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

Facebook Cleanse

When you travel, or move, it's normal for relationships to wither and die. Without regular in-person contact, the will to hold on to the connection gets weak. In light of this, applications such as Facebook seem to have a way of artificially keeping a dying relationship alive. Is the tether between two people, based on electronic communication, of the same quality as regular face-to-face contact?

The first time I came to Spain, I made great, great friends at Sunseed. Back then, I wasn't on Facebook, so I tried to email once in a while. After a couple of exchanges, we let it go. I hold on to wonderful memories, and I have pictures that make me smile everytime I look at them.

Then I signed up for Facebook. As I made friends along the way, I added some to my account. I have moved a lot over the past few years, and some people have moved in and out of my life. Every few months, I “cleanse” my list of friends. I sometimes delete people I'm 99% sure I'll never see again, because I don't see any point in viewing snapshots of their lives. I don't have a need to know what's happening with them. We shared a part of our lives with each other, and now we've gone on separate paths. In my opinion, it's artificial to hold on to an electronic connection with someone and claim them as your “friend”, without ever seeing them in person. Even though years go by between visits to Canada, I still maintain my connection with my Canadian friends because I know I'll see them again in person.

See you soon!

I've had a few negative comments from people I've dropped from my account. Yet I haven't seen these people in person for an extremely long time, and I doubt I'll ever see them again. Perhaps one day, if we do bump into each other, we'll rekindle the friendship. But it'll have to be over coffee, and not over the internet.

Do you agree with this blog post? Or do you think I'm a cold-hearted *****? Share your comments below! 

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.

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.

Etnosur Redux and Cultural Conversation

Etnosur was an amazing experience last year, because it was my first time. This year, I went again, partly because it's free, partly because it features amazing indie music, partly because the attendees are mostly hippies and I feel comfortable, but mostly because it was a chance to see my friends from my pueblo. It had been too many months since my last visit to Villacarrillo, and honestly it was like almost nothing had changed since Etnosur 2014. One thing that did change slightly was the language barrier; I joked that last year, with their strong Jaén accents, I understood 20%. This year, ....30% (just kidding, it's a lot higher than that).

Two Etnosur faves: Chocolata & Befunkbop

What didn't change: we're still young at heart, Etnosur was still an awesome 3-day botellón (outdoor drinking party), and I'm still part of the family. This having been my second year in a row attending, I felt more comfortable with my experience. I knew how to pace myself, when to pack it in, what food to eat (fresh fruit is so important), when to time my coffee and energy drinks in order to dance all night, what to wear (the cold evenings were a refreshing change from Jaén's heat), and how to sleep (a quiet flat and earplugs are essential for me).

I returned to Jaén with a Spanish friend, and we had the most interesting conversation about culture shock. She lived in Leeds for a while to study and learn English. I told her that I loved Etnosur because although people looked at me a little bit, due to the nature of the festival I didn't feel like an alien being Asian. Meanwhile, on the streets of Jaén, people almost break their necks staring at me, and it makes me uncomfortable. She, on the other hand, thought there was something physically wrong with her in Leeds because over there, hardly anyone gave her a glance, even though she's beautiful. Of course she eventually learned that in other parts of the world, staring is a big no-no.

We also talked about racism, specifically how people sometimes maliciously yell “¡China!” at me. She said it wasn't racism, rather it was people being assholes and picking what they consider the weakest part of me. It could be someone's face, skin, fatness, skinnyness, clothes... whatever assholes intuitively believe will hurt you, they'll use it as a weapon. For my friend, due to her exotic features she'd been called “Moro” (Moroccan) time to time, but she brushed it off and attributed it to people being anything from jokesters to jerks (to whom she'd respond '¡Que te den por culo!' or “Go f*** yourself.”) To the Canadian, it's racism. To my friend, it's the Spanish 'anything goes' nature. We concluded that this was why we love cultural mixes; we learn something new every time.

