Supermercado Superlatives

Now that it's spring, it's time to talk about the annual yearbook superlative awards. (Remember, from back in high school?) Instead of bestowing them on people, however, I'm giving these premios to the supermercados of Spain. My guiri perspective may be slightly biased and definitely limited to my experience in the grocery stores of Motril, but since when were high school yearbook awards a fair and accurate evaluation? Exactly. So, since I know you're on the edge of your seat as if this were the Oscars or something, I present my nominations:

Most Likely to Remind You of Wal-Mart: Alcampo

 

I'm not a Wal-Mart fan, but I really like Alcampo. It's big, clean, has everything I want, and I never have to wait long to check out. In fact, I could even do the self check out if I wanted! And just like Wal-Mart, Alcampo has a full supply of anything from electronics to ceiling fans to shoes to pillow cases. Unfortunately, Alcampo is far away from me, so I only go when I need to restock my supply of peanut butter, Honey Nut Cheerios, or black beans. (The PB's cheaper than at Carrefour, and I can't find the other two anywhere else. What do Spaniards have against black beans, anyway?)

Other possible awards: Most popular place to shop on a Saturday afternoon, best place to shop during siesta, furthest hike from my piso, most likely to start a monopoly on the sale of Cheerios and black beans, most likely to start opening on Sundays

Guiri Favorite / Best All-Around: Carrefour

Carrefour is visually appealing. It's neat and clean and just the right size. It has everything I need (except the black beans and Cheerios). I feel happy shopping there.

Until I get to the checkout. I invariably have to decide whether to wait in the line with 12 people or 10 people, and I always choose the wrong one. Why don't they hire more cashiers? La crisis, I'm sure. I always leave vowing to never go back. But then I start craving their bread and granola and their pretty, organized aisles. They must pump an addictive substance in their bread, because I always go back.

Other possible awards: Longest checkout wait, cleanest, best granola, best pan de soya, favorite place to beg outside of if you're homeless (why is that?)

Most Likely to Have Surprises Around the Corner: Mercadona

Shopping in Mercadona is like a treasure hunt. I stumble into all sorts of products I would never expect to find in such a reasonably priced Spanish grocery store. And I really can't expect to find said products except by stumbling upon them, because the entire store is erratically arranged. One minute I'm walking through an aisle of toiletries, and I turn the corner to find an end cap stocked with a variety of jelly and honey. Why, yes, raspberry jam, I do in fact need you. I hadn't thought of it before, and certainly if I had I would have never found you. Allow me to add you to my basket and let's celebrate this serendipitous occasion with a PBJ sandwich when we get home. On the next aisle, pet food. This makes total sense.

Other possible awards: Best advertising jingle, worst organization, best pan integral, best prices, most likely to star in the remake of the beloved romantic comedy "Serendipity"

Best Supply of German Chocolate: Lidl

Lidl is German, so they have German goods. This clearly comes in handy in the chocolate department. The problem with the Lidl in Motril is the location. It's right next door to Alcampo. If I'm hiking all the way to the edge of town for groceries, I'm going to the place that sells legs of jamón, American brand cereal, shower curtains, and dark chocolate Toblerone all under one roof. Sorry, Lidl, but buying that plot of land was a bad life choice.

Other possible awards: Most likely to be passed over in favor of Alcampo, most likely to be affected by la crisis

Best Costumes / Worst Uniforms: Dani

From the top, the ensemble isn't too bad. A white collared shirt and kelly green vest. But things take a turn for the worse with the pants. Take a pair of uniform-grade trousers featuring synthetic material and an unstylish cut. Now imagine them covered in green and white vertical stripes, not unlike a green peppermint stick. I truly feel sorry for these poor employees. I'm sure if it weren't for la crisis they would have all quit a long time ago. Maybe a uniform huelga could be arranged?

Other possible awards: Most confusing siesta time schedule

Most Likely to Make You Cry at the Checkout: El Corte Inglés (Hipercor)

There are really only two reasons to shop for groceries at El Corte Inglés: either you are super rich, or you're in desperate need of an incredibly obscure imported ingredient. Or you live in a town that doesn't have one (i.e. me), so you wander around it like it's an incredible tourist sight when you make a trip to the Big City.

