the joy of teaching, or what i’m being paid to do here in spain

My two-month mark appears tomorrow! Now that I’m truly settled in and have my routine, it’s about time that I write about what I’m actually doing here in Spain: teaching.

I work in a secondary school (ages 11-18) in the town of Santanyí, which is the town that I live in, and I also work in an elementary school (ages 3-11) in the town of S’Alqueria Blanca, about 4K away. My schedule currently has me working two days a week in the elementary school and one day a week in the high school. Now you can see why I keep writing about my leisure time—I’ve got a lot of it! I’ll try to dedicate this post solely to the work aspect of this year abroad.

I love teaching. Unfortunately, I’m not actually teaching. I’m the teaching assistant, which means that in some classes I’m just an English-speaking mouth with a person attached, but in others I get to lead class and come up with activities and fun things to do. Also unfortunately, the English level is so low that I don’t feel like I’m getting very far with the kids.

The English I teach here is in no way conversational English. Imagine your high school Spanish class: no matter how advanced it was, could you ever have a discussion on the differences between North American and Latin American culture? Could you even have a decent conversation on the weather, or your health—the two most frequent and therefore among the most important conversations to master early on? I know I certainly couldn’t. The English in the schools here isn’t much more advanced than that.

In every class, I introduce myself, talk a little bit about where I come from, and open it up for questions. Usually (obviously) the kids have no questions until I remind them that unless they have questions, we’ll just have to go to the textbook and have class as usual. After miming out most of the sentence, the kids get the idea, and some of the weirdest questions come out. The “do you like” construction is very popular: (“Do you like babies?” “Do you like Avenged Sevenfold?”) Sometimes the kids branch out a bit: one kid came up with some very creative questions. “Why America conduction left?” and “How time where you?” were two of his more interesting queries.

Spanish-speakers: think about those for a bit. Conduction…conducción…conducir! (By the way: in Spain you definitely do not manejar un carro; you conducir un coche). So, with a bit of linguistic and geographical wizardry, the first question morphs into: “Why do they drive on the left-hand side of the road in England?” (the kids still can’t quite figure out that England and America are very different countries.) For the second question, just translate it directly back into Spanish: “How time… where you?” turns into “Cómo tiempo donde ti?” which obviously means “What’s the weather like where you live?”

A few other riddles for you: what do you think the common commands, “Stuff your chair!” and “Keep your rubber!” mean? These are two phrases the teachers often employ.

The first one can also be elongated as, “Stuff your chair under your table!” (need another hint? “table” is the word for “desk,” and the kids are told this when they all jump up like cooped-up monsters when it’s finally time for recess.)

For the second one, well… “rubbers,” of course, are perfectly innocuous, small items that every kid carries in his pocket. Quit thinking dirty thoughts—we’re talking about erasers! That’s perfectly British English, I guess. However, the verb “keep” usually is used to mean “put away,” which I’m pretty sure isn’t English from any English-speaking country. The longer version of the second command might be “Keep your rubber in your pencil case,” and the teachers usually say that when the kids start using their “rubbers” as ersatz bouncy-balls.

The kids are learning very weird English—or they’re learning English a very weird way. For example, for a recent lesson they had to repeat a dialogue, then act out the dialogue, then make a book by cutting out pre-made pictures with captions containing the dialogue, which goes like this:

Narrator: Texas Tom is sad.

Texas Tom: I don’t like horse riding. I’m not a real cowboy.

Sue Ellen: Come on, Tom, horse riding is fun!

Texas Tom: I don’t like horse riding.

Sue Ellen: Come on, Tom, horse riding is fun!

Narrator: Texas Tom rides Silver.

Texas Tom: OK. Wow, horse riding is fun!

Sue Ellen: Now you’re a real cowboy!

Then again, I remember dialogues from high school Spanish class that were also quite strange. For example, in one sentence, Paco says something like, “Mis pantalones están sucios. Voy a comprar nuevos pantalones.” (My pants are dirty. I’m going to buy new pants.) I suppose second-language learning never is real. Even while speaking in a second language, I somehow feel not-quite real. Lots of people say they have different personalities when speaking in different languages, but until I feel like I at least have some personality in Spanish, I’ll always wince when someone asks me if I’m fluent.

