The Daily Grind

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been teaching my little ones some basic weather vocabulary. Through coloring, songs, and games, Lucia, Paloma, Marcos and Aitor all have a general idea of how to say “It’s sunny,” “It’s raining,” It’s snowing,” and “It’s windy” in English. Luckily, or unluckily, the kiddies have had first hand experience with all types of atmospheric phenomenon this winter. Ha llegado el frío a Madrid de nuevo. Just when it looked like Spring was arriving on the early side, the cold returned to Madrid with plunging temperatures, snow, and painfully chilly winds. In contrast with the fickle weather, my winter experience has evolved into a slow and steady rhythm, a well-known beat as familiar to me now as the streets of my Madrid barrio.

While I admit that I’ve had quite a number of adventures over the past year and a half (and for each one, I am very grateful for that experience), my daily life really isn’t that exotic or even exciting. The “daily grind” has become the norm, now more than ever before. A typical work day goes like this…

-I get up around 7:45 and get ready for school, arriving slightly before or slightly after Victor (5^th grade teacher).

-I “teach” English or Science to 5^th and 3^rd graders for a few hours. My level of involvement in the teaching depends on the class, kids, and teacher with whom I work. Some days are better than others…

-For the two hour lunch break, I either go home to eat and to lesson plan or I go to the pool and scarf down a sandwich before class begins again.

-I return to school around 2:30 and help kids/teachers with their English for another 1.5 hours.

-I start my private classes immediately after school… typically, I have three a day. They are all quite enjoyable and are all going pretty well.

-I usually get home around 8; I have some dinner, make lesson plans for the next day, and connect with friends and family as much as possible.

-I go to bed and before I know it, another day has come!

Like I said, not very exciting. In fact, I have become quite preoccupied with my joys and frustrations of working in Madrid. Sometimes I think being a teaching assistant is more difficult than being an actual full-time teacher! Despite the limitations, I am continuing to learn how to be a teacher, by watching what things to do and what things not to do. For example, I’ve learned that it is a bad idea to not know which science chapter you’re teaching your kids and to make up an exam on the spot. I’ve also learned that bringing in the heart, trachea, and lungs of a lamb is a great way to help illustrate the respiratory and circulatory system to your kids. I still haven’t decided if letting them touch was a good move or not. I don’t know if those kids used soap when I sent them to the bathroom.

Weekends in Madrid have been pleasant, moving at a slower and relaxed pace. Ida has visited twice since Christmas break, and we’ve gone out dancing at “our spot,” Sol y Sombra. Other nights I chose to stay in, watch a movie, hang out with friends, or cook. On one occasion, Elaine and I invited some girls over for dinner, and I made chipotle chicken chili, which turned out to be almost too spicy for everyone except SK and me… Ida couldn’t even eat it, poor thing.



Two weekends ago, Sarah Tilley, a fellow American who’s living and teaching in Bilbao this year, came to Madrid and stayed with me. That weekend also happened to be Elaine’s 26^th birthday. A small crowd gathered at our favorite restaurant, La Soberbia, for dinner; we stopped by another favorite bar before hitting up the dance floor of Sol y Sombra. (Where else would we go?) Because of Elaine, I’ve met a number of new people, mostly who are from the UK but others from Brazil, Italy, and elsewhere around the world.

My Sundays in Madrid have been spent attending church or playing volleyball or doing both! It’s always a pleasure to go to the Community Church of Madrid, and I leave each service feeling refreshed and energized. I’m really enjoying playing volleyball. Not only is it fun to keep up with my favorite sport, but I’ve also made good friends with several of my teammates, hanging out with them off the court too.

This past weekend was interesting. All around the world, people are celebrating Carnival with brightly colored displays of outrageous costumes, floats, and music. Spain definitely gets into Carnival; yet, unfortunately for me, the city of Madrid is not the leader of the Carnival fiestas. I went to Saturday’s parade with some friends, and we were a bit disappointed by the lack of big floats and exciting displays. But who am I to complain? It was still a treat to see people walking around on stilts or dressed up like strange creatures from Tim Burton’s imagination.

Just prior to the Carnival craziness, SK & I took refuge in Alcalá de Henares for the afternoon, enjoying free tapas and a peaceful setting. Thanks to Shenning living here and showing us the ropes last year, we were quite familiar with the best places in town to get some complimentary food with a drink order… including a slice of pizza!

