One nearly missed overseas flight and 2 lost luggage cases later, I finally find myself back in cold and windy Madrid. I arrived New Year's Day and resumed my seat upon the Metro, only to find this seat to be surprisingly filthy. After a quick waltz to my next stop it didn't take long to guess that, indeed, the sanitation union has gone on strike. While the writer's strike has robbed us all of quality entertainment, the sanitation strike has left a putrid odor hovering over the transportation system along with all of the banana peels, moldy newspapers and rusty cans that caused it.
Despite this new addition, I did enjoy the New Years and manage to stay awake throughout the festivities. Accompanied by Ginny, her mother, and her friend, I squeezed through a crowd of sparkled wigs and hats toward the American rock bursting out of the city center, Plaza del Sol. Keeping a safe distance from the mob center and after coercing a police officer to open our Champagne, we waited in the chill for the clock to strike 12. At this hour, it is customary to eat 1 grape for every chime, a seemingly easy feat that actually requires a degree of dexterity, resulting in many participants extended chug rather than deliberate ingestion of the fruit. After the golden globe dropped, I mushed myself into the metro and began 2008 with a long snooze.
Until I begin teaching again, I suppose I will continue hiding under the warmth of my covers and reading my new selection of stories. Spending time in Memphis was a fantastic break and it was wonderful seeing many of you again, though unfortunately it has rendered me disinclined to labor, howsoever rested I may be.
Enjoy the holidays, those who have any left, and Feliz Ano de Madrid!
Addendum: Melinda Hoehn visited the house of Biz an unrecorded period of time in October and was never given due credit, to her disappointment. Therefore, Mrs. Hoehn, receive your recognition.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Desde el Rincon de Navidad
Plazas draped in netted domes of colored lights.
Markets full of vendors selling nativity scenes and whoopie cushions in mass.
Roasted Chestnuts, Sweet Potatoes and Corn on every corner.
At last, Christmas has hit Madrid.
My own Piso 2 Puerta 6 even has a little decoration. Our Christmas corner is fully decked with a Poinsettia, table cloth, flashy tensile, and a crumbling remaining slice of Panettonne (which our fellow Italian has deemed "fake"). There is even an ambiance of candlelight, as only one surviving light remains in our overhead candelabras--- and when the computer is turned on, you can almost see.
I am, however, quite excited to come home. After a bout of the Madridian "gripe," which robbed me of my ability to correct pronunciation and bound me to the couch with the final Harry Potter book, I am ready for a rest. I am slightly concerned that the airport dogs will be sicked upon me for various illegalities, and I'm not sure I can request prayers for such deserved anxieties, so hopefully I will slide under the radar. I fly out the 13th, so any last requests should be submitted immediately.
Note: No room remains for nude beaches, Spanish women or tapas bars.
I realized today that I have been here for over 4 months, and overall it has been a pleasant experience. Much of the romance of living in Europe gets lost in the everyday humdrum of laborsome toil. However, it has certainly been challenging to teach at all levels and learn a new language. While I often feel a bit incompetent, I am learning a good deal, and at times I even enjoy the work.
As classes slow down due to holiday impatience in both students and teacher, and as the metros swell with people and packages, I will now bid adieu to this blog for 2007. Thank you all for your interest and comments, and I look forward to greeting many of you soon in English, barbecue-roasted, Wal-Mart bombarded and peanut-butter filled...Memphis.
Feliz Navidad y Ano Nuevo!
Markets full of vendors selling nativity scenes and whoopie cushions in mass.
Roasted Chestnuts, Sweet Potatoes and Corn on every corner.
At last, Christmas has hit Madrid.
My own Piso 2 Puerta 6 even has a little decoration. Our Christmas corner is fully decked with a Poinsettia, table cloth, flashy tensile, and a crumbling remaining slice of Panettonne (which our fellow Italian has deemed "fake"). There is even an ambiance of candlelight, as only one surviving light remains in our overhead candelabras--- and when the computer is turned on, you can almost see.
I am, however, quite excited to come home. After a bout of the Madridian "gripe," which robbed me of my ability to correct pronunciation and bound me to the couch with the final Harry Potter book, I am ready for a rest. I am slightly concerned that the airport dogs will be sicked upon me for various illegalities, and I'm not sure I can request prayers for such deserved anxieties, so hopefully I will slide under the radar. I fly out the 13th, so any last requests should be submitted immediately.
Note: No room remains for nude beaches, Spanish women or tapas bars.
I realized today that I have been here for over 4 months, and overall it has been a pleasant experience. Much of the romance of living in Europe gets lost in the everyday humdrum of laborsome toil. However, it has certainly been challenging to teach at all levels and learn a new language. While I often feel a bit incompetent, I am learning a good deal, and at times I even enjoy the work.