Whoa, that’s a completely different topic! Sorry, every day of teaching in English is another day that teaches me how much I have to learn! I need to learn more Spanish, and I really need to learn Mallorquín, or else I’m never going to progress socially. I’m just as stunted in my Mallorquín as these kids are in their English (I’ve whipped out a few phrases in Mallorquín, and I’m sure they sounded just like “How time?” to native speakers) and I understand their frustrations. I’m trying to be patient and to explain everything as clearly as I possibly can—the only thing that I can’t stand is when the kids are obviously not motivated. English is a required class from 4 years old until university graduation, and most kids hate it. I’m trying to come up with activities to make English seem like fun (see my previous post to see the Thanksgiving video that my friends made that I showed in all my classes—we discussed that video and talked about common foods and family traditions) and, poc a poc, we’re getting there.

Throughout this year, I’ll grow as a teacher, and I’ll keep trying to help the kids express themselves in English. This has been an awesome experience so far, and I’m excited to be here, teaching, for five more months!

***

PS: here are a few useful words and phrases that I've picked up since being here (1st word is in Spanish, 2nd is in Catalan)

ahora / ara : presently, sometime soon, within the next hour or so. When the teachers ask me, "Jeni, ¿véns ara?" they definitely don't mean "Jennifer, are you coming right now?" The first couple times the teachers have said this, I hopped up and said "yes, I'm coming now," and each time the teachers have said, "No, Jeni, tranquila. Ahora vamos," ("No, Jennifer, calm down. We'll leave ahora..." which means, more or less, "sometime soon.")

venga : come on, OK, goodbye. "Venga," as any student learning Spanish knows, is the formal command form or subjunctive form of "venir." In Latin America, the "usted" (formal) form is used quite often, and so you'll often here, "venga" to mean "You (formal) come here." In Spain, I've hardly ever heard anyone use "usted", and when I do, I'm always corrected. However, the word "venga" is used all the time. The most common form of "venga" is "Come on!" When the kids start making noise or quit paying attention or start playing with their neighbors, the teachers always shout, "Jesús, ¡venga!" or "Díaz, ¡venga!" "Venga" can also mean "OK," such as, "Jeni, ¿véns amb mi ara? venga, anem," (Jeni, are you coming with me sometime in the near future? OK, let's go,) But it is also used at the end of conversations to mean "Hey, I want to get off the phone now," such as the following telephone conversation I overheard: "OK, nos vemos a las dos, venga, hasta ahora," (OK, see you at two, goodbye, see you very shortly). I hear people use this word also when speaking in Mallorquín, but I'm not sure if it's spelled differently.

enhorabuena / enhorabona : Congratulations! I thought this meant "about time," because if you break it apart, it turns into "en hora buena" or "in good time", but people say it when somebody has a baby, or does something good at work, or at the beginning of the Thanksgiving potluck that I organized on Tuesday.

molt d'anys : Congratulations! Cheers! Happy Birthday! This literally means "many years" in Catalan, and people say it at the beginning of special meals, such as the Thanksgiving potluck I organized on Tuesday, and it's also the most common way to say "happy birthday".

thanksgiving abroad: cowboys, a diner, and real pumpkin pie

Yesterday I celebrated Thanksgiving like every other American: with turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and some weird spinach thing that I wasn’t quite sure of. And, of course, real pumpkin pie. I went to an American diner in Palma with my roommate, an English teacher from the high school, her boyfriend, and a friend of theirs. The five of us met up at the diner and it was fantastic!

The décor was “authentic American,” they had assured me beforehand, and it really was. I felt right at home with the nice squishy black-and-white vinyl-and-chrome chairs.

And Blues Brothers statues.

The proprietress is apparently from Texas, and she decided to bring a bit of good American home cookin’ to Mallorca. The food was excellent (apart from the spinach) and was full of authentically tasty Thanksgiving goodness.

The meal! No rolls—we had Spanish-style bread—but the Heineken made up for it.

Me + my roommate + my colleague + her boyfriend = a great meal with friends!

The Thanksgiving dinner in Palma was a culmination of all the Thanksgiving activities that have been going on this week. My job as the language assistant is to A) speak English, but B) teach the kids about American culture, and I’ve been doing that by talking a LOT about holidays. Halloween is getting big here, so the kids all knew about that, but Thanksgiving is a bit of a confusing day. “’Tanksjiving?’ What is?” Thanksgiving—a day to GIVE THANKS—is a special day. We celebrate being together with friends and family. We think about what we’re thankful for. All American families get together on Thanksgiving, and we eat a lot! “¡Ah, mem, és es Dia d'acció de gràcies! Jeni, ¿es verdad lo del pavo? ¿Es como lo muestran en el cine?” (“Is it true about the turkey? Is it really like in the movies?”)

