A Spanish Thanksgiving

Spanish Charades

Apple torte

Spanish Thanksgiving

Turkey Carving

Thanksgiving hand turkeys...middle left...Thanksvino?

My third graders

Holidays abroad are some of the most interesting days and times a foreigner can experience. There are so many avenues of emotion and celebration holidays can go down. I think I´ll list the ones that come to mind for you because I have realized all I do is give options in this blog. I had no idea I was such a list person. Why stop now? Might as well keep on following my trend.

After my very exciting list I´ll detail my experience in a Spanish apartment playing charades with Spanish movie titles after eating the most interesting stuffing and apple pie I have ever tried. So here goes, possible feelings about the holidays while abroad...

1)The homesick feeling can hit so hard you finally have that gut feeling that you want to be home more than anything. All you want is your couch, your family and friends, your climate, your food...This is usually followed by long Skype sessions with friends and family and if it´s really serious, it can include a possible session of consuming a more than neccessary amount of a comfort food from home. Techinically, the closest you can find/make in the choice foreign country.

2) You can find yourself feeling more Patriotic than ever. For some reason, you feel this passionate need to detail and describe a sketchy tale about Native Americans and Pilgrims breaking bread together after this religious group of English settlers sailed to your country during a long, hard winter. Even though, of course, you know that a majority of the Native Americans were slaughtered or killed by foreign disease when the new settlers came--But seriously, if only these foreigners could understand how personally important this holiday is to you, gosh.

3) The exchange of culture, customs, ideas, understanding and kindness between yourself and those from the other culture is so intense you get on an abroad, life high. This is one of the best feelings. I don´t think it´s worth attempting to describe because it´s something everyone interested in culture and travel should experience at some point in their life. The world all of a sudden feels so small and connected by our similarities as humans no matter where we are from, yet so diverse and big at the same time-- world peace doesn´t seem that far off. Once again, I called this a life "high" for a reason.

4) The day is the same as others. It holds no special sentiments for you. You go on with your
day functioning with the schedule of the culture you are in because you are functioning as one of their culture. No one says Happy Easter or Happy
Birthday, and it really doesn´t bother you. Just another day in another life.

Hmmmm that´s all I have for now. I think it´s just because I´m tired and not very intelligent at the moment. Liz and I went out with some of my teacher friends last night to watch the Barcelona soccer team play against the Madrid team. BIGGGGG game here in Spain. Viva Barca...I´m obviously a Barclona fan. I made a few enemies at the bar, but we won. Then we all went out for dinner, at 11:30 of course, and I went to bed too late. Story of my life here.

SOOO I spent my Thanksgiving here in Spain, as you may have already guessed. I wasn´t sure how I was going to celebrate it aside from the hundreds of turkey hands that are now hanging in the walls of my schools. I did a short, nice speech in Spanish about why we celebrate Thanksgiving to each class, disregarding most true facts because my teachers told me to. I told them that we ate a WHOLE turkey (this is not normal here) and that we ate corn, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie (to which I always looked out to a sea full of little kids with disgusted faces). Then we happily made our little hand turkeys and they learned how to write Thanksgiving....some better than others. I saw a few "Happy thanksevinos". I love art projects like this though. It´s so fun to see the children who decide to make their turkey different and distinct. They don´t copy my example and they make it their own. I see the little creative wheels turning in their heads and as an elementary school teacher I think it´s natural to let your mind wonder if they will be the next famous filmmaker or art critic. Maybe not, maybe they´ll be a shopkeeper here in their town, but I like my ideas better.

Liz and I found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a Spanish apartment at 2 p.m. the day of Thanksgiving. There were 20 Spaniards running around a kitchen, trying to make mashed potatoes from a box (ew), carving a WHOLE turkey, and examining stuffing with whole pieces of bread falling out of the turkey. The secretary at Liz´s school decided she wanted to have an American Thanksgiving, so she bought a turkey and made a homemade stuffing. I wasn´t going to interfere with my recipes and ideas...she was too excited. I made brown sugar glazed carrots and green bean casserole on our stovetop (we don´t have an oven) the night before. I would have to say it was one of my prouder moments when I had a finished green bean casserole in Spain. Try finding Campbell´s mushroom soup in Spain--ya--not going to happen.

We stood in the kitchen, having a glass of wine, talking to the teachers from Liz´s school and trying not to get in the way (OK we´re the Americans here) of the buzzing Spaniards preparing and tasting all of this food. We found ourselves in the middle of a long table (After I finally was allowed to heat up my carrots and casserole) full of appetizers. Spanish appetizers of course...chorizo, cheese, olives, potato chips...I loved it. So cute. They were making such an effort.