As classes slow down due to holiday impatience in both students and teacher, and as the metros swell with people and packages, I will now bid adieu to this blog for 2007. Thank you all for your interest and comments, and I look forward to greeting many of you soon in English, barbecue-roasted, Wal-Mart bombarded and peanut-butter filled...Memphis.
Feliz Navidad y Ano Nuevo!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
This Old House
At the moment I am sitting in the den with partially frozen fingers and toes, listening to the sound of my laundry, as it drips large, steady drops of water into a plastic blue bucket in the bathroom. While I have commented previously upon such details as the cozy size of my apartment and various, exotic night critters, the coming of the winter season compels me into yet another season of reflection upon my itty-bitty living space.
Thus far the winter has been relatively mild, however this weekend the weather took a turn into the frigidly cold. In Madrid, the most bitter aspect of winter is always the wind, which quickly turns a delightfully chilly day into a test of endurance. In building 9, therefore, we have made use of our portable Callifaction Unit. This little box on wheels provides surprisingly substantial warmth for the den in our apartment, with a few provisions.
1. Use of Callifaction Unit must never coincide with the consumption of toast or instant macaroni and cheese, or instant power failure will ensue. For like reasons, one must also never...never wash one's clothes in warmth. One may either have clean clothes or warm toes, but never the two.
2. It is recommended that when said unit is in use, that one close all doors, especially that connecting the kitchen to the den. Not only does it defend against the temptation to prepare the delicious, yet forbidden, snack of jam and toast, but it also guards against the conveniently placed window vent. For yet to be determined reasons, the already unsealed kitchen window has been deprived of a large square of glass and replaced with a fresh, cool vent allowing Jack Frost and all his friends to come and go as they please at any time of day. Therefore to help out natural laws of nature, do please close the kitchen door upon awaking the warming unit.
The only other mechanical oddity of which I know is responsible for drippy clothes in the bathroom this very moment. This washing machine, which has been deemed "The Never-Ending Story" by Ruben, is so called due to its rigorous washing process. While some loads take a typical 40 minutes, it has been known to wash a dirty batch of garments for up to 3 hours. On cold days it is not particularly inclined to spin water from soaking garments, and on randomly selected days it prefers to leave the soap and water inside as well.
But I suppose these are trifling concerns, as I have just taken up more classes which allow for little time at home. The new classes are business classes, and I now spend up to 7 hours in transit. While the heating may be accompanied by a smelly, drunk stranger, the Metro provides reliable warming service from 6 a.m. until 1:30 a.m., every day of the week.
Thus far the winter has been relatively mild, however this weekend the weather took a turn into the frigidly cold. In Madrid, the most bitter aspect of winter is always the wind, which quickly turns a delightfully chilly day into a test of endurance. In building 9, therefore, we have made use of our portable Callifaction Unit. This little box on wheels provides surprisingly substantial warmth for the den in our apartment, with a few provisions.
1. Use of Callifaction Unit must never coincide with the consumption of toast or instant macaroni and cheese, or instant power failure will ensue. For like reasons, one must also never...never wash one's clothes in warmth. One may either have clean clothes or warm toes, but never the two.
2. It is recommended that when said unit is in use, that one close all doors, especially that connecting the kitchen to the den. Not only does it defend against the temptation to prepare the delicious, yet forbidden, snack of jam and toast, but it also guards against the conveniently placed window vent. For yet to be determined reasons, the already unsealed kitchen window has been deprived of a large square of glass and replaced with a fresh, cool vent allowing Jack Frost and all his friends to come and go as they please at any time of day. Therefore to help out natural laws of nature, do please close the kitchen door upon awaking the warming unit.
The only other mechanical oddity of which I know is responsible for drippy clothes in the bathroom this very moment. This washing machine, which has been deemed "The Never-Ending Story" by Ruben, is so called due to its rigorous washing process. While some loads take a typical 40 minutes, it has been known to wash a dirty batch of garments for up to 3 hours. On cold days it is not particularly inclined to spin water from soaking garments, and on randomly selected days it prefers to leave the soap and water inside as well.
But I suppose these are trifling concerns, as I have just taken up more classes which allow for little time at home. The new classes are business classes, and I now spend up to 7 hours in transit. While the heating may be accompanied by a smelly, drunk stranger, the Metro provides reliable warming service from 6 a.m. until 1:30 a.m., every day of the week.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Tres Mes
Well, it's getting cold in Madrid and even colder in the apartment. But no worries, we have heating. A 12 by 30 inch device that sometimes works and almost heats one room. I'm really looking forward to January.
This month marks the first full month of teaching and the arrival of the first paycheck. I will travel to 3 different companies, which will all hand over a little wad of crisp cash to be placed in some sort of bed cushion or underwear drawer bank. No stubs. No receipts. No tax? Yet to figure out that one.
