Taking the Fork in the Road

In my entire three years of writing this blog, this has got to be the most painful one to write. Because after starting this blog with my decision to uproot my life in Canada and move to Spain, and after having felt that I'd become immersed in Jaén and would be continuing to live there, I've actually decided to stay in Canada after all. The decision wasn't easy. It was something I'd thought about and agonized over for many months, and after a series of unfortunate events in Spain, it made sense to return to the comfort of home.

My last few months abroad were a bittersweet ending to a story. Most people who leave the auxiliaries (NALCA) program throw grandiose going-away parties, have a thousand tearful goodbyes with friends, and visit as many European cities as possible before returning home and saying goodbye to cheap airfares. That wasn't how I ended things. Many months ago I wrote that I'd been involved in a serious car accident. In the aftermath, I became a bit reclusive and did not develop as many friendships in Jaén, because I wasn't in that mindset. Of the few friendships that did blossom, almost all ended because they were auxiliaries who left once their contract ended. I stayed on and therefore spent the last several weeks in Jaén sadder and lonelier than I'd ever been in a long time.

My last night in bar Guzzi.

Of course, I visited friends in Madrid and Villacarrillo, to express how grateful I was for their support and kindness. For me, not knowing when I'll ever see them in person again is such a horrible feeling. It's hard on either side of the fence: when I left Canada, my friends here were sad to see me go. Now, it's my Spanish friends who are sad, as am I. Because of the auxiliary program, I ended up living in a pueblecito and a city "in the middle of nowhere", and met so many people with whom I had an amazing connection, despite me coming from a large, cold, Canadian city 8,000 km away.

If I'm to be honest, my re-entry into Canada has been a mixture of relief and horribleness. Relief to be with my "family", a.k.a. my closest friends, again. I missed them terribly when I was going through my difficulties overseas, and they have lovingly welcomed me (and my cat) back with open arms. The freedom to eat alone at a restaurant table if I want, not feeling like an alien walking on the streets, the career and lifestyle opportunities available to me...it's fantastic being back home. Actually, one of the coolest things that happened was back when this journey started, I was afraid of leaving my old t.v. career and not being able to return to it. When I came back this summer, I managed to land the exact same job, but with a competing t.v. station. I'm receiving a higher salary and have a better work schedule to boot!

Work work work work work....

On the other hand, many times I still cry, missing my friends in Spain, the sun, the plazas, the quaint streets to walk in, the beautiful scenery of olive trees, speaking Spanish every day, laughing with my dear friends...re-entry has been very hard for me, but I knew that my friends would help me out, which is why a return home made sense. I needed comfort, and it's here.

But coming home hasn't meant I've stopped traveling. I see Canada with new eyes. Now, I feel differently about my hometown, because I am different. Things have changed since I left, and it's been a riot seeking out new places to enjoy. In my city, I've been able to find a boatload of opportunities to practice Spanish as well. In fact, I'm studying in the Spanish translation program at the provincial university. My career goal? To work as a translator and interpreter to help those in need. Currently, I'm training to be a volunteer Spanish interpreter for the Red Cross.

Long term, I hope to take my new career skills on the road. When I moved to Spain, I got bit by a restless travel bug, and there's no vaccine for that! It's very possible I'll be moving again in a year or two. I can't help it, this world is too big not to explore. It's been an intense three years, and there's more years to go. May as well pursue all that is possible, so that when the end of the road comes, I can look back and say, "Yeah, I did that."

May the roads you take be just as satisfying.

Love,
AL

Why I Always Use a Seatbelt on The Bus

 
Taking the bus is extremely common in Spain. It's one of the cheapest forms of transportation for vacations, or when working in a pueblo while living in a bigger city. Sure, there's Blablacar, which I used to use when travelling but now I try to avoid it. I'll explain why, but first, a question: when you take the bus, do you buckle up?
  I ask because several days per week, I take the bus from Jaén to a pueblo 20 minutes down the highway. And I seem to be the only one who buckles up. For as long as I can remember, I've always done it. I recall two years ago that a woman boarded my bus and placed her toddler in the seat next to me and sat in the seat across the aisle. In Spanish, I asked the child, "Do you want your seatbelt?" to which she nodded no. Minutes into the trip, the bus braked suddenly, and the mom threw her arm across to try to hold her daughter in her seat, but several seconds too late. The braking was too sudden for anyone to react quickly enough. Only after that incident did she buckle up her child. The bus filled with the sounds of clicks, as other travellers did the same.
  Last Christmas, a seatbelt saved my life. I was in an extremely serious highway accident, in which the car I was in flipped several times across the road. During the flipping, the extremely large suitcases that were beside me in the backseat, with almost all of the items in the car, went flying out the windows. All of the glass was smashed, of course. When the car came to a stop, it was sitting on its roof and we were suspended upside-down by our seatbelts. Myself and the driver were extremely lucky; we crawled out with hardly any physical injuries. But our friend, who was sitting in front of me, died. Everytime I think about that night, I realize how lucky I was. 'What ifs' play across my mind, such as "What if I'd unclicked my belt, for just a second? For example, to remove my coat?" I recall times when I was young, removing my belt so I could crawl into the backseat and grab a snack or CDs, while speeding along the highway. So foolish.
  Having had healing and enough time, I'm now able to sit in the work carpool without feeling anxious during the 20-minute highway journey. I'm still cautious though, and haven't used Blablacar since the accident. A friend told me that years ago, the car he was in broke down, and when the Blablacar passengers asked the driver to call a tow truck, he said, "I don't have insurance." Although I pay more and spend more time taking the trains and buses, I prefer that to the risk of unskilled / uninsured drivers.
  I hope my story reminds people to use seatbelts, even when it's not the norm, such as on buses. It's a stupidly simple action, but it can change your life.