It is strange how the days are really long (and it’s staying lighter longer) but the weeks are flying by. I am counting down to March for several reasons. Hopefully, March will kick winter out of the Iberian Peninsula and bring the beautiful promise of spring. Justin arrives the first weekend of March, and I’m anxiously awaiting his visit. We’re going to spend his second weekend in the Canary Islands (his Christmas present from me). Additionally, March is the month I begin my Semana Santa travels… and Sarah and I have got quite the lineup!

But for now, it’s back to the grind. And I’m ok with that.

Through Karima's Eyes

I was given a new name this past weekend. Not a nickname in English. Not a new Spanish name. An Arabic name. Actually, Mustapha renamed all of us. SK became A’isha, which means “life, vivaciousness,” and he called Ida Fatima, after the prophet’s daughter who abstained from temptations of the world. Last, he looked at me and said, “And you will be Karima,” which later I learned means “generous, giving, noble.”

For a few short days, I saw a new world through Karima’s eyes… A world where donkeys and carts are just as common as cars and scooters. A world where story tellers draw crowds around them each night in the main square. A world where most women keep their heads covered at all times. A world where modern technology stands in stark contrast to old ways. A world unlike any other I had ever seen… that world I found was in Morocco.

Marrakech may not be the capital of Morocco, but it nevertheless thrives upon the tourism industry and the thousands of foreigners who come to a place that is so different and so, well, foreign. The Medina, which is the old city surrounded by a large red wall, is the heart of Marrakech. It’s a messy conglomeration of squashed buildings, narrow alleyways, squares and marketplaces. The steady rhythm of life flows in and out of the city walls through one of fourteen gates, each with its own name, design, and symbolic meaning. The sounds of the city rise into the dusty air: the shrieking of breaking taxis, the clopping of horses’ hooves, the thrumming of motorbikes, the shouts of the merchants, the babble of languages. The red brick minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque (Marrkech’s largest mosque built in the 1100s) proudly stands at the end of the road leading up to the main square, the Djemaa el Fna.

The Djemaa el Fna of Marrakech is a remarkable place. During the day, snake charmers rattle out tunes on their pipes while cobras either dance to their hypnotic rhythm or lie dormant on a nearby mat. Women call out to passersby, offering to decorate body parts with henna ink. Carts overflowing with exotic dried fruits and nuts, others full of oranges for fresh squeezed juice, and some blaring American or Arabic pop music form neat lines on one side of the square. The flies discouraged us from tasting the dried products, but we did enjoy a fresh glass of orange juice one morning. At night, the snake charmers are replaced by other street performers and story tellers. And food stands attract hundreds of people to their benches with their lush displays of Moroccan salads, olives, kebap skewers, cous cous, tagines, pastillas, fish and calamari. Some stands exhibited unique specialties such as lamb’s brain or snail soup. We passed by those with curiosity… and kept on walking. “It’s not KFC,” the servers would say, “but it’s finger-lickin’ good!” I wasn’t sure I believed them all the time. Stepping back from this gastronomic gallery of epic proportion, I could see that the large white plumes of smoke were rising from the grills faster than the full moon over the square. Whether passing through in daylight or in moonlight, there was, is, and undoubtedly always will be exciting sights, sounds, and smells in Marrakech’s main square.

Just behind the Djemaa el Fna lie the souks, the twisted maze of a marketplace where merchants sell “typical Moroccan goods”: brightly colored slippers, lavish carpets, polished wooden pieces, tea sets, ceramics, jewelry, olives and mint leaves, spices, smelling salts, and salves. In the souks, people pass you by just as quickly as the first price a shopkeeper offers for a brass lamp. You have to be prepared to be hassled and to haggle for what you want (or don’t want). We quickly discovered that we could lower the suggested price by half, at least, and we got really good at playing along with their games. We could have made more deals in one hour with Moroccan merchants than a car salesman would have made in one day during the “Cash for Clunkers” bill. However, staying in the souks for any length of time wears you down, what with people constantly trying to bring you into their nook of a shop and with so many people milling about in small spaces. Fortunately, we were able to retreat from the pressures of the markets and the chaos of the city simply by returning to our hostel, the Riad Massin, which wasn’t what I’d consider a hostel but rather a true Moroccan gem.

In some ways, riads embody how the Western World imagines of the Eastern World (even though Morocco is in West Africa). The word comes from the Arabic word ryad which means garden, because these traditional homes have an interior courtyard and/or garden. Riads are tranquil sanctuaries, where the trickle of fountains and birdsong weave a delightful tapestry for the ears’ enjoyment, as rich and vibrant as the plush floor pillows. Intricately carved wooden doors welcome weary ones to their blissful abode, and the coolness of the tiled walls magically wash away the heat and grime of the city with their fresh breath of serenity. Perhaps not all can enter, but tea is always offered and never withheld from anyone who passes through the narrow alleyway and finds their way to this riad. Staying at the Riad Massin was a pleasant example of how to experience Moroccan hospitality and comfort.

