Last week was my first regular week at either of my schools - or as regular as it could be, considering it began with a long weekend. It was nice to be able to recognize some familiar faces among the staff and students, although names still elude me for the most part. Two stand out, however - David and Ana. Both are teachers in Albelda de Iregua, the more distant of my two schools. Our daily commute to and from the school was the highlight of my week. Being a language enthusiast, the language barrier here is a constant frustration. However, David and Ana both speak English at about the level that I speak Spanish, meaning we go back and forth between English and Spanish (with Spanish getting the upper hand) to make conversations work. The fact that I can use the word "conversation" to describe how we talk is remarkable in itself, because I have had precious few actual conversations with Spanish people thus far. It helps that both David and Ana have well-developed senses of humor.

This week has also helped clarify exactly what my duties are. Now working in Alberite, I have been giving presentations (with the aid of Powerpoint) about topics that I know a lot about and the students know little about (such as Canada and Halloween). It allows me to play on the differences I have with the students, and certainly does wonders for my patriotism. Even better, there is very little risk of running out of material, especially when it comes down to explaining the concept of poutine - Spanish has no word for gravy, so the explanation is always at least 5 minutes long.

Regarding my life outside of school, I recently bought a bicycle. It should give me greater freedom to roam the area, although I will need to get used to riding drop-down handlebars. I found it on a craigslist-esque website, and the man I bought it from was surprised when he met me to find that I wasn't black (his words). I don't want to delve into the racist undertones of that statement, especially as he said it in a language in which I am far from fluent, but I was a little taken aback. There were no more such comments afterwards, although he was absolutely staggered that I didn't haggle with him. Once he had shown me everything (and given me a pump and a water bottle), I pulled out my wallet and he literally took a step backwards. After he said he would make a point of remembering this extraordinary event, I rode the bike home in short stretches, as the street layout here is still a bit of a mystery to me.

Finally, as this week has been marked by small but significant developments in my life here, I offer these small but significant tidbits of difference between North America and Spain:

- Double first names are common here, with José Luis, Maria Jesús (how holy can you get?), José Ramon, and Miguel Ángel being just a few examples that I have encountered.

- A different language means different accepted abbreviations: instead of Maria Jesús, you can write Ma. Jesús, much as we occasionally see Wm. for William. Also, as we write Bros. for Brothers, Spanish people write Hnos. for Hermanos.

- Bread is purchased every day in baguette form, rather than kept for multiple days in sliced loaves. I haven't looked in anyone's shopping bags, but a yard-long baguette is hard to conceal (and even harder to fit in the bread box).

This past weekend was a long one (hence why I'm writing about it on Wednesday). Tuesday was a national holiday, and I spent Monday applying for my residence permit, which meant today was the first time I'd been to either of my placements since last Thursday.

All the free time has meant I've been doing some exploring, entirely on foot. On Sunday I did a small hike with two friends. Logroño itself is relatively flat, owing to its location on the Rio Ebro. But the area around the city is hilly or mountainous, depending on where you come from. That makes it easy to do a fairly significant hike in the space of an afternoon. Although we spent more of the walk getting in and out of the city, we did see two golden eagles (we think) right up close, and got acquainted with the clay-like terrain around here, which makes more of a difference to such a hike than I expected.

Yesterday I went for a walk along the Ebro, which connects two major parks in Logroño. Although this walk never left the city, it actually emphasized how small the city is - or how large the landscapes are around here. The other side of the river was, in parts, simply mountains/hills. The river itself played host to a number of bird species, none of which I can really identify - although there was one heron, it was not a great blue, which is the only kind I've seen before. But the walk was very relaxing and certainly served its function of filling the time interestingly.

One of a pair of golden eagles we saw. They were much closer than the picture reveals.

The heron that I can't identify.

One of the mountains/hills across the Ebro from Logroño. Again, it's much more impressive in person.

Today I met more of my classes and had a fairly productive session with first-graders. Good thing, because tomorrow I'm dealing with preschoolers. There are new challenges every day.

Although it's unrelated to anything else, I must mention that this morning I saw a pickup truck that was filled with sheep. It's an odd feeling to be walking down a city street and to suddenly hear the sound of sheep bleating. Tomorrow will struggle to match that for a morning pickup - but I'm sure it will find a way.

As of about 12.00 today, my greatest source of stress thus far is gone - I have found an apartment! And not a minute too soon, as the room I was staying in had been rented for the weekend. My room is in an apartment with three other people, two of whom are in my program (one of whom I had met at our meeting on Wednesday) and one of whom is a dentist originally from a village in the southeast of La Rioja. Now that I have what I've been waiting for, I think it's time to give the readers of this blog what they've been waiting for - photos!

 These are views from my bedroom window. There will be more to come, as I have very little planned for this weekend.

