What Teachers Know

Today puts us more than six months since we’ve had kiddos in the school building in Fairfax County. The world changed for us on March 13, 2020, exactly six months ago. It was the first day students, teachers, administrators, librarians, assistants, coaches, bus drivers and specialists were told to stay home, even though there was power in all the buildings and the weather was fine. 

What we thought then was that if we could use the three weeks of snow days we had built up to get us to spring break, things would be fine.

What we know now is very different. There are certain things that teachers know now, there are things that teachers have always known that the rest of the world is learning as well. (And for reference, when I mention teachers for the next little while, I mean, all those kinds of people who work in schools I mentioned earlier.)

Teachers know that learning a student’s name is important and being able to call that kiddo by that name in class, in the hall, as they enter the room, when they see them in the cafeteria is necessary.  Teachers know there’s power in knowing your students by name--and that’s harder now. It’s hard for teachers to not feel connected to their students and to not see them all, simultaneously, in front of them. It’s hard to build connections when you’re working with all speeds of internet connection and a platform that isn’t conducive to putting a face with a name. But teachers know it’s necessary so they’re figuring out ways to do it anyway. 

Teachers know that school is about far more than time spent in class (though, obviously, that’s important). They know that it’s also a place where there is food--both in the cafeteria and in certain rooms or with certain adults--and there is safety. There is a warm, quiet, place for you to call your own and concentrate when you’re taking a test when you can come into a school building, and we know that we can’t guarantee that anywhere else. Teachers know that every student needs someone to be their safe person, their soft place to land, their home away from home. We know that we can give students resources like notebooks and novels, pencils and markers, granola bars and gatorade when they come to classrooms, and that we can’t be certain of those things when we go digital. So we do the best we can to make public where the food pick up sites are and we hand out laptops and internet connections, and we try to do the best we can. But we know it isn’t enough, and so we ache and we worry, and try tofigure out what else we can do because we know it isn’t the same and if it wasn’t enough a year ago, it certainly isn’t now. 

Teachers know that what would be best for students and learning, for our professional selves, really, is to be back at school. The deepest desire of every teacher I’ve talked to and met is 

to be back with our colleagues and our kiddos because few, if any, of us, got into this to talk to a computer screen for eight hours a day, praying the internet connection holds and we can find something quickly enough in Google Classroom. 

But we’re dealing with a highly contagious, potentially deadly infection with unknown long term consequences in a country which has become divided and politicized about how to best protect ourselves from it. We know that while kids will do their best, they, like all of us, miss being around people, and we can’t promise that we will always manage to keep them six feet apart. We can’t promise that they will all wear a mask all the time and not take a break from that to sneak a kiss in the hallway or show off a smile void of braces for the first time in years. We know that one infection could be be like a spark that lights a fire and we know that some of our most vulnerable populations--the ones who lives with multiple generations in one small space, who have had to go back into work (or who never left)  in crowded areas, exposed to many people--are the ones who might pay for that decision to bring kids back first. 

Teachers know that school cannot be anything but a mass gathering, and we’ve seen time and again that this may not lead to safety for students, adults, and everyone they interact with once they leave. Teachers know that while you can say “eat in classrooms” or “change that gym into a large classroom” this doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the logistical issues that bringing kids back will present. We know this, from being in the trenches everyday. And we know that people who have not been in a school in years, will try to make decisions for and about us. We know that we have been weaponized by all sorts of powerful people and ridiculed by many who, quite simply, do not understand.  We know that there isn’t yet a way that guarantees our students will be safe in our buildings and we know that we cannot pretend they are all safe at home either. 

And to step outside, just a little, because I am not a classroom teacher anymore, let me tell you what Instructional Coaches know. Or at least, what this one knows.  What I know from countless meetings, emails, texts, and phone calls from teachers not only in my county, but across the world. 

I know that what teachers are being asked to do is incredibly unfair and unbelievably hard. The lift that’s required to take a curriculum that you may be incredibly familiar with or completely new to and figure out a way to deliver it entirely digitally is heavy. It is unfairly heavy. To be without the resources you would normally depend upon, to be without things that fill your cup like smiling, eager faces, to be without casual colleague conversation and still, still  transform it into something engaging and enjoyable and meaningful is harder than anyone outside can realize. To rethink and reimagine everything, to change what it means to assess what students know and commit to avoiding homework and any practice that would require additional screen time is really only the first layer or two of what teachers are doing. That teachers haven’t slept well or taken a waking hour off, that teachers work weekends and have absolutely no concept of work life balance is only the beginning. And then, to be told by some parents, or politicians, or just people with an opinion, that it’s not enough, that they shouldn’t be paid nearly as much, that students are suffering because they’re selfish and afraid, could be the crushing blow. 

