La alegría de Laguardia (The Joy of Laguardia)

Last Saturday, I, Kata, Jessica C., and Ally met up in Bilbao and took a bus to the walled city of Laguardia. As we rode through Álava province of the Basque Country, the scenery suddenly changed from green pine tree nurseries to red-orange rows of vineyards. I was in wine country for the first time in my life, and when I saw how the vines hung over what looked like fencing, I laughed because it reminded me of how it looks when you grow grapes on Farmville. Yes, I may be from Oklahoma, but most of the crops I'm used to seeing are corn, hay, and maybe some cotton.

After realizing what I was seeing, I got really excited, and I couldn't stop reacting -vocally. You can ask Ally who was sitting next to me. I kept saying "Wow!" and "It's so pretty!" I tried to mix up the two phrases so that I wouldn't repeat the same thing too much, but the more beautiful fields of red I saw, the more I would forget adjectives and interjections to do them justice. I think everyone else had seen grape vines before and weren't as impressed as I was. I reminded the girls also that even seeing mountains was still a new experience for me, so the combination of these two novelties blew me away.

Eventually we made it to Laguardia and walked around outside the city walls for a few minutes before going to our scheduled tour of a bodega and wine-tasting. Bilbao doesn't have very many trees, and the ones in my neighborhood that did were sadly de-robed a few weeks ago. Jessica and Kata took advantage of the leaves to play in them.

 

Then we found our way into the walled city. Behind the wall we discovered narrow streets, even narrower than those of Bilbao or Vitoria's Cascos Viejos.

Ally, Kata, and Jessica

After grabbing a quick bite to eat, we went to the bodega, which is named El Fabulista, after a famous fabulist (writer a fables) who grew up in Laguardia. After buying our reserved tickets, we listened to the tour guide as she explained the history of the bodega. Apparently centuries ago during wartime, underground wine presses were built all over Laguardia. Most of them were no longer in use due to flooding, but this one still is and one of only two that are open to the public. The underground concept worked well for the storing of the wine as well, since the temperatures underground remain constant year-round. When I stepped inside the bodega and inhaled, I thought that I might get tipsy; it smelled like I'd stepped into a wine bottle. We listened as she explained the wine-making process.

I was annoyed by light reflecting of dust particles in the air in pictures I was trying to take, but I realized that the light was actually reflecting off of fruit flies. Of course they would be here.

Then we went down, down, down into the depths of the bodega. It was surprisingly not too claustrophobic despite the size of our group. Soon we came to a large chamber where two glasses of wine were set up for us to taste. One was a younger wine, and the other was more mature. The tour guide explained how they differed in smell, color (tested by how the light shines through it, below), thickness (by how slow it drips on the side of the glass), and taste. When she asked the group what fruits we smelled in the wine, one wiseguy said, "Grapes," and we all laughed.

I liked them both, "like how parents love two different children," I explained when asked which I preferred.

 

The tour ended abruptly after the wine-tasting, and the four of us went for some lunch at an Irish pub. We bought and shared four different raciones, appetizer-sized portions of various foods. It was starting to get cold after dinner, so the girls went in search of sunlight, and finally found some. After catching some rays, we decided to spice up the mid-day lull with some coffee. "My two favorite drinks in one day," I noted. We didn't have much time after coffee, but I was determined to see some vines up-close-and-personal. So, we walked downhill. I thought that surely we'd be met with some barbed wire or other fencing, but in fact, you could walk right up to the vineyard sin problema (without a problem).

 

 

The vineyard was more amazing than I'd imagined. When frolicking down the rows of vine you would sink delicately into the loamy soil. Like Ofelia in Pan's Labyrinth, we couldn't resist trying at least one round, juicy grape.

I had thought that wine grapes were usually more bitter, but these were very sweet. Too soon, we walked up the hill to catch our bus, and we waited, and waited, but it didn't come. We left three hours after we expected and killed time by going to another small bodega for yet another glass of wine with some bread.

We finally made it to Bilbao, and I went to Casco Viejo where I met up with friends who were celebrating the birthday of one of Saraí's roommates. They had quite a large group, and I met several people and spoke a lot of Spanish. Later we went to Mozart, the place with salsa lessons that I'd been to before. I was too tired to dance, though, so I chatted with the wallflowers.

