Happy Spaniversary to Me!

September 12, 2011 by · 8 Comments

Dragging my gently worn suitcases outside, I hoisted 100 pounds of my life into to car. Four hours from that moment, after a quick lunch at Portillo’s and a long goodbye, I’d be on a plane bound for Madrid-Barajas with my grandmother, ready to reimmerse myself in Spanish life for two weeks before making a nine-month move to Seville.

Ha, what would my life be if it actually happened like that?

That, my friends, was four years ago today. That’s about 12 percent of my life, as long as I called myself a Hawkeye, twice as long as I thought I’d ever make it in the land of Sunshine and Siestas. But, here I am, quasi married, españolizada’d and just plain happy with where I’m at.

When Helen left Spain a few weeks later, after we’d spent hours on trains, long meals getting to know each other, and discovering just how many facets Iberia seems to have, she left not just Spain, but me, too. I was all alone.

I took her to the airport in Granada and cried. Where would I go from here? Well, I went to Carrefour, Spain’s closest thing to Target, and bought a comforter. This had to mean I was a real Spaniard now, right?

As I read the reactions of first timers in Spain, I like to think I hit the ground running on this whole “España” thing. When Kike and I went to a wedding and I belted out the words to an 80s song touting just how great Spain is, I received cheers, and Kike pats on the back. I love Spain, and Spain loves me right back.

McDonalds is made of skinny cows? Deep.

So, in honor of my four years in the wonderful word of Cervantes, machos, lack of tacos and people in desperate need of my native tongue (aka I have a way to earn money always), here’s four things I love about it (hint: it’s not fútbol or flamenco):

Feria

Esa semana tan emblamética…There are no words sufficient enough to describe the sight of thousands dressed in flamenco dresses, the smell of fried food and sherry (ok, and a whiff of horse poop) and the sound of lively flamenco music pouring out of striped tents. I’ve lived some of my favorite moments in the Real, a stark stretch of nothing 51 weeks of the year, and many of them have left me feeling more Spanish than American (ruffles and a big old comb stuck in your head will do that to a girl).

Food

My mother always said that food was a way to a man’s heart, employing me in the business of baked goods goddess when I was barely old enough to reach the counter. While it isn’t easy to cook in Spain with the conversion to the metric system, grabbing a tapa is as easy as walking ten meters in any direction. And, dude, do I love it all – dátiles con beicon, fabada, lentejas, gazpacho, solomillo. Since Spain has influences from around the Mediterranean and I’m the sixth member of a Spanish family, I am no longer concerned that I will whittle away to ná.

What’s more, meals in Spain are sacred. Midday grub is hearty and often lasts hours, stretching to café and then cognac. Going out for tapas is the way to be seen, be fed, and be happy – the ultimate social experiment. And Fernan Adrià has put tapas and haûte cuisine on the map in Spain, bringing fame to San Sebastian’s pintxos, Granada’s free tapas and a squealing little cochinillo in the central regions.

If you’re really daring, ask me what I eat. While I’ve never been picky, I’m certainly more adventurous (though I will never forgive my boyfriend for once feeding my pig kidney soaked in wine. Ew).

Paisajes

Maybe it’s simply because Switzerland was cloudy while I was there, but I love the varied landscapes Spain bets with. As one of the most mountainous regions in all of Europe, I have no shortage of valleys, rivers, peaks and everything in between. What’s more, Andalucía, the region I call home, meets the sea – both Mediterranean and Atlantic. The North has lush, rolling hills in Santander, stark plains in Castilla La Mancha and acre after acre of sunflower fields all over the country. Train and bus rides aren’t mundane – they’re inspiring.

La manera de ser

Call me crazy, but I love Spanish people, especially Andalusians and Galicians. The way a people can be so aware of their past, so adherent to their traditions and so stuck on living la vida buena. Anyone who knew me pre-Spain knows me as wound-up, neurotic and biting off way more than even fits in my mouse. But Spain’s attitude of mañana, mañana– just plain old taking it easy – has helped me calm down and take things as they come. That foreigner’s office business? Meh, this is Spain friends. And not having a job when school started? Well, this is the way things work here.

But somehow, I think I’ve ended up just where I wanted to be. And where I was meant to, too.

Filed Under: Andalucia, Auxiliar Program, Auxiliares Norteamericanos, Europe, expat life, Guiri Survival Tips, Guri Atope, international travel, la vida loca, Language Assistants Program, languages, moving abroad, Seville, Spain ·

Is My Travel Habit Irresponsible?

May 10, 2011 by · 4 Comments

On St. Patrick’s Day, I had one of those overwhelming chuche cravings. I need sweet, tangy gummies or I likely would lose my dinner appetite.

