Rookie Mistakes

Today, dear readers, I made several crucial travel mistakes resulting in probably the most awkward 20 minutes of my time here in Madrid.

1) I allowed myself to get so hungry that I was unable to think in my native tongue, let alone a foreign one.

2) I assumed how one culture interprets another’s cuisine would be the same in a third culture.

In America pizza means a few key things, namely cheap, available in a cheese only (i.e. nonmeat) variety, and single-diner friendly. So when I saw a restaurante labeled “Pizzaria” (not Italian, which of course can imply classier cuisine) I assumed it was the place was for me.

3) Despite my years of experience giving unconventional restaurant guests the “are you sure you want to eat here” look, I let a suspicious hostess lead me to a white tableclothed table for one.

After glancing over the menu quickly, and ignoring that I was the only one not at a table for at least 6, I realized I might be in trouble. I had 20 euros to my name and needed at least 10 for the following day so that I could open a bank account without taking more money (and thus accruing more fees) from my American account. A cheese pizza, a.k.a 7 Formaggi Pizze, cost 11.95 euros.
Luckily when I double-checked my wallet I found a tenner hiding in the folds. Reassured that I wouldn’t have to try to ask in Spanish if I could wash dishes to pay for my meal, I ordered the pizza and a glass of wine. While I waited for my food, the waiter brought out a basket of bread.

4) I ate some of the bread.

SPOILER ALERT: Those few bites cost me 2.35 euros. I’d forgotten that it’s only in America that bread and water come free with the meal.

5) I failed to look at the other tables to see how large the portions of the meals were and was too dumbstruck to ask the waiter.

Enter the largest pizza of my life.

This pizza is in fact at least 15in. in diameter. (sorry I'm not yet able to convert this to centimeters.)

No joke, this was Man vs. Food caliber. But no biggie, right. I can get a doggie back and eat the rest for dinner.

6) I didn’t know if Spain had doggie bags, let alone how to ask for one.

Calculating the possible cost of this meal in dollars I decide I’ll have to eat the whole thing and just stay stuffed through dinner. I considered sneaking some of the bread out in my bag, but my monkey-in-the-zoo appeal had everyone, including the waiter constantly watching me.

7) I let my nerves and discomfort as an outsider get the better of me.

As I began to cut the thin, crispy crust of the pizza this become painfully obvious. First off, the pizza was bigger than the plate it was on, making it structurally unsound for cutting. Flecks of oven-blackened crust began to fly everywhere like splinters from a wood chipper. Things only got messier as I tried to eat the slices and soon I was covered in crumbs and sauce. Wanting this all to just be over, I devoured the entire humungous, granted delicious, pizza in about 15 minutes.
Stunned, the waiter brought me the check. I discovered the bread charge and with an extremely tight waistband, I left the restaurant. With still 2 hours to kill before I had to be at my tutoring gig. I figured I might as well walk off the calories until then, so I took off in no particular direction.

8) I believed the myths about another country.

Probably the biggest mistake of all because just as I gave up the expensive seat/shelter my meal had bought me, it began to rain. In Spain. But not mainly in the plains.

Well played Spain. This round goes to you. But at least I wasn’t pick pocketed.

K learns Spanish Lesson 4

Vino tinto- red wine

Paragua- umbrella.
As in “Mira, una Americana estupida sin una paragua.”

Llaves- keys. Also known as the thing your roommate realizes she forgot the moment you by a large beer at a restaurant a 30 minute walk away.

Nabo- turnip

Un clavel para un cigarillo?

Today I am the big 2-4. Of course I awoke not only older, but also wiser thus allowing me to see Madrid in a new light. I would now like to share this new cultural awareness and enlightenment with you, my lovely readers. So here they are, some important differences between Madrid and the States.

1) In Madrid, Americans find themselves not saying that they are American or from America or even from the USA. We're from the States. Don't know how or when this was decided, but we all picked it up the moment our passports were stamped.

2) The schedule. Of course I was warned before I got here about the different way Spaniards divide up their day, especially in respect to gastronomical activities. Lunch isn't until 2 or 3 and it's the biggest meal of the day. Dinner doesn't happen until after 9. But what I hadn't considered was how this impacted other parts of life.

For instance, in school kids do not get a lunch break and in many cases schools don't even have a cafeteria. There's a 20 minute break around 11:30 were kids can grab a snack if they want. But just so you know they don't. They grab a smoke.

Also in regards to youngsters: This schedule isn't just for those in their 20's or 30's or without families. No, there are no bedtimes in Spain. 12:30 on a Tuesday night, you'll find little kids running around, out with their parents. Now, although I rarely had a curfew growing up, many of my friends did. I'm sure you or someone you know got into it with your parents about what an appropriate time to be home in bed was. You probably said something like: "But it's not fair!" And they countered with: "Only hooligans and miscreants are out that late!"
Well, Spain proves that children of all ages can stay out late and grow up to be fine upstanding citizens. Call your parents and tell them you've been wronged you.