On Becoming More Spanish

As proud as I am to be Canadian and hold on to some of my cultural qualities, it's only natural after two years that I have changed in many ways and become a bit more Spanish. Here's a lighter look at how I've changed:

When I first arrived in Spain, I maintained my productive Canadian habits:

Within a few short months in Villacarrillo, it changed to:

Another way I've changed is that I walk like this:

If I walk any faster, I actually start to sweat. It's not good sweat, either; it's a weird mixture of ham and olive oil that comes out of my pores. (If I marry a man whose last name is 'Jamón', I will die a happy bride.)

What else? I'm no longer weirded out if someone wears shoes in my house, nor if they use SCISSORS to cut PIZZA. Also, a shot of alcohol in coffee at 11 a.m.?  Sure, why not?

In addition, when I talk or write, every f***ing second motherf***ing word is a g**damn swear word, b**ch. Seriously, holy sh*t.

Of course, this isn't 100% what I'm like here. It's just amusing to see the little ways in which I've adopted tiny pieces of the Spanish culture.

The New Students

I'm noticing an interesting trend amongst friends my age. Despite being in our mid to late-thirties, between one-third and one-half of us left well-paying careers or were laid-off. We're taking classes, or have enrolled in university or a training school. In addition, we're (mostly) single women, with no kids, dramatically changing our lives at an age that traditionally sees people set within their career, relationship, or family.

Despite mortgages or rent, these friends of mine have decided to take time to search for work that has meaning for them, and/or re-educate themselves. Those that worked in television are now looking at social media, film, book editing, or international health careers. One friend who was a nurse is looking at moving into the world of esthetics. And a dental assistant I know is extremely interested in private investigation. The common thread: all of these women made very decent money but weren't into their jobs. Being happy is what counts more now. They take the risk of not having a lot of money while in school or starting a new career, but the urge to pursue their dreams is a bigger draw. Some of them have commented:

"I'm pursuing a new trajectory...more in line with my long-term objectives i.e. the ability to work anywhere; the ability to earn more income in the hopes of retiring early; the chance to pursue meaningful work."

"Why not have a wealth of knowledge in something that you are passionate about! Secret weapon for a happy and successful life." 

   
In my case, three years ago I looked towards Europe and said to myself, "I want to try that." I gave up a a 5-figure salary as a video editor, sold 90% of my belongings including my car, and moved to Spain with a suitcase, a backpack, a cat, and not knowing anyone in the entire region. Cut to the present, where in a few weeks I'll be corraling little kids at an elementary school, trying to inject a bit of English into their lives. In Canada, my colleagues and I feverishly worked to piece together stories about war, the health system, politics, and crime. Here in Jaén, my 10-year old student laughed while I showed her how to boogie down to “Crazy in Love” by Beyonce. When I edited at the t.v. station, I never worried about cash. Now, I make less than 800E a month. In addition, contracts run from October to May, so during the summer money is scarce. Last week I was so low on funds, I couldn't attend a birthday because an emergency came up and I had to buy medz. My choices were: eat ramen for a week, or buy real food but stay home a few nights. Real food won.

Spain has won my heart, too. I'm happy living here because 1) the money stress is short-term and in the summer, I learn to survive and have fun on little cash. Plus, 2) I wasn't happy in Canada. I had lots of money but felt bored in my city, having lived there my whole life. I worked weekends, so I couldn't do a lot with my friends.

Here, people place a big priority on personal happiness. I used to be confused and frustrated when students didn't want to study during the summer for exams. Now I understand: who wants to work or study when the days are long and hot, and the only solution is a cold drink and the beach? Who wants to stay rooted in one city when there are so many summer festivals and interesting places to visit a few hours away? These days, the girl who worked almost every weekend in Canada for thirteen years does NOT teach English on weekends in Spain. I've found time to achieve a few goals, such as writing a short ebook and visiting places I'd only dreamt of while in Canada. Just by living in Spain, which is such a different country, I enjoy learning new things and being a student.