Other possible awards: Best variety of international products, highest prices, most pijo

Most Fragrant: Mercado Municipal

Oh, the municipal market. I haven't ever actually gone inside, but I can tell from the aroma that the local fishermen sell their catches of the day there. It's not all asqueroso, though, because flower vendors display their lovely arrangements in the plaza out front. 

Other possible awards: Best place to avoid if you don't like the smell of fish, best place to support local economy, best building to set up camp near if you're homeless (I don't know why, but they all congregate there at dusk)

Friendliest: Your Neighborhood Frutería / Panadaría / Carnicería  / Whatevería

The nicest folks are in the little mom-and-pop specialty stores in your neighborhood. They often have the best and freshest products - especially if we're talking about produce or bread - and good prices. But the local Whatevería is really about the relationship, which is clearly more important than prices and convenience and all those crazy guiri values. I'm afraid Alcampo and Carrefour win my yearbook popularity contest due to their one-stop-shopping advantage. But if we're talking about who I would rather support since estamos en crisis, it's the neighbor's store down the street.

Other possible awards: Spaniard favorite, closest to home, most likely to be owned by your neighbor

 

How to Have Fun in School

One of the hard things about working as an auxiliar is not having complete control in the classroom. It also happens to come with a lot of benefits, like not having to be responsible for grading, discipline, and other frown-inducers. However, I'm used to being the head teacher, not the assistant, and sometimes I'm not a fan of my role in the lesson (or even the lesson itself!). Other times I have a lot of fun, like when I get to help students with their Halloween skits, invertebrate presentations, or 3D landform models.

Sometimes I get to help them dress up like planets and Roman gods and draw a giant map of the solar system on the school courtyard!

Sometimes I get to go on field trips to nature reserves, museums, and even the beach!

But sometimes I'm bored to tears in classes that seem to perpetually be taught through straight-out-of-the-book lessons. So when I'm given a little freedom with how (or even what) to teach my students, I make sure to aprovechar with my favorite games.

Shenanigans
This is maybe my favorite game in the world. And honestly, if Spaniards did more getting-together in casas rather than out for tapas, I'd be persuading my friends to play Shenanigans all the time. (I like tapas and all, it's just that I can only drink so many tinto de veranos and fight to talk over Danza Kuduro and Shakira for so long.)

Fill a cup or hat or bowl-like object with little pieces of paper with a vocabulary word written on each. Divide the class into teams. One person from each team has to get his team to guess as many words in two minutes. He is stuck with a word he draws until his team guesses it. When they guess it, the student should keep the word out of the cup in a pile to count as points for his team. For the first round, he must describe the word or phrase without using the word(s) on the piece of paper (like Taboo). The teams take turns and the person giving the clues changes for each turn. When all the words have been guessed, count all the points and put all the pieces of paper back in the cup. This round, clue-givers can only act out the different words (like charades). For the final round, they are back to speaking, but they can only say a single word for each piece of paper. Sometimes I decide on the vocabulary myself, sometimes I have students each write a few different words. I've also had students write the names of famous people or movies to have them practice descriptions in English.

I've Never
I've Never is perfect for practicing the present perfect! Have the students arrange their chairs in a circle. Choose one student to stand in the middle and get rid of his chair. The student in the center has to say one thing he has never done. Any student that has done it has to get up and move to another chair - one that isn't directly beside his current chair. The student missing a chair goes next. I usually review some past participles to give the class ideas of things to say and remind them about the irregular ones.

Jeopardy
One of my least favorite college Spanish teachers redeemed himself with letting us play this on occasion. Come up with some questions of varying difficulty in categories like irregular verbs, vocabulary, spelling, culture, and slang. Divide the class into teams and allow them to choose a category. If I have time I assign points according to difficulty and let them choose how many points they want to go for like real Jeopardy, but sometimes I just choose the questions randomly. If the first team misses the question, it goes to the next until all teams have guessed or the question has been answered correctly. Most of the time, this is challenging enough for my students. To make it more difficult and to practice questions, require them to give their answers in questions as in the game show.