After the plates of turkey and mashed potatoes and salads (and and and and) filled the table I decided to share our custom of going around the table and saying what each was thankful for. I was just going to say my family, but after seeing how much effort these 20 strangers had made in an effort to make me feel at home during my culture´s holiday and to learn about it as well to the extent of this huge, Thanksgiving party, I couldn´t just say "my family". I had twenty Spanish faces smilling at me, waiting to hear what this strange American girl was going to say. OK I´ll be honest I got a little emotional, so I had to say more. All of a sudden I saw an image of my Aunt´s cozy kitchen in Northern Minnesota and my Dad´s smiling face from his stove and the moment got to me. I explained to them in Spanish that I was thankful for all of them and their overt kindness because Liz and I weren´t with our own families celebrating, and that I considered them my family today. Cheesey? Maybe. But that´s how I felt, so maybe I´m just cheesey.

After Thanksgiving dinner, it was followed by coffee, tea and a smoke break( as every meal is here). Then they prepared some sort of apple torte that was delicious. It wasn´t the same as my piece of apple pie or pumpkin pie doused in whip cream, but it was good and different, and I like different. Then we had more coffee and tea (normal). Then we all sat down and those who were still sticking around munched on different nuts and olives and snacks as two bottles of hard liquor and sherry were placed in the middle for an after dinner drink. Here enters the most interesting part of the day...Spanish charades of movie titles.

They separated the Lizard and I and each of our teams came up with movie titles to give to other team to act out for their team. These of course were movie titles, but, in Spanish. I know Spanish, I love Spanish, but I don´t know how every movie is translated from English (a large majority of their films are from American pop culture). Sometimes at the movie rental store the titles aren´t similar to titles in English when I translate them, so let´s just say charades was interesting. I got "Tomates verdes fritos" (Fried Green Tomatoes). Fun fun fun to act out. However, when you find yourself acting out the word "fried" for a group of Spaniards in the apartment of an ancient town in Spain, jumping up and down and exchanging enthusiastic high-fives when they actually guess the title, you have to smile at life.

The Fisch (Liz) and I then ended up at home where I made the largest batch of mashed potatoes from real potatoes with real milk and real seasonings to share with our American friends at the dinner we went to at 8 with some friends from Rincon (the city we live in). This included a lot of red wine and mashed potatoes mixed with corn, one of my favorite delicacies. I attempted a sort of pumpkin dessert by frying pieces of pumpkin in brown sugar that we all agreed needed a scoop of ice cream. It was nice to share the holiday with fellow Americans and friends and to realize how crazy it is you are breaking bread with people you did not know 2 months ago for a major holiday.

And that´s it. My emotions from the day...I missed my family, friends and loved ones. There were a few minutes I just wanted to be cuddled up on a couch, full from my family´s perfect food with the people I care about. I won´t say that I didn´t. But a Spanish Thanksgiving is something that I will remember forever. It was such a unique experience. And if I´m honest with myself, I come from a separated family, so the holidays are always a little tricky. My ideal day is being in the foreign and exotic, so I can´t complain. I had an amazing day and once again was welcomed by these Andalucians with open arms. I really do love these people.

To document or not to document, that is the question

Benalmadena, Andalucia

Jerez de la Frontera, Andalucia

Jerez de la Frontera, Andalucia

Why do I always lean on William Shakespeare when I cannot think of a title for something? I mean, I know it´s not clever, funny or original, yet I still do it. In fact, I can remember most recently this last spring semester when I leaned on him once again, although that time in Spanish. After choosing to spend my time reporting for a story for the Minnesota Daily, my Spanish paper was due the following day at noon, and it wasn´t going to write itself.

I remember translating this famous phrase into Spanish in an effort to compose some crappy 2 page essay on my work computer before sprinting down University Avenue to not be late to the class I was perpetually late for. I dreaded my weekly wince as my Spanish culture professor would stop talking, glare at me, look at the clock, and then back to the class as I opened the door. However, to this day I still think it´s ridiculous that a Spanish culture professor is actually bothered by tardiness, as the entire Spanish culture revolves around being late. I mean, honestly. OK I´ll chill out because that topic would be an entire different blog entry full of my unneccesary passionate thoughts on this subject, so I´ll attempt to corral this back to my intended topic.

