Sometimes I Wish I Weren't an Anglophone

It feels blasphemous to even think this, let alone say it out loud. It's almost like a dirty secret, one that I'm ashamed to admit. Of all of the blessings I've had in my life (and there are many), one of them that has most deeply affected my path in life has been the fact that I speak English as my first language and that I come from a rich and powerful nation. My passport currently opens doors for me with no visa required in around 160 countries, and my native language is the lingua franca of basically the entire world.

And yet I sometimes wish I didn't speak English as my first language. 

I don't mean to sound like an ungrateful brat. I'm aware of how much speaking English has helped me thus far in life, and I do realize that I actually make a living just speaking my native language. (Of course, I know the grammar as well; that helps!) But there are moments when I wish I could trade in the status of "native speaker of English" and just speak it well as a second language instead.

Being a native English speaker, especially in Spain right now, means that I am a hot commodity. Spaniards are desperate to learn English, the one thing that they all seem to agree will protect them against the country's current staggering unemployment. Well, either that or it will allow them to move to some other country to work, whichever happens first. Professionals want to learn English to get a better job, and parents want their children to learn English so they will be employable someday too. And all of these people agree that there is no one better to learn from than a native speaker. After all, our pronunciation is perfect, right?

A few weeks ago, in the shared car on the way back from Galicia, we were all talking about our careers, and one of the university students in the back mentioned that he was trying to learn English. The driver threw out the idea that he should try to find a language exchange partner to improve. Unimpressed with the idea, he said "ya tengo un nativo," I already have a native.

Something about that sentence really rubbed me the wrong way, although I kept quiet about it in the moment. He has a native already? Not a friend who helps him with English, not a conversation partner, a native. As though all native English speakers were different models of the same device. What are we, like the latest bit of technology, a talking English machine? A walking interactive dictionary?

It's frustrating enough that just about every time we go on public transit, the people around us are really obviously eavesdropping to see if they can understand a little of what we're saying, as though we were a live-action roleplay for their English exam. But of course, I've learned the hard way that trying to make new friends here when you're a native English speaker can be a minefield as well. Whether it's online or in person, it's really annoying to be talking with someone in the language of the country I moved halfway around the world to be in, only to mention where I come from and have them palpably brighten.

"Oh, you're American!?"
"Yes."
"Wow, I've always wanted to travel to New York City! I'm trying to improve my English, you should help me! Let's get together again sometime!"

If they haven't already, cue them switching to (usually terrible) English on me and me plastering a fake smile on my face and saying "yeah, maybe..." while thinking to myself "NOT!"

Rereading that exchange, I know I sound like a real jerk for not wanting to help these poor people who just want to learn my native language. But is it so wrong of me to want people to be my friends because of who I am, and not what language I speak? Am I a jerk for being annoyed that I've had that same exact exchange, almost word for word, hundreds of times in my five years in Europe?

And most of all, is it a crime to not want to teach English for free when I know I could get paid to do so? Helping people with their English is my job; I do it all day every day with my preferred age group for good money. When I get off work, I just want to relax and think about other things besides explaining when to use the present perfect versus the simple past. I want to talk with people and just have fun. I really do not want to give free English lessons to adults! The way I see it, people asking me right off the bat to help them with their English is like if I were to meet a shopkeeper and immediately ask him if he could give me things for free from his store. No, probably not, right? So why should I have to feel bad about not wanting to help everybody with their English all the time?

 And the thing is, I've been on the other side of the whole 'trying desperately to learn a language' thing, and there have been lots of kind souls who have helped me. So I do often feel guilty for not wanting to return the favor with everyone I meet.  But doing so makes me feel used, like a tool rather than a human being with interests and feelings. I don't mind helping my friends occasionally with their English, but that's because our friendship is based on things other than my native language and their desperation to learn it.

The other annoying part about these people switching to English on me like this is that I feel like since I'm the one who moved halfway around the world to learn another language, I should be allowed the chance to practice that language when I'm not at work. I do often tell people this, and most people are gracious enough to take the hint that I would prefer to speak in their language with them, but some others are really persistent about always trying to practice their bad English on me, and that's when I start to get really annoyed.

There are, of course, ways to practice languages that are of mutual benefit to both parties, like language exchanges. That way, I would be helping the other person with their English, and they would be helping me with French or Spanish or even Galician. I've done a fair amount of these, and they used to be really helpful. In French or Galician, they still might be. But in Spanish, as conceited as this sounds, I feel I've moved past the point where I really need to have someone correcting me all the time. My Spanish is at a level of C1.4 according to the Common European Framework (one microstep away from C2, or totally bilingual, argh), which I know since I took the practice test put out by the Cervantes Institute just the other day. So, I really feel like I'm on a tier where I don't really need language exchanges, because the benefit to me is much smaller than the effort I would need to put out in helping others with their English. Maybe I just need to find partners whose English is at the same level as my Spanish, but those are fairly thin on the ground in Spain. Anyway, I'd rather just have regular conversations in Spanish with people here, without worrying about giving equal time to both languages. Does that make me selfish? Maybe. But like I said, I moved halfway around the world to speak Spanish, so that's what I want to do!

Funnily enough, this was almost never a problem in France. Maybe it's because they're so stereotypically snooty about speaking any language other than their own. Or perhaps it's because they're embarrassed that they have the worst English in Europe (apart from Russia, the Ukraine and Turkey, which...are not really Europe, not to me). Hardly anybody ever forced me to speak in English, although they made an awful lot of mean comments about my French at first. But at the same time, they love to take English words and franglais them because c'est cool. I don't know, France is bizarre. But at least I got to practice a helluva lot of French while I was there!

If I weren't a native English speaker, I like to imagine that I wouldn't have these problems. People wouldn't give me so much unwanted attention for my native language. I would probably be really happy to speak English, because it would be a chance for me to practice too. I could feel proud of my English, as something I'd worked hard on, rather than something I was basically born with. Alas, earwax that will never be the case. For better or for worse, English is and always will be my first language, and I can't escape the fact that the downsides come with the enormous advantages. I guess I'll just have to learn to concentrate more on the benefits of it, like the fact that when I go to Prague for two days, no one expects me to learn Czech, and I get to just speak my first language the whole time with no problems.

