6 October 2011
My stay in Valdemoro began with Hotel Infantas. It was the prettiest looking one with the best reviews I could find on the internet (booking.com). It was not disappointing in the least. I have now been here a week and a half and have found an apartment with a girl my age, but am ever so thankful that I stayed there for the sole reason of having made a friend or two.
Pablo, who works the desk during the morning hours, is from Argentina. When I met him, I somehow felt immediately he had a daughter my age (and he does – I asked). I think it was how he made me give him my suitcase to carry it upstairs and how he made sure I knew where I was going before I left the hotel. It was very fatherly of him. It seems like he had an okay life in Argentina, and he’s only here because he wanted a change and he thinks it’s incredibly important to travel. Isn’t that curious? He must be in his mid-sixties or so, not old at all, but certainly mature (as our dear friend Dr. Terry Reynolds has said) enough to be thinking he’s all done with the tiresome adventures of putting himself outside of his culture and comfort zone. But no, his refreshingly different point of view is that he’ll never stop learning about the world as long as he is traveling and having new experiences, which will probably last as long as he is physically capable. He hopes his daughter will also move to Spain and learn alongside him.
Catalin, my little Romanian man, works the desk in the evenings. He came to Spain 8 years ago at 18 years of age to work and to experience life differently with long-awaited permission to leave his country. In dictator-ruled Romania, the residents were not allowed to leave the confines of the borders and the only person allowed to conduct trade relations was the dictator himself. Now under new leadership, nationals are allowed to come and go as they please and Spain has experienced this change with a late influx of Romanian immigrants. In fact, three quarters of the apartments I saw when house-shopping were inhabited by immigrants from the cold-weathered country. So here I am living with Alina.
I went to get my NIE (Numero de Identidad de Extranjeros) yesterday in Madrid. Sometimes I am lonely here and just wish I had somebody to live some of my life with. Some of the teachers at school are around my age, and very few live in Valdemoro, but I am hoping to get some people together for weekly things, as was the tradition in dear old Huercal-Overa. It’s my opinion that we all benefit from a little outing together, a little bonding outside of the work-place, a little saliendo de juerga (partying). Anyhow, I so wished I had been walking along this street in Madrid with a friend as I was looking for the address of the Foreign Affairs office. I was not at all watching where I was going when all of a sudden I received a full-body hit which sent my phone flying out of my hand and left me momentarily discombobulated. I looked first at where my phone had landed on the ground and then at what had hit me - a tree. Realizing what had happened, right there in front of a sidewalk cafe, my head throbbing, I picked up my phone and started to laugh at myself. Oh, it must have looked hysterical! It was too bad that only strangers got to see it.
I have been cooking quite a lot lately and find it rather unfortunate that my roommate has been sick and depressed and refuses to try anything that I make. I have resorted to utilizing our neighbor Antonio as a taste-tester. Antonio really thinks I can cook after trying my bag-baked lemon chicken, so I’ve got to keep that going. Yesterday, having encountered fresh basil after a three day hunt, I attempted pesto. On the flight from Chicago to Madrid, I sat next to this woman from Wisconsin who let me in on her recipe. “It’s super easy,” she said. “The secret is pine nuts.” Now that I did not know. “Oh yes: basil, pine nuts, olive oil, a little diced garlic, and there’s that, all in the food processor.” So I tried it yesterday and it did not taste like pesto. Today I looked it up online and found the ingredient that Miss Wisconsin forgot – pesto absolutely includes cheese, strong and finely grated. Who knew? Now it tastes like pesto for sure, potent and heavenly, and thank the Lord for that.
Monday was my first day teaching and these kids are amazing. The English teachers are also great and I am looking forward to a good year with them. Because the Spanish government has been steadily cutting funding for public education, I.E.S. Maestro Matias Bravo has unfortunately lost twelve teachers as of late, two from the English department. The last week (and month, as I have understood) has consisted of confused schedules for students and teachers and numerous strikes on both parts. I myself have not yet received a schedule, but am supposed to have one set by Monday. Meanwhile, I’ve been popping in and out of the high school, shopping for a bike, and hitting up the local swimming pool.
For the first time in my twenties, I am part of a swim team! Being less than 26 years of age I am considered an “adolescente” in Spain, and so am actually allowed to compete! Now, doesn’t that make sense? After all, in many ways I still feel 18. So I went to practice yesterday and positively died. It was wonderful because last night I slept as if I were dead. The neat thing is that I’m swimming with kids my age and younger, including some of my students. I believe training together to be one of the best ways of building community so I am looking forward to getting to know them as part of the team. My coach Sergio also does triathlons, so it is good to train under him. I’d say I’ve gotten off to an agreeable start here in Greater Madrid
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