Powerpoint Bingo
Teachers invariably want me to present something about my culture whenever an American holiday is around the corner. Students usually enjoy seeing pictures or learning new things from the powerpoints I create, but sometimes I want to hold them more accountable to listening and learning some vocabulary. Before the presentation, give them a list of key words you want them to learn. (Thanksgiving examples: turkey, pumpkin pie, feast, parade, Black Friday, etc.) Have them make a bingo card and write one word in each of the squares. As they listen to the presentation, they must write the meaning of each term as you explain it. When they have the definitions for five in a row, they can call Bingo, which hopefully won't be every three seconds during the presentation.

Parrots
At first, whenever my teachers wanted me to help students with pronunciation, I wasn't a big fan of the repeat-after-me activity. But then I realized that the kids would mimic my intonation whenever I spoke, which was equally embarrassing (did I really say it like that??) and hilarious (listen to all the Texans in this room!). That's when I realized we could have some fun. Five seconds before they start to get bored, jazz things up by picking up the speed, tricking them by saying words out of order, and changing the tone and volume of your voice. If there's a class clown with decent pronunciation, you could let him lead the group after initial practice.

Pass Around Story
Every student needs one sheet of paper. They should put their names on their papers and write one sentence to begin a story. If they are studying a particular verb tense or vocabulary theme, you can require them to use that tense or vocabulary in their stories. After a few minutes, have each student pass his paper to the next student (in a circular or one-directional movement). Give them a few minutes to read and add one sentence to the story. Pass again. Keep adding one sentence to the stories and passing until each student receives his original sheet of paper, with a sentence from every classmate. Allow the students to share particularly entertaining stories with the class. 

My goal is that by the end of the year my students proclaim, "English is fun!" (And that they know the difference between fun and funny, because 92.4% of Spaniards I know are still confused about that one.)

And that I can get my friends just as excited about playing Shenanigans as suffering Shakira on repeat.

The Eternal Holiday Season of Spain

In the States, I'm ready to put away the Christmas tree and get on with post-holiday life by December 26th. By January 2nd it's regrettably back to the mundane routine of school or work. But I'm in Spain, not America, and here the holidays never seem to end!

The Christmas season starts at the beginning of December when the lights around the city that have been being installed are finally turned on. (Plaza de Catalunya in Barcelona wins the biggest Christmas light spectacle in my opinion.) Instead of being closed in observance of Ghost Town Sundays, stores are magically open so that retailers can make bank off the Navidad shoppers. Temporary Christmas markets spring up in parks and plazas. Hanging from apartment balconies are decorations depicting Santa or the Three Kings climbing a ladder to deliver presents (because in Spain there aren't chimneys for gift-bearers to sneak into the homes). Christmas candies - almond turrón, crumbly cookie-esque mantecados, and chocolates - appear in the pastelerías, the supermercados, and, to my demise, the table in the teacher's lounge. A giant gift-wrapping station near the check-out at Alcampo is surrounded by a wad of gente furiously wrapping their recent purchases. Belenes, nativity scenes, appear everywhere; churches and plazas turn into museums that display elaborate, award-winning Belenes with special effects like running water, fog, and snow. 

Noche Buena, or Christmas Eve, is the night for families to gather and eat demasiado. Many children receive gifts from Santa, or rather Papa Noél, but this is an American influence, not a Spanish tradition. Although everything is closed in observance of Navidad, it isn't the main event or even close to the end of the season. People return to work after the 25th, but only for a few days until Noche Vieja, or New Year's Eve.

Around the time that Americans are going out for New Year's parties, Spaniards are staying in with their families. Once again, they join together for a huge feast and await midnight. At 12:00 there's no one on the street and they're not counting down from 10 until the ball drops in Times Square Plaza Mayor. At midnight, the clock strikes 12 times, and with each ring they are shoving another grape into their mouths. Hopefully they can eat all 12 without choking and earn good luck for the new year. (For the record, I didn't choke on any grapes, but only because I was in Rome feasting on pasta and watching all the illegal fireworks.)