I do have to say, as well, that even as I was writing this I was feeling the obnoxiousness of my privilege. "Waaah everyone wants to learn my native language to improve their lives, and I just want to either be left alone or make a profit off of them and they won't let me!" Also, "Waaah people won't let me practice a second language that I'm only learning because I think it's fun, when in truth I have no real pressing need to learn any foreign language because I'm a native speaker of the world's lingua franca!" I know, poor poor me.

But I would love it if people would see me for who I am, instead of as an English machine. That would be pretty awesome. Just sayin'.

On Negativity in the Classroom

Something that occasionally annoys me about some (usually older) Spaniards is that they complain all the time. I'm no saint in this area myself, but I do feel that it's a problem and it's something I'm working on. In English, we have a saying: "No one likes a Negative Nancy."

I'm actually not sure if there's an equivalent in Spanish, but I wouldn't be surprised if there weren't.

Spaniards have a habit of being very direct--it's almost embedded into their language, and most definitely into their culture. For example, it isn't seen as at all rude here to comment on someone's weight or appearance. Over the years, I've been told I'm looking fat, that I'm looking too thin, that I look tired, that I look really sick...all serious no-no's in English.

What do you MEAN, I look fat today??

...Now that we've established that sometimes Spaniards like to tell me I look like crap, where was I going with this...?

Ah, yes. So Spaniards tell it like it is. When I say "We're past the winter solstice, from here on out, the days are getting longer! Spring is coming!" they look at me darkly and say "The worst of the cold is yet to come, you'll see," all sinister-like, as though there were no point in looking forward to spring.

Um, OK, great, thanks, guys... That makes me feel so much better...

"The sun will come out tomorrow?" More like, you will never see the sun EVER AGAIN! BWAHAHAHA!

That sounds trite, but their defeatism really frustrates me when we're talking about more serious things than the weather. For example, the students at the schools I've worked at. Occasionally, when certain students or classes really misbehave, I will hear teachers make comments like "They're all going to end up in jail one day," as though that were a fact, and all we have to do is put up with them until they day they can be safely locked away.

Another gem I've heard, in reference to students from different backgrounds who are far behind their classmates and really struggling, is "That student can't learn. [He/She] is lazy, because [he/she] is from (such and such foreign country)." So that takes any responsibility away from the teacher in needing to help them. It's a lost cause, so why try?

Aside from being really shockingly racist, this upsets me because if the teacher is instilling in the kids the idea that they are bad and can do no better than they are right now, why would they try to improve?

Maybe I'm just a naïve young teacher, but I think we shouldn't be saying such negative things to or about young people, especially within their earshot. I really prefer to think that there is hope for everyone, and perhaps instead of just constantly complaining about how "impossible" some of our students are, we should instead recognize that they are the ones who need our help the most.

Yes, I've been at the end of my rope just like everyone else; I've had those frustrating days where I'm at my wits' end and feel like I will never get through to such and such kid or class. I've often felt like I really don't know what I'm doing. But I still want to, have to, think that there is hope for everyone. If not, why are we even teaching? Just to get a paycheck? That seems like truly the wrong reason to be molding young minds, if you ask me.

I'm not saying that all Spaniards are like this, and I'm certainly not saying that American teachers are necessarily better. I'm just saying that right now, today, this fatalistic mindset is really bugging me, and I want to tell every single Spanish teacher, from every school I've worked in, to take those minutes they usually spend moaning about how little José (for example) is impossible to deal with and instead use them trying to think of ways to give him extra attention.

He's not a lost cause until you make him believe he is.

The ABCs of Teaching Abroad

(Please note, this is very different from teaching the ABCs abroad, which I have explained before!)

I haven't blogged much in awhile, not because I'm not bursting with things to say (really, I am!), but because my life is so busy and full right now that I have TOO MANY things to blog about and not enough time to do it! So, here's a quickie with some cute anecdotes about small children, who make up a large part of my life right now. And who doesn't love small children? (Please note, if you do detest younglings, maybe you should forego the rest of this post...)

Without further ado, the ABCs of teaching abroad!

A is for Alisa, aka TEACHEEEER, both of which are my accepted names in Spanish schools. I'm also known as Alisiña in Galicia, and more recently, Alisita here in Madrid. Curiously, I was never Alisette in France, but I suppose this is because the French are more formal and all teachers are known as Madame or Monsieur.

B is for British English, which is occasionally the bane of my existence. No, I cannot put on a fake British accent for class. Yes, I still feel awkward about saying rubber instead of eraser. And yes, it makes me mad when the children get yelled at for saying ON the weekend instead of AT the weekend. Both are correct, people!

C is for Cafeteria Food, which I have a love/hate relationship with. Love that it's free, hate that it makes me fat, am ambivalent about the taste most of the time. Some days are great, and others...not! I guess that's a good metaphor for life (now I'm getting too philosophical about mashed potatoes, oops).

D is for Duck Duck Goose, which I just taught to my four-year-olds, who really loved it...until one of them tripped another one on purpose and had to go in time-out. After that incident, the game had to be sliiiiightly more controlled!

E is for Extracurricular English Classes, which I'm really struggling with. I have two hours a week alone with 12 four, five, and six-year-olds, and I'm not allowed to speak any Spanish with them, not even for punishment. So far, this has resulted in utter chaos. All of this is quite new to me, and if anyone out there has advice on teaching mixed ages and levels, I would greatly appreciate it!

F is for Fistfights, something I hope to never again witness in one of my classes. The moment when I realized two 20-year-old French boys who were taller than me were about to duke it out last year was one of the most terrifying of my life, and I wish to never ever repeat the experience.

G is for Guiris, aka the other auxiliares at my school. There are 6 of us, and I've found it's pretty nice not being totally on my own and having people to share my experiences with. Some of my fellow guiris have become my best friends here in Alcalá!

H is for Hugs, which I get a lot of from my little ones. This is one of my favorite things about working with small children, how affectionate they are! It's also something I love about Spain, that preschool teachers are allowed to hug and kiss their students.

