Instead of having free time…

… I’ve started tutoring English.

This is a fantastic way to make extra money and I really enjoy having something to do with my gazillions of free hours, since I only work 12 hours per week at my school.

Marcos, my thirteen-month-old angel, is a total joy.  His parents Estefanía and José continue to brighten my life with helpful hints about living in Córdoba and general overwhelming kindness—yesterday Estefanía sent me home with a tupperware container filled with lentil soup for lunch!  They are both very pleased with Marcos’ progress, which gets better and better every day.  Mostly, we play with his toys or in the park with the pigeons.  He’s so young that he doesn’t speak at all, but he responds to English questions and games, continually gesturing for me to sing Ring Around the Rosie with him.

Marcos at the park

skeptical

my favorite!

In addition to Marcos, I’m now tutoring a five-year-old named María, two sisters named Olga and Maria who are 6 and 10, and a Lithuanian woman named Daiva.  Next week I am supposed to begin teaching two brothers named Alejandro and Alvaro (5 and 8-years-old) and hopefully two high school students.  The vice-principal of my school has also asked if I would be willing to do conversation classes with his 21-year-old daughter, which I think would be really fun.  I’ve now filled most of my free hours, so I think I’m going to have to start turning people down if I get any more requests!

I’ve spent most of this week trying to get to know Córdoba a little better, which has included activities like trying out (very) cheap tapas places and getting a library card. 

but will they ever get my name right?

I also attempted to make salmorejo, a Cordoban chilled tomato soup very similar to gazpacho.  Sadly, my first attempt was tasty but not at all aesthetically pleasing, so I will post pictures once I perfect the recipe.

Saint Day Paella

Nobody tells me anything.  Well, maybe they do and I can’t understand it?

Yesterday was Auri’s saint day, which is why all of her friends came over.  We had a big party and her girlfriends brought her gifts, but I didn’t have a gift because I was totally unaware!  She told me her birthday was in August—nobody explained to me that Saint Aurora is celebrated in October.  Luckily, I’m pretty sure nobody noticed or cared.  I hope these mistakes soon fade out of my life.

In any case, Auri woke up early and made paella which was amazing!

Auri's paella

I met all of her closest friends, who were all wonderful and so patient with me.  Two of the girls speak English really well, so they liked practicing with me and teaching me new expressions.  Gema is a veterinarian who learned English when she spent a year in Portugal and Alicia is currently working in some sort of office job while looking for work in the U.S.—her English is almost fluent and spoken with an Irish-Spanish accent because she learned to speak when she spent nine months studying in Cork, Ireland.  So adorable.

Auri receiving her gifts

The whole group- Auri is to my right in the white shirt

We spent the afternoon eating, drinking, and talking about life.  Auri is interested in a boy named Antonio who none of the girls had met, but he showed up at the end of the afternoon which was a grand spectacle.  Then one of the girls, Chio, took out a racy book and started reading it aloud.  This made all of the girls laugh uproariously and resulted in Antonio looking slightly uncomfortable.  I felt right at home!

Día del Jamón

Part of living and making new friends abroad is that you agree to things on a regular basis that you might not normally do in your country.  In general, I think this is one of the best parts of spending time away from home, since it really allows for discovery and sometimes unexpected delight.

It was in this spirit of adventure that I agreed to go to the Día del Jamón festival in Villanueva de Córdoba, a small pueblo about an hour and a half from Córdoba by bus.  For those of you who don’t speak Spanish, Día del Jamón literally means The Day of Ham.  The festival is a huge event for this small village, and it was highly publicized in Córdoba with posters that looked a lot like apocalyptic doomsday warnings to me.

In any case, my new friends Becky and Emily decided that this would be a great cultural activity, so we boarded the bus on Saturday morning ready for an adventure.  Becky lived and taught in Córdoba last year, so her love for Spanish food is well developed.  While I adore most types of cuisine, many of you know that I haven’t eaten ham (or any type of red meat) for over ten years.  To make this trip even more interesting, my friend Emily is a vegetarian.  Therefore, this trip shall henceforth be known as The Day We Rode a Bus for Three Hours to Watch Becky Eat a Lot of Ham.

please tell me you agree? 