But I know that teachers are stronger than you realize. They’re not in it for short hours and ten weeks off at summer. Or if they were, they certainly aren’t now. They’re in it because they want what’s best for kids and to try to make even just a drop of a difference. So they approach the task, and they lift the heavy thing. Again and again and again. 

And sometimes they get tired. Sometimes they get cranky and annoyed and frustrated because it’s heavy and they’re told that they should be lifting more. 

Because they want to be able to lift more. 

Even when I know they shouldn’t have to. 

Teachers know that their students can do it--the good ones know it deep down in their soul. 

I know that our teachers can do it too--they do hard things all the time and so even though this feels like one that they shouldn’t have to, I know they can. And they will. 

So to plagiarize a late night talk show host, and in the interest of getting us all back into the building as quickly and safely as possible: stay safe, wash your hands, wear a mask. I love you. (P.S. It's super hard to include any pictures from school where there aren't students. So you get this cropped shot of our cafeteria!)

Showing Up: 100 Straight Days

Ohhhh it's been too long since I've posted. And I'm somehow not yet ready to write about what I did all last year. But I am ready to write about what has happened in between getting back to Virginia and today: I worked out. Everyday. For 100 Days.  
Here's the review:
Consistency in working out has not typically been my greatest challenge. Most weeks I hit at least five days of workouts. Even living in Spain, five to six days a week I worked out or covered more than 20,000 steps of ground. But saying yes every single day for 100 straight days was new to me. What I learned—the things that I sometimes use as reasons—I’m going to my parents’ house and it will be difficult to squeeze in a workout, I’ve had a long day I don’t want to work out, I can take a day off, no big deal—are less reasons and more excuses. Reasons would be things like, “I’m feeling to ill to get out of bed let alone get my body sweaty.” And not to say that I plan on continuing to work out every day forever (I’m definitely taking off this weekend to visit with sweet friends in Richmond), but I am saying that if I want to, I can find 30 minutes in my day to workout and take that time for myself.

Also, there is a pretty big sense of accomplishment to know that I showed up to make myself stronger and fitter everyday for over three months.

Which bring me to point b—-my results.  I’ll be straight up—I am not the skinniest I have ever been. I do not have a totally flat stomach and my arms aren’t the ripped Jericho (the lead trainer for this program) arms. The first has mostly to do with the fact that I showed up for the workouts but wussed out on the nutrition component far too often. I did not eat the way I should’ve even 90% or 85% of the time, which was my original goal. I let myself cheat more than I needed to—so I’m disappointed in myself as I once again prove that working out does not make as big of a difference in the size of my pants as eating right does. But, I will also say, I know I am stronger and fitter than before. I combined the Beachbody program with also doing Cassey’s 100 challenge for glutes, than randomly choosing one for abs or glutes for the remaining 60ish days. Also, I was doing a plank that increased by 10 second each week (up to 2 and a half minutes now!). I will say I think my butt looks more like a butt and less like a flat pancake. (You don’t have to tell me if you disagree. Really.) Little things. I haven’t measured myself to see if I have actually lost inches, but my gut tells me probably not. And that’s on me. 

So, the actual program I did—100 Morning Meltdown. The workouts are pretty fun and easy to fit into your schedule—no more than 30 minutes, and some of the yoga-recovery style ones are less than 20. Only about half of them require equipment like weights. And wow do the cardio ones make you sweat! I would say that every plan I’ve ever completed has at least one exercise that makes you say, damn, I could do this in my sleep.  This one? It’s burpees. 100%. And the amount of burpees plus something else makes me long for regular burpees. We even do them in warm ups many times. Overall, I really did like this plan—it was a true mix of exercises and there were always modifications if I couldn’t keep doing the main exercise. There were legitimately 100 distinct workout to stream so I never got bored. And Jericho was far less annoying than many of the trainers (which is why I mute most workout programs). A few minor complaints—I do not enjoy when a) a trainer says, last exercise! triumphantly and then as soon as you’re done follows it up with—now just for our last challenge. Whether that is on purpose or not, if they’re trying to get you to do more psychologically, it just makes me really irritated and bitter than I’m not actually done. It does not encourage me. It makes me feel lied to. Same goes with being told to go max effort for 45 seconds, knowing that you have to do something like this 20 more times in the workout. I am not going to burn myself out when I know I have 23 more minutes of cardio.  Again, it just irritates me. (See why I mute the programs?) Finally, and most annoyingly. I get that trainers are talking us through and have to have perfect form when they are doing exercises which makes it more difficult. But, if it is a small challenge for a specific number of seconds—being told “Don’t quit, don’t quit” when that trainer has already stopped doing the exercise to go comment on someone else’s form—I’m not here for that. Do the whole 60 seconds with us. Otherwise it makes it seem like if you can’t do it, so how am I supposed to?

