My approach to this year is a bit different than many of my fellow teachers. In Sevilla, our conversation often drifted to travel plans, and nearly everyone intends to see as much as they can. Don’t want to waste an opportunity. How can you pass on the 20-euro fare to see Madrid, Valencia, or Barcelona? Not to mention the 40-euro Ryanair ticket to Morroco, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Greece, Poland, the UK, Scandinavia, and on, and on, and on. . .
I guess my outlook is a bit different. I came here to sink into my community, to learn about the culture by participating in it, and above all, to slow down. While this experience doesn’t lend itself to the same kind of exciting stories, it instead maintains a subtle pleasantness. Certainly I can’t claim to have conquered something as vague and non-distinct as “participating in the culture” and I honestly have a long way to go before I’ve “sunk into the community”, but I can unequivocally say I have enjoyed slowing down.
My work schedule, while a bit flexible and unpredictable, bears no resemblance to what I might be doing were I in the US. True, I’ll have teachers asking me to join their next class, sans-preparation, when I’m just about to head home, but at the end of the week, I’ve rarely been at the school more than twenty hours, and of those, only about 8-12 actually in class. And so more than anything, I’ve loved having time to read, to cook, to sleep without an alarm, to sign up for Yoga and Judo classes, and to do it all without careful planning or scheduling. (Yeah, I guess I am bragging.) Advice to manage stress by squeezing an extra “stress-relieving” activity into an already overbooked day has always struck me as a bit odd.
So I’m planning to spend most of my time here in Albox whether or not it has the historical castles, cathedrals, gardens, the nightclubs or the movies (it does not). That said, I don’t have to go and be an extremist about it. In fact, I've just returned from my first weekend trip, Granada. Stories forthcoming.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Yum
A few of the results from my time in the kitchen:
Taking pictures of food is too easy. I decided to keep track of my experiments as a rookie cook, but it turns out that pictures can look great regardless of the actual flavor.
Taking pictures of food is too easy. I decided to keep track of my experiments as a rookie cook, but it turns out that pictures can look great regardless of the actual flavor.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
A Long Saturday
So I’m still new to this whole blogging thing and I’m trying to find the balance between what I want to say and what I want to leave out. I spend a lot more time thinking about things that I could write than I actually spend writing. I feel a bit limited because I haven’t explained many of the background details that provide the context for my stories. But I feel like simply disclosing all the boring details could really drive this blog into the ground. I want to keep it interesting. Of course blogging is a bit narcissistic to it’s core and I feel a bit foolish going on and on about myself, but I’d like the goal here to be improving my writing, learning to open up a bit more, and of course sharing experiences to (hopefully) curious readers.
Let’s start with last Saturday. I went to the English folks’ boot sale (where I’m sure my friend Katie could “sale her wares”) to see if I could track down a bicycle. Albox is near enough to the Mediterranean that I could get to the beach in a couple hours if I had a bike, but on my feet, forget it. It’s also connected to other small towns through hilly, relatively quiet roadways that might make for nice cycling trips. Something cheap, perhaps an old bike that someone’s kid or husband no longer uses, could meet my needs at the right price. So the boot sale seemed about as good a place as any to start.
My instructions were as follows: it’s by the international café; just keep going straight and you can’t miss it. That phrase is one of my peeves. I’m not particularly good with directions, and I’ve found that, you can’t miss it, has less to do with how easy it is to find, and more to do with the guide’s desire to get back to what they were doing. I wasn’t exactly certain which road I was supposed to be on, or in which direction, but because my advisor was tired of giving instructions, he felt he could terminate his lesson by urging me to “keep going” on a vaguely defined road until I found it.
No worries, I wasn’t in a particular hurry and had nothing pressing for the rest of the weekend, so with an orange, an apple and half a water bottle I was wandering out of Albox towards where I considered that this boot sale could potentially be. I should also point out that those who gave me directions were consistently surprised that I did not possess a car and would instead be walking.
Albox slowly evaporated behind me, the mechanic shops and hardware stores growing further and further apart until I was walking along a lonely, country highway. Sure enough, it was the correct one, though I did turn back at one point convinced I had likely gone too far. A brief conversation made clear that I was on the correct road, just another half an hour or so to the boot sale.