To the Jaén Newbies

Dear new people,

Welcome to Jaén. After living here for a year, I wanted to let you know about a few things. Most of the stuff you'll learn as you go, so I don't want to give everything away, just provide a sampler.

Jaén is very small, but there's a LOT to do. It's possible I feel this way because my first year I lived in a tiny village of 11,000 people, but keep in mind that I'm from a large Canadian city. I always find something to do in Jaén: independent music, art exhibits, free entry into monuments, and outdoor activities: hiking, rock climbing (indoors and outdoors).

If you're here to learn Spanish, Jaén is the perfect environment for it, although you'll adopt the Andalucían accent. Some people in the north will laugh when you talk, but I think it's something to be proud of. 

Stand firm on your need to speak Spanish. The fact that you're a native English speaker will make people clamor to practise with you, but it's important to keep in mind that you're here to learn Spanish. Once in a blue moon, sure, it's okay to help someone practise. But not always, and certainly not always for free.

Also keep in mind that who you hang out with determines your level of Spanish in the end. If you're always with English speakers, guess how much your Spanish will improve? Extremely little. During my first year, I spoke Spanish 95% of the time when going out (because there was very little choice in Villacarrillo). I'm sure that at many parties I was viewed as “The Mute”, but thanks to immersing myself I can now hold my own in conversations.

My fave way to learn Spanish

Don't hold on too tightly to your ways from home. When I moved here, in the beginning I had problems with people wearing shoes in my apartment, appointments starting late, strangers standing too close to me, stores being closed at 2 p.m., and people saying I was Chinese (I'm Filipina). Now I understand that when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

On the other hand, don't compromise too much on your culture. For example, I value my privacy (the little that is left after writing this blog, hahaha). In Jaén some people REALLY want to know every detail of your life. Their questions can get extremely personal, such as about salary. If I don't want to reveal, I deflect. (“Oh, you know, I make enough to cover rent and food. It's enough to live, so you can imagine.”)

The rest, you'll discover along the way. Don't be surprised if you make lots of mistakes; often it can turn out to be the best way to learn. I'm glad you're coming to Jaén. See you at the next intercambio.

My (friend's) Big Fat Spanish Wedding

The beauty of being integrated in a foreign country is that you get invited to intimate family events, such as my friend's wedding, which was the first I'd ever attended in Spain. It was an eye-opener, a stomach opener, and a marathon partying session.

Everyone descended upon Villacarrillo the night before, to have tapas at 10 p.m. and then surprise the bride with a 1 a.m. serenade on the street, below her window. Very romantic!

It was at this point that I discovered how crazy Spanish people are; I already knew this, but I soon discovered how much more so. After the serenade, everyone (including the bride and groom) wandered over to a relative's car garage to party some more. At 2 a.m. Despite many having to get up in the morning. Despite the wedding being that afternoon.  Despite some having to read at the mass. We sang our hearts out on the street all night and early morning, causing hoarse throats and worry about how some were going to do their church speeches (we joked that they could record it now and do a "Milli Vanilli" at the mass).

I drowsily woke up at 3 p.m. the day of the wedding, ate lunch with my friend's family, and then took a siesta (don't judge, it's practically a necessity to handle the partying in this country). I then got dolled up for the mass, which I ended up missing. I didn't realize that my friends, and many guests, don't attend the mass. Rather, they show up for the rice throwing, then head to the reception hall for the REAL party.

Photos and the "rice launch"

There were TWENTY items on the dinner menu, all delicious. The wine and beer flowed freely while we ate, although I kept it in check because we had a surprise for the bride. We hid behind a door, and after the cake was cut with a sword, the groom's sisters and I came out with our instruments and performed "No puedo vivir sin ti" by Los Ronaldos, while the groom and guests serenaded the bride.

My Nancy Wilson moment

The rest of the party was a blur of photos, caricatures done by artists, a chocolate fondue fountain, open bar, and dancing to spanish music. We then went to a different bar and, after a couple of rounds, I staggered home early...at 7 a.m. (yes, that's considered early by some). All in all, it was a fantastic party and memorable first-time weekend wedding. I'm so grateful to have been a part of it!

Why Do We Love Jaén?

I told my mom I'd renewed for a third year in Spain, to which she replied, “You must really love it there.” She has a good point. Most people do the auxiliary thing for no more than two years, then return home to start the careers they studied for, pay off student loans, make more money than what NALCA pays us, or because they miss friends and family too much.

I can understand people wanting to stay for several years in Spain. It's an exciting country, so different from our lives back home. What I don't understand is why my friends have chosen Jaén, year after year, over more popular cities like Granada, Sevilla, Málaga, Madrid, or Barcelona. I know many foreigners in Jaén who have chosen to be here for three years or more. The usual reason is that the foreigner has met a local, and wants to stay for the sake of the relationship. However, amongst my friends in Jaén, that is the exception rather than the rule. 95% of us are single, and have been for a while (I'm talking about a minimum one-year drought, y'all).