Finishing, not workout related thoughts—I realized through this that I committed to working out everyday for 100 days, but I’ve never done anything for that many days consistently before. And shouldn’t there be things that I’m equally, if not more committed to? Have I read my Bible everyday for 100 days? Or even for thirty? Do I make sure to talk to or text my mom everyday for that many days? Or just say something kind to people? Do I practice gratitude everyday or drink 8 glasses of water each day? I didn’t even go to the beach everyday when I lived practically beside it. And I should be doing some of these with a great deal more consistency and care than I have been.

I recognize we can’t do everything all the time, but I do think it’s a little sad that the only things I can come up with having done everyday for as long as I can remember are: drinking coffee and taking a picture each day. So while it’s not about necessarily how many days or how much time, I think this journey has helped me see that a) if I want to commit to being a fitter version of myself, it’s about the nutrition and far more importantly that b) the proof is in the pudding—what you show up for everyday is what you value. How you spend your moments are how you spend your life. Last year was about showing up for adventure and seeing new things. I’m still working out what my next chapter looks like.

Spanish Culture and European Travel

I haven't written anything on here in a long time, and I'm actually really sorry about that.  It's not that I haven't been writing.  That might be the most frustrating part of it...I have been writing and haven't been posting.
But there is a reason for that.  I work pretty hard to write something that's balanced and isn't just about how great life is here (it is pretty great pretty often) or how annoying different it is in Spain (there are also definitely things that get on my nerves), but a mix of both.  That's real life--both sides. But this kind of balanced post is pretty hard to write and pretty time consuming, and now matter how much I tell myself I'm going to do it...it clearly hasn't been happening.
So.  Instead, I'm going to do a question and answer of sorts--things people have actually asked me or would ask me if they knew what life was like here.
Also, for my travels, I'm going to try to do mostly photo journals from each trip in order to capture it more quickly--I've gone some awesome places and without a blog post, I haven't put anything up here about it.  So I'm going to try to remedy that.

Without further ado...

Q: Is the siesta thing real? Do you eat at super different times?
A: It's super real.  Most businesses and restaurants close for three or four hours in the afternoon and many shops then stay open until ten or so to compensate for that mid-afternoon time.  I am actually trying to eat more on Spanish time, but real Spaniards wouldn't say I'm succeeding.  I try to eat lunch around two or so and dinner around seven or eight.  Dinner is far too early for real Spaniards, but I'm doing the best I can.  I do usually close my eyes for a half hour or so, but since I'm not in a constant state of sleep deprivation, I don't need a longer nap than that most days.  I highly recommend sleeping seven or eight hours every night.  I do like naps, but I don't need them the same way I used to, so they are far shorter and I usually wake up before my alarm goes off, so that's lovely.

Q: So, what do you eat?
A: Some of what I was eating before, some different things.  The limitations are: I only have two small burners and the tiniest toaster oven you've ever seen, plus a microwave and a mini coffee maker.  Most mornings I eat a tortilla de patata (which if you're ever asked is your favorite Spanish food--not paella) which is basically a egg and potato frittata.  It's more complicated than that, but that's the easiest way to explain it.  I buy one in the store and cut a piece ever morning with coffee.  And yes, I did find creamer that is not condensed milk.  Usually I make a bigger meal for my late lunch after a snack of an orange, and lately the meals have been rice based or pasta.  I've been making a killer sausage and sautéed veggies with rice a lot. For dinner, I sometimes have a salad, sometimes an apple with ham and cheese, sometimes popcorn.  Not terribly different than home.  If we go out for tapas, I have part of whatever we order, plus there are usually free olives--which I have grown to like!--and a cana or a glass of wine.  I eat more bread too than I've eaten in recent years, and certainly it's the first time I've had this much bread while not gaining a tremendous amount of weight.

Q: Ah, do you ever work? It seems like all you do is post beach or travel pictures.
A: Indeed I do work! But not much, and never on Fridays.  I work no more than 12 hours a week with students. I don't have any grading or extra-curricular responsibilities and I might have a short (or at times, really long) gap in my schedule depending on the day and if teachers don't need me in class for some reason.

Q: And they pay you for this?
A: They do! Not a lot, but they do pay me monthly, the exact same amount no matter how many teachers have actually needed/wanted me to come in during that period.

Q: Is it enough to live on?
A: Mostly.  It's 700 euro a month which is not a lot, but it's al


so not taxed here.  (I think I need to report it on the other end in the US, but that's for my dad to figure out.) I do have significantly lower costs of living--I pay 225 euro a month for rent, utilities, and WiFi.  We pay about 8 euro every six weeks or so for butane when the tank runs out.  But that low living cost is largely how I make it work--we are living in a beach community during what they think of as winter--October-May.