Becky and Emily

My 7€ bus ticket was totally worth it though, because the people of Villanueva de Córdoba are serious about their ham.  After navigating our way through the tiny whitewashed pueblo, were treated to an impressive exhibition center filled with ham artwork, models, and samples.

ham leg on display

ham cutting competition

ham fountain

ham rose

decorative ham

Emily modeling the ham trophies

Becky enjoying her ham

And no, I didn’t try any ham.  I have been told repeatedly that this resolve won’t last in Spain.  For example, Auri told me, “I don’t really eat a lot of meat, except ham of course.”  Still, I feel like if I made it through Día del Jamón, I the rest of this year should be a piece of cake.

On the subject of culinary delights, tomorrow Auri is inviting her friends to our piso to meet me and eat paella!  Updates to come!

Ready, Set, Teach

After my first week of work at the Colegio Público de Educación Infantil y Primaria de Córdoba Colón, I can say that I have a newfound respect for educators everywhere.  Before my first day as an elementary school teacher, I knew that children en masse could be difficult and that most teachers were brave souls.  However, I now know that you can never truly appreciate the validity of this concept until you experience 27 eight-year-olds running around you screaming about their favorite colors and animals.  In a language that you’re still learning.

But, I digress.  At my school, commonly referred to as Colegio Colón, I teach third, fourth, fifth and sixth grades.  I teach science to each of these classes twice per week, and once per week I assist with the fifth and sixth grade music classes.  As I quickly discovered, being an auxiliar means different things to different teachers.  The word auxiliar in Spanish means “assistant,” which is supposed to be my job description.  However, this could mean that I read aloud prepared power points in English or it could also signify teaching an entire class about the skeletal system or photosynthesis without preparation, while the teacher sits and nods or grades papers.

For example, when I arrived to work on my first day, I was whisked into a third grade classroom.  I was greeted by exuberant shouting and a hoard of small children rushing to hug me and tell me their names.  The teacher, Puri, explained to me that they were very excited, and that class was not normally like this.  Then, she handed me a Spanish science textbook and asked me to teach the lesson about energy in English.  This isn’t exactly an easy task without any preparation, especially when it involves translating a pre-made lesson plan.  Still, I powered through and felt as though I accomplished the class without any major problems.

My days at school have mostly consisted of the children getting to know me and testing my limits.  As would be expected, my fifth and sixth grade classes are much easier in the sense that they understand most of what I say and know how to behave.  My third and fourth grade classes are adorable, but we often spend much of the class involved in tangents that begin with questions like, “Do you really eat eggs for breakfast in America?” and “Does it snow where you live?”

My other personal favorite was when a small chubby boy named Miguel spent several minutes yelling: “Boyfriend?  Boyfriend!  Boyfriend?!” at me.  When I asked him if he wanted to be mine or was curious if I had one, he looked at me extremely confusedly and sat quietly for about three minutes before beginning his tirade anew.  “BOYFRIEND?!”

I’m just trying to maintain an air of mystery here, sheesh.

All in all, my job is still very new, but everyone has been welcoming and helpful.  I’m looking forward to getting to know all of my students and hopefully collaborating more with the teachers, which I know will come in time.

And in all seriousness, to any neglected teachers out there reading this: thank you!

Cattle Herding AKA Becoming a Spanish Resident

Despite the fact that vast problems exist in many American systems, the United States really has nothing on the disorder that is applying for Spanish residency.  In case anyone out there has just encountered a horrible experience at the D.O.L. or is feeling particularly angry about an outrageous wait at the post office, I am here to tell you: at least you’re not in Spain.

Applying for residency in Spain can be anywhere from a 3-15 hour process.  It spans multiple days, and all actions take place at the comisaría de policía (police station), which is of course a 45 minute walk from the center of town.  The comisaría opens at 9AM, but we were told to be there at 7AM.  Luckily, I had met several people from the program, so a group of shared a taxi cab across town so that we wouldn’t have to walk in a strange city in the dark.  We arrived shortly after 7AM at a small building sporting several Spanish flags.  There were a few people lined up in front of the gated entrance, and several more across the street.  No police officers were in sight.