I assured them that Thanksgiving was just like it is in the movies, and yes, we eat TONS of turkey. I also explained the concept of Tofurkey, but since Tofu hasn’t made an appearance here, they were a bit confused. I think the elementary kids were confused about the whole thing. I tried to explain the story of “The First Thanksgiving,” which went something like this (accompanied by copious amounts of overexaggerated hand-symbols, of course) :

A long time ago, the Pilgrims left England to go to America. Who knows what a Pilgrim is? A Pilgrim is a person who travels, who goes, from one place to another. Lots of Pilgrims go to Santiago de Compostela every year. Do you know what Santiago de Compostela is? No, well, it´s a city in Spain where lots of people go. People walk a long ways to get to Santiago de Compostela.

The Pilgrims left England…no, Brais, they did not walk from England! Do you know where England is? Am I from England? No, Maria del Mar, I´m not from England! I´m from America. The Pilgrims got in a big boat and went over the sea to get to America.

OK, a long time ago, the Pilgrims left England to go to America. When they got to America, they didn´t know how to find food. They were very hungry. They had nothing to eat. The Indians, or the Native Americans, came and showed the Pilgrims how to plant food.

No, Macià, we´re not talking about Cowboys and Indians. What is a cowboy? What is a cow? Look, here´s a picture of a cow, under the letter V for Vaca. A cowboy is a boy who takes care of cows. When the Pilgrims came to America, there were no cowboys.

So, the Indians gave the Pilgrims food. Then, they had a big party. A big festival. A big holiday. They ate lots of food, and played lots of games, and this was the First Thanksgiving. OK, we´re going to make Pilgrim hats and Indian headdresses. Who wants to be an Indian? Who wants to be a Pilgrim? What, Tomeu, you want to be a cowboy? No, these are not cowboy hats. We’re not talking about cowboys. These are Pilgrim hats. Tomeu, do you understand what a Pilgrim is?

(Tomeu gleefully shouts, “Cowboy!”)

For the elementary kids, the actual “English language” part of their English lesson went a bit south, but they sure had fun making the Indian headdresses. (Thoughts of political correctness kept flitting through my head as the kids reenacted war cries.)

For the older kids, we could actually talk a little more about what Thanksgiving means to the average American. I had asked some friends back in the states to make short videos of themselves explaining their special Thanksgiving traditions for the kids, and some of them went all out and made a fantastic video of themselves having a Thanksgiving dinner! (see it below. It’s hilarious.) Before showing the video in the high school, I explained it a bit to the kids, and afterwards, one girl asked me in Spanish, “But, Jeni, where are you in the video?” I’m here! My friends made this video for me and for you guys last week. They had a “fake Thanksgiving” meal in order to make a video of it and send it to me, here. I’m here in Spain with you guys, and they are in America. “But, Jeni, you are no…triste?” Am I sad to not be there? Well, a little. This is a very special day all over America, and I am not going home. But I’ll be home for Christmas, so it’ll be all right.

In truth, I was sad. Especially because right after that wonderful class, I had a class where the kids couldn’t sit still and wouldn’t shut up and they talked through the entire video, and afterwards when we did an exercise where I asked all the kids what they were thankful for, most kids just said, “Nothing” and they rolled their eyes. Just like a character in an Amy Tan book I read recently, I had to keep reminding myself that even teenagers have souls.

Going to the diner in Palma was a perfect way to remind myself that Thanksgiving can be special anywhere—with old friends and new friends, in my aunt and uncle’s house or in an American diner in Spain. What matters is remembering everything we have to be thankful for, and celebrating it with the people we love. And eating lots of turkey, of course :)

If this video doesn't work, try this link to Ali's Facebook videos: http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=536552123733

castilla y león: the most spanishy bit of spain

To continue celebrating my November of 4-day weekends, I went to Castilla y León to visit Linnaea Cunha, a fellow Linfield ’10 grad, and to see “castilla y leony stuff,” as she put it. Castilla was one of the kingdoms in the Iberian Peninsula before Spain was Spain. Isabella of Castilla married Ferdinand of Aragón (together known as “the Catholic monarchs,” these were the people who finished off the Reconquista, started the Inquisition, and gave Columbus money for his harebrained adventure to India), and Spain was born. Linnaea works in a small town called Arévalo, and seeing it made me very happy about the small town that I was placed in! No offense to Arévalo, but it’s very spread out, and unfortunately we didn’t have time to actually see the old part of town, so I’m basing my opinion purely on the new bits that I saw. Santanyí feels much cozier, and is a whole heck of a lot warmer, than Arévalo. It was freezing there! When we went to Segovia, it actually snowed for a few minutes.

