Mi Primera Noche--September 5th, 2013

De Puta Madre! Ya Estoy hablando Espanol!

I am in Madrid, Spain: a city full of a seemingly invincible energy that runs as vibrantly and rapidly as the intricate metro system, and is as proud as it is vast.  I am amazed already by the gusto people carry about them, speaking with their articulate, quick tongues and harsh back-of-the-throat sounds of la lengua.

There is a rhythm to this city that I'm picking up that I don't want to put down.

In fact, there is the strong possibility that my heart already has started to dance along with that rhythm.

On a sunny Thursday morning in September, after a long, body-cramping trip by air from Tampa to Philadelphia--and then from Philadelphia to Madrid/Barajas Aeropuerto--I set foot in a clean, austere environment that, based on my own observations, seems to be characteristic of European Airports.  No trash, no riff-raff. No lingering and gaping stares at all the signs in Spanish, drilling your brain of now-distant vocabulary you studied in Spanish class over 6 years ago.  People bump into you, and keep walking.  But not out of rudeness; you were just in the way.

Ain't nobody got time for dawdling about in this country (unless you are practicing the botellon nighttime activity in which Madrilenos meet up in random parks and plazas to share bottles of alcohol all night, partying usually till the sun goes up, or sharing Canas y Tapas at bar after bar--but that's another story).  It seems important here to walk around with a matter-of-fact, half mullet look (all-business-but-no-party look) during daylight hours, and, of course, if you're in an airport anywhere, no one from any country likes someone moving slowly in front of them when there's a plane or taxi or shuttle to catch.

A stern, serio "Immigrations and Customs" officer beckoned me over to his window to stamp my passport, which I proudly presented, as it was complete with a fresh Visa that I spent a couple of months going through hectic bureaucratic motions to acquire.

Eso es el momento.

"Stamped. Amped, and ready to go."

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, despite being super tired from getting uncomfortable sleep on the plane and also having to carry around over 100 lbs of luggage with me, I hulled the my large rolling suitcase, a backpack, and two shoulder bags out of the baggage claim and darted my eyes around a crowded mess of travelers, looking for the letters:

C    I   E    E

I didn't see them. But then, I saw a group of other people that had that same look of wonder and amazement on their faces layered over jet lag that was already happening. Maureen, who sat next to me on the plane, beckoned me to come meet up with these people who were, mas o menos, around the same age as me.

From left: Maureen, Julia, Mike, Taylor, Leah, and Ana (me) 

And shortly after introductions and some small talk, we saw two sharply-dressed Spaniards holding white signs with the title of our organization up in the air, letting us know it was time for our shuttle to our hotel.

Why am I here?

I work for CIEE. What is CIEE you ask? Pues, lo voy a decirte.  CIEE stands for the Council on International Educational Exchange. It is a "non-profit, not-governmental exchange program" that offers study abroad and teach abroad programs--and helps this gal fulfill her dream of wanting to live and work in another country for an extended period of time. We are parnering with the Spanish Government and La Comunidad de Madrid to provide our native English tongues to aide in the bilingualism and cultural awareness of Spain's youth. More info:  http://www.educa2.madrid.org/web/mjmartinezdelis/1.-language-assistants-in-the-region-of-madrid

Here is the link if you want to read more about CIEE: http://www.ciee.org/

I am here to teach English as a second language as a Language and Culture Assistant in a bilingual secondary school in a barrio right outside of Madrid. The other anxious and travel-stricken characters are also going to teach in and around Madrid. We are all in the beginning stages of a 10-month adventure. There are a bunch of us in the Culture Assistant program, but about 3 dozen of us from the Teach In Spain Two-Week Immersion Program.  Our plan is to have four days of orientation with CIEE's coordinators, and then two weeks of language immersion courses while living with Spanish host families or individuals.  In the beginning of October, we begin teaching at our prospective Institutos or Colegios.