When I got there, it looked something like this:
I came away with a load of cheap English books, a fair prize for my effort. I was getting a bit hungry, but the café international had few offerings that appealed to me more than a meal I might prepare for myself back home, so I decided I could make the return journey without a meal. But before I left, saw a poster advertising a giant paella as part of a festival in Arboleas, the next town down the highway. I hadn’t tried real paella yet, and this seemed to be as good a way as any to spend my afternoon. So I asked for what were only partially understood directions, and set out once again, this time with a bit less clarity. Definitely turn right, go pass the red house, and then something about the riverbed and keep going. A bit hazy at the end, but I should be able to find it.
Well what should have taken about an hour took nearly three, and at several times I considered whether I’d be better off turning back for home fueled by my remaining fruit. Ultimately, I was rather counting on the sustenance from the paella to make the return journey and I ended up stumbling into town before I totally lost hope.
And this is what a giant paella looks like:
I was happy to sit for a bit, to loosen my shoes as blisters were developing on my heel. Eventually I summoned my strength and set out on my return journey. Charlotte had called while I was eating, and her friend Laura (who worked as I do at the school last year) had arrived in Albox. When I returned I would come across the hall to say hello to the two of them.
Of course I did make it back, but not without weary legs, tired feet, and worst of all, a deserved sunburn. Though I’m usually quite conscientious with sunscreen, I had had no problems with the sun in all of my days in Sevilla, and after all, it was October. Well maybe my skin’s tolerance for the sun was improving, but it was no match for that day’s hike, and I was feeling it.
I crossed the hall to say hello and enjoyed hearing about the past year in Albox. We ate and they told me of their plans for the night. With some local friends, they would be going to a fair in a nearby town that night (setting out at 12:30 or so) and invited me to join in. We split for a while so they could get ready.
Back in my room I flipped and flopped. I was tired and could have fallen asleep on the spot at 9:30. I knew my body needed rest to deal with the tired muscles and burned skin. But here was an opportunity to get out of Albox, to see a cultural activity and to spend some time with two new friends. And perhaps to meet some locals. Against my better judgment, I made a pot of coffee and committed to the Spanish nightlife.
I crossed the hall to find the two nearly ready, but the plans had changed. Our Spanish friends, the ones with the cars who would drive us to the fair, had a football game that was just starting and we would wait until it finished before setting off. Okay, I thought, sitting and watching will require less energy than walking around a fair and being at a party, I can handle this.
Around 2:30 or so, when the game was over, we loaded up in the car. I was a bit confused as the plans had changed again, but I followed the girls. I understood that we were now going to the beach for a “botellón” or an informal outdoor party. Looking back I clearly should have spoken up and figured out exactly what we were up to, but not exactly sure how to explain my desire, I kept quite and followed along.
As we drove I learned we were headed to a discoteca, not a botellón, which I did want to see before I left Spain, but I had no pressing desire to check off that night. No matter, however, at this point there was no turning back. Spanish nightlife is notorious for going all night long, and I figured I ought to at least give it a try.
But once will probably be enough for me. I was exhausted. It was too loud to really communicate with anyone, and I really could only speculate when we would be returning and I would be able to crash. I tried at times to reset my mindset and enjoy the time, but that was pretty fruitless. Suffice to say, the hours between when we arrived and when we finally left dragged trudgingly in my mind.
When I did at long last find my bed, I quickly fell into the most effortless sleep imaginable. The sensation was altogether unique, more like a decision to stand up, or to touch my nose than the passive, thoughtless route to sleep.
I had made some mistakes that day. I should have done a better job reading my senses and recognizing what was in my best interest. I should have known that I simply didn’t have the energy to stay out all night. I should have realized the commitment I was making (but never at any one point, made) by staying silent in the car. Well, chalk another one up to character-building experience.
Let’s start with last Saturday. I went to the English folks’ boot sale (where I’m sure my friend Katie could “sale her wares”) to see if I could track down a bicycle. Albox is near enough to the Mediterranean that I could get to the beach in a couple hours if I had a bike, but on my feet, forget it. It’s also connected to other small towns through hilly, relatively quiet roadways that might make for nice cycling trips. Something cheap, perhaps an old bike that someone’s kid or husband no longer uses, could meet my needs at the right price. So the boot sale seemed about as good a place as any to start.