I is for Ill, which I've been pretty much constantly since starting work this year. Playing with preschoolers half the day probably isn't helping the situation, but I'm trying to be vigilant about washing my hands afterwards and hopefully things will get better.

J is for Jungle Gym, which is my four-year-olds' favorite word. It is absolutely adorable to hear them scream "junga gym!" whenever I point to a picture of one.

K is for King of the Day, a system I'm going to implement in my extracurricular lessons. The general idea is that a different child will be given the responsibility of keeping the others' behavior in line each day (as well as a crown to wear, a que mola, ¿no?). We'll see if that works to keep the classroom from seeming like a total zoo!

L is for Love, which is how I feel about working with little ones this year!

M is for Madame Chicago, as I was called in France. The teenage boys who gave me this nickname were a little cheeky and sometimes irritated me, but I quite liked the name. It's cute, don't you think?

N is for No, which you would think would translate perfectly to Spanish, given that it's the exact same word in both languages. Somehow, this is not always the case in class, and I'm still puzzled as to why... (No, I'm not really. Students love to use the language barrier to their advantage!)

O is for Other teachers at my school, who seem nice, but who I've been struggling to connect with. I would like to make friends with some of the younger ones and hang out after school, but we're not quite to that point yet. Hopefully soon!

P is for Pockets, the name of the book we're using in my four-year-old classes this year. There is a song that goes along with this book that is CONSTANTLY in my head and I fear it may drive me mad. "Pockets, pockets, let's have fun..." Aghhhhhhhh!

Q is for Quiet, which I no longer know the meaning of. I'm learning fun classroom management strategies in my master's classes to try to make it happen though!

R is for Real, as in "Are those your real eyes?" This is a question I'll never forget from one of my Galician students. Had she genuinely never seen blue eyes before? (Note: I know for a fact she had, as Gallegos are Celtic and many of them are blue-eyed.) I was tempted to be snarky and say something like "No, I had my real ones surgically replaced." However, I generally try to contain my sarcasm with children and my actual response was a bit kinder.

S is for Sexy, which one of my fifth-graders accidentally confused with the word "funny" today in class, when describing his father. As unprofessional as it was, I was entirely unable to control my laugher. Tee hee hee.

T is for Tijers, or what my Spanglish-speaking four-year-olds often say instead of "scissors." This has caused the historical linguist in me to wonder if the words have the same root. Does anyone know?

U is for Uniforms, which my students this year have to wear. I miss getting fashion tips from girls fifteen years younger than me, however on the upside I've learned a new word, which is babi aka "art smock," which all primary students must wear over their shirt and pants. Ah, private schools...

V is for Vergüenza, one of the main barriers between Spaniards (and the French, you guys aren't off the hook here!) and speaking fluent English. The word means embarrassment, and it's something Spaniards (et les français) tend to feel whenever they have the impression that they may be seen as ridiculous. They fear making mistakes, because they think they look silly when they make them, and so many people never even bother to try. Luckily, at my school this year, English is emphasized so much from such an early age that the students have mostly gotten over the fear of ridiculousness, which I think is amazing in a culture where being seen as strange, unique, or different is definitely not a good thing.

W is for White Out, which Europeans are obsessed with. One time, I told a European student to just scribble it out when he made a mistake in pen, and he gave me the most horrified look and said "but that would be so MESSY!" Ahhh, the preoccupation with propriety here that drives me mad on occasion...

X is for eXtroverted, which teaching is teaching me to be...at least a little bit more. At the very least, I now know how to speak loudly and clearly to a full room of people, something which would have been difficult for shy little me four years ago.

Y is for Yelling, which happens a lot more in Spanish schools than American ones. Spaniards are louder than us in general, so I guess it makes sense, but I still flinch when anyone raises their voice, regardless of the fact that it's directed at the students and not at me.

Z is for Zoo, which is sometimes how a Spanish classroom feels. Students crawling on the floor? Check. Kicking each other? Yup. Throwing things? Definitely. ...How exactly is this different from being in a monkey cage?


As much as I like to joke around about my silly students, both past and present, in the end I really like my job and am very proud of each and every one of them. I'm so glad I accidentally fell into the profession of teaching abroad! Also, things like the note below make it all worth it. :-)

Reasons being an American in Europe is hard

This post has been a long time coming, several years in the making in fact. I suppose it's no surprise to anyone that life as an expat can be...challenging, in a word. The things below are some of the most difficult things I've really battled with here in Europe—not small things like there being no peanut butter, but differences in belief systems. This post is a bit of a change from my usual style, a bit more “heavy” as Michael J. Fox might say. But it also feels real, and I think it's a good change to focus sometimes on the more complicated parts of the life I've chosen. And I want to make it clear that I'm not complaining, I'm very aware that this life was my choice, that if I feel it's all too much I should just go home. I'm merely reflecting here on some issues that have come up for me.

And before I get into it, I also want to write a disclaimer: I'm making a lot of generalizations in this post, some of which I know may be offensive to some people. I apologize in advance for saying that “Europeans are like _____” when of course it's not true of everybody. I'm speaking generally from what I've seen in my few years of experience living in Spain and France, and traveling to and having friends from various other countries. But if you're offended, if you think I'm totally off-base, feel free to tell me about it! I don't mind having my ideas challenged, if that helps me grow as a person.

So without further ado, some things I've struggled with while living here in Europe.