A quick shuttle ride to the Hotel Exe Moncloa later, the other CIEE teachers and I found ourselves standing surrounded by our many bags, getting our chance to practice a little bit of Spanish as we checked in at the desk.

We found out that our rooms weren't ready, so then proceeded to stand around a bit until someone said that up a flight of stairs was one of our orientation coordinators, Alana, ready to give us our blue orientation folders.

We checked in, gave our Texas-born leader (who has been living in Spain for 5 years now) handshakes and hugs, then looked at our watches/phones. We had about 6 hours or so until our introductory dinner, so a few of us explored the part of Madrid we were in: Moncloa.

I went with two other teachers, Julia and Mike, on a little camino outside of the hotel.

Interesting things we saw:

A large building labeled "Ejercito del Aire" (equivalent to Air Force), which I am assuming is a headquarters for the Spanish Airforce (or a museum, of which there are many in Madrid)

A monument quite similar to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris or the Washington Square Monument in New York. I thought it was beautiful, but apparently some angry person(s) begged to differ, and, with a can of spray paint, decided to mark it up with the desire to have it demolished.

Por que? Yo no se. And, my favorite part of this time of dawdling was Parque del Oeste and Van Gogh Cafe.

Julia, Mike, and I laid ourselves down on green, green grass and contemplated the start of our journey.  We were exhausted from the trip and it felt good to lie down in plein aire and soak up Madrid's September sun (which actually got pretty hot after about 15-20 minutes of sitting; I was quite sweaty).

And then there was Van Gogh Cafe, where I got to practice some more Spanish by ordering Agua mineral--CON GAS (sparkling mineral water). We cooled ourselves down with our drinks and some conversation as we looked at the even cooler art in this place that's dedicated to one of my favorite artists.

Hotel Exe Moncloa

Hotel Exe Moncloa: http://www.hotelexemoncloa.com/EN/hotel.html)

Hotel Exe is quite a beautiful and modern hotel in the Moncloa region of Madrid, an area that contains a university and rests against Parque del Oeste. It is a self-proclaimed "Gourmet Hotel," and has at least 10 floors of comfortable, clean, and recently-renovated rooms ready for international business travelers, pleasure travelers, or the 40-something of us eager and lucky young Americans.  It has its own Market and cafe/bar, in which you can buy things like tiny croissants or pastries with jamon y queso along with your cerveza or cafe con leche (or in my case, agua con gas:)).

Finally, I went up to my room and dumped all of my stuff down, took a deep breath, and said to myself "gah!" out of excitement.
I shared a room with Leah, a sweet CIEE teacher from Kentucky, in a comfortably furnished hotel room with a large bed that was pretty much two twins-sized mattresses put together.

 

I guess normally I would feel a little weird about sharing a bed with a stranger, but, I think at some point either before or during this trip, I decided to embrace the weird--because actually what I am doing in general is quite weird. I am spending a long time living far away from my closest friends and family in a foreign country.

I have already flung both legs over the side of the box that is labeled "my comfort zone," and am dangling now by my sweaty fingers.

*************

We met up around 7 pm for a quick intro with our coordinators, then went upstairs to the terrace of Hotel Exe Moncloa whose was, for lack of a better, non-cliche word---AMAZING! The terrace overlooks the Moncloa-Arguelles area of Madrid, which is a bit west of the city center.

CIEE Teach in Spain 2-Week Immersion Group--Madrid 2013

The CIEE Teach in Spain 2-Week Immersion Program Dinner

At Seven&Six in Madrid

Afterward, we walked as a group along the major Calle de Princessa and onward to a few other turns to arrive at a restaurant called Seven&Six (http://www.gastrobar76.com/). It's a gastro bar and restaurant near Parque del Oeste where the restaurant staff (los camareros) gave us excellent service as we ate a deliciously-prepared 3-course meal.  