Q: But it seems like you're traveling a decent amount.  How do you afford that?
A: Well, I've got a side gig or two including teaching online that's largely funding my travel.  Plus, realize I haven't spent more than 65 euro on any of my flights so far.  So mostly I can afford it, and I'm splurging on a few up-coming once in a lifetime kinds of trips. And if you think I've traveled a lot so far, wait until you see mid-January through early March.  You (and I) haven't seen anything yet!

Q: Is it really as cheap and easy to get around Europe as everyone in America thinks?
A: On the whole, yes.  Sort of.  If you're flexible with dates and designations, yes it is.  I sort of said to Google Flights "I want to take a three day weekend trip somewhere in the next six months.  What do you have?"  And they had Paris.  Rome.  Prague.  Geneva. London.  But, when I specifically wanted to fly to Dublin for a day in January it was a little more expensive.  And yes, there are trains which can be cheap if you book really far in advance.  And the bus is really cheap if you're staying fairly local or don't mind a long overnight ride.  I know there are flights for 10 or 20 euro, but you either luck into those or you have to just say, "I'm willing to go anywhere. Where can you send me?"

Q: So you're traveling alone?
A: Uh, yeah, pretty often.  When it works out to have people come or when people are coming to visit and want to go places, that's awesome.  But, if not, that's okay too.  I've waited a really long time to have this experience and there are so many places I want to go that I'm not willing to wait for someone to be interested in going with me.  It's not always my very favorite thing to go alone, but I don't really hate it either.  I'm excited that in the next few months I've got about a fifty-fifty split of travel alone and travel with people.  That's pretty optimal.

Q: You're staying forever, aren't you?
A: No, probably not.  It's not that I don't love it here.  But, honestly, I'm probably just staying for the ten months I originally planned to stay. There's a lot to post in another post about the way teaching and credentials and everything works here, but suffice it to say, I would have a really hard time getting a teaching job here.  And since I don't have an EU passport, I can't just legit decide to stay until my money runs out.  Plus, I have a home and a life and a job and friends and family and everything in the US.  So, don't be surprised to find me back again in the summer and ready to travel back over to Spain or anywhere close by as often as possible.

Q: Are you homesick then?
A: Okay, last question for tonight.  (Yes, I am answering myself.) This one is a tough question.  I am not homesick in the way I was when I moved to Grove City for college or even when I moved to Northern Virginia for grad school/life.  It's actually pretty surprising to me that I haven't been a pit of sadness and wishing people were here or I was there.  And I think there are a few things contributing to that: a) I have been traveling so much and trying to stay busy so I don't have a chance to just sit around and wish I were at home. b) FaceTime is super helpful c) I've known from the very beginning this is for a very set period of time and not a forever life change.  The other times were forever life changes.  This is realizing a life-long dream.  That's very different. d) I've already made it through the longest stretch I'll go without seeing someone I love from home (if everything works out the way it could/should).  The first seven weeks from when Mom left until I saw Nellie for Thanksgiving was the longest time of the whole ten months I'll be kind of "alone."
But, I think more than anything else, I think this was something I really just needed to do.  It was time to be selfish and do something just for me and have an adventure all of my own.  I have been learning so much about what it means to rely on God for everything and to walk forward in faith and trust that everything will work out.  And it has, so beautifully.
Plus, I am older and much more comfortable in my own skin and confident as a person.  That helps tremendously.  I don't worry that people will forget me or not care about me when I come back or that they'll have found someone to replace me. I know that I am loved and cared for and uniquely important to many people, and I trust that's the case no matter where I live for any period of time.
Don't get me wrong--the people are the things I miss the most.  I look at pictures of Baby Lu and want to snuggle her and lay with Tim and read a book together. I want to curl up on the sofa with Jade after the kids have gone to bed or gossip over wine with school friends. I want to watch a Carolina game in my parents' house and have them laugh at me when I make popcorn for dinner after telling my dad I didn't want any.  But, I trust all of that will be there when I come back.  So until then, I'm going to see the Eiffel Tower and eat German Bratwurst. I'm going to do my damnedest to learn Spanish and soak in all the Vitamin D the Mediterranean has to offer.

So, I do have more questions and answers--especially about the teaching part--written for part 2, but if you have anything specific you want to know, feel free to ask!
Love lots <3 nbsp="" p="">

#BarcelonaBound

Barcelona is an interesting mix of a city—both ancient and ultra-cosmopolitan a city that has stood for centuries, with Roman ruins from before the time of Christ peaking out around the edges, and modern day masterpieces still being completed.  The Gothic Quarter of the city is too old to be wide enough for cars to pass through; sunlight barely filters down into the dark, narrow alleys with tall buildings rising on either side.   Yet, in many ways, Barcelona has only been on the world stage in the modern era since the 1992 Olympic Games came over the summer and thrust the city onto the world stage—and the world has found it worthy. 