It certainly isn't money making us stay here. Sure, Jaén is one of the cheapest cities to live in in Spain. Rent is extremely low, and you can literally walk out of the house with 5E and eat and drink like a king. However, our low salaries as English teachers match that cost of living.

We also aren't exactly overblown by awe-inspiring monuments. We have some, albeit on a much smaller scale than the mezquita of Córdoba or the Alhambra of Sevilla. Jaén's cathedral is okay, and the Santa Catalina castle is worth the strenuous hike, but that's all that comes to mind. True, the entire province is littered with fantastic castles, but not everyone has a car nor is interested in that sort of thing (I am a nerd so the castles make me very happy, but not having a car puts a serious dent in my plans).

Travel can be a nightmare. The closest airport is Granada, but it has limited flights. There's Málaga, but that is 2.5 hours (by car) or almost 4 hours (by bus) away. Buses take even longer. Trains are the same, plus expensive.

Wanna dance? If you're old like me, Jaén gets a thumbs-down. Mind you, I tend to ignore the youngness of the crowd and dance my heart out, 'cause that's why I go, not to take someone home. But there are only THREE places here to dance, and the music is not great. We also don't normally get exciting bands coming to town to perform. (I heard recently that Bob Dylan came to Jaén several years ago. Who the heck convinced him to come here?)

With all of my complaints about this city, in terms of personal goals this place suits me. Firstly, I love that very few locals speak English, which has helped me reach my goal of having high fluency in Spanish. Also, as a food lover, you can't beat the (somewhat) complementary tapas that come with each beverage, alcoholic or not. Last but not least, I (almost always) like Jaén's small-town feel, rather than the craziness that comes with big cities.

And you? What's your reason for choosing Jaén? Comment below.

Buscando un piso: The Search for an Apartment

I've moved into a new apartment, closer to the city center where the action is. Well, new is not the word to describe it. It's quite old, like almost all apartments in Spain. It's also on the second floor, and the amount of heat it retains is quite a difference from the other bottom-floor apartment I was in. This new place has air conditioning, but it dries out my throat and uses up a lot of energy - hence, a lot of money. Until I'm able to buy a couple of fans, I've been cuddling up to my boyfriend, Mr. Cold Gel Pack, as I sweat myself to sleep.

Renting an apartment in Spain is a whole other ballgame compared to in your home country. The biggest barrier: language. I often relied on friends to call landlords and find out information. I can do it myself, but it's difficult via the phone. I also wanted to avoid using inmobiliarias (rental agencies), so nailing down appointments to view flats was a game in itself.

How's the new place?

It's a small space, with three bedrooms but really only room for 2 people. The kitchen, which has no oven (this happens sometimes in Spain), is tiny so only one person can fit. So far, every morning I have been woken up at 7 a.m. by shouting neighbors, renovation noise from upstairs, or the heat. I paid a fortune today for industrial-strength earplugs.

So why am I happy with the new place? Besides its great location near the center, I detect a good vibe being here. It's a place where I can put down roots. I know how long I'm staying, and I've already lived in Jaén for a year, so I don't have that discombobulated feeling from having to move from one city to another. It's nice to be able to plan decorations.

Plus my new roommate performed an energy cleansing ritual, in order to dispel the negative energy of the previous tenant. It allows us to start fresh. I don't normally perform such things, but I do believe in the healing effects they can have. I felt refreshed after the ritual. The place feels like it has good energy, and that sensation has transferred to me as well. Home sweet home.

"I'm Melting!": Dealing with Andalucía's Heat

In the comfort of cool, low-temperature Canada, I'd see stories on the news about people who literally died from heat in Europe. My eyes widened at reports of temperatures reaching above 40 degrees. "My god," I thought, "how do people live like that?"

Cut to present-day Jaén, where daily temperatures of 35 degrees or more (I've seen 41) force me to work at home in booty shorts and slinky tank tops. Streets are abandoned by 3 p.m. as people hide from the sweltering sun, reinforcing the image of Jaén as “a big pueblo”. My obese cat has both a layer of fat AND a fur coat, forcing him to lay passed out on the cold tile floor. He is so sprawled out and still that I softly call to him, worried that the heat and his high cholesterol level have finally done him in in his old age. “Hey???” I whisper. He barely lifts an eyelid to look at me in a way that says, “F*** you for moving me to the hottest country you could think of.”

You would think there's a respite when the sun sets, but not here. This city is surrounded by sloping mountains that reflect and trap heat. So when you step out at 10 p.m., it's still hot, although it's dark. The temperature has barely dropped when you stumble home at 3 a.m., too.

This is a real photo of someone in Jaén. I swear.