This schedule also effects partying. Going out doesn't start before midnight. I guess when you're having dinner until 11, you're not ready to party until later. Of course this doesn't mean that they cram a night into fewer hours and still call it a night by 3ish. In most American cities if a bar stays open until 3am, that's respectable enough for us drunkards to agree to go home and chat or eat until we pass out. Oh no, in Spain it goes all night. Until 5 or 6.

Side Note: If you're ever feeling homesick in Madrid, it's best to head to an all night food stand around 3am. Guaranteed every American in a 4 mile radius will be there and you'll hear some welcome, albeit slurring, English. All the Spaniards will just be kicking it into 2nd gear, but us American's will be begging for our 4th meal and a pillow.

3) Which brings me to my next observation: drinking. In America, we're drinking sprinters. You know what I mean, power hours, beer bong, shots, shots, and more shots. The point to an American party is to get wasted and to do it quick. Of course this leads to an increased risk of party causalities (vomiting, black outs, pass outs) and we rarely all last until 5 or 6 in the morning. But we go hard and we go fast.
Spaniards are the freaking Kenyan marathon runners of the drinking world. Yes they drink, a lot, but they do it all night long. I have no quantifiable data on who actually drinks more over the course of the night, but I can say that here in Spain they're in it for the long hall. Therefore the concentration is rarely on getting plastered and results in a more level drunkenness rather than one spiked with ups, downs, and belligerence.

3a) Since in Spain drinking is more about the night than the taste, there really is no differentiation between drinks. You order a beer. You get a beer. There is no choosing a higher quality or cheaper beer. There is beer.

4) Dogs. Bitches are trained here. They're rarely on leashes and just walk or run after their owners in the streets. I even saw one pooch sit still outside a store for 20 mins while his owner was inside.

5) Smoking. Everyone smokes. Teens, mother's pushing strollers, even old men that can hardly hold a cane can still hold a cig. It's to the point that cigarettes, although fairly cheap in Spain, have developed a street value that I've never seen. Except maybe in the American prison system. In the US people will ask anyone to bum a cigarette. Here people seem scared to ask because they know how important they are. I've even seen a stressed out florist barter a carnation for a cigarette from a lady passing by his store.

6) Internet addiction does not seem to be as severe here. Yes they are familiar with most of the big internet sensations, but it can take up to 3 days for them to answer and email. And no one seems bothered by this lack of urgency.

7) Personal space. You rarely have it. Which at my height makes some conversations awkward. I feel like women here are literally talking into my chest like I'm wearing a wire or something.

8) Which leads me to...PDA. I have yet to find a Spanish translation for PDA, but I think that's because it isn't a social faux pas here, but rather a way of life. Everyone makes out. Everywhere. In the park, on the train, on National Monuments. All hours of the day, all stages of life. At first you think, how nice, how refreshing, a culture that embraces love. But that quickly devolves into ok enough with the soft core porn all ready.

9) Pokemon. Don't know if they just discovered them or if the Asian gaming franchise has had tremendous staying power here in Spain. All I know is that people still talk about them. A lot. Too much even.

Well that's enough knowledge for one day kiddos.

K Learns Spanish: Lesson 3

chupito- shot, like a shot of tequila

ligarse- to make out. As in: Por que toda la gente está ligandose?

el restaurante que tiene mujeres desnudas con comida encima de sus cuerpos y a las chicas los chicos les pagan para comer la comida de su piel. Es japonese.-
Loosely translated the Japanese practice of Nyotaimori. Or in this case an awkward question a 12 year old boy asked me in class today.

"Is there a famous Emily in America?" "Uh, Probably." "My cousin looks like her."

I have officially finished my first week of "teaching". I include the quotes because so far...well so far this is what I've done: I've been handed a lesson 30 seconds before class and told to just teach it. The teacher will then sit in the room and either take the chance to breath for the first time all day or simply grades papers. Other times I've been told to talk to the kids. For 50 mins. About anything. Just make sure it's English.

I've got a wide range of kids, from ages 12-17, with an even wider range of levels of English. Some are almost fluent. Others panic when I look at them because they're not sure if I've just introduced myself or told them that I've come from America to take over their homeland and enslave their families.

I've also encountered different levels of support from my coworkers. The department head has pretty much told me I can do whatever activities and culture teachings I want (again as long as it's in English). Another refused to speak English in a meeting with me and the other Auxiliar. All I really got from her rapid-fire rant was that she didn't agree (No estoy de acuerdo. No estoy de acuerdo). Whether she was pissed about our presence, our program, the general education system, or our existence, I'm not entirely clear on. Luckily I'm not teaching any classes with her.

All week I was reminded how much I love working with kids and teaching (and since they're synonymous here in Spain, talking as well). But it also reminded me how broken the education system is worldwide.

But that's a topic for another post. Instead I feel like I should take this time to apologize to my current idol, the person I'd have dinner with, if I could choose anyone, living or dead: Lady Gaga.