My dad shoveling off the cars at home—I’ve gotten soft if I whine about a few minutes of snowfall!

I crashed at Linnaea’s place for the first night, and the next day we set off for the mountains. We wanted to go hiking somewhere, and Linnaea’s Spanish roommate suggested Béjar, which is surrounded by mountains and has something called the “Jardín el Bosque”. Unfortunately, connections from one small Spanish town to another are usually terrible, and we didn’t get into Béjar until 2pm, right as the tourist office closed. So, we did the next best thing: found some old men to ask for suggestions on hiking trails. Since we got there so late, we only had a few hours to hike, and they suggested going down by the river. We wandered through Béjar and eventually found signs for the “Jardín el Bosque” (the place recommended by Linnaea’s roommate), but that, too, was closed. Asking more random people for directions, we found our way down to the river and started off on a path. It was awesome!

The Río Riofrío: the River Cold River, or the Cold River River.

A dozen or so textile mills had been built along the now-canalized Cold River River, and for some reason, they have all been abandoned and have fallen into disrepair.

Béjar has added a concrete walkway and interpretive signs, so Linnaea and I wandered along the old millrace.

All too soon, we had to leave Béjar and take a bus back to Arévalo. It was a neat little town, but I would definitely visit it A) with a rental car, B) with a map in hand, C) with non-leaky shoes, and D) not in the rain.

***

The next day, we set off bright and early to take a train to Ávila, and then take a bus from there to Segovia. The bus ended up being sold out, so we spent the day in Ávila and arranged to take a later bus into Segovia, which worked out well. Ávila has a gorgeous old city surrounded by an immaculately restored wall. We explored the cathedral, climbed the walls, and spent lots of hours ducking in and out of cafés trying to keep warm while we waited for the bus to Segovia.

Eventually we caught our bus into Segovia, whose old city and aqueduct are listed as UNESCO World Heritage sites.

Segovia at last! The aqueduct.

One of Linnaea’s co-teachers used to work in Segovia, and she gave us the email of a fellow American who is in his second year as an English language teaching assistant. He met us at the bus station and took us directly into town to have a drink. A couple other Americans who are just starting out this year with the program joined us, as well as one of his friends from Portugal. It was so much fun to relax and hang out with new people! No matter how much I love Santanyí, it has 0 nightlife and 0 inhabitants between the ages of 18-30. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it makes it hard to meet people in Santanyí, whereas in Segovia, where we had instant new friends.

There was an international film fest going on, so we went to go see a Czech film that someone had picked off a list at random, and it was indeed very random. Take lots of cutout animation (think: Monty Python style) and naked people with chickens for heads, mixed in with a storyline about an Oedipus complex and dream interpretation, while being partly dubbed and partly Czech with Spanish subtitles, and you get two hours of creative confusion. After that movie, we needed another drink.

Segovia, as with the rest of Spain, doesn’t really start the night until midnight. After getting out of the movie, the party was in full swing. We squeezed into a bar, had a drink (which comes with free tapas! I don’t know where Mallorca went wrong—none of the tapas are free, and none are all that good, here) and then followed the packs of Spanish people out and went to a restaurant famous for its house wine. Apparently people are in a permanent pub-crawl state, so when that restaurant emptied, we went into another bar, found a table in the back, and had one more drink.

After getting up far too early after a night out, we hit the streets of Segovia again, and explored at our leisure.

Segovia's Alcázar

Aqueduct again

Because I’m not a partier by any means, I am delighted to live in a small town devoid of nightlife, but hanging out in Segovia at night with a fun group of new people was definitely a highlight of my trip. I have made it a goal to push myself here in Santanyí to get to know people—although new friends don’t just fall into my lap here, the people are friendly and all I need to do is make an effort. It’s a bit daunting to be in a group of people who only speak Mallorquín (the dialect of Catalán that is spoken on Mallorca—see lovin’ languages) but I’m going to keep trying my darndest to understand Mallorquín and to break into conversations even when I’m really not sure what’s going on. Sitting quietly in the back is a great skill for not being noticed, but not a good one for making friends. My list of new-friend-making techniques are as follows:

A) go to the one café-bar that Santanyí offers and listen to the live music on Saturday nights. The live music happens to be played by the high school philosophy teacher’s band

B) hang out with the philosophy teacher

C) listen to the computer tech teacher’s suggestion that I find hiking/outdoorsy groups

D) figure out how to find hiking/outdoorsy groups, and then find them

E) find out if anyone in Santanyí is registered under www.CouchSurfing.com, and contact them to see if they want to go out and have a cup of coffee

F) ditto for www.LiveMocha.com

G) next Tuesday, I’m having a “Thanksgiving potluck” at the elementary school. It’s not actually that exciting—all the teachers always eat at the school on Tuesdays—but I’m starting off with my proactive-friend-making plan right now. I wanted to host a Thanksgiving party at my house, but there are far too many teachers to cram in here, so we’re just doing it the easy way. Today, the teachers remembered that I’d mentioned the potluck, so we started a list of who wanted to bring what, and lots of people actually seemed excited!