How Water Almost Washed Out Córdoba

For the past three weeks, due to a broken washing machine, I have washed clothes by hand. My landlord doesn't understand the need to wash sweaty clothing during a summer of daily temperatures hitting 40 – 50 degrees Celsius, so his search for a replacement has been slow, to say the least. When technicians finally came to fix the old one, I felt relieved, until there was a problem cutting the water. Due to my favorite friend, Mr. Language Barrier, I didn't understand what was involved in turning off the water to my flat. The techs very quickly, in Spanish, said “Youneedtogetaplumberorsomeonewithakeytoturnitoffdownstairsinthewaterroom.” I had no idea what they were talking about, as I'd never done it before. They left, water dripping under the sink where they'd disconnected the water hose. “But I'm leaving for Córdoba in a few hours,” I said.

“Have a nice trip,” said the tech, and he slammed the front door closed.

I called my landlord, who was not in town. He very quickly, in Spanish, said “Youneedtogetthekeytoopenthewaterroomdownstairsandturnoffthewatertoyourflat.” This key, which I didn't have, involved knocking on several neighbours' doors, finding no one home, and having to walk all the way to one neighbour's workplace in order to get her key. “When are you leaving for Córdoba?” my landlord asked, as I huffed back to my flat.

“At 1 p.m.”

“It's only 11:30 a.m., there's plenty of time,” he assured me. Uh, do you know what country we're living in? I thought. 1.5 hours is NOT enough time to deal with this problem.

Sure enough, I was right. By the time I struggled to turn off the water, waited for my landlord's relative to come and try to turn off the water as well, and cleaned up the mess from the leak in my flat, I had missed my window for the Blablacar. I ended up having to settle for a bus 3 hours later. I called my travel buddy and begged him to meet me for a mandatory alcoholic drink.

As the wine settled into my veins and relaxed me, I excitedly looked forward to forgetting the catastrophic morning and hearing great music at the Guitar Festival of Córdoba. The concert of the night: Chicuelo, Santiago Lara, and Alfredo Lagos. Three absolutely talented guitarists. It was a mesmerizing evening, watching their fingers fly over the strings.

We stayed at the very comfortable, centrally-located Hotel González overnight, and made the most of the next day: a visit to the Mezquita, a climb up the Cathedral tower, an indulgent visit to a microbrewery, and a fabulous meal of salmorejo Cordobese and THE BEST CROQUETAS I've ever eaten, at Casa Pepe. We survived the intense heat by walking in the shade, always having a granizado or cold water in hand, and popping into every air-conditioned shop that was open on a Sunday.

Córdoba's antique centre requires, at minimum, a full day. Every turn you make, you stumble across a unique restaurant, or shop, or historic site. This was my third visit and I realized that there were still more hidden spots that I had no time to see. I'll be visiting Córdoba again, hopefully this time without a flood.

Alpujarra: Off the Beaten Path

I love Málaga. I begged my friend for us to go there one weekend, and just lie on the beach. But the night before we were set to leave, her Spanish friend impulsively* invited us to do a “pueblo crawl”, which is like a pub crawl but with (slightly) less alcohol, more food, and no rave music. 

*This is what it's like to have Spanish friends. More often than not, something will happen spur of the moment and you have to decide whether to seize the moment, or be a wet blanket. I chose to go along.

La Alpujarra basically consists of tiny towns on the south side of the Sierra Nevada. They're all "precioso", as my Spanish friend loved to say. She was more excited than I at first, although curiosity got the best of me as we drove along the windiest roads I'd ever been on. In fact, I saw a passenger throwing up on the side of the road. Readers beware.

Following my GPS, and using my friend's knack for chatting up strangers at gas stations, we eventually found the first pueblo, Pampaneira. In stark contrast to Jaén's scorching sun, it was cloudy and cold here due to the high elevation. I had to throw pants on. As I scrunched my hands into the pockets of my sweater, we wandered through the tiny central plaza, checking out a wedding (again, my friend 'spur of the moment' ran into the church to check out the start of the ceremony), some jewelry, and then searching for food. We settled on a pub located off a tiny path, where we indulged in house wine, a massive platter Alpujarra-style with fried potatoes and select choices of meats, and a strange cheese-dessert. We drunkenly laughed and talked about life.