Wanting to take advantage of some of Morocco’s other treasures, we arranged an excursion through the sister travel company to Riad Massin for Sunday. Early Sunday morning, SK, Ida, and I got up, showered, and prepared for our day’s adventure. As we waited in the dark and quiet courtyard, I knew that something had to be wrong… how could it be 8:30 and not another soul but us was up? We found a clock and were horrified to see that it was actually 6:30. The Easyjet pilot had told us Marrakech was an hour ahead of Madrid, but it was really an hour behind! Therefore, we had spent all Saturday operating two hours ahead of everyone else in the country. Flabbergasted by the mishap, we three hopped into Ida’s queen bed and took a nice morning nap.

Just before 9:00 proper Moroccan time, we gathered in the courtyard for our trip. There we met our travel companions, three guys around our age from England and the US, and we were introduced to our guide, Mustapha. From the moment I met him, I knew that Mustapha was quite a joker, kidding around and cutting up, commenting that he didn’t speak English well. Actually, he spoke English more fluently than most of my teachers at my bilingual school. Before we had even left Marrakech, Mustapha pulled out the microphone from under the front passenger seat of the van. Since none of us knew any pop Arabic music, he took center stage (well, center seat), singing to us ladies in the front and to all the people we passed on the streets. And it was within those first few minutes of our ride that Mustapha gave each of us our Arabic names. Thus, Karima, Fatima, and A’isha left the hustle and bustle of the city and headed into the Ourika River Valley and the Atlas Mountain Range.

Our party bus first stopped at a Berber home to understand how the Berber people live and to have breakfast there. The Berber people were the first to settle in Morocco, but they were pushed to the countryside when the Arabs came. Now they are the poorest people group in Morocco, and they still live off of what they produce. It was only within the past 50 years that the government installed taps in their villages so they don’t have to go to the river everyday to get water. The homes are made of the thick red clay that is so abundant throughout the land. The cows live in the room next to the kitchen. Accommodations are simple and modest. Since the Berber women cannot leave their home without a male escort, they have almost everything they need at home, including their own hammam (like a steamy bath house). Girls are often married off young and have a child or two by the age of 20. The Berber lifestyle is still very much the same as it was hundreds of years ago, which is rather remarkable given that we have entered an age where books are no longer just printed with ink but also come in digital form.

For breakfast, we ate thick flatbread with homemade butter, honey, and olive oil. The Big Mama of the Berber home we visited showed us how they make their mint tea, which usually involves adding a giant lump of sugar into the boiling liquid. I drank a lot of tea throughout my entire stay in Morocco, because it was so refreshing, so delicious, and so sweet! I even bargained for a silver teapot to take back with me in case I ever decided to make tea like they do. (It’s still sitting on my dresser.)

After breakfast, we drove a little further into the valley, pulled over on the side of the road, and were greeted by a small herd of camels. One by one, we mounted our furry friends, which were then linked together to form the Camel Congo Line. I named my camel Herod (he's the black one in this picture), and he lazily followed the others for our 20 minute walk along a hillside path.

While riding a camel was a bit of a novelty and I appreciated Herod’s services, I was more captivated by the beautiful scenery that surrounded us as we moved further into the Atlas Mountains. In the distance, snow covered peaks jutted out into the bright blue sky. Cacti covered entire rocky slopes. Rustic, rickety-looking bridges made of wire and tree branches crisscrossed the Ourika River as it hurried past its stony bed, spluttering and shushing its way down the valley. Eventually, we pulled over in order to cross one of those precariously swinging bridges; and Ida learned how to conquer her fear of heights. She was given more opportunities to do so when we reached our ultimate destination and began to hike up a rocky mountain path to a waterfall. Along the way, we passed mountainside cafes and stalls displaying jewelry, ceramics, and other trinkets. Locals and foreigners alike were enjoying the natural surroundings and I had to patiently pace myself out of consideration for others who may not have had as much experience climbing as I’ve had. Funnily enough, there were moments when I looked back on the sun-kissed mountains across the valley and I had complete déjà vu: I’ve seen similar sights in the Valle de Elqui in northern Chile!

