so authentic). But isn’t drinkable, free water high up on the list of basic human rights?

Well San Juan, more or less that’s what I’ve got. I think there really is something to this, it is a relief getting this all out, now I just can’t wait to burn it! Was I completely naive before? Or am I completely jaded now? Is the U.S. any better off? Maybe our history of confronting the challenges of education and immigration is longer, but aside from our extensive politically correct vocabulary, are we any closer to equality and social responsibility? What do you think?
It wouldn’t be fair to finish this without at least mentioning at least a few things that I still appreciate about Spain:
1. Tapas!!!
2. Fanta Limon
3. Ice cream
4. Fresh fruits and veggies from the market (yes, I am aware that my first three items on the list are food)
5. The beach!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
6. Having so much history all around
7. The marble promenade (the biggest marble exporting company is near by so there’s lots of marble all over the place)
8. The people are always willing to help if you need anything.
9. Siesta
10. A more relaxed pace of life
11. Cheap shoes
12. Lot of Catholic holidays

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Plagiarism

Hi Everyone,
Well it's been so long since my last post that I wanted to put something up. I have to admit I'm cheating though. My friend Helen came to visit me for England and she wrote such a nice, informative review that I asked her if I could use it. Although I haven't been posting much, I promise I've got something huge in the works, a bit of a "reflective summary" of my time here I guess you could call it. In the mean time please enjoy Helen's account of our trip:
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> My friend from Olympia Lauril has been over in Spain for about 7 months now. She is there to work as an English assistant in a Spanish school, and is living in a town called Garrucha which is located in the south east of Spain on the coast of the Mediterranean. It is in the autonomous community of Andalusia, in the Province of Almeria. So last Thursday I headed off to Spain to visit her.
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> I left Manchester at around 8 in the morning although my flight was delayed so ended up getting into Spain an hour later than I was scheduled. Once I arrived we headed into the town of Almeria. It was quite warm as soon as I got off the plane. And even though Lauril swore it wasn't that hot, compared to what I had just come from in Manchester it was roasting. The province Almeria is the only desert in Europe with average year round temperatures of 19 degrees Celsius. It was probably around 25 to 30 degrees Celsius the whole time that I was there. We walked along the shore and then headed up into the town to go to the castle which is called the Alcazaba. It is a Moorish castle built in the 10th century. It is up on a hill in the centre of the city. In such a dry region it was surprising to see the amount of flowers and plants that were located in the Alcazaba. There were the ruins of a well that had been used to get the water up to the castle. It was pumped using a donkey walking round in circles and then the water was kept in a holding fountain and used in the gardens and in the house in the castle. The water features were pretty stunning, all the paths had channels of water running down the middle of them, and there were pools and fountains up in what had been the living area of the castle. It said that it was very important that there be water because of the Muslim faith of the castle builders. there were also some cats that were wondering around the castle, they were quite cute, although scared of humans. The middle part of the castle was where everyone would have lived. There was a grand open palace type place that now has the gift store in. This would have been where the king lived when he visited the city. Then all around this area were the ruins of the house of the inhabitants of the castle. There was a reconstructed house in where all the ruins were. It had 4 rooms around a central courtyard, but really the courtyard was also a room. It would have been covered with a sun shade made of fabric, and was the main living area of the house. The houses even on the hot day were quite a pleasant temperature. The top part of the castle was had been added on when the Christians conquered Almeria in the 16th century. There was a distinct change in how the castle was constructed, and looked a little more like other castle I have been to. It had a large open courtyard with a tower in the middle and guard towers built into the walls. After exploring the Alcazaba we went back into the town to get lunch. We wondered around the streets trying to find a certain restaurant that Lauril had been to before. She called up one of the teachers that she works with, who is from Almeria, he gave us some directions but we still weren't able to find it. We ended up at a little street bar and had drinks and tapas, before Lauril friend showed up and showed us around Almeria a little. We then had some really amazing ice ream, and headed back to the car. Garrucha is about a 45 minute drive from Almeria and is on the east coast of Spain whereas Almeria is on the south coast. She lives in an apartment just outside the centre of Garrucha, it is about 500 feet from the Mediterranean, and basically there is just a road and the rest of the apartment complex between her apartment and the sea. That evening we walked into Garrucha and had some Tapas, and walked along the beach.