Today I went back to work. All last week I had done activities that were too difficult for most of my students. I decided to figure out something more level-specific to each cycle. Luckily Helena, one of the teachers I work with the most, emailed me with some suggestions yesterday about things she would like to see me do this week in her classes. Finally! Some direction! Apparently the professors had a department meeting and are going to give me a little more direction like I've been wanting. This week I took her suggestions and developed them into activities for all the classes of the same level. For example, the first cycle students need practice with "have got," so I had them draw a family tree, and talk about how many siblings they "have got."

It feels a little ridiculous teaching English here at times because the student's curriculum is in British English. Thus for simple possessive statements, they learn to say "I have got three sisters," instead of the more simple "I have three sisters." Those poor kids. The perfect tense is so unnecessary here, even illogical. Also, today, I spelled "neighbor" on the chalkboard, and one of my students accused his teacher of being wrong because he had taught that it was spelled with a "u." I find I have to stop more than you might expect to explain the differences between British and American English, for words like "mum" and "trainers" for example. A couple weeks ago one of my students even asked me what "dog bollocks" meant, and I didn't know until I asked my British friend. Today in one of my upper-level classes I also cracked down on the ridiculous-yet-common "See you!" as a goodbye, which not even the British say. I explained that if you don't follow it up with "tomorrow" or "later" you have to say it like the Spanish for chair: "silla!"

My class of horror remains horrific, even with a very dumbed-down exercise. I asked their teacher what disciplinary methods she's tried, and she said she'd tried all of them. Getting them to simply remain in their seats would be progress. Students here have interesting school supplies. I had noticed before that they all use grid-lined notebooks, but today I realized that they also all had white-out pens or white-out tape, which they love to use at any opportunity, almost as an excuse to be productive. What ever happened to old fashioned pencils and erasers? They have those, too, but only the most astute students have realized their value. If I were in charge, there would be severe consequences for getting out of your seat for any reason. If I were in charge, I would confiscate all the white out.

Dos semanas de diversión (A Fortnight of Fun)

This update begins two Tuesdays ago. I was going to blog but ended up just ranting on Facebook, where I posted the following message:

My first three classes were great, only minor behavior problems that were solved by getting their attention or in one case having a girl sit in front of the class by herself. In my fourth class, they were out of control from the beginning. I tried to introduce myself, then do my activity, then go over their homework , but nothing worked. They continued to shout across the room, toss paper and pens across the room, get out of their seats for any reason. I might be hoarse tomorrow from trying to shout over them. Even the students who were interested in learning about me simply have not learned how a classroom operates and instead of raising a hand would shout or come up to the front of the class to ask me something. At any rate, it’s literally not in my job description to have to deal with that. I left the room, fully composed mind you, and got their teacher, then talked to the principal who is going to talk to my advisor, and hopefully I will start working alongside the teachers like I’m supposed to instead of in place of them.

Sure enough, my classes on Wednesday and Thursday were better. The teachers stayed in the classroom with me and helped answer questions and translate when necessary. I've also learned the levels of my classes much better. One problem of being alone my first couple of days is that I didn't know how little English they actually knew. So, instead of telling me that they didn't understand, they preferred to just act up.

On Wednesday night, I went to a Spanish lesson offered through Couchsurfing at Adrian's house, where I had been before. So, I figured I could get to know other people, and I'll take an opportunity to speak Spanish and not spend the whole day cooped up in my piso (apartment). I invited Bryan, and he came, too, making it me, him, and a Turkish girl named Ozlem. Adrian is starting with the basics. We talked about letters and numbers, but in doing so we had some interesting conversation and learned some things that our Spanish books might have skipped over.

Thursday's fun activity was Ben's birthday party. Ben is another auxiliar from Cambridge, and his sister was here on "holiday" to visit him. Most of my other auxiliar friends came, too, and a couple of the girls gave him lemon cupcakes that tasted amazing.

I spent Friday night with Bryan and Saraí at Saraí's apartment at what was supposed to be a music rehearsal for the coming Sunday. However, Esmeralda, a crucial part of the worship team, couldn't make it, so after talking music for a while, the conversation turned to Italy and Bryan's ganas to return.