Now it's time to go out and fiesta. Spaniards head to the bars and discos to spend all morning celebrating before finally calling it a night at 7... or 8... or 12... The remainder of New Year's Day is, as one can guess, spent recovering from the resaca in bed. (I, on the other hand, was recovering from eating too much pasta.)

Back to work again. But only for a few days, because as January 5th approaches, so does the arrival of the Reyes Magos. The evening of the 5th, everyone crowds the main streets of town awaiting the cabalgata of the Three Kings. Everyone has a bag in their hand to collect the monton of candy that is tossed hurled by the kings and parade participants. Honestly, I mostly cowered when candy came my way. At the end of the parade, everyone disperses, grumbling at the small amount and poor quality of the candy this year. El crisis, they mutter, el crisis. Everything sub-par in Spain these days can be blamed on the economic crisis.

Back at the casa families share a Roscón de Reyes, a ring-shaped cake filled with cream and decorated with candied fruit. A couple of presents are hidden inside: a figurine of a king or baby Jesus and a dry bean. The person that discovers the figurine is crowned king for the day (if they are interested, they get to wear the included cardboard crown that is invariably covered with cream and sugar from the cake). The person so lucky to find the bean has the honor of paying for the Roscón.

January 6th is the final holiday of the season, when kids awake to find presents from the Reyes Magos. Finally we can have a rest from all the holiday hype.

Except now there's Rebajas to think about! Immediately after Día de los Reyes, all the stores put significant discounts on their merchandise. 20%, 50%, even 70% off! To my astonishment, most of my students receive gifts from both Santa and the Three Kings. But why on earth would any parent pay full price for two sets of presents (especially with the terrible economic crisis!) when Rebajas are just around the corner?

In Motril we're not entirely finished with holidays. Today, we celebrated remembered the earthquake that shook the town once upon a time with the local Día del Terremoto holiday. Everyone shut down for the day and went to Granada to aprovechar the Rebajas. I know, because I saw them all there shopping.

Next week, it's back to full work weeks. Vacaciones and fiestas are over for a while. And by for a while I mean until February. These Spaniards are real workaholics.

The I-Could-Live-Here-Forever Stage

It's been a recurring thought lately. It comes suddenly. When I'm sipping a cup of coffe in the morning or a tinto de verano in the evening. When I'm bicycling beside the beach and when I'm running through chirimoya orchards. When I'm riding a bus past rocky mountains dotted with olive trees and wind turbines. When I'm buying fresh bread at a panaderia. When I'm walking on cobblestone streets, when I'm passing thousand year-old buildings. When I'm bundled in boots and scarves because it's freezing cold, when I'm soaking up vitamin D.

Suddenly, it occurs to me: I could live here forever.

Now that it's happened so many times I've started to self-analyze. Wait, am I supposed to be culture shocking right now? Aren't all those tiny little Spanish quirks supposed to be bugging me or something? Have I jumped over the culture shock valley or is it just around the bend? Am I romanticizing my life here or am I being realistic?

I thought maybe I'd write about it. You know, in case Culture Shock Valley is just around the corner and I completely forget about all the positive things about my life in Spain.

For now, I could live here forever. Check back in a few months.

---

I wrote that exactly a week ago. Now I'm not feeling so Polly Positive. However, I don't have anything to complain about in Spain; I just miss some of the normal things from home. I miss living in a home that really feels like home- with heating and carpet and a big yard with a dog in it. One that smells less like my college dorm room and more like something tasty baking in the oven. One with a garage and a car, where I can go anywhere, at any time, regardless of bus schedules.

But at home, I can't take an hour and a half plane ride to see Gaudi's architectural wonders. I can't hop on a bus and visit the Alhambra. I can't walk down the street and eat a fresh crepe with Nutella.

So, maybe today I couldn't live here forever. But I live here now, so while I'm here I will fully live.

