Half-Way There

Europe » Spain » Catalonia » Barcelona
June 21st 2009

Published: June 21st 2009

Hey all, finally got some time to write another entry.

So where to start....

Apartment/Room Mates: So the decision to get the apartment closer to the school (and beach) is turning out to be quite fortuitous. I have yet to be late to class (the same can not be said for my colleagues) and my room mate Beth and I have been going out just about every day for an early evening beach trip (it stays light here until almost 10:30). Speaking of Beth, she is the latest in the ever-changing room mate situation. She's from the UK and is pretty god damn cool. It's nice to have someone to hang with now that my old partner-in-crime, Matthew, is gone. We have two more Germans showing up later today, hopefully they will be a little bit more outgoing than Karin (another German girl who just left on Saturday).

The School: Our main teacher Lawrence is Scottish and is exactly what one hopes for in a teacher: patient, supportive, fun, constructive. Class is fairly intense, we have our input sessions (aka "how-to-teach") from 9:30 till 1, a break for lunch, then teaching from 2-4 followed by lesson critique from 4-5. We are learning a lions share of teaching technique and I am pleased to say I am able to incorporate what we learn into my lessons. I've taught 5 of my 7 classes so far and teaching is alternately the most rewarding/nerve-racking job I've ever had. Making a detailed, informative, fun lesson for the various levels of students we teach is tough. We teach beginner, elementary, pre-intermediate, and intermediate classes. This adds another level of difficulty to lesson planning in that you have to think of what the students already know and work off of that. You have to be know exactly what you want the students to be able to do by the end of the lesson and then work backwards. The analogy I've come to rely on is that a lesson is like baking; you have to start with the basic ingredients mixed in the appropriate ratios and "bake" all those pieces into a final activity. Our teaching focus is student interaction, meaning that the more you can get the students to use the language the more they learn. I am still amazed how much the students want to learn, American students seem apathetic and downright vile by comparison. I feel like I'm getting more comfortable in front of the class and each of my lessons is (more or less) an improvement on the last--which is about all you can ask for at this early stage in my teaching. The only thing that has been a source of consternation is this thing called a learner profile. Each of us are required to work one-on-one with one of the students and to create a private lesson just for them. My student, Rosario, is trying her hardest to give me an aneurysm. I spent all last week trying to get a hold of her so we could meet on Friday. She sends me an email on Friday telling me that she can't meet then, which puts me far behind in terms of where I should be with her lesson panning. It'll work out, I'm just irritated by the whole process.

The City: Barcelona continues to impress this Ohio boy's sensibilities. I still have not had a meal that wasn't delicious and I have not even attempted to go to the more expensive trendy places around town. Simple food, made well, often eaten without shoes or a shirt is proof that God loves us. I haven't met a native that wasn't friendly and helpful.

A Quick Narrative: So last week everyone from the school was invited to go out to the Old City (the center of the city more or less) for an ISLA (the name of our school) bar crawl. It was the first time I had been to the city proper, the school and our apartment are somewhat on the outskirts. We met everyone in front of a post office that makes post offices in the U.S. look like outhouses. It was a huge ornate, old style building that looks like it's been there since the 18th century. We met up with some teachers and a bunch of other students from the school and headed into a labyrinth of tiny streets lined with shops, convenience stores, bars, restaurants, and clubs. The first place we went to was a homey spot with a gray-haired proprietor where we drank cider, a sort of cross between liquor and wine, absolutely nothing like what you get in the States. The school paid for the first round, which was actually more like the first 5 rounds, munched on chorizo, and shot the shit with all the other students we hadn't had the pleasure of meeting. I sat with a bunch of Matthew's friends, a group of Germans who were solid fun-loving guys. We talked about the States (they didn't know what "obese" was until I sheepishly explained it to them "its the word we had to invent that means beyond fat") and their home towns in Germany while knocking back glasses of cider. After that we went to a place that served mojitos ("I don't think it's a gay drink") that were practically ambrosial. I've had a mojito in the States before and didn't understand the fuss over them. That was before I sat and watched a pretty Spanish girl crush up fresh mint and expertly add mix up the house specialty, sneaking a quick smile in my direction as I sat mesmerized. The ingredients were fresh, the liquor was good, the atmosphere was perfect, I ended up having 2 more before we left. At this point in the night my American counterparts were showing signs of the classic "too-much-too-soon" alcohol stage that we are all familiar with. The rest of us were just getting started, with Hattie (one of the school admins) buying a six-pack of Estrella from one of the countless gypsies on the street.

Quick aside on street gypsies in BCN: You can get just about anything the hard drinking crowd could want on the streets of the Old City, anything from individual beers (you can drink on the street!), to warm spicy potato empanadas, to chunks of hash (I stayed away from those guys, they are the definition of shady).

So the American girls went home and we met up with more people from the school. At this point I have a nice buzz and I'm completely intoxicated with the scene around us. Hundreds of people from every nationality wandering through the streets, knocking back beers, laughing, yelling, vomiting, making out, sleeping-- it blew me away. I was walking at the front of the group with a teacher from the school, Tom another solid dude from the UK, crushing beers, smoking Lucky Strikes, discussing the finer points of football (that's soccer, although god help you if you call it that). We hit the next bar, a more open saloon-type place that was definitely a more local joint than anywhere we had been yet. I mentioned to Tom that I wanted to try some real Absinthe (not that faux-shit we get in the US) sometime before I left. Tom gets an glint in his eye and we decide "fuck it, why not right now", so we buy a round for all the people who are still left in the group. Proper Absinthe preparation: place sugar cup in drink, swirl for a minute, pull out sugar cub and ignite, letting it caramelize on a spoon above the drink, then poor water over it causing it dissolve in the drink. I take a healthy gulp of my glass and I feel like I've been struck by lightning. Electric fire that hits your tongue and crackles all the way down, hands down the strongest shit I've ever had. I follow the example of everyone else and drink it slow. Everyone that is except for a guy from Mozambique who was with us-- I look over just in time to see him knock back the entire glass and look over at us saying "come on drink up!" I almost wretched just watching him and sure enough 20 minutes later he is face down on the table. To cut this story short (because I need to eat some breakfast, soo hungry) Matthew and I had to carry this guy home at 3 in the morning through the streets of the Old City, waking him up enough to figure out where he lives. We definitely earned some credit at the Karmic bank that night.

Oh, one more thing, I got a job working at a summer camp in England this summer, I'll tell you all more about that later.

Much love to everyone,

Spencer

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