Yet, I didn’t know what to expect or what I would find.  There wasn’t a specific landmark I was looking to see when I booked my ticket, though once I started looking around at things to do in Barcelona, a few rose to the very top, very quickly.  But on my first day in the city, as clouds crowded over the sky and I knew rain was coming, I wasn’t sure what to make of this place.  I was saving those high ticket items—the ones everyone will tell you to do—for Saturday, and on Friday I was simply heading in the directions of some sights—most notably Castle Montjuic—and was curious what I would find along the way. 

The Museu National d'Art de Catalunya
sort of up close. 

I found Plazas stretching around and up in an grand display of statue and beauty.  I found (what I later discovered was) the Museu National d’Art de Catalunya rising up above a series of staircases that only got grander the higher I climbed. I found the former Olympic stadium and where the flame was kept burning during the games 26 years ago.  I debated with myself about the 20 minute walk up to Castle Montjuic, but the reviews were consistent—it would give me a display of the city that could not be missed.   So despite the thickening clouds and fewer people, I climbed.  

The view looking the other way from the Museu.

The Castle Montjuic.  Before the rain.

Up, and around with occasional peaks through at the cityscape down below, and it was majestic.  I kept going though it was a little chilly outside but my body was warm beneath my sweatshirt and slightly sweaty.  I paid my 5 euro entrance fee and saw the port side of Barcelona, the area I wasn’t nearly as interested in.  How would I describe this place and the feel of it, I wondered.  How could I possibly capture it when I didn’t necessarily have a feel yet for this place and what it was like to be here? And then the city laid itself out for me as I stood overlooking this ancient, and yet entirely new, place. 

Much of what I did in Barcelona was typical and at times touristy.  Certainly as the rain finally came down at the Castle, it was one of the only times all weekend that I wasn’t surrounded by people.  So I wondered, was I missing part of the soul of the city by not trying to find the hidden corners and the things only locals would know? What was this place and how could I capture it, even if not in words, in my own heart?  

Feeling soggy and stuck, and certainly no closer to an answer to a fairly existential question, I accidentally came upon the cable cars that were more expensive than walking down, but also far quicker and dryer.  And made it much more impossible for me to get lost.  Somehow, by the time I was at the bottom, the rain had mostly stopped and I made my way to a tapas bar that Google Maps promised was close by and highly rated.  It was warm and cozy and not so crowded that I was scared away.  In about five minutes at Blai 9, I had a glass of wine, and the Spanish version of chicken nachos and my journal out in front of me.  Life was good. 

The fountain is still good.  But see all the umbrellas?

There isn't just one fountain--but many!

I was starting to consider heading back out to see the show at Font Magica de Montjuic (the Magic Fountain) that would start around 9.  It was close to 8 and I could sip on my wine for a few more minutes, have my small churro and maybe get there in time to see the lights and the fountain.  I chatted with the people near me who were also English speakers and I discovered this bar wasn’t touristy—in fact they wanted to know how I’d found out about it, since she had been living in Barcelona for three years and told me it was actually much more of a local place.

It was total dumb luck I told her.  Feeling pleased with myself and the world, I paid and headed back towards the fountain, slightly less excited that it was starting to sprinkle down rain again. 

The Barcelona Cathedral rises almost
out of nowhere in the Gothic Quarter.

By 9:00, it was rainy steadily, umbrellas lined the walkways crammed with people, and though the weather didn’t affect the fountain at all, I found myself ready to go and not be soggy and cold with sore feet, so I went back to my hostel.  I laid in bed, massaging my feet that were very cranky after a day in new shoes that weren’t broken in well but had gone over 20,000 steps, and I wondered about this place I had come to and what I might possibly learn about it over the next 24 hours.

Las Ramblas performers

Saturday was the day for all the things that everyone—even people who don’t like touristy places—agrees are necessary stops on a trip through Barcelona: Las Ramblas, complete with a stop at Mercat de la Boqueria, and La Sagrada Familia.  

I took a walking tour of the Gothic Quarter and was amazed at everything hidden in its depths, and ended up near the statue of Christopher Columbus that ends Las Ramblas.  Though I have no lost love for the man, I have to admit that the area in his honor is impressive and the lions guarding it in different positions are well done. (I love when lions guard things, especially libraries.) 

Then I strolled in the sunshine, enjoying the energy, the people, the hustle of this famous street. I ignored the restaurants selling paella and enormous fruity drinks, opting instead of an empendada at a stall inside the Mercat (it was delicious) and some ice cream back on the main street.  It wasn’t a tourist trap (though there were tourist trap stalls) and it wasn’t just a quiet pedestrian area (though it was clearly made for strolling).  There were street performers and souvenir shops and people everywhere.  