A girl named Megan from my program had been told that we were supposed to wait across the street.  No signs gave any indication if this was correct or not, but it was the only piece of information we had, so we ran with it.  We stood in the cold trying to joke about the situation while cursing the fact that we hadn’t brought jackets.  At 8:45, four police officers emerged from the gates and came to our line across the street.  They separated us into European Union, United Arab Emirates, and United States passport holders.  Eager to be making the first step in the process, I handed the officer my passport.  He shook his head gravely and said “Ustedes son los últimos.”  This means, “your group is last.”

So, we waited again as all of the other immigrants received slips of paper, regardless of whether or not they had arrived after us.  By the time the officer got to our group, he was holding slips for future appointments that would take place the next day.  He handed each of us a reservation that only had the date printed on it, and warned us to be there early.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

The next morning we rose early, caught a taxi, and waited in front of the comisaría once again, this time for only about a half hour.  However, when we were finally called into the building, all that we found was a crammed waiting room filled with impatient people.  I had the first number out of our group, but still we waited about an hour and a half until my name was called.  At that point, I was ushered into a small room where I sat at a desk and handed a clearly overworked woman all of my documentation.  She asked me short questions and clearly desired only one-word answers.  “Passport?” “Address?” “Insurance?”

After she had copied, stamped, and stapled three copies of each of my forms, she handed me a piece of paper and told me to come back.  This was rather confusing and of course she didn’t speak any English, so I sheepishly tried to clarify why I would need to return.  She waved her hand toward the door while she spoke in rapid-fire Andalusian Spanish.  I gathered that I needed to go to a bank with my form to pay the fee for the residency card, and then come back to return the receipt. 

What bank?  Where was this bank located?  Of course, none of that information was provided.

Tremendously long story short, I wandered around with a group of other auxiliares until we found a bank, paid the fifteen euro fee, and returned to the comisaría to wait for another twenty minutes until they allowed us to turn in our receipts.  We were then given a tiny slip of paper with our resident number on it and told to come back in 5-6 weeks to pick up our real identification card.  Such gratification.

Opening a bank account was a similar process—two hours of sitting at a desk and signing forms resulted in bank card that looks like this:

American names are strange to Spaniards because everyone here has two last names.  Children are given both their mother and father’s last names, and when a woman marries, it is traditional for her to take her husband’s last name in place of her mother’s (oh, patriarchal society).  While I explained during this two hour process that I only have one last name, apparently this was too bizarre to handle.

I will probably save this card forever

A Place to Call Home!

I am now finally settled in my new piso!

My roommate Auri is absolutely wonderful and I’m really feeling like I couldn’t be luckier.  I live a ten minute walk from my school and the center of Córdoba, as well as a three minute walk from the train and bus stations.  Our apartment is tiny but adorable, and I already feel so at home!  Enjoy the photo tour!

view from the front door

kitchen

more kitchen

our terrace, complete with drying laundry

tiny bathroom

living room/kitchen

view from the hallway

my room

desk

tiny closet

bed and wardrobe

My next big purchase is going to be an air mattress to keep under my bed so that I can have visitors!

Parents, Palaces, and Pizza

Hello again, dear readers!

A somewhat obscene amount of time has passed since my last post, though it actually isn’t because I haven’t been writing.  I’ve had some issues with Blogger in the last few weeks, which are hopefully resolved now, and then I was so behind in posts that I didn’t want to post updates without being able to bring you all up to the current moment!  Anyway, I’m now going to post everything I have and soon we’ll be back on track—and as always, thanks for visiting my little blog!

