Under the weather

Unfortunately I still don't have internet en mi casa, and probably won't for another couple weeks. My roommate and I ordered our router and internet package over a week ago, but we're in Spain: mañana mañana.

I promise to blog about all the wonderful details of my two jobs and 200+ students, who have already been kind enough to share their germs with me and give me a cold. But for now I don't feel up to it. I'm using borrowed internet, have no voice, and will unfortunately not be going to Granada this weekend as planned. When you're sick the last thing you want to do is pack a bag, get on a bus, and sleep in some place besides your own bed.

For all of these reasons I'm feeling a little bit pouty and feel like sharing a list of things that I miss from the States. Don't get me wrong, life is beautiful here, but if I could have the following things it would be even better:

• Carpet (tile is hard and will be very cold in the winter)
• Beer served in a size that takes me more than two gulps to finish
• Mexican food
• Not having to watch for dog shit every where I walk
• People who appreciate the flow of foot traffic on sidewalks and don't stop with their granny carts in the middle of a three-foot-wide path to chat, forcing you to squeeze by them, only for them to give you a bizarre look and wonder why you could possibly have wanted to pass them anyway
• My pets

Homer

Megatron and Dudley

Missing from the pictures is my running buddy, Duke, a handsome, hopelessly stupid, but endlessly sweet, German Shepherd.

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night (probably because I can't breathe through my nose very well) and rolled over. Instinctively, I was very careful to not kick the bottom left corner of my bed because that's where my cat, Dudley (the larger brown one), sleeps. But then I remembered that I am in Spain, and he is not, and I got very sad. But I talked to my mom today and all pets are accounted for and doing well.

On a final note, today is my mom's birthday. I tried convincing her that she should go see Jackass 3D for her birthday; I know my brothers would gladly accompany her. But she insists that she would rather go feed carrots to my uncle's horses. Regardless, happy birthday, Mom! I love you!

I'm the luckiest girl in the world

It was a fun five weeks in Sevilla, but all good things must come to an end. Last Saturday I said goodbye to Isa, thanked her for everything, and rolled my way to the train station a couple blocks away. I’m still darn proud of myself for only bringing one suitcase, and even more for resisting the urge to shop while in Sevilla so that I could still fit everything into the one suitcase. It was a short two-hour train ride with three other girls from my program. We parted ways after arriving in Málaga as they went to the hotel the program had booked for us to stay in while searching for an apartment.

I was lucky enough to have my apartment already and took a taxi straight there where the (English speaking!) landlord was waiting for me with my keys and contract. A friend of mine lived here last year and put me in touch with the landlord. I have had my living situation arranged since before I even came to Spain, but I didn’t fully appreciate just how fortunate this was until this past week. All of my new friends have been desperately searching for a place to live, becoming more frustrated each day as the prepaid nights in a hotel draw to a close. Some have looked at as many as fifteen apartments, trying to find a place they’re comfortable with, roommates they can communicate with, and a price they can afford. I got to completely skip this step and move into my home for the next year while others were just beginning their search.

My beautiful new home

I did have one task to complete as soon as possible: I needed to find a roommate. Within 24 hours of being in the apartment I had accomplished this. Go me. I had been talking to a few people via various housing websites and one of them came to look at the place the same evening I arrived. By the next afternoon we had both agreed that we seemed a good fit, and as easy as that, mission accomplished.

To further add to my good fortune, and my list of accomplishments for the week, I have a second job already. Not ten minutes after I had signed the contract, gotten my keys, and the landlord had left, he called me and said “I forgot to mention, I have a friend who runs an English school and he’s looking for a teacher. Can I give him your phone number?” After picking my jaw up off the floor I muttered every response in my English vocabulary (and some in Spanish) signaling an affirmative response. Not only did I get an amazing apartment dropped in my lap, but it also came with a job! The very next day my landlord’s friend called me, asked if I could meet him that evening to go tour the school, and start teaching classes the following day. I got a job offer based on the fact that I speak English fluently and call myself an English teacher. It was by no means an interview. It was more like “Here are the classrooms, here are the materials, this is what I’ll pay you, want to start tomorrow?” It all seemed organized and trustworthy (by Spanish standards), so my response was a resounding yes.