We moved on from pueblo to pueblo. All tiny, all with the smallest walking paths this side of Morocco. At our last one, Soportújar , we discovered why it was called the "Witches' Village”. There are many legends surrounding the practice of witchcraft here, and this place wasn't afraid to show it. We found many statues dedicated to witches, and even a site overlooking Soportújar where allegedly rituals were performed. It was a little creepy wondering if witches indeed had practiced here.

I was happy to have visited a region where most auxiliaries don't travel to. It was a slice of life that was nice to see.

Don't Ditch Friends

My best friend called me out of the blue a few days ago. We discussed being single and maintaining (or not) friendships. We'd seen friends who date and, upon finding a boyfriend, ditch their friends completely.

I've always tried to be the one that didn't do that, although years ago a good friend of mine remarked that I had done it a bit in my previous relationship. Not to use an excuse, but thing is the activities I did, as a single girl with my girlfriends, normally entailed partying every weekend and flirting up a storm until 4 in the morning, and then slovenly shoveling Denny's scrambled eggs into my mouth before heading home, rolling half drunk out of my friend's car and crawling into bed. Unless I'm doing those same things with a boyfriend, I don't think that kind of behaviour is conducive to being alert for a date the next day.

When I say it's important to make time for friends, I mean making time for friends. So, not spending an hour dissecting the man's phone call, nor checking for his texts every 15 minutes. I mean quality time, boyfriend-free. This is another thing I've tried very hard to do, but only my friends can comment on whether or not I've been successful at it.

Why is this important? Because true friends will be there when the floor opens up beneath you.

My friends were my lifeline when I got dumped. I could count on a few of them to listen when I phoned to cry and babble late at night. We went out and partied up a storm. They let me crash on their couches when I couldn't stand being home alone.

People in your life are like handholds while climbing a mountain. Some handholds are there to help boost you up. Then, you have to leave them behind. They're not coming with you.

Some handholds you grab on to, and they look secure but actually they come loose, crumble away, and disappear. You have to quickly latch onto a tried and true handhold so you don't fall.

The tried and true handhold is a true blue friend. These handholds actually move and come with you, to help you climb the mountain.

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 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.

Five-month Update

Wow, it's cold here in Spain. I don't have heating in my apartment, but neither do many of my friends so I'm not alone in my suffering. We do what we can to survive, such as sitting with the brasero for months, drinking coffee, coffee, and more hot coffee, and huddling indoors in warm bars. Honestly though, some nights I feel like I'm camping. Funny enough, years ago I had considered living in a camper and traveling on the road, making a living by working online or obtaining odd jobs here and there. Not that it's the same, in my HUGE apartment. Despite the fact that it's an absolute bitch to stay warm in, I still love the views of the sun rising and setting over the Sierra, my quiet street, and my caring neighbours.

In terms of my job as an English teacher..... uff, I feel like I'm working like a dog. It has been a true immersion experience, in that I work almost as hard as my friends in the village do. The difference for me has been my popularity – people are absolutely clamoring for my time, and as much as I want to help all of them pass their exams it's been impossible to say yes to everything. I'm hoping next year I'll have more time to help them, as they're all absolute darlings and invite me to hang out all the time.

Teaching the young kids English words for 'family'

There's a moment that stands out in my memory.... one night after school, some students invited me for a drink, at a bar I'd never been to. At one of the tables were two brothers. One of my students used to be their teacher, and asked me if I liked Flamenco music. He walked over to the brothers and asked them to play something. Out came the guitar and, in the near-empty bar, our group started dancing sevillanas (a type of local dance) to the sounds of Flamenco singing. So random; so Spanish!

Speaking of hanging out, Spaniards work hard and damn do they play hard, too! I can't count the number of times we've been at the bar, and I've asked what time they start work in the morning and they say “7:30 a.m.”, and I look at my watch and it's 3 a.m. Yeesh. One of my friends asked what my secret was for looking so young. Besides being Asian, I said the other secret was I SLEEP.

So I'm having a really good time here.... it's not an exciting, go-to-the-beach-all-day, travel-every-weekend kind of life, but I'm sincerely quite happy living in the pueblo. So happy that I've renewed my contract for the coming year. As a second-year renewal, I could have applied for a change in region, but I've chosen the exact same pueblo and same school, too. We'll see what the next few months bring!