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> Friday is market day in Garrucha, so we got up and headed to the market which is huge. There was one street that was cloths, shoes, jewelery, and other non food items. It probably went on for about 5 or 6 blocks, and then on the street below was the food market. With all the fresh produce form the region. It was a really good market, and fun to walk through and hear all the people trying to sell things. We headed back to Lauril's for lunch and then in the afternoon we headed a bit north to just out side the town of Cuevas de Almanzora. Here we went to and archaeological site called Fuente Alamo. It dates from the Bronze Age and is from the Argaric culture. The site was build into the side of a hill. It would have had a small community of house that were terraced into the side of the hill and at the top was where the higher class people lived and the fortifications were. It was quite a trek up to the top of the hill, but worth it for the views at the top. It was so silent and peaceful. You could see for miles, and it was understandable why the location was picked. There would have been running water there (although now there was just a dry stream bed) and you could see for miles from the top of the hill. Some of the walls had been partially reconstructed and so you could see what the layout would have been. As well as the walls of the buildings there were sandstone graves where remains would have been places, there were all collected in one area just outside where the building were. What was also really neat about this location was the amount of marble that was just lying around on the ground. It seemed to be some of the main building martial for this area of Spain, with marble sidewalks in Garrucha. We headed back to Garrucha and then went out for the evening to Mojcar. Mojcar is the next town south along the coast from Garrucha and the old town is built onto a hill over looking the water. It actually reminded me a lot of the pictures that you see of the Greek islands, with the white houses perched onto the hillside. We had a wonderful dinner there in a restaurant that had an amazing view over the valley floor to the other towns, and then explored the town a little.
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> Saturday we met up with a few of Lauril's friends. There were 3 girls from the US who are over in Spain on the same program as Lauril is, as well a Spanish guy who lived in the same town as 2 of the girls. He drove one of the cars while we went in Lauril's. We headed off to Cabo de Gata, which is a national nature reserve. We went to the lighthouse first which is located at the farthest southeast point in Spain. The lighthouse is on a rocky headland at the point. We had our lunch just off to the side of the lighthouse although almost got blown away it was so windy. We then navigated an extremely narrow road on the side of a cliff, to go and see some Flamingos. The Flamingos were located in salt marshes. These had been created to extract salt from the Mediterranean. The flamingos were quite far away but my camera managed to get some pretty good pictures of them. You just have to know what you are looking at. We then headed off towards another small village within the nature reserve to go to the beach. The beach is called Playa Monsul. It was a pretty big beach, and there were a ton of people there enjoying the nice weather. I went swimming at this beach, and really enjoyed it. We then took the coast road back to Garrucha, where we went out for drinks and dinner, where I tried the local delicacy of deep fried squid. I didn't really like it but I can say I tried it.
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> Sunday we headed up into the mountains but first we went to another beach where we had a picnic lunch. The beach was also quite full and unlike the one that we had been to on Saturday there were a lot less waves, as it was in a protected cove. It was also full of people, enjoying the nice weather and the beach. We then headed towards Velez Blanco where there was a castle to see. The drive was very pretty as we drove over the hills and through some orange and olive groves. We didn't end up getting to the castle in time to see the inside as it closed at 2 and we didn't get there until nearly 4, but it was a nice castle to look at from eh outside, and then we went into the town to look around. The town was perched onto the side of a hill with the castle at the top with the village below. It was a really beautiful town, with quite a lot of greenery because there were natural springs in the hillside. There were 3 4 fountains that we visited where the water came straight out the hillside. We had a nice ice cream in a restaurant where one of the fountains was and then headed back to Garrucha. We had an early night as I my flight was at 12 the next day but Lauril couldn't get me to the airport because she and to work, I had to take the bus to Almeria. It was a 2 hour bus ride along really winding roads all the Almeria and then I took the taxi to the airport. I got back into Manchester to be greeted by although not hot weather, muggy weather. We are still having nice weather at the moment, and it isn't that great to be stuck in an office.
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> If you want to see pictures from this trip they are on my flicker page in the album named Spain.
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> http://www.flickr.com/photos/didotwite2001/