Our "Executive" Menu:)

a melon-flavored palette cleanser with a single chive along the side of the glass

Gaspacho Andaluz

Ensalada Caprese--my only complaint was that the cheese was still a little frozen

Lomo de Salmon al Estilo Nordico--That's what I chose for my dinner

Brownie de Chocolate (que rico)

Stuffed with good food and wine, we thought our evening was over, but then our coordinators took us on a mini excursion to go see an Egyptian monument--the Templo de Debod and the outside of the Palacio Real de Madrid, which I will make sure to see during daylight hours. 

The sign for the Templo De Debod (it was too dark for pictures)

CIEE in front of the Palaco Real Madrid

...We are so excited, and thrilled, and nervous, and, and, and....tired! Muy Cansados!!

After a few of us had a night cap at the hotel's terrace, we snuggled up into our crisp sheets at hotel Exe, and, finally, slept. 

quizás, soñábamos con nuesta futuro en Madrid...

Perhaps, we all dreamed of our futures in Madrid...

Farts, Frames, and Spain--The summer before my Adventure...

I feel like my mind is empty, or at least hesitant to speak, so I’m just going to start by opening up my mind and dig into it, letting my fingers pull out whatever they graze first.

Oh, wait—here we go again.

I have Vanessa Carlton’s song that has the lyrics “just a day, just an ordinary day…” running through my head (surprise surprise--the song's called "Ordinary Day." Thanks, Google :).  

It has been all day. All day I tells ya.  Not a bad song—it just keeps persisting—not the whole song, but those particular words.  A theme song for the day? perhaps.  Today was an ordinary day, I guess. 

I worked at my Farts and Shafts job today.  

(Explanation: I work at Michael’s Arts and Crafts—I have no real problems with them ; I do think the concept of making arts and crafts into a retail franchise is smart, but it is kind of a corny place, and also, unfortunately, not  safe from the woes of capitalizing using low salaries paired with super idealistic expectations—it’s just that my friend Lis and I applied a funny alias for the entity during one of our many hilarious, kooky conversations, and calling my workplace Michael’s Farts and Shafts has been quite prone to evoke  a chuckle from me. )

I often get songs stuck in my head for days.  Lately these have been of  the fine collection of Michaels-approved pop songs  that get put onto CD’s and sent probably from Michaels corporate to store locations like mine.  The collection changes every once in a while (and only slightly to include random recent hits)  and reminds me of a mix between Casey Kasem’s "Top 40" and the bottom of a picked-through bin of old cassette tapes from decades past at a yard sale.  This will send me on an (exotic ?) journey, where any 15 minute slot could include a fairly recent song from Kelly Clarkson,  an ‘80s or ‘90s-era Whitney Houston dance song,  a random Beach Boy’s song, or an obscure hit like Elton John’s Island Girl (please, look up the lyrics and laugh).  It’s not like it’s a terrible mix—it can be rather amusing at times, and you might catch me dancing or singing by myself as I fit together a frame order—it is just apparent that it’s one CD that they put on shuffle mode, and this is obvious if you work there.  Repetition can cause those songs to seep into the psyche and cause me to—out of nowhere even when I’m far away from the ‘shaftiest’ place on Earth—start singing lyrics to a song I didn't even know I knew lyrics to.  

And I’m there right now. I've got the piano notes from Vanessa’s song playing in my head, accompanying a voice that sings only the parts that I know—over and over again.

Anyways, I digress. 

Ordinary day.   I worked my four hours and earned my 32 bucks (before tax) for the day.  I assembled a frame order for a diploma and joined a gaudy, elaborate champagne-colored frame for an oil painting.  I adore working with the tools in the frame shop, getting to use a power drill and glass cutter, and razor blades and such.  Ah, air compressors!  I feel so smart wearing clean white gloves as people bring in their cherished art or memorable to get put behind archival mats, glass, and moulding.  Framing was my first job after college, and, has been kind of a go-to when I can't think of anything else to do.  

