Expatiperro

Though one might think otherwise from reading my blog, my life's been more than working, produce shopping, and enjoying the mostly sunny springtime weather (though I would be completely happy if it were just the last one). Two weeks ago, taking advantage of a week off of work, I went with my friend Grant to Sardinia.

Sardinia is one of the melting-pot areas of the Mediterranean, and as a result, its history is incredibly fascinating. It boasts a huge number of prehistoric remains, some of them massive in scale and probably testaments to a well-developed civilization that inhabited the island over 3000 years ago. The language is unique as well- while all Sards speak Italian, they also speak their own language, which has influences from Latin, Arabic, and other tongues, but sounds nothing like any of them. (We got a first-hand experience with Sard from the lady that ran our hostel, who might have been the only person on the island not to speak Italian. SO FRUSTRATING.)

But one thing about Sardinia that is especially appealing to Catalans is that it contains the only place outside of Spain where Catalan is spoken. The official language of the town of Alghero (or l'Alguer) is Catalan, and it was definitely a surprise to be able to read street signs and talk to the taxi driver (though he also spoke fluent English, which we quickly reverted to). Alghero's Catalan status seems to be a big source of pride to Barcelonans, almost to the point of them fetishizing it- in the travel bookstore I found a surprisingly large number of travel guides to Alghero, which became even more surprising once we got there and found a definite dearth of things to do. So let's get onto that...

We flew into Alghero on Friday night and went straight to our bed & breakfast, where we would spend the next four nights. We had chosen the Mamajuana not just because its name sounded illicit, but also because the guidebook had given it rave reviews, especially singling out its breakfast, "served at a cafe across the street," for special mention. Imagine our surprise the next morning when we discovered that not only was there no cafe across the street, but that the breakfast was actually served from a VENDING MACHINE located under the B&B's stairs. While a breakfast of Fanta and Kinderbueno candy bar made us feel a little better, we did feel let down by the guidebook (Rough Guide, you will rue the day you were printed), and set out to explore the city on partially empty stomachs.

Disappointment was the theme of our trip for the next three days. The day trip I had planned to visit Neptune's Grotto, "without a doubt the post popular excursion" (sic) from Alghero, was scuttled when we discovered that it was closed for "renovations," necesitated by a freak storm three months earlier. (How a natural cave can be renovated is beyond me, but I digress.) Grant's ATM and credit cards refused to work, which turned me into a sugardaddy, and turned our trip into an exercise in thriftiness. A dinner became a let-down when I ordered a pepperoni and melanzane pizza, expecting an exotic meat and melon delight, but instead received a peppers and eggplant (apparently the correct translation of the menu). And the 5 movies I had downloaded onto my computer before leaving were rendered useless when I forgot my recharging cable at home. Instead of the movies, our nightly entertainment was tag-team solitare and six episodes of Project Runway Grant magically had on his iPod.

Things changed for the better at the midpoint of our trip. After a 4-hour search involving two long bus trips and much groveling, we managed to rent a car that promised to liberate us from the mental captivity we were feeling. But before we could drive freely on the Italian roads, we had one more difficulty to overcome: the manual transmission. Undaunted, our intrepid adventurers tackled the challenge head-on. Armed with nothing more than guile, confidence, and printed instructions from eHow.com, Grant and I conquered our vehicle with only a minor mental breakdown to show for it. (N.B.- Avoid driving in medieval Italian cities at all costs. This is from experience.)

The last three days of the trip were a complete change from the first three days. We explored the northern coast of the island, which was blissfully empty of tourists and the high prices that they bring. We saw prehistoric ruins, walked on amazing beaches, ate meals that didn't come out of a vending machine, and stayed in hotels with ocean views and cheap prices to boot. For an exampe, the photo on the right was taken from our €60 a night hotel room, overlooking the Mediterranean, and with views of Castelsardo, a hilltop fortress dating from the 14th century.

But my far the coolest, and most photogenic part of the trip, was out day visiting Capo Testa, the northern-most part of the island, and the site of some of its most dramatic scenery. Blue-blue water, light-sand beaches, and rocks strewn all around. In Grant's words, "It looks like where Gaudi practiced his designs." Anything else that I can write can't do it justice, so I'll leave you all with some pictures to get a sense of the scene.


After spending four hours playing on the rocks, everything else was just gravy. We had a celebratory bottle of wine (or three) at dinner, retired to our room which overlooked the beach and had views of Corsica, and woke up the next day to make it back to Alghero in time for our return flight.

All in all, it was a fantastic trip. One not-so-good effect of great trips, however, is a bit of a travel hangover, which has hit me hard and made it next to impossible to get back into the swing of things at work. Oh well, worse things have happened (like, say, breakfast out of a vending machine). Just 2 more weeks until our next adventure (MALTA!), and then possibly a trip with Jason to Istanbul in June. Updates to come!