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Catching Up

I've been meaning to write all about my marvelous week that followed Semana Santa but I've been consumed with job hunting for next year, tutoring, filing taxes and enjoying the sun. In short it was fabulous! Of course the best part was seeing my friends from the U.S. I met up with Robin and Erin in Madrid and although we were there for less than 24 hours we managed to stay in a fun hostel, go to Reina Sofia the big art museum with all the Picasso paintings, and pay too much for bad pasta.
We then road tripped down south to a town where another American friend lives and witnessed the tail end of the Semana Santa processions. As good holy week participants we even went to mass on Easter Sunday.It was really interesting,especially seeing the babies being baptized, but I don't think I'm ready to convert yet. After Huercal Overa we finally came home to Garrucha. Tuesday, my birthday, was wonderful! I took Robin and Erin to school to meet the kids who were surprisingly well behaved, then we went to the (real) Italian pizza place for lunch. After filling up we went cave exploring! The caves are covered in Gypsum and make for a neat trek. At one point we turned off our head lamps and everyone sang happy birthday, that was a first! Later we topped the evening off with tapas! I was completely overwhelmed by the birthday wishes and gifts I got from everyone both at home and here; for one day I really did feel extraordinarily special!!
Unfortunately, my friends were only about 9 days so we raced to Granada so they could see all its splendor. We stayed at another great hostel, ate more tapas, went to the Arab tea houses, and wondered around the city. I was so suprised at how fast the time went by and before I knew it I was seeing them off at the bus station. The ride home was lonley and I realized just how much I miss everyone!!!

Thursday, April 3, 2008





Semana Santa






My deepest apologies for the tardiness of my post; with that said, here's a description of my introduction to Semana Santa or "Holy Week"

Sevilla:
Orange blossoms, wax, velvet, gold, somber, sweet, pink, red, black, white, ancient, crowded, trumpets, drums, incense, bare feet, cloaks, crosses, anguish, sweat...

These are the words that describe Semana Santa. The streets are steeped in orange blossoms and history. Wax from the marcher's candles covers the cobble streets, causing the cars to squeal mercilessly around corners for the entire week of Semana Santa and the one following. The traditional outfit of the procession marcher's is a white cloak, velvet cape and the distinct pointed white cap/mask not unlike those of the K.K.K. My previous knowledge of the resemblance didn't stop chills from creeping down my spine. Each procession (there being about 8 a day) consisted of hundreds of the "nazarenos" or K.K.K. look a likes and three floats. The "floats" are actually giant sculptures of scenes from Jesus' life, death and resurrection, and can take up to fifty beefy men, called "costeleros", stuffed underneath to carry each one. As the band bangs out the rhythm of despair and the horns wail of suffering, the costeleros awkwardly shuffle, causing the float to sway to the beat of the music. From the balcony of Helena's downtown apartment, the puffs of incense wafted up, mixing with the orange blossoms and the murmur of the crowd. It was in this mixture of celebration and overwhelming show that five days ran together, blurred with Portuguese port, torrijas (the french toast like dessert typical of the holiday) and tapas. All in all, I'd have to give Sevilla and Semana Santa a gold star.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Have I completely lost it?

Exciting news flash:
1. Training to run a 10K in April: I've never been particularly "athletic" and getting in shape in 6 weeks is a lofty goal and perhaps a bit crazy. I may end up walking but luckily for me, I'm a very fast walker.
2. Semana Santa (Holy Week): While in the US it has become known as "spring break" here it still maintains its religious roots. I'm heading to Sevilla tomorrow to stay at my house mate's apartment there. She lives right in the middle of the city and apparently the processions pass right under her building! Sevilla is the place to be for Semana Santa so I'm looking forward to the celebrations. On Thursday two friends, Robin and Erin, are coming from the US to visit!!!! We'll spend a night in Madrid and then hopefully go camping if the weather holds out in Cabo de Gata. Monday the 24th will be back to work but luckily the girls with be staying with me in Garrucha for the week. On the 25th I turn 25!!! Can you believe it? I'm hoping to go cave exploring. Thursday and Friday we'll do up Granada before they head home and I go into serious running mode.
I foresee some good blog entries...