Spending the day in the Atlas Mountains and Ourika Valley was the perfect compliment to the crazy commotion of Marrakech. After our hike, we went to a restaurant where they served us Moroccan salad, cous cous, lamb and chicken tagine, and oranges & dates for dessert. Mustapha was an excellent guide and travel companion. I really wished that we had had time to do the three day program, which goes to the desert where you really ride camels and sleep in tents under the bright stars. Next time…

Hopefully there will be a next time, because through Karima’s eyes, I was introduced to a fascinating world, one which I hope I will have more opportunities to explore and discover.

Clearing Hurdles & Getting Back in the Game

Did you know that after you masticate what you put in your mouth, the saliva turns it into a bolus of food which goes down your esophagus? And then, the gastric juices in your stomach turn the partially digested food into chyme, which moves to your small intestines where it finally becomes a pasty substance called chyle? No? Then you are not smarter than a fifth grader, because this is exactly what my fifth graders have learned in science class over the past week. I think it’s pretty incredible and kind of ridiculous, considering I didn’t even know some of those words… and I speak English fluently!

I’m getting back into the swing of things here in Madrid. Honestly, I’ve had a few other hurdles besides learning new anatomy vocabulary since being back. It was slow-going getting over jet lag and maintaining a regular sleep pattern, for one. I was waking up at all hours of the night and falling asleep at inconvenient times during the day. My body is still a bit confused as to what time of day it is. As if that weren’t annoying enough, my body seemed to have forgotten all the swimming techniques I had built up over the fall. My first two swims of the year were hardly worth suffering through the close quarters with too many naked Spanish women in the locker rooms and communal showers. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

Because my head has been full of wedding things, which strangely enough are all thought out in English, I’ve had some trouble getting back into the Spanish language. That being said, I’ve decided not to continue taking Spanish classes at Mosaic. I’m going to need my Friday nights to do some more traveling this spring (boy, have I got some great trips in the making!), and I’ve got a few more Spanish friends to get the extra practice. Plus, that will free me up to hang out with my new roommate!

Yes, I’ve got a new roommate. My Scottish friend Elaine came back to Madrid to work/study through the spring and she wanted to rent the little room in Angie’s apartment (finally!). Not only do I have someone else to split monthly utilities with, but I’m also living with a really great person and someone with whom I’m already friends. During conversations on each other’s beds, Elaine and I have been marveled at the different uses of words in America versus Britain, and I think I’ll have quite a new vocabulary upon my permanent return to the States. While it is a noticeable change having Elaine here,—because now I’ve got to coordinate morning shower usage, for example—I’m happy to have a friend live with me!

And speaking of being with friends, Ida is coming to visit Madrid this weekend and Karisa, one of Justin’s Turkey teammates, will be in town on Friday night. They should both be fun reunions, and I’m looking forward to spending time with some dear friends. But first, I’ve got to make it through the rest of the week!

More Christmas Miracles

For the three and a half weeks that I was in the States, there was certainly no shortage of Christmas miracles. In fact, there were so many that I should only give you the highlight reel so that you don’t feel bogged down…but try as I might to keep it short, you’ve still got plenty to read!

Being reunited with family and friends was a joyful miracle and the real reason I came home during the holidays. I spent a lot of quality time with my parents and my younger brother and also with my grandparents, aunt, uncles, and cousins from Georgia. As predicted, Gillian, Erin, Anna and I were able to hang out together a lot, and I also had the chance to catch up with some other good friends. Amazingly, Justin and I saw each other almost every day for three consecutive weeks, which probably has not happened since we were at Furman together. There was hardly a second I was by myself, which was simultaneously blissful and exhausting. Between my brother and me, my poor mother had a houseful of young people almost every day. All in all, it was a great way to spend my precious time at home with so many loved ones… but I’m happy to be able to take their love back to Spain with me!

Unexpectedly, I was able to host my Christmas party after discovering the most of my high school girlfriends were in town. We had all assumed that once we graduated college, it just wouldn’t happen anymore; and it didn’t last year. So, I consider it a little miracle that we could catch up with each other, have our traditional French Onion Soup and Caesar salad, and swap Secret Santa gifts.Gillian is getting married in May and she was showered with Christmas goodies galore one evening. (If you need to borrow a Santa platter or two, give her a call in eleven months!) As her co-Maids of Honor, Erin and I decided to whisk her away to Montgomery to see the Alabama Shakespeare Festival’s production of A Christmas Story so that we could spend some quality Three Musketeers time before the first one got married. Erin got engaged in October and she’s set a date for next New Years Eve (How cool is that?). As for me… I, too, am getting married in 2010!