I am still completely in shock that so much happened so fast. To recap:

Saturday
2:30pm – Arrive in Málaga, go straight to apartment, get keys, sign contract
7:00pm – Potential roommate comes to look at apartment

Sunday
Late morning – Potential roommate calls, living situation confirmed
Afternoon – Director of school calls, offers job
Evening – Meet director, visit school, accept job

Monday
5:00pm – Begin teaching

And so my life in Málaga has begun. The rest of the past week has been filled with wandering around my new city, getting lost, unpacking, and filling the kitchen with food and apartment with life. My other notable accomplishment was getting my NIE, which is my ID number as a foreigner residing in Spain. It involved paperwork, photographs, and waiting in lines, but I’m now a legal resident of Spain. I also went to the elementary school I’ll be teaching at during the day, introduced myself, and was told to come back on Monday to start work. I still don’t know what my schedule will be like but I’m crossing my fingers for Fridays off.

Let's do that again: Lagos, Portugal

Boy do I have a lot to catch up on. It’s only been a couple weeks since I last wrote but my life now is 100% different (still in Spain, trying to learn Spanish, but that’s about it). Before I get started on all the excitement that my life is currently characterized by I have to back track to two weekends ago to one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in the world: Lagos, Portugal; a short three hour bus ride from Sevilla.

A huge group of us went to Lagos for a weekend of sun, sand, and sangria. When I say huge that’s exactly what I mean. We quite literally took over the beach, hotel, bar, whatever we came across. I think an appropriate title for the weekend would have been “America Invades Portugal.” To be accurate there were two Swedes in the group, but they blended in quite nicely. We arrived at each beach, American music blaring thanks to some ipod speakers, and promptly set up camp, laying out enough towels to cover a basketball court (That’s only a slight exaggeration).

Lagos was like a European spring break, in September. We spent three days on three different beaches, drinking beer and boxed wine, absorbing as much sun as humanly possible, and enjoying the refreshing Atlantic Ocean. All the necessary beach activities were accounted for: Frisbee, soccer, volleyball, skim board, and surfing. Oh, and of course tanning. I tried surfing for the first time (managed to do so without paying for the 35€ lesson), and although not a huge success I wouldn’t call my attempt a failure. I got the hang of “catching a wave” and was able to stand up, although only for a second or two. I will absolutely be trying that again sometime in the future. Unfortunately Málaga doesn’t have waves, so I’ll have to venture elsewhere.

On the second day we went on a sangria sailboat cruise. Sangria. Sailboat. Cruise. Those three words should be enough to demonstrate how fantastic this afternoon was, but really only pictures can do it justice. We had unlimited sangria (which did not run out as we feared it might on a boat), got to jump off the boat and swim, and got a tour of Lagos’ gorgeous seaside grottoes. Being in the smaller boat, cruising through such picturesque caves, I was reminded of Disneyland rides, but kept having to remind myself that it was all real and there were no tracks beneath my boat.

Our evenings were filled with fantastic food, more beer, and discotecas, in true American spring break style. We stumbled back to the hotel in the wee hours of the morning, some of us on more stable feet than others.

Black lights and white teeth

Speaking of the hotel, did I mention how beautiful it was? Despite having such amazing beaches a short walk away I did find time to go swimming here too.

All in all, it was a fantastic weekend, and it was timed perfectly. There are 30 of us who arrived in Sevilla together and spent the last month taking Spanish classes, and beginning our Spanish adventure together before we split up all over Andalucía to teach. Lagos was our last weekend together, and I couldn’t be happier to have spent it with the people that I did.

Ready to run?