Stopping by the nearest gummy wonderland, I lost my ganas upon seeing a plastic plane with a dog and gumdrops inside. A perfect little gift, really, for my pilot boyfriend whom I call Puppy. I dropped my bag of candy and checked out.

Five minutes later, I had finished heaving up five flights of stairs and presented him with my purchase. He laughed, but told me, “You shouldn’t have wasted your money on something like this, Puppy.” It was only two euros.

Recently, we were talking about our plans for the summer, for life, the usual. He said, “The thing you should do right now is save. If we want to have a family, we need a bigger house, and you need to save in order to be able to have your name on the deed. None of this inviting friends to beers, buying clothes, going on trips. That’s irresponsible.”

Wait, what!!??

Didn’t I move to Europe in the first place to travel and learn languages? Didn’t I adopt the, ‘Get ‘er done’ attitude when it came to speaking Spanish, reaching 25 countries before my 25th birthday, trying new things and meeting new people? And, really, isn’t that what travel is all about?

When I came to Spain nearly four years ago, I was working 12 hours a week for 631,06€. I had been thrifty the summer before and managed to save quite a bit of money, plus the scholarship money that was paid out to me just before leaving. I used that to pay my plane ticket to Spain. Having a short work week and the idea that the job was an “intercambio” a Spanish word meaning an even exchange, an auxiliar tends to take the long weekends and frequent holidays as a good excuse to see the rest of Spain and Europe. It became a running joke in my school to ask where I’d go each long weekend. I always had a trip planned. From every corner to Spain to seven new countries, I was convinced that traveling was my biggest hobby.

The following year, much poorer and with an even bigger desire to travel, I started knocking off destinations I never expected to go to, like Asturias in Northern Spain, and I also solo traveled and couchsurfed for the first time. Slowly, my goal became more and more reachable, and I became more confident. I realized that travel isn’t just about snapping the famous sites or racking up frequent flyer miles, but as savoring the lifestyle. I spent more time in Seville, having beers in Salvador, visiting new museums, making friends. Bullfights, Erasmus parties and days at the beach became my life.

And for the last two years, I’ve been changing my attitudes on travel, on settling and on life. After completing my goal of traveling within 25 foreign countries, I started to slow down a bit. I traveled Northern Spain to beat the heat, worked at a few camps around Spain, then began to work a full-time job. Gone were puentes, Spain’s excuse for long weekends, gone were quick weekend trips and gone were my ganas to do anything on the weekend but rest. I have had the chance to go to Valladolid, Lisbon, Ireland, Amsterdam, Lucerne, Berlin and all over Romania (ok, wow, that’s epic), but since Kike and I were talking about settling down and I applied for my five-year residency, I started thinking: Is my travel addiction a little irresponsible?

Honestly, I see his point. I make more money than a sevillano, pay less taxes and live rent-free. When Kike and I talked about the conditions of my living in his house, he wouldn’t let me pay rent because I had no job lined up for the following fall, and when I did start earning, he told me to save. And, I mean, I have, but who can resist taking a trip during a ten-day break? He called it silly when I could go to the beach cheaper (where it poured all week, while the Dacia got just four drops of Romania rain.

When contemplating my trip back to America this summer, I realize just how much it will cost out-of-pocket, now that my relatives´s generosity is running thin. And, since  won’t be working, how far will my small salary last when all of my friends are making big paychecks back home? How can I possibly justify trips when the one I am most looking forward to is the biggest cost?

And, really, when it comes down to it, I’m kinda losing the travel bug. How did this happen?

Filed Under: international travel, languages, money, moving abroad, Study Abroad, Travel · Tagged: , ,

Spain Life in Photos: Language Week

February 12, 2011 by · 5 Comments

I think my kids and I are mutually growing on one another. This past week we celebrated Semana de Idiomas, or Language Week at school. We did a cheese tasting, read “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” and ate chocolate chip cookies, and watched videos and theater performances.

By far, my favorite activity was Hello, flag! where the kids learned how to say hello and bye-bye in six languages other than their own. They loved Chinese and Japanese salutations and did astonishingly well at memorizing the flags that corresponded. They even asked to draw a flag as seen on the board.

According to Celia and Salva, the biggest hit was Miss Cat’s country’s flag. God Bless America.

Filed Under: languages, TEFL ·

Live versus Living

May 13, 2010 by · Leave a Comment

In Spanish, like in English, there exist many tenses. If you’re an English speaker, you might say, My name is Cat, and I’m writing a blog entry. The first half is present simple, used for facts, habits and every day occurrences, while the second refers to what one is doing at this very moment; in other words, the present continuous.

