Beachin´and Teachin´

I live on the beach! That’s a REALLY big deal for a landlocked girl from Texas. The sand is literally eight steps from my front door. Never mind that in the right light it looks like kitty litter; it’s truly lovely. I leave my windows open to let in the sea breeze and hear the waves. My pedestrian-only street attracts toursits and couples from all over the world. I often pull back the curtains to see people snapping pictures of the view, or couples kissing by the palm tree out my front door. But more often than not, when I look outside, I catch people peeking in at me. I live in that house with the open windows and music that can be heard faintly from the street. In Hyde Park (Austin) I often biked past homes that looked like illustrations in a storybook – warmly lit, friends laughing on the front porch, comfortably nestled in overgrown flowers and ferns. And I remember very specific homes in Valparaiso whose salsa music penetrated bougainvillea walls and whose front porches held at least two grandparents on rocking chairs. These homes were enviable and untouchable, like chocolate cakes behind glass. Their inhabitants didn’t seem like real human beings with jobs and worries, but like people in Southern Living magazine photographs, frozen in that one perfect moment. It’s exciting to realize that some passersby on Paseo Maritimo may view me through that same lens.

View from my front door and bedroom window

My wonderful flat. I´m on the bottom floor.

I hate to admit it, but the “real world” is the same no matter where you live, even on the beach in Spain. The last three weeks have left little time for strolling like the Andalucians (and tourists) on my boardwalk. Like many of my friends and family, I had a condescending view of teaching English abroad before coming here. “Oh, it will be fun for a year! What’s wrong with delaying reality? It will be like studying abroad and getting paid for it!” I daydreamed. Not the case. Like any job, it can be fun, but it’s a far stretch from studying abroad and “delaying reality.” In fact, I’ve had to relate that sad news to several study abroad students I’ve met who hope to join the TEFL workforce post-college. Just like in the states, teaching is exhausting and doesn’t end when you leave the workplace. Right now I’m teaching ages 3 to 20, levels ranging from zero to nearly bilingual. It’s frustrating to know that while the rest of Andalucia has a three hour lunch break, I have none. It was also extremely strange to have gone from student-in-Cadiz to adulto-“Senorita”-profe-de-ingles literally over night. Sometimes I feel like a fraud; there are so many days when nothing goes as planned and I think, “What the hell am I doing?” Also, without a program or any hand-holding institution, I’ve been quite lonely and nostalgic for, dare I say, the USA. But lucky for me, I don’t have to leave my new home to receive the best kind of therapy out there – watching and listening to the sea. And thankfully, some of my students are so cute and amusing that I could hug and kiss them (which is totally acceptable of a teacher in Spain).

If you visit, you´ll know my house by the Jesus portrait.

Below, I’ve taken on the persona of several students, just so you get an idea of the type of people I hang out with every day. Read on if you´re interested...

My name is Julia, I am six-years-old, and my favorite word in English is “fantastic.” I like to be called Julia the English way instead of the Spanish way. My best friend is Beatriz, and we always sit by each other. We have the same pink and purple Witch doll binders that are the same size as our desks. One time Senorita put me and Beatriz on separate teams for a game, and I cried a little. But after class Bea and me did our best friend handshake, so everything’s okay. We’re still friends and I still like English. I hope Senorita calls on me tomorrow!

My name is Pepe and I am six years old, too. I always bring my dad’s old messenger bag to class because it is big enough to hold my coloring kit, books, pencil case, stapler, and binder. I don’t know why, but for some reason I am always the last one to pack up my supplies and leave the classroom. At least I know how to spell “seventeen;” nobody else does!

I’m Carmen, I’m fifteen, and I hate English class. I only go because my parents make me. Annie makes the class do stupid stuff, like talk to each other in English about famous people. I always wear my hair in front of my face so she can’t see me and won’t call on me. Oh, and the one time she actually let us listen to a song to guess the lyrics, I was twenty-five minutes late and missed out. I also missed the day she fell out of her chair and flashed her underwear to the whole class. Ines and Juan said it was hilarious. How old is she, anyway?

My name is Daniel, and whenever Annie asks “How are you?” I say I’m “okay and terrible.” I’m nine years old, but I feel older. I am very good at English and always finish assignments first. I am very funny and make everybody laugh, except for Annie. When she isn’t looking, I like to push buttons on the CD player, say bad words in Spanish, and shoot the middle finger. Also, I enjoy making fun of my friend Jesus for wetting his bed and being fat.

My name is Jesus, and I am eight years old, but I turn nine very soon. Entering English class on time is always very hard for me. I am usually late because I have to eat a bocadillo that my mom gives me. Then, I have to roll in my backpack that is too big to fit between the wall and my desk, and squeeze myself into a chair. I usually have food on my face during class and feel very uncomfortable; this doesn’t help when Daniel makes fun of me for being gordo.

Hello, I’m Roberto, I’m 18, and I’m a biology student. I feel very strange sharing a class with a 12 year-old-girl whose English is better than mine. Also, it’s strange to have a teacher that looks younger than me. I’m only in this class because I have to pass the Trinity exam before graduating university. Annie likes to do a lot of speaking activities, but I don’t have much to say in Spanish, so what would I say in English?! Especially to a 12 year-old-girl.

Hello! My name is Raquel! I have four years and I like boys. I love to kiss them and jump on top of them. Sometimes me and the boys jump on top of desks. Then teacher gives me a banana on the board so I behave better. I love to sit right next to teacher during story time, and I hate sharing colors, even when they aren’t mine.