I do what I can to survive, for example by walking slowly, and fighting other Jiennenses for the shady part of the sidewalk. I also don't let myself feel guilty for visiting the ice cream shop almost every day. It's honestly the only way to enjoy walking from one barrio to another. And of course, in honour of celebrating our war on the heat, my friends and I gather at night and toast with a cool, refreshing drink on the terrace.

Jumping the River

“Salta! Salta! [Jump!]”

“Yaaa! [Alright!]” I mumbled under my breath.

The precipice wasn't even very high. But below me, the waterfall that cascaded below churned the pond white. Not being able to see to the bottom made me nervous. But hey, so did having to rappel down the other waterfall earlier, with only a slim rope keeping me from falling and cracking my head.

Welcome to Pozo Alcón, Jaén. A.k.a. a tiny village of 5,500 people in the nether regions of the Sierra de Cazorla [Cazorla Mountains]. A.k.a. the place where I faced my fear of jumping from tall heights over, and over, and over again. A.k.a. the place where I had one of the best experiences of my life!

It all started with a language misunderstanding (which is how some of the best experiences usually start, here in Spain). My friend invited me on a day trip to Pozo Alcón to do “barranquismo”. I misassociated the word with “boat”, so I thought he was referring to whitewater rafting. I boasted that I'd done it before in Canada.

In fact, I'd never done anything like this. But I didn't know that as I woke up bright and early that Saturday, eager to fight some rapids. Even as I squirmed my body into a neoprene suit, and then strapped on a harness around my waist and thighs, which contained a carabiner and a metal hook shaped like an '8', called an “8 belay ring”. Right there that should have been my clue that we were going to climb walls, but for some reason I thought the harness was for in case one of us fell out of the raft, our partner could grab it and pull us back in. (If you look up the word 'tonta' in a dictionary, you'll see my picture.)

Barranquismo can be roughly translated from the word 'ravine' as 'canyoning'. You follow a river through the path it has carved out in a mountain, although most of the time you're walking in the river. On occasion you must swim through parts, climb rocks, or rappel down waterfalls – which is what the harness was for. Not only was this my first time doing barranquismo, it was also my first time rappelling outdoors. It was scary, as we didn't use professional guides, rather a few of the experienced men in our group helped us. The walls were wet and slippery, and my old running shoes didn't have grip. Plus I started every rappel by leaning back into the void, having to trust that the rope and harness would hold. Even though I almost suffered a heart attack each time, it was really exciting, too.

At one point, we found an airy waterfall that came from the canyon edges high above. As I stood in front of it, from my perspective it looked like the earth was breaking apart into pieces, and falling upon me, each droplet looking like a piece of the world evaporating. It was mindblowing to watch, because it symbolized how my life has been falling apart lately (don't ask). Nature was showing me that something agonizing and destructive can also be so beautiful to behold.

The entire journey took 3-4 hours, as we had close to 20 people in our group. It helped that we were all fit. Although there are parts where you can quietly float as you stare up at the natural, spectacular surroundings, there's plenty of hiking, climbing, jumping, and swimming. So if anyone ever invites you for barranquismo, get ready for some scary fun!

Ghosts from the Past: All About Exes

For some reason, this week became "The Week of the Ex-Boyfriends". Not one, but TWO of them got in touch with me, wanting to re-establish lines of communication. My past practice has not included friendship with exes. Rather, I tend to never speak with them again, as it's easier for me. They're not horrible people, but I prefer to have my thoughts unclouded and my memories free from sadness or regret.

After a particularly bad breakup, when I asked a friend if I'd ever heal from the pain, she advised me, "You'll know you're better when you can look back on the relationship with fond memories." For months, when people would ask me about this specific ex, I'd get angry and say, "Oh, you mean 'A**hole'? I have no freaking idea how he's doing." I did everything I could to avoid remembering him, and almost never mentioned him to anyone. But after awhile, I noticed that I could tell tales about funny things he did, and not feel anger or regret. Later, I noticed that I could call him a good person and really mean it (not that he was good towards me near the end of our relationship, rather he was a good person in general). After several years, he contacted me last week, and I was completely shocked. But I replied in a good way and felt happy to hear from him. 

Will I be friends with either of the exes? Hard to say. There are people who can do it, and I've never been able to. However, if the time I've spent so far in Spain has taught me anything, it's that things change all the time - in fact, often the only constant in life is change.

Are you able to stay friends with exes? Why or why not? Comment below!

Flower Power: Córdoba's Patio Festival

Spring sucks in Jaén for people with allergies. They walk around with white painter's masks, to avoid breathing in pollen. We are surrounded by the olive trees of the countryside, and I feel bad for them. They definitely wouldn't be able to partake in a cool event in Córdoba at this time of year: the Feria de los patios.

Bad for the allergic...

...but fun for me.