As much as I would like to think that English instruction is so vital that it's resistant to the economic crisis, so far it's turning out to be just as vulnerable as Coke (a-Cola) parties on 30 Rock. Last month, I lost 3 hours due to budget cutbacks at companies where I taught; today, I just found out that I'm losing another 2.5 hours a week for the same reason. This makes me sad for a few reasons, least of which financial; Fernando was one of my favorite students, class was fun and easy to prepare, and now I have another chuck of my week with nothing to do. Free time is deceiving: the more of it you get, the less idea you have of what to do with it.

It's not hard to see all the ways that Spain is suffering because of the economic crisis, especially from my foreign, English teacher perspective. Companies are cutting back on expenses, and those that haven't canceled their English classes have cut back on other costs, like flower purchases, bottled water, and according to some of my students, writing implements (bring your pen to work day!). The amount of for rent signs up in empty store windows is staggering- in fact, the car dealership that used to be on the ground floor of my building moved out a few months ago, and I doubt that anyone will move into the space while I'm still in Spain. And the gym that I go to is packed with middle-aged adults during the afternoon, when one would imagine that most of them would be at the office.

From what I hear from family and friends, the scene at home is similar, which makes me all the more hesitant to go back. It's a bit ironic that it has been easier for me to find work living illegally in Spain than it has been back home in the US. But if my recent lost classes are any trend (and I suspect that they are), I might be equally unemployable on both sides of the Atlantic. And if that's the case, what difference does it make where I live?

My receipt from a recent trip to the produce market:

2 packs of lettuce
1 bunch of asparagus
2 nectarines
2 big apples
2 lbs of oranges
4 bananas
4 yellow plums

Total: €5.89

It's not just produce that's this cheap. At the grocery store, I can spend around €30 for enough food to last me the entire week. And at the neighborhood farmer's market, I can supply myself for even cheaper. It's been a while since I've gone grocery shopping in the US, but from what I remember, it would cost me almost double what I spend here to eat comparably back at home.

Despite being cheap, the food here, especially the produce, is GOOD. Like, perfectly ripe, bright colors, and keeps for a good amount of time. I guess that that's a result of the food being grown closer to the city- Barcelona is surrounded by farmland, and most fruits and veggies come from the province. A short supply chain means tastier, cheaper food. Makes you wonder why this hasn't caught on in the US, if just for economical reasons.

Another benefit: a consistently healthier diet. When food is this cheap, why would you even want to eat junk food?

This is pretty cool, too. An email I received a couple of days ago:

Hi Matt,

I am delighted to let you know that your submitted photo
has been selected for inclusion in the newly released sixth
edition of our Schmap Barcelona Guide:

Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art (MACBA)
http://www.schmap.com/barcelona/sights_elraval/p=67627/i=67627_42.jpg

The backstory to this is brief. In October, I spent a day walking around the Raval (an old, formerly seedy, currently bohemian neighborhood) taking pictures of grafitti and interesting architecture. I posted the pictures on Flickr, and a few months later got a email saying that this particular one had been shortlisted for the guide. And then, voila, here it is.

After the Catalan TV appearance and the guidebook photo, what ridiculous thing could possibly happen next? Or maybe it's better to sit back and be surprised...

I've hit my stride over the past couple of weeks. Classes have gotten easier to plan and less stressful to teach; the hours I spend on the subway don't seem as substantial as they once were; my flatmates are more civil and open to making conversation; my laundry's even getting washed with more frequency. Granted, the latter's only occurring once every 10 days as opposed to the previous once a month, but every big change starts with a small step.

It's not that I wasn't in a groove before. I had a routine, a basic established pattern to my normal day, and I was fairly content with it. But there was something inherently stressful about the way I had been living, stressful in some way that I can't put my finger on. Lessons weren't planned with much foresight, and sometimes the thought of teaching gave me such anxiety that I dreaded going to class. This spilled over into my life outside of work, which could be easily seen in the overstuffed laundry basket, the bare pantry shelves, and the dust-bunny tumbleweeds that rolled across the floor of my room.

The thing is, nothing major in my life has changed. I'm still teaching the same amount of classes to the same students. I'm avoiding the gym as much as I always have. My recent clothing purchases aren't a good enough explanation for my recent mood change. (Though I must say that it's easier to look happy when you look good.)

But coinciding with my mood change has been the arrival of spring here in Barcelona. The weather here has been unbelievable over the last 2 weeks. Cloudless days; the temperature perfect for a slight sweater or long sleeve shirt, no jacket needed; mild nights that make you walk briskly, but that still allow you to linger outside to talk to friends or to stand alone, taking in the night scene. The sun here is bright, almost painful without sunglasses, but the path it takes is still low enough in the sky for the light to be flattering, even in midday. Barcelona is made for photographers, and at this time of year, walking around without a camera is a waste of energy.