 

The Makings of a Spanish Thanksgiving

After spending the entire past week educating Spaniards about the history and modern observance of Thanksgiving, my celebration of the holiday had little in common with what I described to my students. 

I emphasized the last Thursday of November as the day of celebration. Our Spanish Thanksgiving was held on Saturday. I preached turkey as the center of the meal. Our feast included neither turkey nor stuffing. I highlighted American football as the main source of holiday entertainment. We listened to salsa music while we chatted around the table. I presented Turkey Trots as an active beginning to the day of overeating. My day ended with a solo evening run. 

Although those gathered around the table weren't members of my Texas familia, they were friends and representatives from something else I love- different cultures. We had faces from Northern Spain, Andalusia, the UK, the Dominican Republic, and very different regions of the US- the North and the South. 

While we didn't provide our Spanish and British guests a perfect representation of an American Thanksgiving, not everything was different. We admitted to failing in the turkey-stuffing-cranberry-sauce realm, but we pointed out the sweet potatoes, green beans, and pumpkin and apple pies as our homage to Thanksgiving staples. (They were as delicious as ever, by the way.) When they asked about the history of the holiday we had no problem reciting it by heart after so many school presentations. And, amidst our Spanglish conversations we managed to fit in the obligatory "I'm thankful for..." rounds.

The thing about traditions is that we don't like them to change. This can be a challenge when living abroad, turning beloved holidays into sulk-fests. The best way to defend against the "It's just not the same" homesick blues, I think, is to mexclar instead of recreate. It's difficult to find a turkey in the Home of Jamón, but by planning a Spanish-style Thanksgiving instead of a just-like-home Thanksgiving, it is possible to feel just as thankful as ever.

 

How to Survive in Siesta Land

If a Spaniard moved to the US to teach, he might have to learn how to survive in the US with excess work-induced stress. The problem for American auxiliares in Spain is probably the complete opposite: how to survive in siesta land with excess free time.

Late nights, hot afternoons, a big lunch... I'm not going to lie, these factors seem to suggest nap time. But for productivity-minded Americans, the three hours that nearly every Andalusian community turns into a ghost town can be difficult to become accustomed to. What on earth can you do from 2:00 until 5:00 when people come back to life? And all day Sunday? And with all the free time allotted in the auxiliar work schedule?

1. Get moving.

Forget the I-don't-have-time excuse, because, honestly, there's time to work out twice a day. My preference is for running outside, but Spain has plenty of options. Various cities provide these creepy outdoor gyms that are like playgrounds for adults. Instead of teeter-totters and the like, the parks are installed with quasi-bikes and elliptical "machines" painted in the same cheery primary colors. If a traditional, electronic machine is more your thing, you'll probably want to pay for a gym membership. But don't dish out the dinero yet! I discovered that my town offers bikes for rent to encourage people to park their cars and bike around town. Nobody does it, so they let anybody that wants one take a bike. For free. I show them some ID, they give me a bike, I ride it to the beach. And the guy with the keys to the bikes works during siesta and on Sundays. It's a miracle, really.

2. Go shopping.

There are definitely places to spend your money in Spain, although smaller towns might not have quite the variety of shops. Almost everything is closed during siesta, but there are always some exceptions. Explore during ghost town hours to see what happens to be open, because without the crowds this is clearly the best time to shop. Many major chain retail stores (por ejemplo, my favorite, Pull & Bear), large grocery stores, and chino stores stay open during siesta. Some places I recommend going to only during siesta. You don't want to find yourself in Alcampo, for example, on Saturday afternoons. Like it's American cousin, Walmart, it gets overcrowded at peak shopping hours. During siesta, it's a breeze.

3. Try something new.

Dance lessons, music lessons, language lessons, paddleball lessons, painting lessons, cooking lessons- there's plenty to learn and plenty of places that will teach you. Scout out the fliers that are posted around town for ideas. I considered salsa lessons, but I chose the cheaper option of taking a German class. As it is taught in Spanish, I get the three-fold benefit of practicing my Spanish, meeting Spaniards that don't want to use me to practice their English, and learning a little bit of German. Ich sprecht Deutsch! (It's more like Spangleutsch, really.) There are still options if you don't have the money for classes: brush up your Spanish and help someone practice English in a conversation exchanges, look around for sports teams and clubs to join, or make a new friend with the same hobby that can let you borrow their gear.