Blue Eyes and the Big Lebowski

My days continue to be filled with new challenges. Yesterday saw my first visit to Albelda de Iregua, the second school in which I will be working. José Luis (the Jefe de Estudios in Alberite) gave me a ride and told me about his experiences in the United States, particularly how overwhelmed he was when he stepped out of Grand Central Station in New York. He then helped me get acquainted at the school and took me to Albelda's Cajarioja to open my bank account (using the Alberite school's address). This country seems to have more banks than the Sahara has grains of sand - I haven't counted, but here's a few names to give you a taste: Caja Laboral, Caja Rural de Soria, Caja Rural de Burgos, Caja España, Caixa Catalunya, Banco Popular and BBVA. Cajarioja is the regional bank (as you can probably guess) and has branches in both towns in which I will be working, so I guess it's as good a choice as any other.

Apart from opening a bank account, searching for an apartment (many good leads, no results yet), and going to a meeting with others from my program, my days have been filled meeting the students. Although I generally don't enjoy the company of children, things have gone well so far because of the curiosity they have for me. I never imagined that blue eyes could be such a conversation starter! Indeed, the best exchange I have yet had with a student was this:
Me: "Does anybody have a question for me?"
Student: "Your eyes are beautiful!"
Me: "That's not a question."
Oh, I am so cruel.

I always talk about the weather in Canada, because the first picture I show is one of a frozen Lake Nipissing. Today I made the specific comparison between La Rioja and North Bay, and watched the kids' expressions change as I wrote how low the temperature gets in North Bay during the winter. Some kids were still excited by the idea of experiencing it, but I have to say that I am generally doing very little to boost Canada's tourist industry.

Another question that almost always gets asked is which soccer team I prefer: Real Madrid or FC Barcelona? I can probably relate to this question more than any other, as I undoubtedly would have asked a Spanish language assistant if they liked the Red Sox when I was that age. My response varies between "I don't like either, but I do like players on both" to "I won't answer for fear of starting a fight."

Today I had my first experience in a first-grade classroom, which was entertaining. Since they are not proficient enough in English to ask questions, I did more watching and listening than speaking. But I have to say, children that young really are a breed apart. Monica, the instructor, is absolutely brilliant at controlling them, which is saying quite a bit when the mere mention of a rabbit can inspire one student to hop up and down with his hands held as rabbit ears, and another to hop up and down slapping himself in the face (I guess he just had to be different). Needless to say, this was the class in which my presence drew the least curiosity.

Perhaps to put it all in perspective, once I leave the classroom, I become a student myself - of the Spanish language. Trying to understand another language is like reading a really boring book - you really have to apply yourself to gather any meaning, unlike in English, which I can understand whether I want to or not. And much like reading a dull book, I occasionally find myself thinking of other things, and today, I reminded myself of a scene from the Big Lebowski:
Walter: "Were you listening to the dude's story, Donny?"
Donny: "No."
Walter: "Then you have no frame of reference here, Donny. You're like a child that wanders into a movie and wonders..."(the dude interrupts here)
I'm just worried that now every time I find myself not paying attention to a conversation in Spanish, I'll think, "Jody, you're out of your element!"

Apologies to those who haven't seen the Big Lebowski.

Information Overload

All three of my long-term experiences abroad have begun with a stage that I have named information overload, although it is far more than that. Because so much essential information is being thrown at you simultaneously, the hours go by like days and the days seem endless. That I have barely been here two days is astonishing from my point of view. Here's an explanation of why it feels that way.

Yesterday I rode to Haro in the morning with Ana and Begoña, the music teacher. I was introduced to many of the teachers and staff as Beatriz showed me around the school, which took some time, as it has 700 students and the facilities to match. As a point of reference, I went to high school in Northampton with around 800 students. After spending the first hour of school on my tour, I helped out in a class taught by Begoña - another English teacher, not the music teacher from the morning's ride. Soon after, I found that the school had gotten a call from Pilar, the woman in Logroño who coordinates my program. Apparently, another participant had decided not to come, and there is an English woman in the program who lives in Haro with her Spanish husband. Pilar was wondering if I would mind very much switching to two schools in two small towns nearer to Logroño so this English woman could work and live in the same town. Cue the sound of a record being stopped suddenly.

Obviously, there wasn't much I could do to hold my spot in Haro. All I had in my favor was the friends I had made in the less than 24-hour period I had been here. The other ambassador had the fact that she lived in the town, and in the context, it made absolutely no sense for her to commute past Logroño every day while I searched for a place to live in Haro (Logroño has a far more active rental market, as it has a university). But roots grow quickly during the information overload stage.

I spent the rest of the school day in Haro, helping out in one of Ana's classes and one of Begoña's. Beatriz made arrangements for me to go to Alberite tomorrow, which is the first of the two towns in which I will be working. I then caught a ride back to Logroño with Beatriz and two other teachers before coming back to my hotel room and collapsing for a long nap.

So today, the whole introductory process began anew. I caught a ride with Susana, the lone English teacher at the school in Alberite and Laura, one of the school's special education teachers. After helping out in one of Susana's classes, I was handed over to José Luis, the school's Jefe de Estudios (side note: I don't think we have this position in North American schools - it's the person who coordinates all the academics). He and Susana worked out my schedule - looks as though I'll have some late starts and Fridays off, so good news there.