Whoa! Too much new information! Things to know to have a good grasp of the previous paragraph:

• Saraí (pronounced "saw raw EE") and Esmeralda (i.e. Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame) are both students from Mexico who live here and lead worship at church.
• Bryan has Italian heritage, has visited Italy twice, and is now quite possibly addicted.
• Ganas are what you have in Spanish when you feel like doing something and what you don't have when you don't feel like doing it. For example, I didn't have the ganas to blog today, but I decided that I should. Hopefully if you're following this blog and don't know Spanish, you'll pick up on the most useful Spanish phrases and start using them yourself!

So, during our "rehearsal," we found cheap plane tickets to Rome and decided to fly there for Christmas. We'd fill in other details later.


Saturday for lunch the three of us met up once again and ate at Peggy Sue's, a quaint 1960's American Diner, complete with burgers, fries, and shakes.

That afternoon was the Saturday Bible Study, after which I met up with a guy I met through Couchsurfing who was looking for some intercambio, language exchange. There was a concert going on in Casco Viejo, and we got some drinks and pintxos while alternating speaking in English and Spanish. He was with three of his friends from Durango, and they were all enthusiastic about testing their English skills. Later, they and I met up with Saraí and Bryan, we all talked for a little outside of the Corte Inglés, and then I went with Saraí and Bryan to Bryan's piso where we watched The Social Network. 


Bryan's piso, by the way, is an entrepiso, meaning "between floors." It has a low ceiling, but it's not nearly as low as those in Being John Malkovich. Nevertheless, being there makes one feel like a giant. Bryan got incredibly lucky and was connected with his landlord through the school where he's working. He's paying half what rent would normally cost in exchange for giving him English lessons.

We were going to go our separate ways after the movie, but then I got a call from Jessica Chandras, another auxiliar, looking for a good time in Casco Viejo. So, we went to the nearest metro stop to head over, and it was backed up by several minutes. Eventually we arrived and had Doner Kebab with Jessica and Pinky (Remember? Irish Debbie). Doner Kebabs are the fast food of Spain where you can get kebabs and gyros for really cheap. Apparently they're all over Europe, but this was my first experience in one. I got plain old chicken and rice, but it was pretty good.



Sunday I spent most of the day thinking about what I would talk about at church, since I was asked the week before to "share" something. So, I shared in Spanish about the dichotomy of fear and love, and the role it has played in my life. I got some good feedback afterward from those there who speak English, but I was worried that my Spanish didn't make any sense. Luckily, a litter later I was told that it did. It still surprises me when this language actually "works."

Monday I went with auxiliar friends to Gernika (You might call it Guernica) in the heartland of the Basque Country for its final market day in October. There were stalls of merchandise up and down the street, and at least half of them were cheese --all kinds of cheese you can imagine, except American and cheddar, of course. I'm not a big cheese fan, but I still sampled quite a few Eucharist-sized bits of it.

Hitler used Gernika for practicing "blitzkrieg" before attacking England. He chose to do so on a market day when there would be the most people out and about. Several innocent Basque people died that day, and the brutality is permanently depicted in Picasso's famous work.

Me and Pinky in front of a copy of Picasso's "Guernica"; The original is in Madrid.

Gernika, therefore, is like a hub of Basque culture, and the people there are very proud of their "Basquitude" (as Kata says). Historically the most hardcore Basque people want autonomy for the Basque lands, which gave rise to the famous Basque terrorist group ETA and caused tension between the Basque Country and Franco. Basque leaders used to meet here and make decisions under a special tree, which now symbolizes Gernika, peace, and autonomy. The original tree has since died and its trunk is on display, but one of its saplings lives on, furthering its father's legacy.

The Original

The Sapling

The Symbol

Basques are also known for their cidra, or cider, which must be poured at a distanced to make it more bubbly. A native passed as we were practicing pouring it and shouted, "Más alto!" (Higher!)

And then my weekend was over. I made final preparations for classes that night and dove into lessons the next morning. That week I was finished with giving introductory material about myself, so I talked about Halloween. I had them fill in the blanks in a handout about trick-or-treat and carving pumpkins, and I taught them various Halloween words that we used to play BINGO. Most of the classes went well. When I returned to the class that I walked out of, and found that they had a lot of learning issues. Giving directions as clearly as possible as many times as possible seems to be the key, but no matter how many times I do, someone still doesn't understand. I managed to coax several classes into participation by using candy as incentive.