4. Make money.

Teach something. English is obvious, but if you have another hidden talent, offer classes. Be sure to spread the word, because more students usually come from referrals than advertisements. At the end of the week I've got 60 euros of extra cash to put towards a trip, use for tapas, or go shopping at Pull & Bear.

5. Go somewhere new.

The three day weekends in the auxiliar schedule are designed for traveling. This will give you plenty to do- not only because there are so many places to visit in Spain, but because it takes quite a lot of effort to coordinate trips. I basically have a part time job as an unpaid travel agent because I spend so much time scouring the internet for deals and planning itineraries! So far, my favorite destination has been Madrid.

6. Embrace it.

Be a Spaniard, eat a late leisurely lunch, and lay low. You're not in America. Aprovechalo. 

 

A Day in the Life

I suppress a laugh when my co-teachers advise me to relax and take it easy. Do I look like a ball of stress? Because I certainly haven't been this stress-less since about kindergarten.

Well, I did get rather flustered about what to say during share time that one day in kindergarten, but between nap time and alphabet songs kindergarten was otherwise fairly low-key.

My fellow teachers are concerned about my mental wellbeing because they know that I am bouncing between six completely different classes each day. It is a little mind-boggling that I see fifteen different sets of students each week and work with ten different teachers. What they are forgetting is that I only stay in each class for 30 minutes (which quickly disintegrates into 20 instructional minutes), adding up to only three hours of teaching. And I'm not the teacher. I'm the special circus act, the English-spouting parrot that shows up once a week to talk about my culture or perform whatever activity the main teacher has planned.

Some classes are more worthwhile and effective than others. I teach in an IES, a secondary school made up of middle school and high school aged kids. The school joined the government's bilingual program last year, so only two sections in each of the two youngest grades are participating in this initiative. They are by far my favorites. Although most of them are scared to death of speaking and many times are completely confounded by my native accent, they are the sweetest and the most interested in learning. I get to see these jewels whose names I still haven't learned three times a week for not only their English class but also Science and Social Studies since they are taught bilingually.

When I'm not helping my precious little 12 year-olds pronounce eukaryotic (a word that I have only just learned five minutes prior), I am standing in front of angsty, apathetic teenagers in their required English course. I tell them about an American holiday, occasionally get them involved in a role-play or game, or, heaven forbid, read something out of their textbook per teacher's request. Then the instructor has me ask the class of 30 some questions, to which 10% of the group attempts to respond. Most of the time the students are well-behaved although not very participative, but there is that token class that makes me grateful that I only spend 30 minutes a week with them.

At 11:15 it's time for recreo and the students head outside, peeling away at their foil-wrapped sandwiches they brought for merienda. The teachers are grabbing their wallets and heading off campus to a nearby cafe. I go with them because as you will recall I am an English-speaking parrot circus act, and they are all desperately trying to learn English for various reasons. And they can buy a native speaker friend for the price of a cup of coffee.

I don't mind because I get free coffee and the feeling that I am somewhat popular. And I hope that at some point we'll slip into Spanish when I'll finally get to practice a language, or that we'll eventually become friends that meet for coffee besides just during recreo.

The bell rings to signal the next class, and I'm standing near the exit of the teacher's lounge, books in hand, ready to follow my next teacher to my next class. This is usually when I'm advised to take it easy. I'm used to being on time, if not early, but the faculty are still mingling and the students are probably still running around screaming in the hallway upstairs. Tranquilo, they entreat me. We don't have to go yet.

Five minutes later my co-teacher is ready and we start for the stairs. I receive the typical barrage of well-intentioned questions that lead me to think that maybe we aren't just recreo-only English friends. How was your weekend? How are you liking Motril? How many classes have you had so far? Four already! Oh my goodness, that is crazy! Try to take it easy. You're not only here to work, you know.