Manu, the very same one that called me poor for not having any Play Mobile toys, is currently dealing with this very difference and failing miserably. In Spanish, you see, people ask, “Illo, que haces?” or, Dude, what are you doing? There isn’t much difference in the two tenses. For that reason, I always say, “Vivo en Sevilla.” I live in Seville.
But recently my friend Christene, another third year auxiliar, noticed I switched from saying “I am living in Spain” to “I live in Spain” while speaking English.
As I spend my last two weeks at IES Heliche (I’ve only let the tears loose once), I’ve started reflecting on my life in Spain and how I feel that, after three years, I finally am a resident of Sevilla.
In my barrio, I’m the vecina (neighbor) to the new gastro bar down the street, always invited in for a buchito of wine or a few slices of creamy brie cheese. At the bank, the grey-haired banker while call me over to his new office with a “CHICAGOOOO!” and deposit my check for me. It’s not necessary for me to tell the waiters at La Grande, El Colmao or La Tiza my name – they write my name in chalk or permanent marker to start tabbing up my bill. Soy Trianera. I live here.
With next year’s uncertainty with jobs, living arrangements and all, I’ve been savoring what I can of Triana: the flamenco chords that mix Semana Santa bands around 10pm, the old ladies pushing their carritos towards the market on Friday mornings, the clatter of beer glasses in the middle of the day at the bars below my window. I love this place, and my heart is here.
There’s a bar we used to go to a lot called Las Golodrinas. This is the word for swallow, and there are hundreds of them in this neighborhood. The bar is trypical Triana: tiles and virgins covering the walls, regulars eating their pinchitos at their normal tables. It’s the Sevillano version of Cheers. And this tile has always made me choke up a bit:

Translation: If I get lost one day, look for me in Triana. Don’t go to my native Asturias; perhaps you’ll hear the sound of bagpipes sighing in magical resonance. Look for me in a tavern in Triana, where our friend Paco, who smells of basil, gives us a good wine to drink of humility and temprance. IF I get lost one day, there you’ll find my soul.
Triana, me tienes enganchada. I live in Triana.

Filed Under: goodbyes, languages, Triana · Tagged: ,

Son Sueñossss

November 22, 2009 by · Leave a Comment

Some people say that dreaming in a foreign language is a sign of fluency. I’ve yet to dream in Spanish, and I consider myself pretty proficient in it.

I was half asleep on Saturday evening watching a documentary on China on TV. I pretty much came out of a coma to start talking about Beijing and gymnastics and my trip in February.

Kike just laughed and said, “Pretty amazing you’re awake and commenting on the program, when two minutes ago you were sobada and muttering, pero ninaaaa donde estan tus clips? in your sleep.

Turns out I AM dreaming in Spanish! I don’t care if I was asking someone where her hairclips or paperclips or TV clips were. A milestone is a milestone.

Filed Under: languages, Spanish Language ·

Me quejo hoy de….

March 10, 2009 by · Leave a Comment

Today I complain about all the people who poke fun at my accent.

I ran into Christene coming home from a lesson today. We walked a good recorrida from Reina Mercedes to Puente de Los Remedios until I decided I wanted to have a beer. We went to a place called Primera de la Puente that has really good tapas. Christene has the most unaccented Spanish I’ve ever heard – she flat out refused to not pronounce the last syllable and doesn’t omit her s sounds like all Andalusians. I, on the other hand, keep picking up the accent because of my exposure to it. She ordered her glass of wine and I ordered my beer.

“Una cervecita, por favor” was mocked “uhhh-nuhhh ssssiiiirrrrvAAAhhhjjuuuhhh” and not, “oo-nuh ser-vay-ca”. REALLY? I’m going to give you business and you’re going to mock me?!

I get people who tell me my accent is funny although they understand me and what I want to express, and that I do it without mistakes. (Cat, hablas muy bien y te entiendo perfectamente, pero tu accento me hace mucha gracia is as coming as people saying hola to me when I walk in a store). Imagine you learned a language for several years from another non-native speaker and then went to the origin of that language and learned it well only to have it ravaged by living two years in the place where they butcher the language, swallow the last syllable and practically talk with their mouth shut. Your accent would be messed up, wouldn’t it?!

I always tell my students that the most important part of learning another language is trying to be understood. I have to explain things in a million words when I lack just one or make gestures or draw to be understood sometimes. But communication and ultimately getting my point across has always ALWAYS been the aim of any kind of conversation here.

As for the waiter at La Primera, I kept my mouth shut. Being tactful won out over “Do you speak another language, or are you just ignorant? Because I’m learning a third one while you can barely be understood in your own?”

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Filed Under: andalú, languages ·
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