My instructions were as follows: it’s by the international café; just keep going straight and you can’t miss it. That phrase is one of my peeves. I’m not particularly good with directions, and I’ve found that, you can’t miss it, has less to do with how easy it is to find, and more to do with the guide’s desire to get back to what they were doing. I wasn’t exactly certain which road I was supposed to be on, or in which direction, but because my advisor was tired of giving instructions, he felt he could terminate his lesson by urging me to “keep going” on a vaguely defined road until I found it.
No worries, I wasn’t in a particular hurry and had nothing pressing for the rest of the weekend, so with an orange, an apple and half a water bottle I was wandering out of Albox towards where I considered that this boot sale could potentially be. I should also point out that those who gave me directions were consistently surprised that I did not possess a car and would instead be walking.
Albox slowly evaporated behind me, the mechanic shops and hardware stores growing further and further apart until I was walking along a lonely, country highway. Sure enough, it was the correct one, though I did turn back at one point convinced I had likely gone too far. A brief conversation made clear that I was on the correct road, just another half an hour or so to the boot sale.
When I got there, it looked something like this:
I came away with a load of cheap English books, a fair prize for my effort. I was getting a bit hungry, but the café international had few offerings that appealed to me more than a meal I might prepare for myself back home, so I decided I could make the return journey without a meal. But before I left, saw a poster advertising a giant paella as part of a festival in Arboleas, the next town down the highway. I hadn’t tried real paella yet, and this seemed to be as good a way as any to spend my afternoon. So I asked for what were only partially understood directions, and set out once again, this time with a bit less clarity. Definitely turn right, go pass the red house, and then something about the riverbed and keep going. A bit hazy at the end, but I should be able to find it.
Well what should have taken about an hour took nearly three, and at several times I considered whether I’d be better off turning back for home fueled by my remaining fruit. Ultimately, I was rather counting on the sustenance from the paella to make the return journey and I ended up stumbling into town before I totally lost hope.
And this is what a giant paella looks like:
I was happy to sit for a bit, to loosen my shoes as blisters were developing on my heel. Eventually I summoned my strength and set out on my return journey. Charlotte had called while I was eating, and her friend Laura (who worked as I do at the school last year) had arrived in Albox. When I returned I would come across the hall to say hello to the two of them.
Of course I did make it back, but not without weary legs, tired feet, and worst of all, a deserved sunburn. Though I’m usually quite conscientious with sunscreen, I had had no problems with the sun in all of my days in Sevilla, and after all, it was October. Well maybe my skin’s tolerance for the sun was improving, but it was no match for that day’s hike, and I was feeling it.
I crossed the hall to say hello and enjoyed hearing about the past year in Albox. We ate and they told me of their plans for the night. With some local friends, they would be going to a fair in a nearby town that night (setting out at 12:30 or so) and invited me to join in. We split for a while so they could get ready.
Back in my room I flipped and flopped. I was tired and could have fallen asleep on the spot at 9:30. I knew my body needed rest to deal with the tired muscles and burned skin. But here was an opportunity to get out of Albox, to see a cultural activity and to spend some time with two new friends. And perhaps to meet some locals. Against my better judgment, I made a pot of coffee and committed to the Spanish nightlife.
I crossed the hall to find the two nearly ready, but the plans had changed. Our Spanish friends, the ones with the cars who would drive us to the fair, had a football game that was just starting and we would wait until it finished before setting off. Okay, I thought, sitting and watching will require less energy than walking around a fair and being at a party, I can handle this.
Around 2:30 or so, when the game was over, we loaded up in the car. I was a bit confused as the plans had changed again, but I followed the girls. I understood that we were now going to the beach for a “botellón” or an informal outdoor party. Looking back I clearly should have spoken up and figured out exactly what we were up to, but not exactly sure how to explain my desire, I kept quite and followed along.