The age gap.
By this I mean the discrepancy between how I act, think and feel as a 25-year-old compared with how your average 25-year-old European acts, thinks and feels. Because I've been living (far) away from my parents since I was 18 (that's 7 years, if you were counting), I'm quite independent by now, and used to taking care of myself, to not seeing my family that often, etc. Because university is (ridiculously) expensive in America, I finished as quickly as possible, when I was 22, and never looked back. I have no plans of doing a masters unless it's free or close to it, because I simply don't have $40,000+ in my back pocket. This means I've been working for a living for 2.5 years now, and I've had some time to reflect on my career and life direction. Because nearly all my friends back in the States are starting to have stable jobs, houses, cars, husbands and kids, I feel pressure to have these things too. I think my extended family and friends often wonder why I'm wasting so much time in finding a job, a man, and settling down. However, here, many many 25-year-olds are still in or just finishing university. They probably still live with or near to their parents. They may not really know how to cook, manage their paycheck, or run a household. If they don't know what to do with themselves for work (and many of them don't, having just finished studying), they can always go back and get a masters—it won't cost very much! Because, if at all, they've only just barely started in the working world, their lives are still exciting and unstable. They still want to go travel, see the world, have fun and not worry. I've been there, done that, and I'm ready for something a little more permanent. But when I look for a full-time job, or a proper boyfriend, or a place to live for more than a year at a time, people here wonder what my rush is. I'm “only 25,” after all. “So young,” they tell me. Yes, of course it's young...but I wish people understood that 25 in my culture doesn't mean the same thing it does here. That I have nagging worries about being left behind, about playing Peter Pan while everyone else back home grows up. I feel more mentally in-step with people 3-5 years older than me, but I get irritated with them when they call me a baby and tell me that I'm too young to have really experienced anything in the world. So there's a bit of a disconnect from my peers here.

The insularity. 

So many people in Europe spend their entire lives living within a few hours' radius of where they were born. That's the dream, to never have to be too far away from family. Because of this, their ties with their family and friends tend to be very strong. It's not uncommon, if they do live away from home, to go back often on the weekends. In this way, many young Europeans always have a safety blanket, no matter if they're living on their own or not. They can always go home for the weekend if they feel lonely. They always have friends just a few hours away to visit, people they've probably known their whole lives. Me, I barely talk with my friends at home because of the time difference, and I haven't lived in the same state as most of them for 7 years. I no longer feel close enough with most of them to call them up out of the blue when I feel lonely. And that happens a lot here (feeling lonely), where these friend groups that have been strengthening since infancy are more than a little difficult to break into.

The work ethic. 

Because the work ethic is so strong in the States, people often hear about what I do for work here, see the trips I take, and think I'm on some kind of extended vacation. I have recurring guilt about not having a “real” job, about working as much as I “should” be, about not earning enough money to put some away for a rainy day. I feel bad for adopting the ethic of working to live instead of vice versa, even though I truly believe it's a better way to live life. The cultural assumptions I grew up with tell me differently, and it often takes a conscious effort to relax instead of worrying about working harder, about being more efficient. But then, if relaxing takes effort, is it really relaxation? I don't know the answer to this question, and I feel a sense of conflict about it.

The stereotypes.

“What sorts of things do we eat in America?” I asked in all my first classes here. Without fault, their answers were “Hamburgers!” and “McDo!” “What do Americans like?” “Guns!” “What do we watch on TV?” “THE SIMPSONS!!!!!” Yes, it's nice that the kids here can relate to my culture. I'm glad that they have a reason to be interested in learning English. But at the same time, unlike an assistant teacher from a less-well-known country, there's less novelty in our culture and traditions. They already know all about Santa Claus and the Super Bowl just from the movies. Instead of teaching new, exciting things about my culture, I spend most of my time just trying to break stereotypes. And even when I do succeed in teaching something new about America, I feel guilt that I'm perpetuating its cultural dominance.

The English. 

The language, not the people. Because of said American cultural takeover, almost everyone in Europe speaks at least a little English, and many of them are eager to practice. This is wonderful when I'm looking for ways to earn money, or am in desperate need of friends. But when I want to really dig in and learn the language of the country I live in? Sometimes it's more difficult because I'm an English speaker. People will switch to English on me when they hear my awkward French, thinking that they're helping. But when that happens all the time, I never get a chance to get any better!

The assumptions about the crisis. 

So many people here here think that America is still some kind of “promised land,” where the job market is great and it's no problem to get hired straight out of university. I don't mean to underestimate the impact of the crisis in Europe, but it's had a definite affect in America too. No, unemployment for under-30s is no whopping 50% like in Spain. But in Spain, many under-30s are still in university and living with their parents, and they still have guaranteed health insurance. They can still draw unemployment from the government for more than a few months. In America, it's very rare to continue studying and living with your parents after the age of about 22—that's just not seen as “acceptable” in American culture. And good jobs are not just coming out of the woodwork, either. Many young people, if they are employed, work long hours without health insurance, with two weeks or less a year of vacation time, at a job that pays so little they can't afford to buy healthy food or live a good lifestyle. But then when this overwork makes them sick for too many days a year, their employer most likely can fire them without recourse. What I'm saying is, America is suffering too, and even if I do go back, I can't just expect to have a good job handed to me. America is no promised land of jobs, SUVs and flat-screen TVs. At least, not for many.

The visas.

This one sounds super obvious, but most Europeans don't realize just how hard it is to get a work visa here, as a non-EU citizen. Every time I worry out loud about trying to find a permanent job in order to stay, people tell me to just go out and look, that lots of places want native English teachers. Yes, they do, but they don't want them unless they already have work papers. And those are almost impossible to get, because a company wishing to sponsor a person for them needs to prove that said potential employee is so valuable to the company that no person of better quality can be found in the ENTIRE EU. Since that includes Great Britain, I'm more or less S-O-L as an English teacher, unless I wish to continue being an assistant forever. People from here don't understand this, and it gets frustrating having to constantly explain it.

The distance. 

Duh, again. But I don't think many Europeans think much about just how big the distance is between my home and where I live currently. They think they understand homesickness and culture shock because they did an Erasmus year away in another country. I'm not saying that anything they felt wasn't legitimate, but it's just not the same as being from almost 8,000 kilometers away. I can't fly home for the weekend when I really miss it; there's no Ryanair to Chicago. I can't call my family whenever I feel homesick, because half of the time I'm awake they're asleep and vice versa. I can't have people just send me care packages when I really miss or need certain items from home, because it costs more than $60 to send a tiny box. I can't even afford to send lots of postcards home, because overseas postage is so expensive!

As with all of these things, I'm not really complaining, I'm just saying...I wish people realized a little more what life is like right now for me!!