I sat on one of the few chairs, resting my feet, enjoying my ice cream and looking at how far away La Sagrada Familia was.  I knew I had to go—it was practically mandatory—and if I took the Metro it wouldn’t be that far.  It would check off the last major item on my list of this city that still needed days more of exploration before I might understand.  Before I might have an insight into what exactly the heart of Barcelona was and the rhythm it beat to.

Inside the market!

Christopher Columbus ends Las
Ramblas, looking to the sea.

The stop I needed was conveniently named for Gaudi’s unfinished masterpiece, so I knew it would be close by.  I was on the escalator coming up to street level when I saw people staring open mouthed and already raising their phones to take pictures.  And when I stepped off, I saw why.  A masterpiece in stone and marble that looks like it might also be made of drippy sand rises above you, overwhelming the senses and leaving me awed. 

I walked around, keeping one eye on the immense building until I found a place out of the flow of traffic to stop and try to take it in.  It was amazing and unique and completely indescribable.  As I walked around it, seeing the different angles and the completely different and unbelievably complex ways that it changed from one moment to the next, I was absolutely dumbfounded.  It can be seen in pictures, and I’m sure going inside it is even more incredible, but I found I couldn’t even begin to conjure what to say about it.

I found a quiet bench in a little park overlooking the chapel, a small plastic glass of wine in my hand from the street festival, a small lake in front of me before the cathedral rose immensely.  I sat, contemplating it quietly, feeling almost private.  And then a tour group of at least two dozen Asians—I couldn't catch exactly which language they were speaking—descended on me, squeezing in for selfies and chattering in disbelief about the masterpiece.  Was this part of being a modern wonder too? If I was going to see the Eiffel Tower in Paris and the Coliseum in Rome (and I am), I probably need to get used to this—the majestic being crowded by the mundane and the selfies at many turns.  And I couldn’t really blame them.  I had taken a few shots of myself in front of the building too.  

But, maybe this space—not the touristy crowded one, but what it surely must be early in the morning, before anyone is awake---this is why La Sagrada Familia is Barcelona’s most famous, most iconic site.  It is the beating heartbeat, the soul of the city because it is truly like nothing else, and still evolving into something close to a finished product.  Different at every turn, worth far more than a quick, passing glance, maybe this was the best way to capture Barcelona in my heart. That all the sides, equally different, equally lovely, were equally necessary to beginning to understand this modern wonder of the Old World.

Keep scrolling for more pictures of the Magic Fountain--I went back Saturday night to see it not in the rain and sit and give my poor tired feet a break!

Do You Speak Spanish?

“So…do you speak Spanish?”

After announcing my plan for the 2018-2019 school year was to live in and teach (sort of) in Spain, I probably heard this question dozens of times.  

In my annoyed moments, after hearing it multiple times close together, I wanted to answer with a dreamy tone reminiscent of Luna Lovegood, “No.  Not really.  You don’t think that will be a problem, do you?” Or at my worst, with a sarcastic naivety, “Oh gosh! I never even thought of that.” 

Spanish cathedrals translate well.

I know that most of the people who asked were not trying be unkind or point out a potential flaw in the plan or express doubt in my ability or degrade my choice.  I know it was my own pointed insecurity about the language that made me sometimes hear it this way. 

Which is why I usually said, ‘I understand an awful lot more than I can actually speak.  Usually, if I know the context of the conversation, I can follow what people are saying.”

Which is actually 100% true.  Having been here for about four weeks, I can say more firmly than ever that those words are true. 

But if I was being my most vulnerable self, I’d also tell you, “I think that’s going to be one of the hardest parts about Spain—the language.  I’m used to being articulate and well-spoken, and that’s not going to be my reality.  Which is uncomfortable for me.  But that discomfort is part of the point.  And it will help me grow.  And actually learn to speak Spanish.”

People tell you that immersion in a Spanish speaking country is the best way to learn. And I’ve no doubt that’s true.  But on days, or even moments, when I want to be lazy, it’s possible to get by without much language at all—beyond pointing, miming, and a questioning look.  

Which does make me feel like the trips I recently booked to France, Germany, and Italy will actually be okay. 

But in my better-self moments, I have pushed myself to learn more. 

To date I have successfully:

bought coffee, indicating if I intend it for here or to-go.  Though, no matter how confident I am, I have yet to actually convince anyone that i don’t need the sugar packets they seem determined to give me. 

bought bus tickets, both for the local trip on the bus, and for a distance single trip, and a long-term pass, in the bus station.

bought groceries, house supplies, and dinner multiple times, giving the correct amount of money. 

applied for a long-term visa.

used the computer and made copies at their version of a Staples. 

told strangers that I don’t, in fact, have a lighter. 

gotten a gym membership.

explained to students and teachers that I am from the US and, more regionally, live close to Washington D.C.

