Spanishisms

One of the greatest parts about living in a foreign country for an extended period of time, and more specifically in a truly RURAL part of that country, is that you pick up some of the local colloquialisms. Here is a list of some of my favorites:

1. "De PUTA MADRE" - one of the more baffling Spanishisms. Directly translated it means "of the mother whore," but believe it or not, it's used to describe things that are totally awesome.

2. "Eso es una MIERDA" (or "de puta mierda" or "que mierda") - basically means "this sucks" (which they find hilarious when you explain it to them) but is directly translated as "it's shit" or "what a crap"

3. "Un grano en mi culo" - can be translated to "it's a zit on my butt." The Spanish use this one to describe something that's a pain in the ass.

4. "Cabrón" - little did I know when I told Juan's Dad that it was "este cabrón" who wanted to ring the doorbell at 6 AM to get into his house that it actually means "son of a bitch" or "bastard," but among friends, this word gets thrown around all the time. You can't call anybody a Puta, but Cabron is definitely acceptable among friends.

5. "Gilipollas" - still not totally sure what the direct translation is, but gilipollas is defined as "twat," "wanker," "prick," and "jerk" on word reference. The way I thought it was used was more along the lines of "asshole," but it was described to me basically as "a silly penis." Manuel loves this one.

6. "Maria" - just think about it

7. "Coño" - this word continues to shock me. Even though I'm pretty sure that the literal translation is "cunt" this word gets thrown around by everyone, including school children.

8. "Ostia" - this word is even more baffling to me considering that they use coño so frequently. "Ostia" is the host that is given at communion in Catholic mass, but it is considered as bad as "fuck" in the English language. Next to "puta" it's one of the more offensive words you can use, but once again everyone uses it. I got yelled at for using this one more than a few times.

9. "Joder" - one of my absolute, all-time favorites. It means "fuck" and can be used in expressions like "no me jodas" or "don't fuck with me."

10. "Maricon" - "poof." They're still not too down with the gays over there, but I did see one of the biggest gay pride rallies in the country after the mayor of Badajoz basically said that all of the homos should go somewhere else. His message wasn't as well received as he'd hoped and the biggest gathering of gay pride supporters happened right outside his window a few weeks later.

11. "Tengo moscas" - This one is uniquely Extremeñan. It means "I have flies" but basically means "I'm friggin' tired." My roommates used it all the time, but Sonia said she'd never heard it before.

12. "Visitar Manuela" - "Beating off"

13. "Tio" - means "uncle" but is used like "dude" or "man." "Acho tio" is kind of like the Badajoz version of "that's wicked" from Boston but means "what the fuck, man."

14. "Que guay" - "that's cool/awesome"

15. "Ligar" - if you're dating someone you are "tied" with that person. It's one of the many examples of how poetic the language can be at times. The rest of these words don't really do Spanish justice, but once you begin to understand the intricacies of Spanish you begin to notice how it can flow like prose and is much more beautiful in it's descriptions. This is one thing English really lacks and that I miss about Spanish.

The First Botellon/Granada Visit

I was going through my old journal entries and found this one.

October 12, 2010

Got back from Jaen/Granada today and had an awesome weekend. Thursday night I called up Anacelia and Meredith and met up with them outside of the Alhambra Discoteca for my first Botellon. “Botellon” is the Spanish version of pre-gaming or tailgating, but they do it every Thursday and Saturday before they go into the clubs.

When I arrived at the Alhambra, I was shocked at the number of people who were there. As I walked into the entrance of the parking lot, there were over 1,500 people dancing and drinking outside of the club. I texted Manuel and David and they ended up coming over and hanging out with me and the girls, plus Franklin and Meredith’s former roommate Marta, who was representative of most of the women present at the event: Beautiful.

All of the girls were dressed with effortless style and had a cocky confidence that I rarely see in girls in the states. The style ranged from preppy to hippie to punk, but mostly it was a uniquely Spanish style that just seems so fitting. Marta didn’t hesitate to bust our balls about having side conversations in English, but she also didn’t hesitate to share her booze, friends, and knowledge with us. She was also kind enough to inform me that San Roque is in a terrifying neighborhood. I’m still not totally sure whether or not she was just f*cking with me.

David and Manuel were really cool too. They texted me back, came over to us and offered us some drinks. They were friendly and very easy to hang with, but I think they noticed that there is still a definite language barrier in that I don’t understand everything that they say. They did however, invite me to party with them in the future, so this could turn out to be something really cool.