The need to share all this is (probably) brought on by recent personal difficulties and a feeling of homesickness; I miss my family, and life is difficult here sometimes. No matter how comfortable I feel in Europe, these are some of the things that will always remind me that I'm “from away” (as they say in Maine). I'm not European, and I never will be. Vestiges of my Americanness will always clash slightly with the way of life here, and I will always have to accept that. But some pills are more difficult to swallow than others.

Am I alone in feeling like a stranger in a strange land? Or do we all feel a little lost sometimes?

Immediate Reverse Culture Shock Observations: 15 Hours In

I've only been in America 15 hours and...yep, culture shocked already. This is a bizarre place. And, since it's 6am and I'm jet-lagged and can't sleep, I'm going to detail for you why exactly that is. Here are some of my immediate thoughts since getting off the plane yesterday, direct from my brain to you:

1. Hmm, going through customs and border protection in your own country is easy. I only feel slightly like a criminal!
2. Jesus Christ so much English everywhere!!! I feel really bad for these foreigners who obviously don't speak it very well, because it's obvious that none of the airport employees speak anything else.
3. Wow, Midwesterners are so friendly. My mom and dad made some BFFs while waiting for me to get off the plane.
4. Lord, it's hot. Why are the insides of buildings kept at the temperature of a sauna? I'm sweating!
5. American license plates are small and funny-looking.
6. Yay, snow! Blizzard! WTF DRIVING IN A BLIZZARD.
7. How is my parents' house so big and so small at the same time? We have so much STUFF. Look at all these things in my bedroom that I put there when I was 8 years old and haven't moved since. Bizarre.
8. What is with this toilet paper? I feel like I'm blowing my nose on a pillow! What am I, a princess?
9. Ha, American eggs are tiny and look like quail eggs.
10. Light switches and toilet flushers--where are they? Oh, there they are. Strange shape. I feel like I'm in a foreign country. Oh, wait, no I'm not, this is the house I grew up in. Weird.
11. (Reading a sign on a bank) Hmm, the temperature gauge must be broken, it's definitely not 32 degrees out there, because man is that hot. Oh, wait, Fahrenheit.
12. Holy crap, Tex-Mex food. Chicken chimichanga with refried beans, rice, sour cream and guacamole, you have materialized directly from my dreams. Margarita, I'd have loved to have ordered you, except I forgot about liquor laws in the US and neglected to bring my drivers license to the restaurant with me and was thus unable to prove that I'm over 21. Oops.
13. Netflix, you are a god. So many movies and tv shows at my disposal, 24/7. I may do nothing else over this entire vacation except get caught up on my entertainment.
14. Hello, jet lag. You're right, 9pm DOES seem like a good time to go to bed.
15. (And then...) Ah, good morning, 6am. Oh, look, I can see the sun beginning to rise. Weird.


...and this brings me up to the present. So much culture shock and I haven't even done anything yet. I'm sure this entry will have some follow-up ones in the next few days continuing my bizarre thoughts confronting my own culture, so look forward to that.

Oh, and as a disclaimer in case any of the thoughts above appear ridiculously stupid--I slept basically nothing for around 40 hours due to a wonderful "test" of a security alarm at Paris Charles de Gaulle that ran from 12:30-3am and left me with a lovely ringing in my ears and an inability to sleep for the rest of the night. Thus, my brain is running a little more slowly than normal. You'll have to excuse me.

Hello, snow. Good of you to arrive directly AFTER my plane touched down. Cheers!

Home for the Holidays

American Christmas at its finest

This time next week, I'll be back on US soil, officially Home for the Holidays. And I'm so excited, but also a little nervous. It's been a full year since I've been in the USA, and I've gotten more acclimated to Spanish culture than I ever could have possibly imagined. Now so many things that are normal at home seem really bizarre to me. (Yes, I know this sounds like me bragging "oh my god I'm soooooo European.") I'm kind of worried that it's going to be a huge reverse culture shock. I already had some small doses of this when my parents came to visit and when I hung out with one of my best high school friends over here and they talked about things in the US that I had honestly forgotten about.

So I'm wondering if going home is going to be a totally bizarre experience. Will everyone seem crass? Will listening to so much English make my brain explode? Will eating so much greasy food make me want to puke? Will I be able to get used to eating lunch at noon and dinner at six again?

And worst of all, will everyone think I'm snobby because I can't stop telling stories about my glamorous life in Europe?

Is my now-perfect Spanish tortilla a subconscious representation of my rejection of my home culture? (Hello, English major who liked reading Freud a little too much)

I guess the plan is to keep on keeping on for now with my acquired Spanish attitude. "No pasa nada, no te procupes." (It's nothing, don't worry.) No matter what, I'll be beyond excited to see my family and friends and vice versa, which is all that really matters. Well, that and Christmas cookies. 

Happy Holidays, everyone! 

Folga

It shouldn't be a surprise to anyone that there has been a lot of unrest in Iberia (that's Spain and Portugal) lately. High unemployment plus rising taxes and cuts in social services do not happy bedfellows make. Recently, hardly a week has gone by in which I haven't seen some kind of protest marching down the street, be it here in Vigo or nearby in Portugal. 

Protest march in Lisbon

The Portuguese people want jobs ("more and better employment" as the sign says)

A march for public healthcare and its employees here in Vigo

But yesterday was an official general strike day, like the one that we had in March--except this time, it was in ALL of Iberia, plus some protests in France, Italy and Greece. The strike meant that when the clock struck midnight on Tuesday night going into yesterday, all businesses (including bars and restaurants, gas stations, buses, banks, grocery stores, you name it) shut down for fear of having their windows broken by angry trashcan-dumping, firework-wielding hooligans starting to strike immediately. And almost all of these businesses stayed shut all day, because those same hooligans were going around town and screaming about breaking the strike at the workers in the cafes and stores that were open, then vandalizing them with spraypaint.

Sign advertising the strike day (folga xeral means general strike in Galician)

The goal of the strike was to stop the economy for the day and get the attention of European leaders, so in theory no one was supposed to spend any money or support "the system" in any way, and the hooligans were doing their best to enforce that.