I never cease to be amazed at the effect that the weather has on people's mood. Case-in-point: On Sunday, I joined some friends at a BBQ, held on a friend of a friend of a friend's (the most random, yet best way to make connections) terrace in the Gothic Quarter. Walking to the apartment, I was joined on the street by throngs of other people, tourists and locals, who all shared the same stupefied, this-is-too-good-to-be-true expression as me. It was as if we all shared the same thought, that we couldn't believe our luck for being in such a beautiful place, on such a beautiful day. The kind of day where anything seems possible, when opportunities are endless, when you feel lucky to be alive. (A type of day that happened all too infrequently to me in New York.)

The BBQ was fantastic- an assortment of people from all over the world, very few of them who knew each other before arriving, all eating hamburgers and chicken while looking out over the roofs and church towers of the old town. (Pictures would be posted, except that I broke my own rule and left my camera at home.) It was all a bit surreal- minus the satellite dishes, it was the same view one could have seen 500 years ago. That thought, along with the weather on the ups and the great company, made it was hard not to feel that we weren't in the best city on the planet, at the best possible time.

In the end, I guess that the weather has pushed me into a new equilibrium, a happy balance. The word is that it should stay like this until July, by which point I'll be back in the US. So if there's any change in my mood, I won't be able to chalk it up to the weather; it's all on me.

Since November and the start of my teaching career, I've been teaching English classes for two different agencies. Most of my classes are with one agency- seven classes a week, for a total of about 15 hours- while I only have two hours of work a week with the other. Now I like each job very much (they both put food on the table), but as time as passed, I've come to enjoy my main job much more than my other one. The pay is better, I have a better relationship with my boss, and most importantly (at least to me), it doesn't require me to teach at 8 AM Mondays and Fridays.

The past few weeks, I had been strongly considering leaving my minor job, in order to focus more on my primary job, as well as my private classes. Now, I'd never quit an job before, but I assumed that there were certain actions that one had to take to formally cut off ties: resignation letters, a talk with the boss, emotional goodbyes to your co-workers and students. And I assumed that these actions would be in play even in the world of Barcelona English teaching, with its emphasis on temporary employment and job-hopping.

So I drafted up a resignation letter, prepared my goodbye speech, and summoned the courage to call my boss. And what response did I get? (A paraphrase follows)

"Matt, things aren't this formal here. No need to give me two week. Come in at the month and collect your paycheck. See you then."

The lesson from this experience? That teaching English in Barcelona is a temporal, causal profession; that being unprofessional is accepted, if not expected; and that I shouldn't feel like I have to make every exit a graceful one.

I can't embed the video into this blog post, so you'll just have to follow this link to see my appearance on the Catalan state news. No, I wasn't involved in a crime or catastrophe- the segment is on cooking classes in Barcelona, or as the title translates to, "The attraction of cooking." Not quite as exciting as having my mug shot put up on screen, but still, pretty cool. And story behind it is as follows.

Last month, I accepted an invitation extended to me by two of my students and enrolled in a month-long, once a week cooking class. Over the 4 class sessions, we learned how to make "cuina de mercat," or "market food"- meals that we could make easily, with vegetables and meat that was easily gotten at the farmer's market or grocery store. Cod with mustard sauce, vegetarian paella, tradiational Catalan beef stew, tiramisu- all of it tasty, quick, and easy to make. Though not idiot-proof - I'm still capable of messing up almost anything that touches my hands in the ktichen, so don't expect perfection if I ever try to cook one of these dishes for you. But all in all, it was a great cultural, linguistic, and delicious experience.

The segment is 2 minutes long, but I only appear in the last 30 seconds. And no, I'm not falling asleep during my close-up; that's just my intense concentration/intense hunger combination face. Enjoy!

________________

UPDATE, 2/11: The video was finally uploaded to YouTube! Enjoy the embedded, condensed version.

No. 355: In order to correctly play bingo, the cards that you give out to your students must be different from each other. If the cards are the same, everyone gets the same result.

No. 356: If your students are 7 and 9 years old, aren't experienced bingo players, don't have a firm grasp on English, and are slightly gullible, you can pretend that that's how the game is supposed to be played. And since there are no losers, there are no tears at the end of the game. Everyone wins, including the teacher.