I wanted to stay out later, but I had to catch the early bus on Friday. We walked Meredith to the line to get into the club and then Franklin, Anacelia, and I took a cab home.

The next 24 hours were nuts. I caught a 9 AM bus on very little sleep and realized only after I was just too far from my apartment that I’d brought too much luggage with me. The bus ride to Sevilla was 3 or 4 hours long and was followed by a cab ride and a three hour wait at the train station. I would have just made the train to Jaen, but it was sold out so I had to wait.

The train was comfortable and I sat next to this really nice Spanish girl. The train was weird though because it stopped for a half hour once or twice. I didn’t end up getting to Jaen until 8 or so.

The walk from the train station sucked, although it was great to see Aarika. I was so happy to see her. After a half hour walk uphill we finally arrived at her apartment and it was as nice as she had said it was. Also, her roommates, Joe and Lauren, were very sweet and welcoming.

Granada was like a dream. From the minute we got there, it felt like we’d never left the city. Sonia gave me a huge hug when we got there and I was touched that Thor still had the toys Aarika and I had gotten for him. He seemed to remember us right away and sitting on Sonia’s couch with him on my lap made me feel right at home.

Sonia has two new roommates for the next eight months, Stephanie from Glenview and Aki from outside of Osaka, Japan. Steph’s spanish is terrific and her personality mixes very well with Sonia’s. They seem to be a great fit for one another and it was nice to have another friend there for the weekend. Aki is honest, noble, polite, and humble. He embodies many of the stereotypes I’d heard about Japan, but only the good ones. He was very interested in learning more about Aarika and I, but seems intimidated by this entire experience. I told him he was in good hands, but I’d imagine living on your own in a country that is as relaxed as Spain after never having visited anywhere else outside of Japan would be difficult and overwhelming for almost anyone.

We hung out at Sonia’s for most of our time in Granada, but we were also invited to a birthday party for one of Sonia’s daughters. It was good to be back in the city and even better to be in the apartment. I found it strange, but interesting that it was raining on the day I left and rained for my return. Once again, it was like I’d never left.

The journey home was a bitch, but I made it. I also bought a drying rack and did laundry for the first time today. We’ll see how it turns out.

The Return to Normalcy

When Micó told me that the month after she came home was one of the worst of her life it never actually occurred to me that she was serious.

I now am back to sharing a room with my 16 year old brother, which isn't too bad, but still sticks out as somewhat symbolic. I have returned to the constant scrutiny of my parents, a paralyzed job market, videogames, the worst team in major league baseball, the sweltering humidity that is characteristic of Chicago summers and crappy television.

I had almost forgotten how much my Dad loves Bud Light Lime and driving my Mom's red Prius or how the only question anybody around here really ever asks is "so what do YOU do for a living?"

Don't get me wrong, I love most of these things, but the return to normalcy has been a bit jarring. I miss Spain pretty much every day.

My name is REEEECHARD, pt. 2

The thing I've most enjoyed throughout this experience has been the role reversal. I remember sitting where they were, thinking about how boring and pointless it was to learn Spanish. I remember thinking of harmless schemes to take up the teacher's time and delay the lesson, passing notes to friends and hounding teachers to watch movies or play games instead of doing grammar activities. Throughout this trip I've gotten to know a whole new generation of schemers.

Take Fran for instance. Fran is easily one of my worst students. He is also one of my favorites. Fran is a tall, dark 14-year-old prankster who spends most of the class trying to learn anything except English. I think that's one of his most endearing qualities, his light-hearted disregard for classroom discipline. Every time I have class with Fran he will move from the back of the classroom to the very front, so he is basically underneath me as I teach. He doesn't usually care if I'm talking or if I'm answering other questions, he'll tug on my sleeve until I stop and listen to him. Often his questions will have nothing to do with the lecture and are Spanish variations of:

"Riiiichard, do you have enough chalk? Should I go get some more?" (this is a weekly question)

"Riiiichard, can we play chess?" (also a weekly question)

"Richard, I have to go to the bathroom again."

"Richard, do you like Reggaeton or house music?"

"Richard, do you like Real Madrid or Barcelona?"

"Richard, how do you say 'gracias' in English?" (he occasionally mixes it up with other basic phrases that I know he knows already.)

"Richard, how do you say 'which way is the weigh room?'"