Wish me luck on my friend-making endeavors! And if you want to see more photos of my adventures in Castilla y León with a good, old friend (being one Linnaea Cunha), then go to: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050519&id=65202311&l=a5040f9c97

chillin' with old friends and new

Hey all,

Just a quick update before lunch: I had a lovely weekend hanging out with Ms. Hannah Michelotti, who is working as an au pair in Belgium. I went to visit her in October, and she returned the favor by coming to Spain! On Saturday morning, we went to the market in Santanyí, where we got veggie goodies to make pasta, and Hannah bought herself a scarf.

We hit the beach in the afternoon, which was fabulous. It was sunny and warm, and we had the entire beach to ourselves. Cala d'Or looked like a ghost town! In comparison to my first week of being there (see tourist heaven) it really was heavenly. Well, at least the empty-beach part. The empty town was a little weird. When we got back to the apartment, we drank Spanish wine, watched episodes of Modern Family (a very funny show that Hannah has just introduced me to) and cooked up our pasta delight.

On Sunday, Sofia (my roommate) invited the neighbors over for a late breakfast. Sofia made homemade crepes, and we happily gorged ourselves. The neighbor is due to have a baby in early December, and it was the first time I'd really gotten to talk to her and her husband. Their 4-year-old son, Sebastià, ran around the house the entire time, excited to have new people to show off to. He was so cute! It was a nice, relaxing breakfast, and when they left two hours later, the neighbor promised to make his famous paella and invite us over another time.

In the early afternoon, I saw Hannah off with specific instructions on how to get to the airport. It's always strange to wave goodbye; it was a lovely weekend with lovely people!

málaga in 3 hours; sevilla en un día: andalucía part III

DAYS 3-4

Later that day, after successfully conquering El Camino del Rey (see part II), Katelyn and I caught the train into Málaga. We had three hours to explore the WHOLE city, so Katelyn took me to see some highlights. We went to a rose garden, where a friendly old man talked our ears off for twenty minutes (see part I) and we hiked up a very large hill to see the ruins of Málaga’s castle. Unfortunately, we got there after it was closed, but we still got amazing views over the city.

We caught a late-night train into Sevilla. Because of my experience during my first, brief night in Sevilla (see part I), I didn’t want to pay for a taxi when I knew that Sevilla was so lovely and walkable. Unfortunately, I didn’t know quite how much walking we were getting ourselves into.

Katelyn and I went to the nearest bus stop, and I asked a random person if there was a bus that went somewhere close to the cathedral. She thought for a bit, and said that if we got off at the parliament, we would have a 15-20 minute walk, which sounded completely doable. Katelyn and I hopped on the bus, got off at a parliament-type-looking building, and started asking for directions. Everyone we asked stared at us, as if, “you want to walk all the way to the cathedral?” and some people didn’t even know where the cathedral was. Or, at least, they didn’t speak enough Spanish to tell us. We headed off in a likely-looking direction, and started walking. And walking. And walking.

Eventually, we were passing by a hip-looking restaurant, and Katelyn decided we should go in. She has an uncanny sense for which restaurants are going to be AWESOME, and this turned out to be one of them. As soon as we went in, I was a bit daunted by the atmosphere of “the realm of cool people” that we walked in to, and I randomly said to the waiter, “Uh, we’re just looking for tapas,” and the waiter smiled. “This is probably one of the worst parts of Seville to get tapas,” he said, “Because we don’t have tapas,” “Ah,” I said weakly. He was grinning widely, and luckily Katelyn came to the rescue and asked what sort of food they did have. Apparently, they change their menu twice daily, based on what’s fresh at the market. It looked like it was going to be VERY expensive, but I was too self-conscious to turn around and walk out, so we asked for a table. Luckily, they had a wonderful table surrounded by squashy sofas by the front window that was hidden from the rest of the restaurant by the large bar that surrounded the open kitchen. So, while all the cool people sipped wine at their smoky, candle-lit tables in the back, Katelyn and I dumped our backpacks on the sofas and settled in. It turned out to be the most amazing Spanish food I’ve ever had!