I've been in Spain for three weeks now and have spent the last two weeks living in a Spanish homestay consisting of a 31 year woman, Isa, and her father, Joaquin. Not the traditional family, but they are wonderful, and I really shouldn't have much to complain about. I get three meals a day here, which for the most part are great.

(Side story about food: Their idea of a "salad" is chopped up lettuce tossed in a mixture of ketchup and mayonnaise. Eww, I know. Isa noticed that I don't eat much of the salad when she makes it, so she thought she would solve the problem, which she thought was a scarcity of sauce. So last night the salad was lettuce absolutely drenched in ketchup and mayonnaise. I just couldn't stomach it. She was so proud of herself and really thought I would like the new version. I felt bad telling her it was actually worse. Moral of the story: communication, communication, communication. End story)

Like I was saying, my home here is great. Isa even took me to meet her mom the other day, who is equally sweet, called me guapa, and insisted on taking a picture of Isa and me. Living with Spaniards is helping my Spanish more than any classroom ever could. Isa is fantastic about explaining things in as many ways as possible until I understand. We watch Desperate Housewives (Mujeres Desperadas) together every day during lunch and comment on the latest drama on Wisteria Lane. Joaquin tends to forget that he needs to speak more slowly in order for me to understand, but it's getting easier.

So yes, the homestay situation is great. But at times it is frustrating. I just reread my blog entry from when I was in New York, Falling Into Place. I was extremely content in my independence, and somehow, amidst all the moving around that my life is currently characterized by, I felt "in place." That is definitely not the case now, and I feel like I've regressed. Living in a homestay has in some ways taken away my ability to act like an adult. I know I'll probably be eating these words in the future, but I can't wait to do my own dishes and laundry again, and to be the one who stops by the store after work to pick up milk and bread. The whole "being taken care of" things does get old, and apparently for me it takes two weeks to get tired of it.

Additionally, the lack of permanency in my life is starting to get to me. To recap, since mid July my life has consisted of:

• 4 weeks in a sublet in New York
• 1 week at home in California
• 1 week in a hotel in in Sevilla
• 4 weeks in a homestay in Sevilla
• Finally, on September 25, my own place in Málaga for 8 months

I know I know, this is the opportunity of a lifetime and I should stop crying about it. But I find myself craving for something very strange, which I have deduced could be one of two things. (1) Maybe I'm done with Sevilla. Three weeks has been more than enough to see what it has to offer, and I'm not digging much deeper than that because I know it's only a temporary home. I've done my best to fill up the last two weekends with excursions away from the city. I'm ready to move on. Or (2) I'm craving something that is a foreign concept to me: to be settled. I want to unpack my suitcase, put it away, and not think about packing it again for a long long time. (Hence the question mark at the end of the title. Awesome points to who ever can name the artist of the song) I want to start a life somewhere, to start a daily, weekly, monthly rountine. My next stay, although still technically temporary, will be counted in months rather than weeks or days, so hopefully I will be able to accomplish that goal.

I paid the deposit for my apartment in Málaga today and I can't be more excited to have done so. Somewhere in a city that I've never been to, there's a bedroom, a kitchen, a living room that I can now officially call mine. It's a step in the direction I want to go.

I'll end with some pictures from the last few weeks at the beach (Matalascañas), Roman ruins in Italica, and one of the oldest cities in all of Spain, where bull fighting originated, Ronda.

The oldest bull fighting ring in Spain, built in 1785

Puente Nuevo in Ronda

Amphitheater in Italica, the 3rd largest city in the world at the height of the Roman Empire

Amazing mosaic in Italica of the gods who represent the seven days of the week

A tribute to Saint Anthony

I went to Sevilla's cathedral the other day (which is the biggest one in the world, they have the certificate to prove it).