I´m liking most of them more and more. Hasta luego.

Whirlwind

Spaniards in Cadiz walk slower than their babies crawl. On my daily walk to class, I am by far the fastest walker. While the locals stop to chat with everyone they see on their (seemingly) aimless strolls, I zip through their social scenes like a silent roadrunner. This makes me feel both invisible and blatantly foreign. Even the stray dogs mosey around as if they could sniff and lick the grimy cobblestone streets forever. But the last two weeks spared no time for such “jollying about,” as my British tutors would say.


Elementary students and teachers after last class

In Spain’s most relaxed region, I surrendered my snazzy Ironman watch not to beachcombing and siestas, but to a whirlwind of job searching, teaching, and paper writing. Depending on the day and my Inbox, I was going to work in Costa Rica, Venezuela, and Spain. I delved into the difficulties of teaching adults who don’t even know the word “bed,” and absorbed a lot of criticism from my teachers. I wrote twenty pages on one student’s English progress, and took my TESOL exam. To my brief relief, I completed the course on Friday and toasted to being a true blue, certified English teacher.


Celebrating completion of the TESOL course

The next morning, I was off to Malaga for a long-awaited Paco de Lucia concert and a very conveniently-located job interview. Malaga is a Mediterranean metropolis with a reputation for being ostentatious and saturated with British ex-pats. One of my tutors described it as the Can Cun of Spain. It’s nothing like Can Cun, in my opinion, but it does boast the birthplace of Picasso and vacation destination for the Gettys. The city leans against bright green mountains and faces the cerulean sea. Moorish castles perched on hills tower over the traffic and apartment complexes, and palm trees line the wide pedestrian thoroughfares. But most importantly, the language school where I interviewed is well-structured and has a strong reputation. The school’s director offered me a job on the spot and drove me all over the city. His hospitality coupled with the city’s offerings of art museums and miles of beach had me sold. Anyway, I can always work in Venezuela or Costa Rica next year.

It was nice returning to Cadiz with a job.

I just sped home from my last TEFL class and will board a bus back to Malaga in 2 hours. Luckily, my friend Adam is also trudging onward to Malaga to work at my school, and Lindsay is tagging along until she moves to Portugal. Having friends around will take the edge off of apartment searching in a foreign country.


Malaga, my new home for nine months

Orientation is tomorrow, and classes start Monday! Hopefully by my next blog entry, I’ll have found a place to live and slowed down enough to walk like the Andalucians.

Throngs of Babies and Oodles of English

Sunset on La Caleta, prime thong baby site

Picture this juxtaposition: gaggles of Wifi users hunched over their laptops on the steps of an ostentatious cathedral in Europe’s oldest city. I feel funny leaning against this heavy cathedral door, doing something so modern when I could be inside looking at bloody crucifixes and portraits of dead monks.

Though it has wifi in certain plazas, (in an effort to attract more tourism), Cadiz is a slow-paced, old fashioned city. It teems with Moorish architecture and narrow roads not much wider than American SUVs. It’s a sun-drenched tourist destination, buzzing with a slew of Spanish accents (all of which unfortunately contain the theta), and hoards of babies and old people.

These two populations have a lot in common, really – status, power in numbers, and pleasantly plump. These babies are thicker than American babies that strolled into the Purple Glaze all summer. So plump they can’t move. They lie flat in their reclining strollers, looking like dolls in fashionable onesies. And the old folks sit around like Humpty Dumpties, expecting you to yield, dodge, or help whenever they choose to move. But the babies really crack me up. Lap dogs have become accessories in the U.S., but babies are accessories and status symbols here. And they stay out later than I do! I’ve noticed babies fast asleep, flung over their fathers’ shoulders at three am in plazas and bars. They’re always dressed to the max, sporting rhinestone studded earrings and completely color-coordinated shoes, clothes and strollers. But the beach is a different arena. The other day I actually saw a four-year-old wearing a thong. (And of course no top!) In Spain it’s normal for girls to build sand castles topless on the beach, but in thongs?! How does a four-year-old find this at all appealing and comfortable? Maybe her mother wanted to show off her cute baby bottom. Not long after my first thong baby sighting, I saw a little boy running loosey goosey, hunting for seashells.

You only need to spend thirty minutes in Cadiz to notice the babies and elderly. If you see a young woman walking down the street without a stroller, she’s usually pregnant. Or, in the words of my new British friends, “She’s got a bump due to drop any minute."


Pedestrians gaze at Moorish architecture and the Atlantic

My TEFL (same as TESOL, fyi) tutors and six of fifteen classmates are British, so my version of the mother tongue has improved leaps and bounds. I say “quite” “a bit” and “have a think” quite a lot. Another interesting accent I’ve picked up is the non-native English accent. Thanks to my students, I can fake a Spaniard trying to speak English pretty well. But Spanish has been useful only at the grocery store and my regular cafe. From sunup to sundown my class is inside the TEFL building, teaching, dissecting and breathing the English language. It’s strange to leave my flat in the morning, walk seven minutes through Spain, and enter through the doors to Planet English. Ten or more hours later I leave this little bubble and weave through Spanish babies and grandparents, only to do my English lesson plans and papers. So, besides the babies and old people, I really haven’t discovered much of Cadiz or Spain. It’s all good, though. Classes are fun and so far I love teaching.



A few English students and fellow TESOL trainees

I'm applying for jobs in lots of different countries. Until then, I’ll be a TESOL teacher/student by day, and thong baby spy by night!