The restaurant is full of local art, and different and surprising paintings and sculptures leaped from every wall. On a shelf next to us, there was an old gramophone, several candles of all shapes and sizes, and a teapot with a potted plant sprouting out of its spout. Jazz music played in the background, and we could watch the cooks at work in the quiet, open kitchen right in front of us. The waiters were wonderfully friendly, despite our obvious un-cool-ness (for example, I had to ask if “buey del mar”, which translates to “sea mule”, was a type of fish) and we had some of the best wine EVER. We dined in style, and it ended up being about 15 Euro per person—what a deal! We started with a beautifully fresh salad including buey del mar, and after that Katelyn ordered calamar con arroz negro—calamari with rice dyed with squid ink—but, because they didn’t have enough for a full plate, they gave us what they had left to try. Their house wine was rich and complex, and we sipped happily throughout the evening. Check out the restaurant’s minimalist website at www.contenedorcultural.com, and if you’re ever in Sevilla, make sure to make it a point to find this amazing restaurant: ConTenedor. Katelyn and I reclined on our sofas and agreed it had been a perfect meal.

Unfortunately, we still had no clue which part of Sevilla we were in, nor how long it was going to take us to get to our hostel, and it was now about midnight. We asked for directions from the helpful waitress, left a very large tip, and set off. We ambled down the narrow streets of Seville, which were much less quiet on a Sunday than they had been on Thursday when I first arrived, and eventually bumped into the cathedral. We circled around it until I found a street I recognized, and arrived at the hostel about 4 hours after we’d set off from the train station (2 hours or so, of course, had been spent happily eating).

The next morning we got a bit of a late start, but once we eventually got out the door we made a beeline for the Alcázar: Seville’s exquisite palace. It turned out that the entrance was free for students, and since Katelyn and I are here on student visas, all I had to do was run back to the hostel to grab my passport and bingo! We were in for free! We signed up for a tour, and as we walked through the three palaces and the gardens contained in the complex, I was in heaven. My pictures can’t even start to tell of the Alcázar’s beauty:

After finally dragging ourselves out of the Alcázar, we went into the cathedral.

Columbus’s tomb

View from the top of the cathedral (La Giralda) out over the Alcázar’s gardens

From there, we set off for the train station to buy Katelyn’s ticket back to Málaga for the following morning, and then we headed down to the Río Guadalquivir, where we found a place to eat (alas, not quite as gustatorially delightful as the night before) and wandered along the streets. All too soon, it was time to head back to the hostel to pack up and head off for the bus which took me to the airport, where I went winging back to Mallorca.

Through these 4 days, I got a tiny taste of Andalucía, and I can’t wait to go back!

Photos of this last part of my andalucían adventures are available on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050268&id=65202311&l=e5fd846847

defying death on el camino del rey: andalucía part II

Before reading this (part II), here's part I.

DAYS 2&3 of my weekend in Andalucía:

The next morning, Katelyn´s landlord gave us a ride up the mountain to El Chorro, a town used by rock climbers as a jump-off point to several spectacular climbing areas. When we got up to our hostel, everyone asked us if we were there to do the Camino del Rey. We’d heard a little bit about it (Katelyn’s landlord told us stories about all the people who’d died on it) and we said no, we were just there to hike. Everyone insisted that it was THE THING to do—better than rock climbing—most euphoric experience of their lives—and we said we’d go on a hike first and come back to talk to a guide, to see if he could talk us into it.

We started off on a trail recommended by several people and climbed up a track that quickly lost itself in olive groves, where the ground was covered in wild rosemary and thyme. Passing by several ruins of old houses, we crossed over a ridge and descended into a valley full of pine trees.

Sunrise from behind Katelyn’s house, looking over the orange grove and the faroff mountains.

Hiking up the mountain from El Chorro

On the porch of another ruined house (nobody could explain why the village of El Chorro used to be higher on the mountain, and had been moved a few miles down during the past few decades) we ate an amazing lunch of extra-cured cheese that I’d bought at the Santanyí market, a sausage/salami that was specially made in Álora, and oranges picked from the grove behind Katelyn’s house. All that was missing was a bottle of wine!