As you all know, I spent last weekend in Granada with my friend Keely and her family.  In the past month I have been slowly but surely making my way to the different provinces of Andalucía and each have been a uniquely fantastic experience.  Granada did not disappoint; in fact, I would say that it’s now one of my favorite cities in Spain.   Obviously my fine company contributed heavily to my enjoyment—when my train arrived, I took a taxi to a hotel nestled away in the adorable city center where I met Keely and her parents.  Albert and Denise were incredibly hospitable and made me feel right at home, a great feat since they were travelers in a strange land themselves!  That evening we went to dinner at a nearby restaurant recommended by Lonely Planet where we had a delicious meal.  As you all know, good food in good company is one of my greatest pleasures in life, so this was a wonderful way to spend the evening.

wild mushroom salad

Denise and Albert at dinner

We retired somewhat early that night so that Keely and I could rise with the sun (well before, actually) and attempt to get tickets to see the Alhambra the next day.  Luckily, our expedition was fruitful and we procured tickets for the four of us, thanks to some ingenious advice from Mr. Rick Steves.  The Alhambra is undoubtedly one of the most popular monuments in Spain, as it draws thousands of visitors every day.  One third of the day-passes are reserved for same-day sale, so that people who don’t plan their visit months in advance can still have a chance to see the site.  We were lucky enough to fall into this category, so Denise and Albert came to meet Keely and I, and the four of us embarked on our day of sightseeing.

waiting for her parents-- Keely is unimpressed by the stray cats

stray cats are ALL OVER La Alhambra

The Alhambra is a sprawling network of ancient architecture that sits on top of the hills surrounding Granada.  While it includes a Christian palace and an abandoned Moorish fort called Alcazaba, the most magnificent of the sights are the Palacios Nazaries and Generalife—the last Moorish palace and the surrounding gardens, respectively.  We walked through the Palacios Nazaries with our guided audio-tour and spent hours climbing through the ancient chambers and ascending towers to see the awe-inspiring views of the city below.  The Moors ruled in Granada until 1492, until the palace itself was overtaken by Christian crusaders.  At that point, Charles V built his own palace atop the hill as a symbol of conquest.  While Charles’ stronghold was beautiful, it doesn’t even compare to the Palacios Nazaries.  The detail of the Moorish architecture was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

inside Charles' palace

the Wright family!

Granada through Moorish windows

inside the Palacios Nazaries

incredibly intricate design

The Moors saw water as a symbol, because it was such a precious resource in their own homelands.  Because of this, water features are everywhere in the Alhambra—fountains and pools decorate almost every room and the gardens are filled with cascading waterfalls and man-made streams.

the interior palace

Keely and I

ancient pillars

reflection pool

We finished our tour of the Alhambra with a walk through the Generalife gardens, which were spectacular.  Granada actually means pomegranate in Spanish, so fruitful trees were artfully placed on almost every path.

I’m sure I could spend months in the Alhambra without seeing everything, which makes it particularly special.  I love walking through ancient palaces and thinking about the people who used to live there.  Since I come from the west coast of the United States, the oldest building in my city would be considered practically new in Europe.  I love my hometown, but there’s something distinctly magical about living in a place with so much rich human history.

on top of Granada

surrounding hills

Generalife gardens

my favorite flower in Generalife 

pomegranates!

After our Alhambra tour we went to an amazing restaurant for pizza and hummus, a gem that Keely had discovered on her last trip to Granada.  The city, like most in Andalucía, has a very large North African population.  This means that Granada is the place to go for awesome hummus, something I miss so much from home!

That evening, we went on an excursion to find an Irish bar that Keely’s sister, Mandisa, used to frequent during her year abroad in Granada.  We at first found a bar that we were sure was the right one, so we ordered drinks and food only to discover that we were at a different bar with the same name.  So, after our meal we embarked on another journey to find Mandisa’s bar, this time asking five or six Spaniards for directions before arriving at the “other” Hannigan & Sons.  Victory!

en route

all the traffic barricades in Granada are pomegranates!

This bar was a shots bar clearly frequented by the student crowd.  Luckily, we arrived early so we were able to enjoy a few drinks before karaoke and overly obnoxious Americans overtook the area.  Keely also found her future husband here, a Spanish bartender who looked Irish (yes, apparently that’s possible) and served us flaming shots called “The Afterbang.”  Oh, what adventures.

victorious in Mandisa's bar!

"The Afterbang" 

a great end to a long day!

All in all, the trip was fantastic.  I was overwhelmed by Albert and Denise’s generosity and it was so wonderful to spend a few days with friendly and familiar faces.  Now I’m on the train back to Córdoba, ready to begin the next adventure of moving into my new piso!  Pictures and updates coming soon!