Protesters

Not everybody was out vandalizing the scabs, though; what most people were doing (all across Spain, from what I heard) was participating in a march, which (in Vigo) began in a plaza at the top of the city and ended at another a ways downhill. I attended, not because I was on strike but because I was told it wouldn't be worth it for me to come to work when almost no students would be there anyway (although about half my coworkers went, but only 19 kids in the whole school showed up).

Massive march in Vigo

There were so many people at the march that you couldn't move, but it was interesting to me that everyone was just walking calmly. It felt more like a mass Sunday stroll than a protest march, minus the giant balloons with political propaganda on them. Only a few people were chanting or seemed really angry. But there were so many people that apparently by the time we made it to the second plaza, the speeches were over and lots of people were heading home for lunch, which is exactly what we ended up doing. It all felt really anticlimactic, especially when lots of businesses opened up again in the afternoon and all the hooligans seemed to have dissipated.

Everyone with their Galician-flag-colored balloons

Most of the buzz I heard from Vigueses about the strike was how useless a one-day strike was, how it wouldn't accomplish anything, and how it was stupid to complain when Galicia just had elections and most people didn't even vote, so the conservative party won again. And honestly, I tend to agree. Quite apart from the stupidity of the violent hooligans, I really don't think one day of missing work is going to do much, particularly considering all the money the corporations and government saved by not having to pay those people yesterday. 

I guess I'm just contrasting this one-day strike with pickets and marches and strikes I've seen and heard about in the US, like in my freshman year of high school when all the teachers went on strike for a month or the protests I went to in Madison, WI against Governor Walker. And from what I saw, this strike day (día de huelga in Spanish, or folga in Galician) seems like it didn't work as well as those ones did. I'm not sure if it accomplished much or even got that much attention worldwide. Reading US newspapers, it seems like the answer is no (although judging by the usual quality of US newspapers, that could just be normal American ignorance to anything happening outside its borders). But it is interesting to see how people in different countries try to express their feelings about political agendas. 

And just for the record, I'm not saying Spain doesn't have the capacity for those kinds of more drastic measures as well--they did do the 15-M (masses of people occupying Puerta del Sol in Madrid) just over a year ago, which was what seems to have inspired the Occupy Wall Street movement. But as far as protests go, to me this one (dubbed 14-N, for the date) seemed a little less-than-effective. I know it's historical that much of Europe is banding together to fight cuts in public services, and that two general strikes in one year is a big deal, but I don't know that it's going to change anything, particularly when the crisis is this bad. 

Anyway, since Thanksgiving is coming up and I spent all day teaching lessons about it so I've got it on the brain, I'm going to wrap up by saying how thankful I am to be able to have a job in Spain at this particular moment in history, but also to know that no matter how bad things get in Europe, I always have an American passport waiting to whisk me away (should I choose to go) to a place where things are slightly more economically stable. Plus America gave me the gift of the English language, which is enormously valuable and one of the only things keeping me afloat in these uncertain times. Cheers, USA. 

Some Reflections on Why I Love My Job

I live for days like today. No, not because it's raining the kind of rain that's more like just simply living inside a cloud. Also not because I got up early to go to work and then one of the other teachers wasn't there, so I ended up waiting around all day to only teach one class.

It was because the one class I did teach was awesome. I mean, I spent half of it screaming at the kids to be quiet so I could teach them, but at this point I expect nothing less than that. I figure it into my lesson plans. It's a given.

But it just feels so good to show up every day at a job where the people you're working with (in my case, kids) scream your name and are thrilled to simply have you there. Then they ask you to make your "famous" fish face, and THEN they say they heard a rumor that you sang a song to the 3rd years last year and are a really good singer (laugh with me, please...hahahaha) and want you to sing to them. Not only is this hilarious, but it's an excellent bargaining tool. "Yes, of course, I'll make the fish face (sometime) and sing (at the end of the year), but ONLY IF YOU SPEAK ENGLISH AND BEHAVE, BWAHAHA." (Evil laugh censored because it would have only egged them on more)

Then we continued on with my lesson, a quiz on whether the kids are more Republican or Democratic, and I was shocked at the amount of thoughtfulness they put into their responses (which, granted, weren't always in English, but learning American culture counts too, I figure), and how engaged they were. Classes like that are so much fun.

My job satisfaction is very high, clearly, and not only because I have 13-year-olds who want me to sing to them. I also have 7-year-olds who grab my hand on the playground and won't let go. I have 16-year-olds who try to find me on Facebook (good luck, kiddos). And I have every age in-between who love to say hello to me every time they see me.

Now, I'm not bragging that I'm the greatest teacher that ever lived--I'd be delusional if I thought that a huge reason these kids go ape over me isn't because I bring them candy and we play games almost every day in class.

But, as the principal of the school said, after telling me that they all love me and me citing the exact reason above as to why it's clearly a superficial love--"But still, kids don't take to just anybody, you know. Some people just don't know how to relate to them, and you do. So that's something."

So the more I think about it, the more I know that my future life and career has got to involve kids somehow. After all, it would be a shame to not do something that I clearly enjoy so much and have at least some talent for.

Plus who would I make my fish face for?? It's gifts like these that, if possessed, must be shared with the world.

A person known as TEACHEEEEER, making not the fish face, but the cat face (not as beloved). 

The Last Day of Summer

I should probably be telling you all where I've been for the past month (spoiler alert, the answer is traveling around Europe with my parents), but we're going to skip past that for now because I want to write this post in the moment.

So here it is, the night before school begins again. I'm actually not feeling that first day of school nervous excitement (yet anyway), possibly because I haven't had that much time to ruminate on the fact that soon I'll be back in front of a classroom full of half-asleep kids staring at me, expecting me to teach them English or at least be sort of entertaining while they try to stay awake.

I'm going back to the same school as last year though, so I more or less know what to expect, and I suppose that's making me feel less anxious as well.

I also probably don't feel nervous because no one can expect me to be prepared to teach classes tomorrow when I have no idea which classes those might be. AKA, I don't have my schedule yet so I'm just going to go show up in the morning and see how everyone's summer was and probably not do too much else. Last year, having hardly any communication from the people in charge was extremely frustrating, but I've been Spainified since then and I've come to expect and even embrace it.