When we got down to the village of El Chorro, we had a beer at the train station and met dreadlocks man (“I live in a cave; want to come see it?”) and trekked back up the mountain to the hostel. As soon as we got there, all the people at the hostel started asking if we’d made up our minds about going on the Camino del Rey. When the dam across the gorge was being built, a walkway along the walls of the gorge was built A) so the workers could transport their materials, or B) so the king could inspect their work (no one was quite sure). The path is about 1.5-2 feet wide and extends from the vertical cliff face, but after years of neglect, the camino has fallen into disrepair. Several chunks are missing, and to discourage people from messing around up there, the government blasted off the first section, trying to make it inaccessible. Not for long! People have drilled large metal rods into the cliff face, along with occasional hand-holds, and have bolted a guide rope onto the wall. With climbing gear, you can hop from bar to bar across the 50-foot-long section, 300 feet above the river. Piece of cake. Oh, and then you have to ascend the cliff on a series of hand-holds where you can’t rope in. Our guide assured us that it really wasn’t a big deal, and that he had gone up so often that he didn’t even go with ropes. We were convinced.

El Caminito del Rey está intransitable, y se advierte que pasar supone grave riesgo: The King's Path is impassable, and you are warned that crossing implies grave risk.

The next morning, Katelyn and I rose early determined to attack and conquer. The blown-away section at the beginning certainly discourages people: after I had hoped, knock-kneed, across the bars and was watching on a narrow ledge, Katelyn called across that she couldn’t do it, and that she and the guide were going to start form the other end. Uh…

A large group of elderly English people, headed by a terrified Austrian couple, started across the bars, but one of the English group had to turn back as well. The English people offered to take me along, and our guide took Katelyn and the elderly English fellow around to start at the other end, so we agreed to meet in the middle.

A few people in front of us starting across the bars.

Our guide, Martin: not roped in, and not taking any pictures of me doing this hair-raising and hare-brained crossing. I swear I did it.

At the top of the “staircase” leading up to the Camino del Rey.

Katelyn and our guide waiting on the other side of the bars while the large group of English waited for the Austrian lady to make her way across.

After a quick scramble up the cliff face, the real Camino del Rey started. A guide wire had been strung along the wall, so at all times we were roped on with slings and carabiners. Hundreds of feet above nothing, walking along crazy vertical strata o fancient upheavals, shuffling sideways over railroad ties where bits of the walkway had fallen through—absolutely once-in-a-lifetime. Except I want to go back!

The scenery

On the Camino!

Defying death (this photo is for you, Mom)

Making our way around some “hairy bits” as the British people called them (“I’m bricking!” one man told me. “You’re what?” I asked. “Well, in Britain we have a saying, ‘to be shitting bricks’, except ‘bricking’ is slightly more polite”.)

Although it doesn’t look like it, those plants are at least 50 feet below on another ledge, which is about 200 feet above the river.

Our guide, Katelyn, and the British fellow, Mike, as they rounded the bend in front of us! It turned out that it was Mike’s 69^th birthday. The whole group of English people had come 9 years before for his 60^th birthday, and they’d celebrated it on the Camino. They had hoped for a repeat celebration this year—they brought cake and champagne in their backpacks!—but two years ago (at a sprightly 67 years old) Mike fell over 200 feet while ice climbing, and it made him not relish exposed slopes as much as he used to.

It worked out perfectly for everyone that our guide took Katelyn around to start from the other side (which involves a river crossing instead of clinging to a cliff face) because Mike tagged along with them, and he was able to have his birthday party after all.

As always, photos are on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050228&id=65202311&l=d1dcd0cc4f

andalucía acogedora: part I

"I´m going to Andalucía next week!" I told one of my coworkers in Spanish as she gave me a ride home one day last week. In November my work schedule changed so I only work Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, leaving me four-day weekends. I decided to use this time to go to Andalucía (a famous region in southern Spain) to visit my friend Katelyn.

“¡Ah! Te va a gustar—es muy diferente que aquí. Allí son muy descarados,” (Oh! You´ll like it—it’s really different from here. They´re very “faceless” there.)

"¿Descarados? What does that mean?” I asked.

My coworker patted her cheek. “Tienen mucha cara,” (They have a lot of face.)

“Wait… so if you have a lot of face, you’re faceless?”

“Exactly,”

After that perplexing explanation, it turns out that being “descarado” or having “cara” means that you’re outgoing, that you are open and unafraid to say what you mean. It’s slightly negative, meaning that they talk a little too much… so I after visiting, I decided that along with being perhaps descarada, Andalucía is mainly acogedora: very welcoming.