Indeed much of the novelty has worn off. The cute little 6 year olds are now mentally slow but hyperactive nuisances by whom I must earn a buck, so confirming the suspicion that I might not want to teach children. I still like the adults, though I'm not sure I teach them anything, but they seem to have a good time.
This week is Halloween. While American kids ask for candy, Spanish children go to doors and ask for money. Smart little whips. One of my students said she usually makes 30 Euros in one night. So Halloween officially provides more hourly income than the teaching English profession. In America it’s the trash-men who outstrip the educator in salary, so…do what you want with that.
But this month has been filled with Memphian visitors. The lovely Mr. and Mrs. Butler made an appearance and showed Spain what it means to have a good time. Also Melinda from work came with tidings from the world of law. So it has been a busy and American doused month, which has been exactly what I needed coming on month three of life in Spain.
This month marks the first full month of teaching and the arrival of the first paycheck. I will travel to 3 different companies, which will all hand over a little wad of crisp cash to be placed in some sort of bed cushion or underwear drawer bank. No stubs. No receipts. No tax? Yet to figure out that one.
Indeed much of the novelty has worn off. The cute little 6 year olds are now mentally slow but hyperactive nuisances by whom I must earn a buck, so confirming the suspicion that I might not want to teach children. I still like the adults, though I'm not sure I teach them anything, but they seem to have a good time.
This week is Halloween. While American kids ask for candy, Spanish children go to doors and ask for money. Smart little whips. One of my students said she usually makes 30 Euros in one night. So Halloween officially provides more hourly income than the teaching English profession. In America it’s the trash-men who outstrip the educator in salary, so…do what you want with that.
But this month has been filled with Memphian visitors. The lovely Mr. and Mrs. Butler made an appearance and showed Spain what it means to have a good time. Also Melinda from work came with tidings from the world of law. So it has been a busy and American doused month, which has been exactly what I needed coming on month three of life in Spain.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Un Paraiso
This week starts the beginning of a full schedule of English classes. I start off the day teaching 40 some-odd year old businessmen how to string together information they studied 2 decades ago. Then I segue into the pre-school class and repeat nursery rhymes and Disney episodes until I can't take it anymore... and once I've reached that point, I have to finish the remaining hour and 20 minutes of class, at which point I am safe to go home. I have a few conversational classes sprinkled in between on odd days, for a grand total of 15.5 hours of teaching a week. And surprisingly this is enough to pay rent and a couple of kit-kats, so I am finally able to let out a sigh of relief...unless I get the flu which affects 70% of people in Madrid and I can't work for a month with no compensation...
At this time it would be appropriate to put out an advertisement for English in Madrid to any native speaking males, for a couple of reasons. I'll begin with a fellow teacher's testimony, who, after showing up to "teach the most beautiful woman [he'd] ever seen," voluntarily extended free lessons an hour and a half after class dismissed; with eyes glazed, he said, "I can't believe I'm getting paid for this." So the clientèle is...diverse. The second reason being that it is an ideal setup for the "non-communicative male." While barely communicating with others in the native language and communicating even less with those whom you teach, it is possible to pass several days without saying much more than commentary on the weather, state of hunger and the occasional pangs of laughter during a daily viewing of the television. Combined with the topless beaches..."Un Paraiso."
However, I must begin my early schedule of teaching in the morning (which is comparable to teaching at 6 in the morning in the States)...so, until next time.
At this time it would be appropriate to put out an advertisement for English in Madrid to any native speaking males, for a couple of reasons. I'll begin with a fellow teacher's testimony, who, after showing up to "teach the most beautiful woman [he'd] ever seen," voluntarily extended free lessons an hour and a half after class dismissed; with eyes glazed, he said, "I can't believe I'm getting paid for this." So the clientèle is...diverse. The second reason being that it is an ideal setup for the "non-communicative male." While barely communicating with others in the native language and communicating even less with those whom you teach, it is possible to pass several days without saying much more than commentary on the weather, state of hunger and the occasional pangs of laughter during a daily viewing of the television. Combined with the topless beaches..."Un Paraiso."
However, I must begin my early schedule of teaching in the morning (which is comparable to teaching at 6 in the morning in the States)...so, until next time.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Takin' It To The Streets
It's a long time coming, but come Monday, I will be an officially certified English as a Foreign Language Professor. Which signifies the initiation of several things...
With an EFL certificate begins a new found poverty. At the moment I am raking in figures in the double digits, almost paying off a half portion of my room, but conservatively limiting me to a 2 inch parameter around my bed. From which comes the theme for October, Takin it to the streets. But this prospect does not concern me as much today, due to the discovery that a local bar serves the famous Doner Kebaps all day, drinks and tapas in the evening, and breakfast the following morning. If one doesn't sleep, the absence of a bed is...trivial.