Things I learned: Córdoba is best accessed via bus, although it's a 2 hour ride. Since I went on a Sunday morning, there were no Blablacars and the only train to arrive on time for the feria left Jaén at 6:40 a.m. 

It's very easy to walk the 20 minutes from the bus station to the sites. They're all relatively close to one another. Córdoba's old city centre is not very big. It was HOT though, so I was glad I was wearing a summer dress and good walking shoes.

Córdoba is filled with people who can speak English, at least at bare minimum. Better than in Jaén. Good news for tourists, bad news for someone like me who wants to be forced to struggle along in Spanish. I was flattered to hear from the tourism agent that my Spanish was very good!

My impression of the feria was that it was cool to see the patios.... the first ten, anyway. By the time we hit number eleven, I felt like I'd seen enough, although I kept going because my friend was excited to see such artistry playing with nature. It was definitely something culturally exciting that I'd never experienced before.

How Almería Beats Jaén

I'd been to Almería before, back in 2005 when I came to Spain for my first European vacation. I stayed at an eco-village and had one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. The Spanish bug bit me and lo and behold, I returned eight years later.

For this past May long weekend, I switched to a beachy vacation with good friends from Madrid. We met in our hotel in the city center, located in a cute barrio full of shops and fantastic restaurants. Every day, we got up early and caught a bus to the coast. San José was our first stop. The beach in the village was small, but a co-worker was kind enough to give us a lift in the afternoon to Genovese and Monsul, where a famous scene from Indiana Jones, featuring Sean Connery, was shot. It's said that Spielberg actually stayed at one of the hotels in San José. The village was very cute and had lovely restaurants. If you want a tranquil vacation, this is a good place to stay.

The next day, we got up again bright and early to go to Cabo de Gata. We arrived to find miles of beach, and insane wind. Within an hour though, it died down and we were free to enjoy scorching sun and cooling water, in what felt like a very private setting. There's so much space that people go off into their own corners and it feels like there's no one around. We "kept busy" by collecting shells, swimming, and sleeping.

At night, we hit nearby restaurants and tapas-hopped. Sorry Jaén, but Almería's got you beat. Drinks cost slightly more, but the quality of the seafood-rich tapas were amazing. Muy buenas pintas.

Our vacation was so relaxing and fantastic, that already we have started talking about coming back to do it all over again.

Dating the Distance

I've taken quite a few Blablacar (car-sharing website) trips since moving here in 2013. My Spanish is at a level where I can converse with the other passengers fairly easily. One of the most common reasons Spanish people use Blablacar on weekends is to see their partner. Many, many people here are forced to seek work outside of their hometown, thus putting distance between couples. Some take Blablacar for hours, one direction, just to be able to spend a couple of days together. I recall meeting one man from a tiny town near Jaén, visiting his pregnant wife every week, while she worked in Madrid. His story is one of many.

My spanish friend Vic is an English teacher, who receives a new placement every year. Her life is similar to anyone's in the NALCA program, except she stays in her chosen region (Andalucía) and changes cities, whereas for us auxiliaries region placement can be a craps game. Her difficulty in maintaining a long-term romantic relationship stresses her out. She'd like to stay in her hometown and establish something, but it would require taking difficult career tests that she has no appetite for. So she continues with the instability of her career and personal life.

Do long-distance relationships work? Looking at how many Spaniards do it, you would think it's possible. Based on personal experience, and survey results, I vote probably not. Although I only tried it once, and it was with a dude I met at a rave, and it was only 3 weeks after we met that it was over so..... that's been my one and only experience.

I asked a friend, who travels a lot both for work and pleasure, if it's possible for someone with his lifestyle to have a long-term relationship. He believes so, if the person is understanding and has a similar lifestyle as him. It's a difficult thing for a single person to keep aligned: a love for travel and a desire for a stable relationship.

Managing Mannerisms in Spain

As much as I love being Canadian, I can't maintain my mannerisms in a country as different as Spain. Here's how I deal with Spanish customary behaviour:

Canada: Always saying please, or using matrices to frame a request.

Spain: "Give me..." / "Open the door!" / "Shut up!"

Solution: In Spain, people make their requests in a very direct manner. If I don't start my request with “Please,” I make sure to say "Thank you."

Canada: Be on time.

Spain: 10-30 minutes late is no big deal with friends or performances. For appointments, school, and transportation, it's best to arrive on time.

Solution: Whatever time my friends say, I add minimum 15 minutes. It still feels weird to me, but it's better than showing up too early, like that one night I was alone,wearing a costume in the middle of a park in a pueblo.

Canada: Make dinner plans with friends days, sometimes a week, in advance.

Spain: Receive a call 10 minutes before, to meet at a bar.

Solution: This drives me crazy, but it's something many of my friends do. Since moving to Spain, I'm much more relaxed about accepting and making invitations. And feelings aren't hurt if I cancel or if they do.