As we drove I learned we were headed to a discoteca, not a botellón, which I did want to see before I left Spain, but I had no pressing desire to check off that night. No matter, however, at this point there was no turning back. Spanish nightlife is notorious for going all night long, and I figured I ought to at least give it a try.
But once will probably be enough for me. I was exhausted. It was too loud to really communicate with anyone, and I really could only speculate when we would be returning and I would be able to crash. I tried at times to reset my mindset and enjoy the time, but that was pretty fruitless. Suffice to say, the hours between when we arrived and when we finally left dragged trudgingly in my mind.
When I did at long last find my bed, I quickly fell into the most effortless sleep imaginable. The sensation was altogether unique, more like a decision to stand up, or to touch my nose than the passive, thoughtless route to sleep.
I had made some mistakes that day. I should have done a better job reading my senses and recognizing what was in my best interest. I should have known that I simply didn’t have the energy to stay out all night. I should have realized the commitment I was making (but never at any one point, made) by staying silent in the car. Well, chalk another one up to character-building experience.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Mi Piso
So I keep putting off updates because I had imagined telling stories that I don't have time to tell. But the blog is getting so stale that I want to get a least something up to catch you up a bit.
So I had 5 days to look for an apartment. I wasted the first 2 days without much to show because everything was closed up on the weekend. I just knew that I wanted to live with Spaniards, that was pretty much my only requirement. Any uncertainty I had had vanished when on my first trip to my school. It was at the end of the day so everyone, teachers and students alike, was rushing out the doors. I just kept introducing myself to everyone that passed by: "Hi, my name is Drew, I'm going to be an English assistant here. I'm looking for a place to stay." José, a teacher I now work with on Wednesdays and Thursdays offered to open up his place to me on the spot. He had a three-bedroom apartment to himself. He would later be sharing it with his girlfriend, so I couldn't stay their permanently, but I could stay there until I found a place. In an instant, I was relieved.
I passed on the offer at the moment because I still had 2 days left in the Hotel, and was planning to come back to the school to continue my search the next day. I showed up early and continued my incessant introduction until about noon when two of the younger teachers approached me and said "So you're looking for a place? You can stay with us." and the search was over. I looked at 0 other apartments, I did no haggling or research. It was obvious that this was going to be my only opportunity to live with teacher from my school, and such a good opportunity it is.
So after school I left with Frenc, Jesús and Javier, crossed the street and entered my 2nd floor apartment for the first time. My first impression, was that it was big, and that it was clean. Frenc had made lunch, which we shared, and then Jesús drove me to the hotel to pick up my bags. After unpacking, exhausted, I crashed in my new bed and thought about how quickly everything had fallen into place. I was, more or less, ready for the year ahead.
So I had 5 days to look for an apartment. I wasted the first 2 days without much to show because everything was closed up on the weekend. I just knew that I wanted to live with Spaniards, that was pretty much my only requirement. Any uncertainty I had had vanished when on my first trip to my school. It was at the end of the day so everyone, teachers and students alike, was rushing out the doors. I just kept introducing myself to everyone that passed by: "Hi, my name is Drew, I'm going to be an English assistant here. I'm looking for a place to stay." José, a teacher I now work with on Wednesdays and Thursdays offered to open up his place to me on the spot. He had a three-bedroom apartment to himself. He would later be sharing it with his girlfriend, so I couldn't stay their permanently, but I could stay there until I found a place. In an instant, I was relieved.
I passed on the offer at the moment because I still had 2 days left in the Hotel, and was planning to come back to the school to continue my search the next day. I showed up early and continued my incessant introduction until about noon when two of the younger teachers approached me and said "So you're looking for a place? You can stay with us." and the search was over. I looked at 0 other apartments, I did no haggling or research. It was obvious that this was going to be my only opportunity to live with teacher from my school, and such a good opportunity it is.
So after school I left with Frenc, Jesús and Javier, crossed the street and entered my 2nd floor apartment for the first time. My first impression, was that it was big, and that it was clean. Frenc had made lunch, which we shared, and then Jesús drove me to the hotel to pick up my bags. After unpacking, exhausted, I crashed in my new bed and thought about how quickly everything had fallen into place. I was, more or less, ready for the year ahead.
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