An EFL certificate also ensures the unavoidable acquisition of English as a Sense of Humor. Whether we're in class or at a city-wide fiesta, we English teachers inevitably find ourselves congratulating one another on excellent usage of present Perfect tense or challenging one another's usage of Future Continuous. To extend this unfortunate hobby into the realm of the hilarious can only mean one thing...EFL certification. I attribute it to delirium resulting from being overly infused with English grammar...but then again, I'm quite proud of that gerund which I just formulated.
Aside from the certificate, I have begun to glean some teaching experience. So far I can summarize my attempts as artful practices of aversion. While I thought that teaching my native tongue would be the easiest thing to start off with, I am finding in fact that Mama was right...those who can do can't teach. But, I will not be intimidated by my surprising lack of grammar knowledge and explanatory skills...instead I have discovered the universally useful line of "We'll look at that in the next class."
As this next week begins, I will make an effort not to take it to the streets, since I happen to like my living situation, and look for yet more employment.
All of this and I have forgotten that I still have yet to take my test for certification...but nothing...a mere formality.
With an EFL certificate begins a new found poverty. At the moment I am raking in figures in the double digits, almost paying off a half portion of my room, but conservatively limiting me to a 2 inch parameter around my bed. From which comes the theme for October, Takin it to the streets. But this prospect does not concern me as much today, due to the discovery that a local bar serves the famous Doner Kebaps all day, drinks and tapas in the evening, and breakfast the following morning. If one doesn't sleep, the absence of a bed is...trivial.
An EFL certificate also ensures the unavoidable acquisition of English as a Sense of Humor. Whether we're in class or at a city-wide fiesta, we English teachers inevitably find ourselves congratulating one another on excellent usage of present Perfect tense or challenging one another's usage of Future Continuous. To extend this unfortunate hobby into the realm of the hilarious can only mean one thing...EFL certification. I attribute it to delirium resulting from being overly infused with English grammar...but then again, I'm quite proud of that gerund which I just formulated.
Aside from the certificate, I have begun to glean some teaching experience. So far I can summarize my attempts as artful practices of aversion. While I thought that teaching my native tongue would be the easiest thing to start off with, I am finding in fact that Mama was right...those who can do can't teach. But, I will not be intimidated by my surprising lack of grammar knowledge and explanatory skills...instead I have discovered the universally useful line of "We'll look at that in the next class."
As this next week begins, I will make an effort not to take it to the streets, since I happen to like my living situation, and look for yet more employment.
All of this and I have forgotten that I still have yet to take my test for certification...but nothing...a mere formality.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
La Tomatina and the Grand Tour
Much has happened since I last wrote, so I won't bother to use flowery language for this entry.
La Tomatina was more and less than I expected. Thousands of people, crammed like slimy worms in a bottle of diced tomatoes into a tiny alley in an obscure town in Spain. Perfecto. The tomatoes, sangria, flying flip-flops and body fumes circulating from one sweaty body to the next was, of course, quite exciting. The most memorable part was the resulting fear from the trucks driving down the street, when I wondered if I would perish by truck wheel or being crushed by a neighboring tomato festival participant. But my new found friend Ginny, all the way from "just north of Birmingham," and I survived to tell the story.
This past weekend a friend from Holland came to visit, and I finally conquered all of Madrid. Tapas, Flamenco, Spanish art, calamare bocadillos...we saw and ate it all. The good news is that I will now make an excellent tour guide. The bad news is that eventually I may find these things all a bit boring.
This week I taught my first practice class in English, and it went well, I think. I will have a video tape soon and can see how bad it actually was. Classes are interesting, and its nice to meet 25 new people and to be learning how to teach finally. This week my roomates also returned, so I am not living by myself any more. They are good people and are very patient with my horrible espanol.
That's all for now.
Luego.
La Tomatina was more and less than I expected. Thousands of people, crammed like slimy worms in a bottle of diced tomatoes into a tiny alley in an obscure town in Spain. Perfecto. The tomatoes, sangria, flying flip-flops and body fumes circulating from one sweaty body to the next was, of course, quite exciting. The most memorable part was the resulting fear from the trucks driving down the street, when I wondered if I would perish by truck wheel or being crushed by a neighboring tomato festival participant. But my new found friend Ginny, all the way from "just north of Birmingham," and I survived to tell the story.
This past weekend a friend from Holland came to visit, and I finally conquered all of Madrid. Tapas, Flamenco, Spanish art, calamare bocadillos...we saw and ate it all. The good news is that I will now make an excellent tour guide. The bad news is that eventually I may find these things all a bit boring.
This week I taught my first practice class in English, and it went well, I think. I will have a video tape soon and can see how bad it actually was. Classes are interesting, and its nice to meet 25 new people and to be learning how to teach finally. This week my roomates also returned, so I am not living by myself any more. They are good people and are very patient with my horrible espanol.
That's all for now.
Luego.
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