"Richard, what does 'dildo' mean?" (or any other inappropriate word he can think of)

He will ask me just about anything as long as it distracts me from the lesson. They're always innocent questions for the most part, which is the cleverest part of his masquerade. I can never get angry at what he says because most of the time it's hilarious and harmless, but he is a master of delaying and distracting the class. He'll walk up to the board and start drawing something or he'll make ridiculously enormous paper airplanes (one was the size of a desk) or he'll make a tower out of whatever he has handy. His best trick of all though is that he toes the line, but he never crosses it. There are kids who hit each other in class, refuse to read, openly talk throughout the entire class, refuse to participate even with basic activities and there are some who get up and run around. Fran never does anything blatantly disrespectful. He knows what he's doing and how to throw a wrench in the works without getting in trouble.

Fran was also the first student to make me feel truly welcome in a non-ironic way. There are a handful of students who say hello to me just because my accent is funny, but then there are a lot who are genuinely happy to see me. Fran leads this list. I can't walk past him without getting a high-five or being interrogated about my weekend. He'll always ask if I'm coming to class even when he already knows the answer is 'yes.' I can't help but see a little bit of myself in this kid. He's definitely a schemer, but he's totally non-malicious in his actions. I think it is these more mischievous students that have become my favorites and they will be the ones that will be hardest to say goodbye to. They're the one's who make every workday interesting and in many ways they're the one's who make it fun.

My name is REEEECHARD, pt. 1

My students call me REEEECHARD. I'm not totally sure how that happened, but it did. I think a combination of my sorry attempts at explaining that I went by "Rick" and the fact that they never understood me when I said "Rick" ended up being my downfall. Honestly though, "Riiiichard" and "Riiichie" have grown on me a little bit.

For this program I was assigned to secondary schools/high schools in San Roque, a rougher neighborhood on the east side of Badajoz, and Alburquerque, a small mountain village about an hour to the north. I've split time between the two schools doing Monday and Tuesday in San Roque and Wednesdays and Thursdays in Alburquerque. I also alternate class schedules every other week to see as many kids as possible, bringing the number of students I see to about 300. On top of all of this, their ages range from 12 to 18 and the skill levels, even in classes of the same age, has been highly variable and a bit of a challenge.

Overall I love the kids. I admit that they were more fun at the beginning of the year when I was still a new commodity, but for the most part I think I got lucky with my groups (except 4B Alburquerque, which will haunt my dreams forever). Most of them liked me from the start, but it's remained consistent that they're generally more interested in me than the subject I'm teaching. Because of this, I've made an effort to make my classes as interesting to them as possible. We've sung songs (the most successful of which was "I've got a feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas), done crosswords, played games like Jeopardy and have practiced directions by turning the classroom into a city map. Because of the low levels of most of the students, vocabulary and pronunciation have been my focuses. I also gave a few lessons topics from slang to drugs to history to globalization. My oldest kids seem to have benefitted the most from what I can see.

I wish I could say my students were always smiling and willing, but that wouldn't be true. They're sometimes a pain and even though there are days when I feel helpless, there is always a hand full of students who are sitting at attention, trying to hear my lessons above the chaos. I also see great potential in a number of those students and that makes everything I do seem worthwhile. In the end, it has been getting to watch individual students, good and bad, that has been the most fun for me.

Same room, different feel

That tiny sardine-can-of-a-room looks a lot different than it did when I first arrived. The walls are covered with maps, photos and Spanish advertisements, the bed has sheets and a pillow, my desk is littered with artifacts from my travels and a tiny zen garden is sitting on my windowsill. I cleaned the water stains months ago and despite its size, its proximity to the freeway and the dramatic changes in temperature at night, this dilapidated prison cell has come to feel a lot like home.

The changes to the room pale in comparison to the changes of the occupant. I've grown up a lot since I got here. My Spanish is better, my teaching is better, I've made Spanish friends, started drawing again and have come to know the city and culture extremely well. On top of it all, this is truly the most independent I've been in my whole life. When I went to college I had eight of my best friends come with me along with 60 others from my high school. When I went to Granada I had Aarika and two other high school friends; one of whom had been my Homecoming date a few years before and the other had sat next to me for two years of Spanish class. When I came to Badajoz I was alone.

It's interesting how that first day I would have given anything to go home and now I would give almost anything to stay. My fellow auxiliares, co-workers and Spanish friends have become like family to me and I've come to love my students (even though sometimes they make me want to take a power drill to my forehead). My apartment is a joke, but Juan, Carlos and Dani have been incredible. Juan has become one of my best friends and has showed me things I never thought I'd experience. It's strange considering I didn't understand a word he said on the first day I met him.