Canada: Eating lunch with one's parents is, at most, a once a week thing.
Spain: You better come home for lunch, or else!
Solution: I remember feeling angry when a spanish girl in our group couldn't attend "The Last Lunch" with our friend who was about to go home for good. The spanish girl's excuse? "I have to go home because my mom prepared lunch for me." I thought, "Just call and tell her you won't be there."
When another friend did the same thing, a spanish person explained, "If someone's mom has made lunch, it's really rude to not come home to eat it, unless you advise her well ahead of time."

Canada: Let the man call you for the first dates.

Spain: Sometimes, you have to set the dates first. Last year, I waited and waited and no one followed up on their request to meet for a coffee or movie. I've since learned that sometimes, the woman has to make the first move.

Solution: I do this the first couple of times if I have to, but then I sit back and wait to see if the guy sets up the next date. If he doesn't, I assume he's not interested and move on.

Canada: After as little as a couple of months, a couple starts using the terms 'girlfriend/boyfriend', and perhaps even meet each others' parents.
Spain: Woah, slow down nelly...
Solution: It's confusing for us North Americans, but here some couples don't use the term girlfriend/boyfriend until it's very serious. One Spanish guy told me he knows of couples that refer to their partner as 'my friend', and don't meet each others' parents, after a year of dating. People are much more casual and relaxed about relationships here.

Canada: The customer is always right.

Spain: The customer can go f*** himself.

Solution: This doesn't always happen, but it's inevitable. I remember Javier, the owner of one of my favorite pubs in Villacarrillo, who seemed so rude and brisk with me my first few months in the village. Turned out, that's just the way he is. He's actually a funny guy and I'm used to his manner now. In fact, I take things way less personally, which is a nice result of moving here.

Canada: Asian people can be Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, Thai, Indonesian.....

Spain: All Asian-looking people are Chinos.

Solution: I tried to fight the fact that 1) Spain's exposure to Asians had been limited for many years, and 2) anyone with small eyes is called “Chino/a”. Even some Spanish people are nicknamed that. I no longer get crazy angry, rather if I pick up a good vibe from a curious person, I smile and say, “I'm Canadian. And my parents are from the Philippines.” Usually people get it and if I make a new friend, bonus points!

Living in Spain with a Dog

I have written many posts about what it's like to move to Spain with a cat – in short, my advice is: try to avoid it. Recently, I had an opportunity to experience what it's like to have a dog while being an auxiliary. In Madrid, I stayed in the apartment of a friend who's in BEDA and currently fostering. It was an eye-opening experience. I learned that although at times it's inconvenient having a cat, those times are very few and far between. Owning a dog while working in Spain has many disadvantages.

Number one on most auxiliaries' lists is travelling. Often it's a last-minute, impulsive decision. It's easy to decide to hop on a train to a nearby town, or take advantage of a last-minute seat available in someone's car. The problem for dog owners is having to return within a few hours to walk the dog. This is what happened to me when I wanted to visit Alcalá de Henares. Some might say I should've timed it to coincide with before, or after, the midday siesta. However, I'm not that type of traveller. I like to wake up in a relaxed way, visit what's open, have a two-hour lunch on the terazza, and wait for a monument to re-open at five o'clock. Having to skip the rest of the monuments and return to Madrid to walk the dog sucked.

As a social person, I find that activities I plan on taking a couple of hours to do, end up taking much longer. For example, if I'm out with friends and meet new people, and they invite me on the spot to check out more places, I'll easily take them up on their offer. Making new friends is important to me. I'd hate to turn people down because I have to walk a dog. On the other hand, something to consider is that with a dog, it's easy to meet people through clubs or by simply taking Rover for a walk.

Cute, but a lot of work.

What I discovered during my visit was that at this time, while I'm still in travelling, exploratory, impulsive, social mode, I can't own a dog while in Spain. And if you're like me, neither should you.

On Dating in Spain

Within a short time, it's easy to learn the ropes of many things about living in a foreign country: conversation, food choices, public transport, tipping... but one thing I'm STILL learning, 1.5 years later, is how to date. Although there's no shortage of people wanting to step in and meddle. When I solicit advice, it's appreciated, but I feel completely confused when others give unsolicited help.

"Who cares if a twenty-two year old hits on you? Just sleep with him for the sex!" YOU'RE NOT HELPING ME.

"I have a friend for you...you're okay with people over 50, right?"  YOU'RE NOT HELPING ME.

"Next time you walk home with a guy, just say, 'Listen, let's go back to my house, and have a roll in the hay.' Women in Spain are more aggressive." YOU'RE NOT HELPING ME (although you're helping me sound like a whore).

Lots of people, mostly people I barely know (like my hairdresser) ask me almost every time, "Do you have a boyfriend yet?" Talk about pressure. I don't think any Olympic athlete would appreciate being asked, "Do you have a gold medal yet?" Or any musician, being asked, "Do you have a Grammy yet?"