Beautiful views always translate.

I have also picked up some specifically Spain parts of Spanish.  They use the word “vale,” like it’s going out of style tomorrow if they don’t use it enough.  It sounds like “Bali” still to me, but it means “okay,” and is a general speech filler that everyone seems to use here.  To my knowledge, it’s not used in Latin American Spanish and I had never heard it before.  But here, everything is “vale.” 

I’d also heard that Andalusian Spanish is particularly difficult to understand because they have the heaviest accent on the ‘sss’ sound.  They make a ‘th’ sound instead so words like “Andalucia” are “Andaluthia,”  That has not been nearly as difficult as the claim they also make to being the most rapid speakers in Spain.  Though I cannot confirm that it is true, I can confirm their rapidity makes things difficult.

I’m trying with Spanish, but I will also admit to moments when I’ve been very glad when people have been able to speak to me in English. Here, opening a bank account is a more major procedure than in the US, and after I tried to explain in Spanish why I needed one (my program will only give me direct deposit of payment once I have an account), the man simply looked at me and asked again “porque?” Out of Spanish words to explain it, I simply sat for a moment, thinking of ways I could try again, and coming up dry, he finally smiled and kindly offered, “ingles?” 

“Thank you,” I said gratefully.  Thirty minutes later he had become one of the most helpful people I had met to date and I was incredibly grateful to him and his ability to speak more English than I could Spanish. 

The list of things I’ve done in Spanish is not long.  It’s not nearly enough.  Which means I have to be willing—in my slow, slightly broken Spanish that is sometimes looked up on Google Translate—to try.  I’ve known how language acquisition works from my ESOL friends for a long time.  But experiencing it is panful, and slow, and challenging.  And much less natural, even immersed in a country like this than people would have you believe.  But it’s a big part of why I’ve come.  

So, I’m going to try. 

Vale.  

Things I’ve Learned (mostly through trial and error) My First Week in Spain:

My body thought it was 2am.  But the sun?

The flight left out of Philadelphia only a few hours before bedtime.  After a terrible night sleep the night before, I fully expected to conk out on the plane despite not having a window seat.  But over a hour later I was still wide awake.  I’d tried listening to Two Broke Girls through my headphones with an eye mask on to turn my brain off, but no luck. I tried resting quietly. I adjusted and readjusted my neck pillow.  Still awake when the lights flicked back on and they brought out dinner. 

I wasn’t hungry, but I was curious, so I accepted the pasta.  I poked Mom to tell her it was now or never on the gluten free, but she mumbled and never woke up.  I was jealous, and still not sleepy, so I asked for the free glass of wine they were eager to dispense.  I drank some passable white wine, ate some spreadable Skinny Cow cheese on a terribly dry roll, a few bites of…interesting pasta and saved the brownie for later. 

I might’ve slept in small doses.  I remember doing the equivalent of tossing and turning in my airplane seat and going to the bathroom despite the Fasten Seatbelt Sign.  I remember seeing the sun glinting pink in the sky when my watch said it was around 2am.  Soon after that, the lights came back on and we got breakfast—a very sweet muffin top and yogurt.  

And we were landing in London.
At this time. 

Somehow I dragged myself off the plane, feeling jealous of Mom that she had slept a little—very little—and told myself for the next four hours that it wasn't a good idea to continually convert the time my watch now said to the time my body thought it was.  My body would never win. 

The flight to Spain was a little over two hours and in the first hour I think I got better sleep than I had for seven hours earlier. But still, by the time Mom and I were trying to navigate through Madrid, each with two suitcases and a shoulder bag, I was exhausted.  All I wanted was to sleep.  For a very, very long time. 

This is mostly my stuff, but
it is for a whole year...

The hotel was fancy and lovely and not in a very touristy part of town.  I probably could’ve slept in the woods in a tent and slept well that night, but even after about nine hours, I was still tired.  When I got up at 7, I opened the curtains and found darkness.  I immediately checked to make sure that it was actually morning and not the middle of the night.  Light started coming on around 8 and I wondered if I was still just confused from the time change or it actually didn’t get light here early.  (It had nothing to do with being tired.  The sun really doesn’t come up until a little after eight.) 

It was long and exhausting and confusing and scary.  But we made it to Velez-Malaga where I was going to be working and I thought I might be able to sort of settle in.  And learn.  

And oh, did I learn. 