José Luis then "took me under his wing," so to speak, giving me a tour and making some suggestions about housing and transport, as well as arranging my transport for tomorrow to Albelda de Iregua, the other town in which I'll be working. As it turns out, José Luis is something of an American sports fanatic, even interested in our form of football. Fortunately, he likes the Patriots, so we had plenty to talk about after last night's win against the Dolphins.

The really frustrating thing is that I now have to repeat this process tomorrow in Albelda. I will be alternating weeks between the two towns, and I have yet to even visit one of them. Establishing a routine here is going to be a routine breaker in itself. But again, that's a statement made after 48 hours here. The information overload stage is characterized by the necessity of establishing a routine from almost nothing. It feels as though every new piece of information completely changes your life, when in fact it is actually helping to establish your life in a new place. My key to survival? Latching-on points, or arrangements with other people to ensure I always have someone to lead me around. Meanwhile, I need to pursue a place to live and a bank account independently (and have already begun to do so, albeit somewhat timidly).

As I said, this is far more than information overload - it's also responsibility overload. And that is why the first 48 hours felt like a year here (and in Maastricht, and at the ISC).     

How I Spent My 23rd Birthday

Saturday, October 2nd was an important day for two reasons: it was my 23rd birthday, and it was the day I left for Spain. After two days of packing and preparations after getting my visa, my parents and I made a long trip to Toronto's Pearson Airport to put me on my flight to Barcelona. It was tough to celebrate my birthday while driving, but it was worth the sacrifice to finally be turning my long-hypothetical occupation into a reality.

As much as I like traveling, I really do not enjoy flying. The planning process is frustrating, the restrictions are limiting, and something about airports and airplanes gives my head a funny feeling. I attribute it to lack of oxygen. In any case, I was not just traveling, but MOVING to another country, which entails various issues with customs as well. I was pretty wound up, to say the least. Having said that, things did go very smoothly.

The flight was unremarkable, but let me remark about it anyway. After a delay at the gate - some minor repairs - we left about an hour late. Somehow we still made it on time, which shows you how much discount airlines pad their schedules. Once in the air, I found myself still too on edge to sleep, so I did my best to enjoy Grown Ups and Iron Man 2. I specifically did not put my headset on for Letters to Juliet, but the screen was so bright I ended up watching most of it anyway. I don't think sound would have added anything to the story that I didn't gather from the images. One positive about the flight that I didn't acknowledge until afterwards was the absence of crying babies.

The final stress test was passport control, where I was entering with the visa for which I had paid $125 and waited one month. I guess being on a plane full of tourists has its advantages - the customs agent simply stamped my passport with a visitor visa and didn't even look at the student visa filling up page 12. It was a bit frustrating to have it be ignored after all that, but in the end the lack of hassle was worth it.

I took a train from the airport to Barcelona-Sants Estacio - one of the city's major train stations - bought my ticket to Logroño and pondered what to do with myself for a few hours. I revisited the sites of my previous arrival in Barcelona. Like last time, I had not slept. Unlike last time, I was not ill or suffering from the theft of my wallet. I strolled past the police station where I had reported the robbery, then took the subway to the Plaça Catalunya and took a look at the Canadian consulate that saved my bacon (pun intended). And then I wandered down La Rambla, passing the first of many Western Union offices that I would use last summer to get money from my parents after losing my wallet. After an hour that reminded me why I was so happy NOT to be staying in Barcelona with its army of tourists, I returned to the train station and boarded my four-hour train to Logroño.

Boarding Spanish trains is like boarding North American planes used to be. There's a long line waiting to get on, attendants check your ticket, and you need to pass your bags through an x-ray. Once on the train, however, Renfe (the Spanish national train company) employees are a rare sight. Although I did not have much space to myself, my sleep deprivation ensured that I couldn't keep my head up for more than a few minutes at a stretch. The countryside looked a bit like the American Southwest looks in pictures - which is probably why the spaghetti Western film genre began. It was a stark reminder of how different this place was to anywhere I had lived before.

Beatriz and Ana, two of my English-teaching coworkers, greeted me at the Logroño train station. I haven't asked how they knew it was me yet, but I imagine a ratty t-shirt, a baseball cap, and tons of luggage were a pretty dead giveaway. They helped me find a place to stay for the night and later I went out for a small dinner with Ana and her boyfriend Anibal, who doesn't speak English (but is quite aware of the comparisons his name raises with Hannibal Lecter).

As it turns out, there are quite a number of other language ambassadors in Haro, the town in which I will be teaching, two of whom are there to teach French and the rest English. It seems most people live in Logroño and commute, which I regard as a bit of a shame, but convenience may demand that I do it as well. In any case, I am off to Haro for the first time tomorrow to see the school and meet the faculty. From what Beatriz and Ana have told me, they have never had someone from my program before, so the standards are as low as can be, which is exactly how I would have preferred it.