Besides being amazingly beautiful and full of fascinating bits of history, it proved to be of great service to me. I went with a group of other Language and Culture Assistants, and with our lovely student ID cards admission was free (a fantastic perk considering our less than fabulous stipend and the fact that we don't get paid for over a month). Unfortunately, I couldn't find my card. I dug through my purse and finally concluded that I had to have lost it at some point. So I reluctantly paid the 8€ admission. I was pretty bummed about having to do this, but forgot about it as soon as we walked into the cathedral. It's one of those places that draws a very authentic jaw dropping reaction; I looked from the floor up to the ceiling 42 meters above my head and had to turn in a couple circles before being able to say anything but "Wow."

 We spent the next couple hours wandering from chapel to chapel, climbing to the top of the 90 meter Giralda, discussing whether el Mausoleo de Cristobal Colón actually holds Columbus' remain or not, and enjoying Rick Steve's often comical descriptions of what we were seeing.

Columbus' tomb

 After exhausting the strength of our legs, we found ourselves sitting in front of the chapel where baptisms take place.

Looking over this chapel is St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things. People pray to St. Anthony to help them find such things as faith, missing family members, a husband, or lost car keys. So I'm sitting in a pew in front if this chapel, with Anthony looking down at me, and I open my purse to get my water bottle out. I reach into my purse, and my hand comes out with my "lost" student ID card, no longer missing. How's that for creepy? Thanks, Anthony!

Empieza la vida española

I've been in Spain for a week now, but in some ways it feels like I've been here for months. I arrived last Monday after having met several of my fellow teachers in the airport. (Side story: these airport scenes were quite comical. A lot of us have been "friends" via our facebook group for a few months and can somewhat say that we 'know' each other. We would approach each other, trying to remember what this person's profile picture looks like, and say something like "Are you so-and-so? I think I know you." It was funny and awkward, but now we've spent an entire week together)
My first week has been filled with orientation sessions on useful things like how to set up a bank account, buy a cell phone, and get a resident card. That's all really boring stuff that none of you care about. The more exciting events of the week: A tour of el Alcázar, a royal palace built by the Muslims during the 12th century, torn down in the 14th century when the Christians conquered the region, and then rebuilt by the Christians with their own symbolism embedded into the Muslim architecture. (Okay so maybe that's not exciting for everyone, but remember: I'm a history major and a huge nerd.)  

Patio de las Doncellas, the "waiting room" for the king's visitors

Salón de Embajadores, the throne room

Another part of Spanish culture that I am quickly acclimating to is the art of the siesta. It's really an amazing thing that should be adopted in the US, especially in regions where it gets unbearably hot. Spain pretty much shuts down between 2pm and 5pm while everyone has a luxuriously long lunch break and takes a nap. It's genius. Once you get over the American attitude of "I want to do whatever I want, when I want," you realize how functional this society really is. It only sucks when you want to do something or go somewhere that isn't open during the siesta, but it's very easy to adapt to.

I am now living in my homestay with my Spanish "familia," which consists of my señora, who is 31, single, and gorgeous, and her dad. They don't speak any English, so my Spanish is coming long quite quickly. They are both really sweet. He sleeps in the living room supposedly because he likes sleeping with the TV on (which is probably true because it's on 24/7) but I think he just wants to sleep where the only AC in the apartment is. I can't say that I blame him, my roommates and my room feels like a sauna most of the time. Andalucía is in a heat wave right now, and it's been averaging about 104 F everyday. A ceiling fan just doesn't cut it.

Living room

Kitchen

My room

Lolita, who loves to lick my toes

I started my Spanish classes today. I'll have class Monday through Friday from 9-1, and the rest of the day is mine. It's a rough schedule, I know; I'm not sure if I'll be able to handle it. But such is the Spanish life.

Tinto de Verano, my new favorite drink

Flamenco show; yes that is sweat, his shirt is not supposed to be two colors

La Giralda

A rose by any other name...

Before I get too far into this blog I should address the multiple meanings of the title “Teach, Learn, Run.” I see it as a list of things that my life is and will be comprised of in the next year, and hopefully for many more beyond that.