Grocery shopping is not necessarily as easy as you imagine it to be.  Maybe because I’ve done it my whole life—gone down the aisles, had a general idea of what I wanted and then pulled it off the shelves—it seems simple.  It is not simple when none of the brands are familiar, none of the words are in English, and traveling has been the main activity for 24 hours, making your strangely exhausted and awake at the same time.  I say all that in hopes that all of my various grocery mistakes sound less lame. 

Is this what creamer and coffee is like here?

The first night, I went to the tiny grocery store—about the size of my bedroom in Virginia—and bought three 1.5 liter bottles since we needed some more cold water in the house.  Even though the Internet said the the tap was perfect fine, it seemed that everyone was buying copious amounts of water. There must be a reason for it.  We must need to do it too.  We put the three bottles in the fridge and fell asleep for about ten hours. 

The next morning when Mom opened one, she had a funny look on her face.  It was clearly carbonated and after a sip, she confirmed—not all totally clear liquid in 1.5 L bottles is water.  This was a strange, almost-Sprite, that tasted somehow more like a fresh soda.  But still very clearly soda.

When I made coffee, I got another strange look.  “I think you bought instant coffee,” Mom said as she looked at the glass container of grounds.

I nodded.  “That was all I saw.  But I think it’s supposed to be good.” I boiled the water, poured in the coffee and then stirred.  I went to get the creamer I’d gotten (which I was very proud of, since it looked nothing like the creamer from home and yet I still identified it).  I opened the top and found something that looked more like a squeeze top for ketchup or mayo.  It was not a pour top, that was for sure.  “Hmmm,” I said, studying it. I squeezed and something that looked more like sweetened, condensed milk than like creamer came out.  

To be fair, it was actually a version of coffee creamer—I hadn’t been wrong about that.  And to be fair, it did make our coffee sweeter and richer.  But it still wasn’t exactly what I had expected. (Though, neither had I expected the only two choices in the London-Heathrow Starbucks to be Skim and Part-Skimmed Milk as cream options.  And that might’ve been worse.)

Then, there were the eggs.  When Mom and I grocery shopped, we’d been pleased about how many clearly labeled Gluten Free options there were for her, and one of the things we bought was a loaf of gluten free bread. We also had eggs, our condensed milk creamer, and some cinnamon, and both of us realized what we really wanted was French Toast for breakfast.  I’m not sure I’ve ever actually craved French Toast, but both Mom and I were super excited for it when we got up.  We got out all the ingredients and as Mom went to crack the eggs, something was clearly wrong.  They didn’t really crack. 

They were already cooked. 

We had bought hard boiled eggs. 

And then we had the saddest regular toast with bananas anyone has ever had. 

Other things we learned: Siesta is a serious thing.  Stores close.  All of them.  Most of them with metal gates that make it seem questionable if they are ever open. But around 5 they come fully back to life. 

Sunday is also a day of rest.  Grocery stores are not open.  Gyms are not open.  Luckily the busses still run, albeit on a reduced schedule. 

Uber and the more European versions like MyTaxi do not exist everywhere.  Even though Velez is the capital of the region and a city of 70,000 people in its own right, the fact that Malaga city has Ubers does not mean they exist 40 minutes away.  

Crosswalks are to be respected and observed.  Cars have gone from accelerating to a dead stop if I move toward crossing the street in the crosswalk.  I’ve never seen someone ignore a pedestrian, and if I’m not certain I need to cross the street, I hesitate very far away to avoid causing delay.  It’s charming, but also nerve-wracking. I don’t completely trust it, not enough to just step out when I can tell a car is coming, but I know that by waiting to see if they slow down, I’m slowing the whole process down and being more annoying.  But it’s not easy to step out in front of a car and assume that they will see you and stop for you in plenty of time.  Yet, without fail, cars stop in crosswalks. 

But perhaps the thing I have noticed the most is the beauty of the place.  What I realized a few days ago that is so lovely about this place is that they make things beautiful even when they don’t need to.  They don’t need to have a gorgeously tiled fountain in the middle of each roundabout, but they do.  They don’t need to have beautiful flowers and trees lining every pedestrian walkway, but there they are.  And this extends to the people—they don’t need to be kind and generous and helpful, but they are.  Without fail, every time Mom and I appeared to struggle at all with our suitcases, at least one, sometimes multiple, men would hop up and come to our aid, lifting, carrying or helping us in whatever way we needed.  

It’s not as though there aren’t beautiful things and wonderful people in the US.  Maybe it’s more that when you see it in something that is strange and slightly scary, like a new country with a new language, it’s easier to realize.  Maybe it’s about being away from what you know in order to truly see.  Either way, it’s a beautiful country, and I know there will be harder things than figuring out creamer and worse mistakes than buying cooked eggs.  But I firmly believe the beauty will remain.