Even though this is my blog accounting my experiences in Spain, I suppose I can’t leave out telling the short story of how Justin proposed to me some days ago…

Every Christmas Eve, my family drives up to stay with my Atlanta grandparents, and for the past ten years, we have been spending our Christmases at their farm, affectionately named the Dear Farm after my grandmother and as a pun on all the deer roaming about the land. The Dear Farm has grown to be one of my favorite places in the world, and it is very dear to me (no pun intended).

For this past Christmas, Justin and I made plans for him to come on the 26th and spend a few days with me and my extended family. Therefore, I didn’t expect to see him on the front porch at 8am Christmas morning. He was in cahoots with my dad and grandfather, and he drove throughout the night in order to be the first to wish me a “Merry Christmas.” He said he always wanted that job and didn’t want to spend any more Christmases apart. There, on my grandparents’ farm porch, he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I said, “Yes!”Above: Christmas Eve Family Portrait
(I promise A.D. and I did not plan on wearing the exact same color.)

Below: For Christmas this year, I gave Dear and Pop-Pop gifts from Spain and Greece.

The rest of Christmas weekend at the Dear Farm was a fun time with my family where we basically just relaxed and indulged in our traditional meals and treats. They were all surprised and delighted to hear the news, and I worked on passing along the information to other friends. All of the men of the family, including Justin, went off on an overnight hunting trip, and so the women had a calm and pleasant evening at the Big House. While they did manly things like shoot things, drink beer, and eat meat, we did girly things like watch movies, drink wine, and eat salads. When it was time for everyone to leave the farm, we headed back to Dothan and dove into the wacky world of wedding planning.

With the word “engagement” I'm sure some people’s minds turn towards To-Do lists after the initial feelings of joy and elation. And as most people can imagine, planning a wedding is a rather involved and demanding process. I am naturally geared to organize and plan things; it’s just who I am. I confess that before I came home for Christmas, I had already made a mental list of what I needed to do while I was in the states if I were to get engaged at some point. We did accomplish a lot of “wedding goals” quite quickly, and even though I made more mistakes in the first two weeks than I hope to make in the next eight months, I am very grateful to my parents and future in-laws who are helping Justin and me start our lives together. But since this is not a wedding blog, you’ll have to check out the wedding website (once we make it!) for more details about all that jazz.

On New Year’s Eve, Gillian & Charles, Erin & Myles, Justin & I all drove to Erin’s lake house near Lake Seminole. We played games, ate a nice meal, had a dance party, shot fireworks, and brought in 2010 twice—once for Eastern time and once for Central time. I thought it was quite a special and unique time: three best friends reunited and goofing off while their future husbands did some bonding of their own.

Justin and I were able to spend a few days with his family in Florida, first in Cocoa Beach with his parents and then in Orlando with his brother. The beach was cold, but the chilly weather didn’t stop me from walking barefoot in the sand! In Orlando, we took advantage of the shopping venues and did some registering for our wedding. Realizing that I was driving around the city of my next residence was a bit surreal but also exciting.

Despite getting engaged, I still went back to Madrid. Funnily enough, I reenacted a scene from my very first flight to Madrid a year and a half ago. (Check Entry from September 20, 2008: The Trek Over.) For the second time now on a Lufthansa flight from Atlanta to Frankfurt, I fainted… but this time, I didn’t get moved to a comfortable Business Class seat. Instead, I was moved to the back galley of the plane because the flight was full and they couldn’t have my prostrate body blocking the aisle. I stayed there until I regained my wits, returned to my seat, and fell asleep for a little while. About an hour before landing, I woke up feeling sick and knew a fainting spell was coming on again. However, instead of passing out, I ended up emptying the contents of my stomach, which granted me a spot in the back of the plane with the flight attendants until we landed. A doctor-passenger named Harry stayed with me during my episodes, taking my pulse and blood pressure, so I knew I was in good hands. They actually gave me some extra oxygen, and I discovered that it's true... the bag does not inflate while in use! After getting off the plane in Frankfurt, I didn't have any more health problems in the airport or on my flight to Madrid. Yet, that flight was delayed due to the weather conditions in Madrid.

It snowed like crazy in Spain this past weekend. As my plane descended below the cloud line, I gazed at the frozen landscape masked in white. Madrid still wears a ragged cloth of patchy snow, which refuses to melt. Yet, the foul weather hasn’t stopped school from meeting, and I was thrown back into the educational chaos today. Between teaching and travel plans, I intend to make the most of my last six months living in Europe!