Last week, my lovely 13" black Macbook began to have trouble charging. In order to get it recharged, I had to set the power cord at just the right angle, pushing it into the computer, and I had to hold it there until the battery was recharged, which takes about two hours. Now, I had no real problem doing this- my computer is my baby, it gave me an opportunity to catch up on my 30 Rock watching, and I didnt have anything better to do (the dirty little secret about teaching is that you don't actually work ALL that much)- but I figured that I couldn't keep it up for too much longer. I need my computer for everyday tasks, like emails and lesson planning, but more pressing was the fact that I'm a total computer addict and would suffer horribly if the inconvenience became too great. Sooner or later, I figured, I would have to figure out what was wrong and decide what to do about it to fix it permanently.

This morning, however, my hand was forced when the power cord conked out for good. In order to save my computer (and my sanity), I went to the Apple store to see if they had any power cords in stock. And luckily for me, they did- to the tune of €90!?!? Now, I know that Apple is a classy company, and that their products carry a premuin for being so cool and well-designed, but a €90 power cord? You have to be kidding me. Still, I didn't have a choice, so I was ended up buying it anyways. I guess that Apple knows that their customers are easily persuaded/have low resistances.

The price itself wasn't the worst part. Right after I got home, when curiosity got the better of me and I looked up how much the power cord cost in the US- $75. Which equals... €60. Or 30% less than what I ended up paying. Up to now, I've been pretty good about not comparing the euro to the dollar, and as a result, I've been rather oblivious to the price differences here compared to the US. But this is baaad.

Another point- I found out at the check-out counter today that all Apple accessories come with a two-year warranty. I had my old power cord for... 2 years and 3 months. You really have to hand it to those Apple engineers- it takes skill to design a product that breaks down so close (yet not close enough) to the end of the warranty date.

Well, well, well, it's been a while. In case you were worried about me, I'm alive, still have a roof over my head, and am eating three moderately healthy meals a day. And who could ask for anything more?

I figure that since it's been an inordinate amount of time since I last posted, you've been dying to know about how life has been going over here for me. (Or you might have forgotten that this blog exists, which I would completely understand as well.) As tends to happened over the course of two months, much has happened. Some highlights include:

-Settling into teaching. This has been both extremely exciting and indescribably frustrating. I haven't experienced many better feelings than the one you get after a class where everything goes well, the students enjoy it and actually learn the material, and the hour's over before you know it. However, on the flip side, there aren't many worse things than a disaster class- no matter how much you prepare, the students aren't receptive, you forget the worksheets, and to fill the remaining 45 minutes, you have to resort to playing Simon Says over and over.

-Getting used to kids. I teach three different pairs of siblings: a 9 and 7 year old, a 6 and 4 year old, and a 6 and 5 year old. With the exception of the 9 year old, who speaks fantastic English for her age (complete sentences, great pronunciation, big vocabulary), all of the kids are at a pretty basic level, and since they're so young, I teach mainly through repetitive exercises, games, and coloring activities. Not having to prepare worksheets and conversation topics is a big time saver (I really wish I could teach my adults by having them color Teletubby pictures), but learning how to deal with kids has been a huge effort, especially since this is my first extended exposure with kids.

After 2 months of experience, I've come to the conclusion that kids are simultaneously adorable, AND total pain-in-the-asses. One minute they're hitting you on the back and begging you to play hide and go seek, and the next they're super excited about coloring a worksheet and telling you how much they love English. But by far the best part about kids- their short attention spans. If a lesson bombs, by the time the next class rolls around, they have no memory of how bad the previous class was. And for a beginning teacher prone to lesson meltdowns, that's a god-send.

-Winter break and traveling. I took advantage of my winter holidays to spend a week traveling around Andalucía with my parents, and then took off for Paris on New Yeas Day for 5 days to meet up with a friend from Columbia. Highlights included a private tour of the Alhambra; getting repeatedly lost driving around Córdoba and Sevilla in a rental car; an endless train trip to Paris involving 2 train changes and a night in Montpellier, France; stumbling into an anti-Israel protest in Paris and watching people burn cars from 20 feet away; having my first American breakfast in 4 months at an American-style diner in Paris; and not getting deported while flying back to Barcelona. My break was capped off by a visit from a dear Columbia friend, one Mr. Learned Foote, who had to suffer through my repeated questions on the state of the US, as well as some juvenile pranks of mine. But that's another story.

Needless to say, after 3 weeks off, readjusting to work has been a challenge, which has been made more complicated by the fact that I've lost 25% of my hours, leaving me perilously cose to the break-even line. Lots of free time and not much money to burn is not a good combination, so I'm having to scrounge for hours wherever I can find them. At least it gives me lots of time to hit the gym...

So I'm hoping that this post is the start of a more consistent pattern of posting on this blog. I do have lots of things to write about, and many pictures to post, and hopefully I'll be able to give you guys a better look at my life here in 2009 than I did last year. And if I begin to slack off, don't hesitate to call me out on it (thanks Mom and Anne!). Feliç Any Nou, y fins aviat!