I don't mind being asked for my opinions about the dating scene, because I have many. I have learned a lot, but feel like I have many more lessons to go. Trying to convey what I mean in Spanish, along with the nuances of body language, make every beer with a stranger feel like I'm taking a final exam in a Foreign Culture course. I better study hard to get that A.

Living at Home with Family in Spain

On the weekend, I went to my pueblo and slept at a friend's house. In the morning, I woke up to the most interesting sensation: I felt at home. The quiet comfort of the bedroom I was in, rock music eminating from the bathroom as someone showered, the clink of spoons stirring pots as the day's lunch was being prepared in the kitchen, a low murmur in the livingroom coming from a film on the television. The sounds soothed me, and I felt relaxed knowing there were people in the house.
Quite often, when I've lived with friends or alone, I wake up to an empty apartment. I never realized, until that morning, how much I missed waking up to sounds of people in the house. The last time I heard noise upon waking, I was living with a boyfriend. Before that, with my family. All very long ago.
Sure, my Spanish friends that live with their family aren't necessarily happy about it. In most cases, the economic situation has forced them to move back home. They may see my lot in life and feel envy. But the grass is always greener. I stay at friends' houses and receive fantastic conversation and the best meals ever prepared by motherly hands.
In Canada, my friends and I had "Orphans' Thanksgiving", where instead of gathering with family, we would head to someone's house with food and wine and have dinner together. It's widely acknowledged that many single people cannot, or don't want, to be with family during the holidays. As a person who has celebrated this way for years, I look at the family situation in Spain with envious eyes sometimes. Luckily, I have friends who are willing to extend their family to include me, and I am grateful for that.

Jaén Impressions Part 2

I've been living in Jaén since October, and I can say that I'm genuinely happier than when my contract started. Based on what I'd said before, here's what I think now:

• I come across people all the time that like practising a bit of English with me. It's not as bad as touristy cities, though, so my Spanish is coming along extremely well.
• Man, there's so much to do here compared to Villacarrillo – concerts, music, art, a museum open on Sundays, the gym, places to eat, ONE really good Chinese and Mexican restaurant, a movie theatre... I could go on forever.
• My friends were right: the traffic and noise don't bother me anymore.
• The racist incidents have lowered to almost zero, although I also know where to go and what times to avoid walking around alone. It sucks that I have to limit my life so much, but at the same time it's less stressful to do things this way.
• I enjoy my job more. I love how some students who were initially aloof towards me are now willing to read and speak English in class. That said, I've requested adult students for next year.
• It's only March and already we hit the early 20s in temperature daily. I take time when I can to sit in quiet plazas and soak up the sun.
• I love how easy it is to travel to other cities via bus, train, or Blablacar.

(In the pic, I'm hiking at "Punto de la Mata", which I'd translated as "Point where you Die". Can't blame my translation skills; it was a pretty difficult hike.)
I am quite happy with my living situation right now. Obviously I just needed some time to adjust, so that I could enjoy what I have before me.

Films and Stereotypes

When Spanish people find out I'm from Canada, they often ask, “Is it true that you can leave your doors unlocked in Canada?” Apparently, after Bowling for Columbine, people think Canada is so safe that we can leave our front doors open to anybody.

The truth is, Canada is relatively safe in terms of physical assaults and similar crimes, but in my city, property crime (robbing houses or cars) is amongst the top 3 on police lists. I explain to my Spanish friends that the level of safety in Canada is similar to Spain's: in big cities, most people don't leave their doors unlocked. In small towns, however, a lot of people do. I remember visiting my friend in a small town in British Columbia, and her boyfriend came home only to find I'd locked the door, which absolutely confused him.

Here in Jaén I watched El Francotirador (American Sniper). It had been a while since I'd seen such an American, patriotic film. I honestly enjoyed the camera shots of the tanks, gunfire, etc. Near the end of the film, there's a scene where Chris Kyle playfully embraces his wife, all the while holding a loaded pistol near her body. The Spanish people in the audience visibly winced and murmured loudly, clearly uncomfortable by the scene. It's possible that images like this make them think that all Americans have guns and are okay with them. The truth is, some do and some don't. But thanks to the news and films, this is one of the stereotypes they hold.

Chris Kyle

This led me to compare what Spanish films I'd watched in my life, and how their images influenced my preconceived notions before moving here. Habla Con Ella, Pan's Labrynth, Grupo 7... I thought all of the Spanish men would be tall, black-haired, brown-eyed, and hot. In reality, yes a lot of them are hot, but there's an absolute potpourri of hair, eye, and skin colour. I also thought that the women would be hot-tempered tamales. They're actually fairly composed. Many of my friends are quite calm and aren't party animals.

That's the beauty of living abroad; you really get a feel for the people. You realize how diverse the world is.