Tuesday night, Bryan and I returned to Adrian's piso for another Spanish lesson over nationalities. Then we stretched our brains by playing Scattergories, basically.

Wednesday after work, I made chili, using a recipe that Elizabeth, another auxiliar, posted on her blog. It took nearly all night because I cooked the black beans the slow way. Saraí and Bryan came over to enjoy some of it, but my kitchen quickly got crowded on the one night I had people over, so we took it to-go, and ate it at Saraí's piso.

I stayed up too late on Wednesday night and was tired all day on Thursday until after my siesta. I did, however, meet up with Saraí and Bryan for lunch at a little bar near the Arenal (place name). After the siesta, I returned to Dubliners, the bar where they have weekly intercambio. I met several English-speaking expats there, but spent most of the time talking in Spanish with a guy named Diego, who apparently reads my blog now.


Friday I went shopping with Tony's secretary, Aingeru (yeah, I know, Basque names are weird). The previous week, I mentioned to Tony that I needed to buy some shoes, but that I didn't want to get ripped off by paying too much or paying too little for poor quality. He said that Aingeru would know more about where to get good deals than he would, so he and I met up for lunch. We went to an amazing all-you-can-eat buffet, and afterward, he showed me the best shoe store to go to, along with four clothes stores with affordable prices. By the end of the afternoon, I'd bought shoes and a jacket. 

That evening, we met up at the church for worship rehearsal, and afterward, Bryan, Saraí, and I were starving. I suggested we go to the free cooking class that I went to before. We did and ate free delicious Mexican "tacos" (more like burritos) and hot dogs.


Saturday brought another Bible Study, followed by a trip to Casco Viejo, where Saraí and I met the former auxiliar of Bryan's school and some of her friends and pintxoed it up.


Sunday I had lunch, or "meal," soon after I woke up. I met Bryan at the meetin' spot and then we went to Tony's portal. From there we walked to a nearby mall's food court which included a Burger King and McDonalds among other things. I opted for other things, mostly because they were less expensive. The whole church went out to eat because there was a couple visiting from Reynosa, Mexico and a family visiting from Asturias (another part of Spain).

After our long lunch, we had church. Worship was awesome, led by our budding worship team. In addition to Tony's preaching, we heard testimonies from Ulises (from Reynosa, Mexico) and from Gisela (from Asturias) and her daughter Luana, and it was touching to hear all the things that God has done in their lives. It was also a workout for my ears, because I heard within a short period of time the three major extremes of Spanish accents: Spanish, Mexican, and Rioplatense, spoken around Buenos Aires. Gisela was raised near Buenos Aires, and it was refreshing to hear a "familiar" Spanish accent.

After church, Bryan and I worked on ideas for classes while Bryan borrowed my washing machine. Then we met up with the other auxiliares in Casco Viejo for Jessica Norris's birthday. They were all dressed up for Halloween, but I was lame and didn't plan ahead, so I had no costume. They eventually went to the Erasmus Halloween party, but I wasn't feeling it, so I went home.

Yesterday was a day of planning and chilling. Bryan and I also went to Tony's for dinner. Mª Luz makes incredible food, and I shocked Aitor and Anne with how much I ate.

That brings me to today, Tuesday, the beginning of my work week. I planned several activities to choose from for my various classes of various levels. On Tuesdays, my last class is the bad class --the one I walked out of (It will forever have that label). The class went by slowly. They were somewhat better behaved, but it´s possible that they were just quieter. Their level of English is so low that I have to bring it down for them more than any other class, translating just about everything. And even then, I get a million questions. The first activity was to simply ask your partner what he/she did this weekend, and then tell me. When I asked one boy to tell me what he what his partner did, he said "No quiero." (I don't want to.) I reminded him that the whole class was doing it and it was not difficult, and eventually he said something very basic, like "He went to ______," or "He celebrated Halloween." As I was leaving the room, one kid was on the ground and other kids were play-kicking him; another boy was sobbing because someone had hit his head. The kids in that class just hit each other to make a point, and I have no idea what to do for anything to change. I feel really sorry for the kids who want to learn in that class. They're all getting shortchanged.


And I've been chilling and blogging the rest of the day, except for a few hours just now when Jessica C. texted me. I met up with her, Claire, and Pinky for a lovely evening together, topped off with Doner Kabab for dinner.