Thursday, March 6, 2008








more pics






more of Morocco

Under African Skies






Thursday marked the beginning of the five day holiday celebrating the autonomous community of Andalucía; how did I celebrate? By leaving Andalucía of course. Leaving the country and continent in fact, and traveling all the way to Africa. It sounds much grander than it really is. We (my two American friends Joanna and Melissa and my two Spanish friends Julio and Juan) drove 6 hours to Malaga where we traded the car for a more water bound form of transportation to cross the Straight of Gibraltar to Morocco In reality, we crossed to Spain. There are still two Spanish cities in Morocco, Ceuta and Melia; therefore, setting foot onto the African continent was a bit of a let down. Seeing as we were still officially in Spain, we had to take a taxi (paying in euros) to the border where we were deposited in to a sort of mayhem. The distinction between “first” and “third” or “developed” and “developing” nations couldn’t have been more blunt. We wandered a bit dazed through the out stretched hands of women carrying literally everything they owned on their backs and and the swarm of men competing to establish themselves as our guides and or taxi drivers.
Naturally, all of us spoke Spanish; in addition, Joanna has studied classical Arabic, I’ve got a bit of French under my belt and then there’s English of course. Some how between the four languages we negotiated a taxi to the near by city of Tetouan. You’d think that with multiple languages to aid in the communication, one would understand better; however, we still couldn’t help feeling that we were being cheated out of our Durham (the currency of Morocco) but then you stop and think, “Wait, I’m trying to haggle over 2 euros” and it puts things into perspective.
As we arrived to our hotel in the ancient Mercedes cab, school was just letting out and the streets were swarming with children. What immediately struck me and continued to impress throughout the trip was the sundry of colors: women in bright vails and skirts, men in robes with pointed hoods, the green of the Moroccan flag reflecting the lush landscape, and shoes of every imaginable tone and shade. 17 euros a night got us a triple room in a 3 star hotel with private bath and breakfast included, not to mention an incredibly helpful staff who walked our weary bodies directly to a sandwich shop for dinner.
Friday morning, after our hefty breakfast of Moroccan mint tea, fresh orange juice, an assortment of pastries and yogurt, we set out to explore the city and its market district know as the “medina” which was originally a fort built to keep out the Spanish. The strategy back then was to build like a labyrinth to confuse invaders (or those with an extremely poor sense of direction) but I was so awed by the sensory experience of the colors, sents, and sounds that I didn’t mind getting lost. Joanna and Melissa haggled over scarves, while the boys learned that not everyone who approaches you really wants to be your friend, and I gorged my self on olives and photo opportunities. Upon finally stumbling out of the medina we found our selves at the royal palace just as prayer was being called. I felt obtrusive witnessing such a spiritual act yet completely awed at the same time. There were hundreds of men filling the plaza, each with their own prayer rug with shoes neatly placed beside. The sound of the mass simultaneously rising and bowing was like a collective inhale and exhale, and when they began chanted together, even us western bystanders could feel the presence of Ala. Suddenly it was over; they bid fair well to each other, picked up their rugs, put on their shoes and dissolved back into the city.
My house mate had told me of a mountain town that was a must see called Chefchaouen, so on Saturday we crammed into another decrepit taxi and headed south. Chefchauen was like a story book village and as a result, much more touristy. The town colors are blue and white meaning they can be found in the buildings, tiles, and hand woven rugs and blankets that line the streets. We opted for less grand lodging at only 5 euros a night and enjoyed sampling couscous, Moroccan soup and mint tea at the various hole in the wall restaurants.
Once again, we found ourselves dazzled by the colors and sents of the market place: beads, scarves, leather, iron, animal skins, fabrics, mint, curry, cinnamon, incense, dirt, shit, donkey… Melissa and I succumbed to the offer of henna painting and wandered into a woman’s house where her daughter sat us down and, with a syringe, coaxed the thick paste into intricate designs on our hands. We walked to the waterfall where women were washing their clothes and past herds of sheep and goats as we made our way up the hill to a dilapidated tower. From the top one could see the village, mountains and country side. I was surprised by how lush the vegetation was; coming from Almería Spain where it is so dry I expected Africa to be a desert (I guess I’ve got to travel further south to find that). Since Morocco is a Muslim country, and therefore dry, much to Juan’s dismay, there was not a beer to be found anywhere and we had to celebrate the setting sun with yet another glass of sweet mint tea. So sweet in fact that honey bees decided to invite themselves to our party, rather impertinent but they felt they had a claim to get drunk on sugar as much as us.
It would have been easy to have gotten lost in the story book land of tea, blue and white, but the 5 am prayer call also signaled the embankment of our return trip home. It was like seeing a film in reverse: the taxi back, crossing the boarder, the ferry, the car ride and then finally home again, back to my clean bed, hot shower, bills to pay and a new day of spoiled children to teach. At least now I can say I’ve been to Africa.