This proved to be wonderfully true! Everywhere we went, people were incredibly welcoming and warm and very approachable—and a lot of random people approached us and talked to us a lot. When we were in Málaga, Katelyn and I were sniffing the roses in the rose garden when an old man came up and said that the roses at the other end of the garden smelled better, and in fact the garden used to have these little tea roses that smelled amazing, but they took those out, and “what are you doing in Málaga? Oh, you work here? You work on Mallorca? My wife and I took a cruise out to Mallorca. It was beautiful. Enjoy your time in Spain!” When Katelyn and I were in Sevilla, Katelyn was pointing out a Vespa of a similar kind that she wants to buy, and an old woman who was walking by asked, “Do you like motorcycles? I like them, too. I bought one for my daughter, but she was too scared to use it. What a pity. Have fun, girls,” The best, though, was when we were in El Chorro. We were sitting in the little bar at the train station, and Katelyn struck up a conversation with a guy sporting a head of beautiful dreadlocks (so, contact was initiated from our end, but still) and through the course of this conversation, Katelyn informed this guy of our history of friends (we went to college together, we both lived in Ecuador for a year, and we’re here in Spain working as teaching assistants) and this guy told us that he lived in a cave, and he invited us to come check it out. We declined, but it was yet another example of Andalucían hospitality.

In short, it was a wonderful weekend! From Sevilla to Álora to El Chorro to Málaga to Sevilla, I had a great time exploring Andalucía and having some crazy adventures with my friend Katelyn. Because the whole story can’t be told in one short blog, the whole weekend will come out in installments. Read on, MacDuff!

***

DAY 1

On Thursday after work, I caught a late flight out of Palma and landed in Seville (“seh-VIHL” in English, spelled Sevilla and pronounced “seh-VEE-yah” in Spanish) at midnight. Listening to that little voice of caution, I decided to take a taxi from the airport to my hostel, instead of catching a bus that I thought might leave me within 30 minutes’ walking distance from the hostel across an unknown city with a backpack that practically screams AMERICAN and/or TOURIST when it was pushing 1am. As soon as I got into the heart of the city, though, I remembered that this is Spain, and the party doesn’t hardly start till 1am! There were swarms of people out, including lots of backpackers.

The taxi driver dropped me off somewhere in the vicinity of my hostel (he had never heard of the “Sevilla Inn Backpackers” so he had to guess the address) so I joined the masses wandering around in the streets. I walked into the first hotel I saw, explaining to the receptionist: “I´m not actually staying at your hotel; I´m looking for another hostel, the Sevilla Inn Backpackers. Never heard of it? Yeah, it´s a strange name… thanks…” After repeating this at three or four places, I did eventually find the hostel (I was starting to think that such a weirdly named place was just an internet hoax and didn´t actually exist) and I settled in happily. I had arrived in Seville, the Spanish city of my dreams, and the adventure had already started! Unfortunately, the guy in the next bunk bed over snored. Loudly.

The next morning, I ambled through the streets in the general direction of the train station.

I caught a mid-morning train bound for Málaga (another city in Andalucía, about 2.5 hours away by slow train). The rolling, dry hills of the Andalucían countryside flashed by.

Olive groves stretch for miles.

I eventually made it to Álora, the town where Katelyn works, through a series of interesting events. The train was supposed to take me to Málaga, and from there I would take a regional train along the same train tracks back up to Álora, but it turned out that a train had jumped the tracks ahead, so everyone had to get off our train, get on a bus, and head into Málaga. I didn’t want to have to go all the way into Málaga when I was already stopped somewhere really close to Álora (although I didn´t exactly know where I was) so I ended up wandering around this random small town until I found a bus to take me into Álora, which turned out to be the next town down.

I eventually made it into Álora, which is a beautiful whitewashed town on several hilltops. It was so lovely to see Katelyn again—I hadn´t seen her for almost six months! We had lunch of tapas (FINALLY!!! Excellent Spanish tapas! Mallorca’s tapas don’t even compare) and she gave me a tour around town.

Friends meeting again!

Álora, the town where Katelyn works.

Álora's castle

The only problem with beautiful hillside towns is that they're built on hills. Steep ones.

Later in the afternoon, we caught a bus into the countryside where Katelyn rents a farmhouse (with farm attached) from an English couple. We got water from the spring, picked oranges and pomegranates for breakfast, and checked on the chickens. We cooked dinner and chatted late into the night, excited to catch up on the past few months and excited for our planned weekend adventures!

The next installment: DEFYING DEATH ON THE CAMINO DEL REY is coming shortly...

As usual, these photos and more are published on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050221&id=65202311&l=bb31a42ce7