In one of my younger classes a girl asked me how to translate "Lady Gaga" into Spanish. Not wanting to go into the explanation of the idiom "gaga over someone." I just said that it didn't mean anything, Gaga's just a sound. Which started the following Abbott and Costello-esque exchange:

Student: So it mean nothing?
Me: Right.
Student: Nada?
Me: Um hm.
Student: So in español she is "Princesa de Nada".
Me: Well, no. And I think 'Doña' is closer to 'Lady'.
Student: Doña Nada.
Me (foolishly trying to switch into Spanish for more clarity): No, no. Gaga no significa nada.
Student (trying again): Ok. Que significa?
Me: Nada.
Student: (pause) Nada?
Me: Nada.
Student: Vale. Doña Nada.

So I apologize now Gaga if in the Spanish speaking world you become known as Doña Nada.

Other than that I have just a few observations from my brief time in the Spanish educational world:

1) Kids are pretty much the same worldwide. The younger students all want to be my best friend and will fight to the death to sit next to me or for the chance to ask me if I have a brother or sister. The older ones refuse to speak out of fear of saying something wrong and getting laughed at. And 16 year old boys are incapable of keeping drool in their mouths when a young, mysterious woman is standing in front of them.

2) As Americans, all our greatest fears about other cultures' stereotypes and perceptions of us are true. No matter the inquisitor's age or level of grammatical clarity I always get asked the following:

a) Do you know anyone famous?
b) Are all American's blonde haired and blue eyed? (I'm sorry that my recent cosmetic choices have perpetuated this belief.)
c) Do you like Spanish food? It is better than hamburgers, no?
d) Do you like Eminem?
When I respond by saying, "He's alright" the following follow-up question is thus prompted:
e) What about Two and A Half Men? It is much funnier with Charlie Sheen, no?
And the most disheartening:
f) Has Obama changed anything?
And all I can say without confusing them is, "He tries."

3) Unfortunately there seems to be an inverse correlation with the talent/merit of a Celebrity/Pop Culture phenomena and the rest of the world's ability to properly say their name. For instance most of my students have no trouble saying Hannah Montana, America's Best Dance Crew, and Justin Bieber. However it took me five minutes to decipher Green Day, Tim Burton, and Nirvana from a mash-up of phonetics. And when I told them my favorite movie was "The Royal Tenebaums" they didn't even try to say it.

Side note: I do find comfort in the fact that worldwide Biebs illicits the same response. 12 year old girls screech. 12 year old boys groan. 12 year old class clowns sing "Baby" and dance in their desks.

4) If you're in a developed country, people still find it odd and disturbing that you grew up on a dirt road.

K Learns Spanish: Lesson 2

vaqueros- a) jeans b) cowboys
Yes, this means Vaqueros llevan vaqueros.

fregadero- sink

trenza- braid

coleta- ponytail
coletas- pigtails

Side note: For a fun parlor game, grab your nearest Spaniard and try to explain to them that pigtails can be both braided and unbraided, and either way they are still just called pigtails, not braids.

Los días primeros

I arrived in Madrid lost. Physically and metaphysically. As soon as I got off the plane I saw mountains and thought, "Huh, mountains. Didn't know those would be there." I really knew nothing about the country or city I'd be living in. Except that they speak Spanish here, albeit a form of Spanish I'm not very familiar with. All I knew about Madrid was that it wasn't where I'd been. Despite popular opinion, I didn't move here to go traipsing around Europe drinking wine and smoking rolled cigarettes like some new millennium Bohemian. Honestly I needed an escape (A 23 year old feeling lost, without a direction for her career, love life, or general future? Recession or no I recognize the cliche). I could've gone to any city, any country, or any dimension. It wouldn't have mattered to me, because honestly I didn't really know where I was or where I was going in the first place.

And then I got here and I really was lost. After careful calculation, I realized my fist week here I spent, on average, 20-30% of my waking hours lost. My maps, my Spanish, my sense of direction, were all failing me. Needless to say I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of running away to a country blind.

But meandering around Madrid somehow felt right. Like I was supposed to be there. Hippie Dippie, I know, but I believe in fate (at least in the "Choose Your Own Adventure Sense", where each decision, each moment of free will, sends you to a different page, but a page that's already been written nonetheless). And all the sudden things started falling into place.

I met great people at my hostel; fellow world wanderers and lost souls.
I found a great apartment. The room may have previously belonged to Thumbelina, true, but it comes with some awesome roommates, including a Irish-loving Spaniard with immense patience for my falty Spanish, a fellow vegetariana, and one of the most laidback, yet observant dudes I’ve ever met.
And I’m writing. Again. Finally. Sigh.

So everything seems to be falling into place.
K Suerte.

K learns Spanish: Lesson 1

Que mono- How cute!
Literally translate it means “What a monkey.” Apparently the primate look is in here in Spain.
See also ponerse mono- to get cute or dress up.

Patosa- clumsy/klutz. See K.

El Chino- As in Voy al Chino.- A cheap general store (that has everything) and is run and owned by Asians.
Note: Un Chino does not have to be run by Chinese people. Here in Spain all Asians are aggregated into the same group, los Chinos. Less than politically correct, yes, but this also makes the phrase a great way to recognize Americans. If they hesitate/feel uncomfortable using the phrase El Chino, chances are they feel racists saying it and grew up in the politically correct society of the US of A.