I smirk. I walk out of school around noon, my work day of three or four hours complete. I'm certainly not only here to work. Al contrario, I sit down for lunch and think that I've hardly worked at all.

And I still have kindergarten nap time siesta to look forward to.

 

How Very Spanish

As I wrap up my first five weeks in  Spain, I'm realizing that many of the cultural aspects that were once new to me are becoming rather normal. While I can wave them off now as typical, my first encounter with many of them is a different story. Sometimes they were expected (like the beautiful architecture of Sevilla), sometimes they were shocking (like the fireworks that sounded more like explosions on a random Sunday at 11pm), but all of my Spanish experiences have been memorable. 

Even if there's a cathedral in every Spanish city, the detail in the ornamentation and architecture always amazes me.

There's a reason they named a crayon color after the Mediterranean. It's beautiful. The sand's a bit pebbly, but I can hardly complain when I live a two mile walk from the sea.

My first taste of paella lived up to all my expectations. In classic Spanish style, it was served from a giant pot that had to be a meter in diameter. Although I couldn't finish my 6 euro plate, this beachside restaurant in Nerja offered free paella refills.

Serenaders. I've stumbled upon them everywhere. In a plaza in Sevilla, one cheered up a crying child that had spilled his food. On the beach in Nerja, they sang us an impromptu song about Santo Domingo. In a bar in Jaén they got the whole restaurant to sing, clap, and dance along to their sevillanas songs.

I'd heard plenty about the numerous Spanish holidays that usually included hordes of sevillanas-dancing women decked out in polka dots. So there weren't many surprises in Salobreña when I attended romeria... until the people we borrowed dresses from pulled me and my friends into the parade with them. Talk about cultural immersion.

Feria consists of a lot of people, a lot of lights, a lot of music, and a lot of food. I forgot to take a nap before going to feria in Jaén, so my mood was more like that of a grumpy nursing home resident than energetic twenty-something during the typical late night Spanish fiesta-ing. (Late meaning not starting before midnight and not ending before three, or even six, in the morning.) Hence, I recommend earplugs, an empty stomach, and a two hour pre-party siesta. 

With the plethora of cathedrals you would't be hard pressed to find a cross in a Spanish city. This cross in Jaén, however, sits on top of a mountain near the castle and can be seen lit at night from most places in the city. Even better is the view from the cross: you can admire the entire city, as well as all the surrounding mountains speckled with olive trees. There's a reason the Spanish pour olive oil over everything: they have a ton of it. (And it tastes good.)

Patatas are commonly served in restaurants (I like mine with spicy salsa brava), but not nearly as much as jamón. I somehow spent several weeks in Spain without trying their infamously favored pork products; once I did I realized I had been severely missing out.

A morning trip to a cafe is essential in Spain. Coffee and toast are nice, but I'll splurge on the churros and chocolate. This cultural aspect was never difficult for me to adjust to and I don't think I'll ever tire of it. How very Spanish of me.

A Guiri Goes to Class

Have you got a boyfriend?

This was a popular question I fielded as I stood in front of countless classes, answering the inquiries of Spanish teenagers as their teachers prodded them on. (More questions! Practice your English! What else do you want to know? Try to say it in English! Ask Rachel!)

Some teachers warned the students against asking "personal" questions, so I didn't always have to answer my age or relationship status. But the "Have you got...?" questions reminded me of what I have decided was one of the most important pointers presented at orientation.

We spent several days in Sevilla listening to advice on finding private classes, setting up internet, looking for an apartment. But, being a type A planner, most of the information wasn't new to me. I had spent several months scouring the internet for every nugget I could find about living in Spain.

Surprisingly, one of the most valuable tips brought up at orientation had nothing to do with the practicalities of settling in Spain or communicating with Andalusians, but rather with the English language. "Have you got a pet?" and "I have got a brother" sound rather strange to my American ears, but they are apparently normal sentences to a Brit and, consequently, a Spaniard taught by British textbooks. Along with this strange sentence structure are a host of words that I either don't use (flat vs apartment) or pronounce the same. So while my head is spinning to grasp the Motrileño accent after being accustomed to Carribbean Spanish, my students (and sometimes teachers) are having the same problem when I speak American English Texan. They are certain I must be talking in a completely different language. After trying to interpret English pronounced with a Spanish-British hybrid accent, I'm beginning to agree.