There's only a month left, but I want to record some of my last adventures. This blog will include present posts and flashbacks, photos and thoughts in general. I'm at a critical juncture in my life and hope that these memories will help clarify some things for me on a personal level. One thing is for certain; this has been the most amazing trip of my life.

The Road to Badajoz

I originally signed up to be an Auxiliar de Conversación (English Language Assistant) as a potential plan B to some other career plans I had made months earlier. I knew I missed Spain after having studied in Granada during my Senior year of college and had been thinking about returning ever since I'd left. One day a co-worker had mentioned that he had some friends who were doing similar programs around the world and it sounded like a really cool opportunity. After poking around a bit I'd found that some of my friends from the Granada program had given this a shot and loved it, so my girlfriend, Aarika, and I decided to give it a shot.

The economy was awful. My plan A had fallen apart and I felt a little lost. I'd all but forgotten about having signed up for this when I got a phone call from Aarika saying that we'd finally been bumped up from the waiting list to the go-list. We only had about 6 weeks to prepare, but were incredibly excited to have been given the opportunity.

She was placed in Jaen, Andalucia and I in Badajoz, Extremadura. Although we were basically on opposite sides of the country, we were thrilled that it was less of a hike than crossing the Atlantic to visit each other. Neither of us knew much about where we were going but we agreed that Spain was Spain and it would be a great experience.

Aarika is the reason I'm here. We went to school together and one night she told me she was planning to study abroad in Granada (she was a Spanish major). We were a little tipsy at the time and I immediately said I was interested. This was strange because I had not taken a Spanish course in nearly two years and had impressively failed the Spanish AP exam (A whopping "1") and had never really excelled at it. I had loved my Spanish teacher of two years, who was from Granada, so I suppose that his stories had something to do with it. Although my motivation to go through with the program dwindled at times, she always pushed me. She made sure I had my paperwork in on time and that I'd done everything possible to prepare for the trip. She even helped me pass the Spanish grammar course I had to complete in order to go.

Our three and a half months there ended up changing both of our lives. In that time we'd made incredible friends, experienced places and things we'd never imagined and my Spanish skills went from being some of the lousiest in the program to some of the best. We both fell in love with the country and it broke our hearts to go home. We were never the same after that. We'd caught the fever.

The Beginning

I CRIED THE FIRST DAY. There I was, standing in an empty 8x8 room with windows on the bars in a foreign country without any way to contact anyone. Although it felt like it at first, I wasn't in a jail cell, I was standing in the room that was to be my bedroom for the next 8 months. The questions that I couldn't get out of my head were "how could I have done this to myself? and how did I ever think that it was a good idea to fly across an ocean to teach English?"

I had been driven straight from orientation in Caceres to an apartment that my advisor had found for me in Badajoz. The ride was awkward. After going two years without using it regularly, my Spanish skills had become a distant memory and my advisor didn't seem to keen on using his English. Small talk is a little difficult when you don't speak each other's language.

When we arrived, the landlord, Mauricio, a sleezy looking old Spanish man who was in a serious hurry, was waiting for us outside. They took me into an apartment on the first floor of an enormous building that sat next to the highway and immediately sat me down to sign the contract. I wasn't given any options, I was just told that I needed to sign and pay my first month's rent right there and then. My advisor was kind enough to lend me some extra cash, but they both departed unceremoniously as soon as I signed the paperwork.

I walked through the apartment and was shaken by how old everything was. I estimated based on the cracked still life painting in our living room, the fake felt flowers and the ceramic cherubs on the doors that this building was at least 60 years old and that the decor was probably left behind after one of the previous owners who had died in their sleep.

There was water damage on the stucco walls of almost every room and one of the toilets looked like it hadn't worked in at least a few years. Since the apartment was on the first floor, there were bars on every window and even with the shutters down you could hear the whoosh of each passing car. My bed was too short and I didn't have a pillow. My wardrobe was literally suspended over that bed to save space and I had to shift things around so I would have more than 6 inches of space above me. The television had clearly been dropped a few times and was discolored with age. Everything was dirty and I was left totally alone.

I don't think I've ever felt more alone than I did that first day. I was exhausted from the more than 30 hours of traveling it took to get there, was discouraged by my language abilities and missed my family, friends and girlfriend more than I could bear. I didn't have internet access or a cell phone and was completely cut off from every comfort source I had relied on since birth. I sat down on my springy, musty mattress and cried.