I am kind of excited to get back to having somewhere to be all day, a job to do, and to see all those kids again. I just love when they scream "Hello!" every time they see me, in school or in the street.

Being a second-year teacher should be interesting, though. Everything will be the same, except slightly different. Many of the teachers I worked with last year will probably be gone, so I'll likely be getting a whole new set of coworkers. Perhaps the kids will seem more grown up. I'm hoping that I'll be able to see their progress more this year. I'll definitely be getting to know them better, and I'm making it my personal project to properly learn all 400+ of their names. My memory is definitely sub-par, so we'll see how that goes.

Okay, I guess writing this post has helped me get that nervous excitement started a little bit. Now I just need to get to bed so I don't miss the bus to school in the morning.

To my fellow auxiliares--happy first day of school tomorrow! To everybody else, happy October.

Back to this point of view

Anglophone Prejudice?

Something I've really noticed in the years I've been in Spain is that I get treated very differently by people in restaurants, shops, etc. depending on the company I keep.

When I'm with Spaniards, I get treated like just another person, usually. Occasionally I'll get a friendly "And what are you doing here? ... Oh, that's so cool!"

When I'm with other foreigners but we're speaking in Spanish or we all at least speak a decent amount of Spanish (enough to order or speak for ourselves and not seem foolish), the reaction isn't too dissimilar. Maybe slightly less curious and friendly, but more or less normal nonetheless.

When I'm alone, people tend to be very friendly (men in particular), probably because I'm blonde. I used to get pissed off about this, but now I just feel like it's a fact of life and I've come to deal with it and even occasionally appreciate it. I get asked all the time about what I'm doing here, where I'm from (they usually assume first that I'm German, because apparently I don't look American?), and usually get told about the person's experiences with English or their visit to America or whatever.

BUT, when I'm with friends who don't speak Spanish or don't speak enough to be able to communicate clearly, the reaction is completely different. People try to speak to us in horrible English and refuse to switch to Spanish even though my Spanish is clearly a million times better than their English. They (on purpose or not, I never know) misunderstand things I say in Spanish that no one has ever questioned me on before. They give me rude looks that seem to communicate "get out of my country, you English-speaker." They assume I don't understand their money. I even feel like the quality of the food I get served by them is poorer.

It feels horrible to be on the receiving end of that kind of treatment. It's truly awful to know that I may be treated poorly in Spain even though I speak perfectly good Spanish, simply because I deign to occasionally associate with those who don't.

So what's the solution? Well, I try, as snobby as this sounds, to not hang out in huge groups of Anglophones. And I recommend that to any other Anglophone coming to Spain to get an "authentic" experience. Besides, you don't learn half as much Spanish when you're speaking English all the time with your friends.

Of course, on occasion, it's inevitable that you'll find yourself out and about in the company of those who don't speak Spanish. And what to do then? I generally try to translate what the person wants to say so that I don't have to watch one of those awful scenarios in which an Anglophone comes up to someone in a foreign country and starts speaking to them really loudly and slowly in English and the other person is both confused and annoyed.

And I'm really not saying that this is Spaniards being prejudiced against Anglophones, or Americans, or anything. I've encountered that type of prejudice really rarely, which was a real relief after having heard for so many years about Americans who had to pretend they were Canadian while in a foreign country so as not to be in danger.

I think it's really just that it's plain annoying to be going about your job, having a normal day, and then have someone come up to you shouting things that you don't understand and then having to play the sign language game with them. People in America are always complaining about foreigners (particularly our neighbors to the south) not speaking English. But then they seem to be surprised when they go abroad and people who have to deal with them not speaking their language are annoyed too.

There's no real solution to any of this; I don't have any wisdom to share...it's not like I'm going to learn Danish just to go to Denmark for the weekend, after all. But it's just something I think we should all keep in mind when traveling, that we are absolutely not entitled to have anyone speak our language, and we should count ourselves lucky when someone does. If they're cheerful about it, that's just icing on the cake.

Or I guess you could just never leave home at all...(not recommended).

Spotted in Eroski: Awkward Spanglish

Dear Eroski: 

In the future, it might be prudent to think about what your Spanglish sounds like to an English speaker.

I can't stop thinking to myself "a-horring we will go, a-horring we will go, high ho the merry-o, a-horring we will go."

And for those of you who don't speak Spanish and are confused, although ahorring sounds (in my head anyway) like a-whoring, in Spanish it would be pronounced aorring, which would be Spanglish for the verb "ahorrar" which means "to save" (as in money, Eroski is a grocery store).

That is all.

(Almost) Everybody's Favorite Thing to Learn in a Foreign Language

[Image from Amazon.com]

One of my clearest memories of just before I left for Spain for the first time is some advice that my oldest sister had for me. She said that when I came to Spain, the first thing I needed to do was learn the swear words. Honestly, I failed at taking that advice since I feel like that's something I'm only just picking up now (besides the most basic swears anyway), but I was always a little strange.

Most kids in my high school language classes had these books called something like Hide This French/Spanish Book From Your Teacher and they contained all the filthiest things that you could ever possibly want to say in your new language.

And now I've got my secondary students, who somehow can rattle off a string of swears at me like nobody's business, but still refuse to conjugate verbs in the past tense. Go figure.

So today I'm going to give in to popular demand and teach some Spanish palabrotas (swear words), except I'm going to teach the nice versions (well, nicer anyway), the ones you can more or less say in front of your high school Spanish teacher or to a stranger. Sound like fun? Here we gooooooooooo.

1. ostra--This one is a little bit like saying "gosh" or "jeez" in Spanish, because the word it comes from, hostia (host in the religious sense), is for some reason way more popular than "Dios" or "Jesús"(God or Jesus). It literally means "oysters."

2. miércoles--Literally this means "Wednesday," but it's something that people say to avoid saying mierda, or shit. It's basically the equivalent of saying "shoot!"

The next three are all ways to avoid saying joder, which means "fuck" (in the expletive sense, not the verbal sense...there's a distinct verb for that).