What does this look like on a daily basis? Me standing in front of a classroom of blank stares.

Today, however, I didn't receive blank stares but rotten tomates (figuratively speaking). Some students had found some ghost stories for a Halloween project and they wanted me to read them. I once felt confident in my ability to tell or read a story in a captivating manner, but something about having to speak incredibly  s l o w l y  and with careful annunciation completely ruined the spooky atmosphere I was trying to create with my voice. By the end of the second tale, the kids were campaigning for someone else to read- another student, the teacher, someone they could actually understand.

Evidently some students caught on that I understood their Spanish (my grasp of the Motrileño accent is apparently improving faster than their grasp of my accent). They started trying to put a band aid on my wounded pride with the assurance that I speak English really well (why thank you, I've been practicing daily for the past 24 years) but they just couldn't understand good English pronunciation. It was the infamous "it's not you, it's me" line.

I wanted to bust out a British accent and say, "Well if I haven't got an accent you're keen on, then I'll just run to the loo. Cheerio!"

Instead I told them nobody speaks Motrilian English outside of Motril. Then, with determination that these students will understand me by the end of the year, I read them another story that they may or may not have understood or enjoyed. Even slower.

So, if after a year of all these dialect adjustments I come back to the States asking "Have you got?" and pronouncing "live" more like "leave," you can blame it on the Spaniards.

 

Only in a Spanish Piso

Since moving into my Spanish flat, I’ve noticed quite a few differences between the typical American apartment and the average Andalusian dwelling. Besides lacking carpet, air conditioning, and peanut butter, my new home is equipped with a handful of cosas that made me ask, “¿Qúe es eso?”

Packed with punch café

 
When you reach for that oversized 64-ounce coffee mug in the morning, repeat this mantra: quality over quantity. Get a wakeup call without the constant call of nature by drinking less (but more) café from a Spanish cafetera (I know it as a Dominican greca). This coffee fills a smaller cup but delivers serious caffeine.

 

Party in the baño with colored toilet paper

Whether you want to invest in a paper product that can double as party décor or potty train your toddler and practice the colors simultaneously, or merely add some pizzazz to an otherwise monotonous routine, the Spanish can teach you how to take care of business with colorful TP. Why have we been limiting ourselves to white, America? Now color and personal hygiene can co-exist! Available in delicate pastels or bold primaries at your local Walmart Alcampo.

 

It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s a batidora

There’s no sense dirtying a million contraptions. Leave your tricky-to-wash American blender behind! With this blade on a stick, you can blend your smoothie right in the glass from which you drink it (assuming your vaso is American-sized rather than Spanish-sized). Not recommended for use as a personal fan.

 

Dry-and-store cabinet system ®

Are you tired of constantly drying and putting away dishes? Drying racks look tacky and take up valuable counter space. Kitchen towels get wet and smelly. Pots and pans are a headache to stack and dry. Dry no more! Install a Spanish over-the-sink dry-and-store cabinet and let your dishes dry on their own. Simply slide each dish between the rungs, close the cabinet doors, and leave your drying worries behind!

 

Less is more laundry

Tree huggers, rejoice! A tiny Spanish washer will use little water and wash even fewer clothes. And it’s all line-dry here in España; now that’s what I call solar power! Please remember to be discreet and hang the unmentionables indoors on this fancy foldable contraption.

 

Lay your head down to a long night’s sleep

If you’re a tosser-and-turner, a Spanish almohada is for you. This largo thing’s got your head cushioned for the entire width of the bed. Cuidado when shimmying the pillow into the case; both ends are open, so it’s apt to shimmy right on through. 

After becoming better acquainted with these raro piso gadgets, I find myself asking, “Why don’t we have this in the Estados Unidos?” Maybe you'll see me selling them on an infomercial when I go back to the States.