Teaching is first and foremost my profession. I will teach the English language. I will teach about American culture, and I will teach a valuable life skill that will open up a whole new world to my students that they will be able to navigate confidently. They will be children at the time that I teach them, but if they continue with what I teach them they will go far in life. I hope I’m not being too ambitious, and I hope it ends up being every bit as fulfilling as I imagine it will be, but only time will tell.

Learning and teaching go hand in hand. One of my biggest goals in the next year is learning and becoming as close to fluent as I can in Spanish. Just as I am teaching a foreign language, I will be acquiring one myself. But that’s not all the learning I’ll be doing. Among my wide variety of expectations and aspirations for the year are learning about Spanish history and culture, how to cook (well!), learning about my students, their lives, and their frame of mind. But most importantly, (this sounds really selfish) I will learn about myself. I will be more independent than I have ever been, and I look forward to discovering how I will adapt to that.

Last but not least, I will run, metaphorically and literally. To say that I am running away from my life in California is not really accurate, I’m just choosing to have wings rather than roots, at least for the time being. On the more literal side, I will run, as I always have. For those of you who don’t know, I was a runner in high school, a sprinter to be more specific, and I was damn good at it. One choice I made that I will always wonder about (not a regret, just a curiosity) is whether or not I could have been a successful runner in college as well. By the end of my senior year I had decided that I wanted to focus on academics in college, which made sense because I had accepted a full academic scholarship to UC Riverside. After my last track meet ever, my coach told me that scouts from UCR had asked about me. I brushed them off and chose not to reciprocate the interest. I don’t regret this because I wouldn’t give up any of the experiences I had in college, but I sometimes wonder how things would have been different.

But back to the present day, one of the key ingredients in my life is running. Transitioning from a competitive sprinter to a leisurely distance runner was and still is difficult at times, but running makes me feel healthy and well, and it gives such an amazing natural high. Call me a masochist, but I absolutely love being sore after a good workout. You know, the kind of sore where you try to get out of bed the next morning and you collapse on the floor because your legs don’t work; or the kind that makes you realize you have muscles in places you’ve never used them before. This all makes me very happy. I have been known to quote Elle Woods because I really do believe these words: “Exercise gives you endorphins; endorphins make you happy, and happy people just don’t kill their husbands.” So to my future husband, you don’t have to worry about me killing you.

I’m excited to find new places to run in Málaga. I’ve discovered that I enjoy the act of running, not just the aftermath, much more when I’m exploring new places. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying running in Central Park, and tonight I ran through Riverside State Park for about two hours (Which, unlike the Riverside of my alma mater, is actually along SIDE a RIVER; who would’ve thought?!). I found an all weather track, which I did a mile and a half on before getting bored of going in circles, and then I continued up the Hudson River, which was much more scenic. I do have to say though, that I very much enjoyed the track for the way it smelled. There’s really nothing like the smell of an all weather track under your feet; I wish there had been some starting blocks and hurdles for me to play with.

If anyone is wondering, yes, the parallel between my title and the novel Eat, Pray, Love is intentional. I’m about half way through the book right now, so I can’t go into it fully, but there are elements of similarity between her story and mine. It’s a true story about a woman who got out of a very bitter divorce (this is the dissimilar part) and spent a year traveling on a journey of self-discovery (this is the similar part). I can’t relate to everything about her story, but I really like the passion, motivation, and fearlessness she exhibits and I hope my story ends up being equally inspirational. (Although unlike her, I don’t have a publisher footing the bill for my traveling so that I can write a book about it. Bummer.) I’ll let you know when I finish the book what my final thoughts are on the matter.

(Which reminds me, I love that I take a subway everyday instead of driving, because that means more reading time! It makes me happy to see so many people reading on their way to work. I kind of have a restored faith in humanity knowing that more people actually read books than I would have imagined.)