3. jolín--This one I hear a lot at school, both from the kids and the teachers. It's kind of a childish way to not say joder, and I think of it as kind of like saying "Oh fudge!"

4. joer--I don't hear this one as much, but I think of it as something like "frig" in English, as in "What the frig!?"

5. jo--To me, this one seems the most like saying "eff" as in "Eff that!" 

6. mi ma--This, I guess, is a way to avoid taking your mother's name in vain?? I'm not exactly sure, but it comes from "madre mía," which literally means "my mother" but is used here in a similar way to how we use "my God" in English. 

And these last two are kind of silly to me, because even censored they're still inappropriate (if you're not sure why, it's because they're about shitting on something). If you're going to swear, why not just go all out? But anyway, here they are. 

7. me cago en diez--Literally, "I shit on ten," but the diez is a way to avoid saying Dios. The original expression is "Me cago en Dios" or "I shit on God." I guess this one is a way to swear while not feeling Catholic guilt for taking God's name in vain? Don't ask me, I don't get it either. 

8. me cago en la leche--Another way to avoid taking God's name in vain, but this one is more gross mental-imagery-wise. It means "I shit in the milk." Um, ew. Question for consideration: why are Spaniards so obsessed with shitting in or on things???

That's all I could think of for now. What ones did I miss? And how many of these are specific to Spain and are not used in other Spanish-speaking countries?

Football+Grammar=???

So this week I've been doing a unit with my students on places in Chicago, giving them a description of a bunch of famous places and having them tell me why they would like to visit certain ones and why (surprise surprise, Pizzeria Uno was the most popular!).

This led me to a random-but-interesting (to me) grammar question. I included Soldier Field on the list of places one might visit in Chicago, and so that led to many of the boys trying to tell about their favorite American football team.

Now, their example sounds (in a Spanish accent) like the word "beers," but as I was taught not to lie I'm going to give the correct example of MY sentence below.

"The Green Bay Packers are my favorite football team."

OK, cool, you say. The Pack are pretty awesome. So what? Well, what if I wanted to switch that sentence around?

"My favorite football team are the Green Bay Packers." No, not right. It's "My favorite football team IS
the Green Bay Packers."

Now imagine me, on the spot, trying to explain to 25 teenagers why we say it in two different ways when the two sentences are identical apart from the subject placement. Except I don't know the answer. I guess it has something to do with "team" being singular but "Packers" sounding plural. So technically (TECHNICALLY although we'd never say it that way) the first sentence is wrong and should be replaced with "The Green Bay Packers is my favorite football team."

Yes? No? What do you think? Have I lost my grammar nazi touch? Why DO we do it that way? Does it even make sense? A little help, please?

We are cheeseheads for life (that sentence I'm sure about).

ABC, Simple as...

Last week, I was asked to do something that I found extremely difficult. No, not punish someone, not correct homework even. I was asked to write the English alphabet for some 7-year-olds.

Ha, you say, that's easy!

You're right, sounds easy. Except I had to write it complete with an example of how you would phonetically spell the pronunciation of each letter in Spanish, on the spot, in front of said 7-year-olds.

Now you say that I'm just a wimp. By now I must know enough Spanish to be able to spell the pronunciation of the English alphabet, right?

I thought so too. I started out confidently.
A-e
B-bi
C-si
D-di
E-i
F-ef

...and here's where I had to stop. G? In Spanish, there's a hard g in front of some vowels (like in gato (GAH-toe), and there's a g that sounds like an h in front of others (like in gente, HEN-tay), but no g that sounds like a j. I looked to the real teacher, confused, and she suggested I write "lli" (as in allí, ah-GEE). Then she also said that there was a problem with A. "You need an i too, it's not just e," she said. I thought about it, and she was right. It's aaaayeeee, not ehhhh (I'm not using phonetic transcription because of the extremely small percentage of people who would actually be able to read it). I added the i, making it A-ei, and continued.

G-lli

H...should be ech, right? Or so I thought anyway. No, there's another dipthong there! (A dipthong is when there are two adjacent vowel sounds in the same syllable) It's aaayeeeech, not ehhhch  So...

H-eich
I-ai (I was getting the hang of it now, English vowels are mostly dipthongs!)
J-llei (Another complicated one...I had to confirm this one with the teacher as well.)

K...should be que, everyone knows "que" in Spanish sounds like the letter K! Right? But no, fooled again, the teacher told me that once again there was a dipthong. It's kai, not keh. So I continued on, starting to wonder if I was really the best person to be doing this task after all...

K-quei
L-el
M-em
N-en

(At this point, all the kids asked "Where's the ñ???" And of course I had to tell them it doesn't exist for us. They were sad about it.)

O-ou
P-pi

Q...once again, stumped. How do you make a y sound in Spanish if ll is j? Too complicated for me! The teacher had to step in again. "Write kiu," she said. I had to think about it for a minute and say that to myself a few times before realizing what she said made sense. Yikes.

Q-kiu
R-ar
S-es
T-ti
U-iu
V-vi (on a roll again, or so I thought...)

W...oh god. Such a complicated letter. So long. Double you? Spell that in Spanish phonetics, GO. Real teacher to the rescue! "Dabl iu," she said. Phew.

W-dable iu
X-eks
Y-uai (I was pretty proud of thinking of that one. It's more than a dipthong, it's a tripthong. Pretty complex, huh?)

And now the real kicker. Z? Z doesn't exist here. Because of ceceo (the part of pronunciation in Spain which makes them sound like they have a lisp--they pronounce words with c and z with a "th" sound), if I wrote "zi," they would say "theeeee." And I had already used "si" for the letter C. What to do? The teacher, being indoctrinated into the ways of British English, said I should just write "sed" (they say zed in Britain, in case you were unaware). I complied, not entirely pleased with that but glad to have the task over with.

Z-sed

And then, then we sang the alphabet song. Finally, something easy! ...Except now that we had used zed, the song didn't work! "W, X, Y and zed, next time won't you sing with...med?" Totally screwed that one up. So then I just ended up confusing the kids by singing it the regular American way in consequent tries.

Boy oh boy, who knew the alphabet could be so complicated??

Completely unrelated image of a pretty beach