I can apply my creative skills in the design process and my enjoyment in hands-on, crafty tasks in the production process.  Not to mention, a mixture of my acquired knowledge of the preservation materials, my appreciation for art, and my natural “people charm” skills help to make me a pretty good saleswoman.  (thank goodness,  ‘cause framin’ ain’t cheap!)  I just wish that I could be paid commission or just MORE in general for what I do.  (I’m not unique—I’m sure most people at some point in their lives feel like they weren't getting compensated properly for their actions).  If I didn't need money to eat, live, survive, and to pay off my debts, I guess I wouldn't complain so much.  It’s a fun job.

I suppose I could find a framing position that pays well.   I had an opportunity even at Michaels to get promoted to Custom Frame Department Manager, but my will is strong, and it had carried me already through the steps toward teaching abroad by the time the position came up. 

Next week is my last week of working there after a collective 10 months.  I adore framing, and am pretty good at it both on the design and the production aspect.  The crafty environment is comfortable and good for me right now.  Almost as soon as I moved back to Florida broke and homeless last summer from $an Franci$co, CA, and settled in at my parents' place, I wanted a fun, no-brainer, easy, and ‘disposable’ job, primarily because I didn’t know what I wanted to do and needed money.  

Eventually, when I got my mind set on teaching abroad,  the lack of a ‘serious’ job allowed me to focus on getting my TESOL certification and getting things in order for my next adventure.  Michaels is walking distance, so the environment plus the fact that I could walk or ride my bike really appealed to me. 

Now, the practical, money-conscious side of me would look back at myself and say,” What were you thinking?” In the year that I’ve been in Florida, I haven’t made really any money at all.  I know what I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking about my bills when I accepted an 8-dollar-per-hour retail job with no guaranteed set of hours! 

Anyways, my fault, done, lesson learned, and not much I can do about it but move forward.

 

Well, other than for not making my resume look like a mess of short/temporary jobs by quitting before I gave them 6 months (which it kind of already does), and the fact that it was enjoyable work, I stayed also because I was kind of interested in that management position. I did interview for the management position when the previous manager moved to a different job. But this was right about when I was on a time crunch between when I got accepted into CIEE’s Teach-in-Spain program that I had applied for, and the last date I was able to acknowledge my acceptance by paying a deposit for the trip.   

It was a really awkward couple of weeks for me, in fact, as I was trying to choose between a stable, full-time, salaried position (albeit not a high salary, but higher than the pitiful collection of pay I currently get in a year), and running away to teach for a short amount of time for way less money and an out-put of 4-5,000 dollars to prepare for the trip. merr...

Ultimately, the store manager sniffed me out and figured out that, though a managerial position is probably what a reasonable person my age needs, my heart didn't really want it, and wouldn't necessarily be a great investment if she did choose me.  I’d probably quit after a year or so if I did get the position to pursue something else, knowing me.   She smelled that on me like B.O. after deodorant fails and hired someone else.

Do I despise money? Or does money despise me?  Good question.   Either way, I've made some stooopid money choices.  That said, I think my calling in life may not be to make money.  Cause why else would I choose fields that don’t make much money? 

Adventure?  I think so.  Also, I really do think that Education is where I should be.  I feel very alive and connected when I am helping people and trying to bring about inspiration.  So I have to swallow the fact that I won’t make a six-figure salary, but maybe eventually something that will be stable enough and will afford me good vacation time and the ability to maybe one day start a side business with my art.  And that sounds mighty nice to my heart and soul. 

I am getting really pumped about my Spain trip.  Nine months with my thoughts and the challenge of teaching and of learning a new language (and hopefully making it stick) will stimulate me immensely, and, perhaps get me primed for a more ‘serious’ job once I return.  I want it to be a job in the educational field, but I am open to the possibilities that my more creative side could offer.

Nonetheless, one more week of listening to that repeating-- “my God, I want to shoot myself because that song has been playing as the soundtrack for my dreams” --collection of farts and shafts entertainment.

--and then, on the baby days of September, onward to new sounds that have yet to get stuck in my mind’s ear.