While my blogging attempts may seem to be an epic fail for the month of November, my lack of posts was part of an experiment of mine. However, my experiment to forego the documentation of my thoughts, ideas and experiences is something that every traveler has to decide between every single day of a trip or time in another country. For those of you who have traveled or lived abroad at some point, I know you have felt the same inner conflict that I constantly feel:

Do you stop, take the picture from another angle or exposure, write down your new ideas on life the culture has shown you--or do you just feel the moment and capture it solely for yourself in your mind forever?

I have this innate need to document every moment, thought, and frame of my trip. You should see me when I head out the door everyday or for a trip. I am equipped with my SLR and my camera bag along with my two lenses, just in case one does not have the focal length I might desire for a photo. I also bring my two notebooks, each with a different use to capture my thoughts or plans. While I may sound like a freak, I can´t help it. The problem is that this deep desire to capture everything contrasts with another part of me that is stronger; I live in the moment. I have this desire to feel, do and be in the moment I am in so deeply to be able to take it in with all of its authenticity and emotion. A clicking shutter disrupts this sometimes.

Here enters my lack of blogging. Those of you who speak with me regularly during my time here may have also noticed my lack of personal stories as well. Honestly, it was just because I was tired of the feeling that I might be missing out on feeling and learning from the moments I was experiencing because I was so preoccupied with capturing them to share with others and have physical proof of for myself later down the road.

Of course, my four years of studying to become a professional journalist, in which I hope I was drilled hard enough to learn how to capture everything to compress and share with others, does not help. It also may make my innate need to capture things stronger than others. Capturing ideas, feelings, events and atmospheres is what I am trained to do. But what if I want a year off of that before I hit the journalism road hard (if I find myself lucky enough with a job)? Isn't a year living on the Mediterranean the perfect time to do this?

As with how most problems in life are answered, I think I have found a perfect medium now or idea of how to go about this. It's funny how problems in life and relationships are rarely answered by drastic decisions which only polarize towards one end. It's almost always the median.

I remember having this same problem living in Barcelona. I was always at the back of the tour groups, taking extra pictures. When I saw the Acropolis or saw the perfect sunset at the seaside restaurant, I was always making the group or friend I was with wait around as I shot extra frames. However, those pictures and journal entries I made were things I have looked back on regularly when I returned to the U.S. for the last year and a half. They provide an escape to a different world and an outlook from a different MacKenzie. I like them, and I like being able to escape to that mentality when I want to by looking at photos or reading a past thought I had. They help me grow.

Long story short--I'll be writing again.

I'll never not be the last person in a tour group taking photos. However, I'm going to follow some words of wisdom my favorite photojournalism professor told me about one of his assignments. He told us he shot as many frames for the newspaper as he could, but that he kept some for himself. He used his pointer finger to point to his temple with a smile and said, "Those, now those are all mine."

After a reading over this post for edits, I can't help but feel how lucky I am that I actually have this as a worry in my life right now.

Miss you all,

Kenz

Andalucian Nice

Hiking in Nerja this past weekend

(These photos of hiking have no relation to the blogpost, just wanted to share them)

Manolo, our new BFF (story at end of blog post)

Forewarning: Fellow Barcelona friends, don't be offended by this post.

As most of you may know, I am absolutely in love with Barcelona. I have never learned more about myself, the world around me or the nature of people outside of my amazing six months there. I love the woman I stayed with, Eva, who took care of me as her own daughter as well as her extended Catalan family who took me in as their own. I´m still in regular contact wih her and plan to visit soon for a long weekend to stay with her. Barcelona is one of my favorite cities in the entire world. However, Andalucia (the region of Spain I am now living in) has something that Barcelona and Catalunya don´t-- overtly friendly, open and caring people.

I have never met a population of friendlier people. Now those of you from Minnesota may argue that the "Minnesota Nice" may take the crown for the friendliest population, and you may be right. I know I must take into consideration that I am an outsider here rather than a native, which I´m sure taints my view on the subject, but the people here are unbelievable. I have never been taken in so quickly to a population as one of their own or felt that I could walk down the street and know for a fact that 75 percent of the people would willingly and happily go out of there way to walk me to the nearest bank if I needed to find an ATM, while inviting me to dinner with their family that night in the same conversation.

As you may have guessed if you have read my previous posts, I´m extremely content at my school. Aside from the respect the other teachers give me and the excitement I see in the children´s faces when I walk into the room and they yell, "Teacher MacKenzie", in their little Spanish accents, I feel like I have 10 mothers here. The women teachers are constantly sitting by me on the couch, rubbing my back (normal cultural interaction here between women) while asking if everything is going OK for me here. They are constantly making sure I know where everything is, drawing maps, sharing recipes, making sure that I´m eating well (several of them have told me that I need to eat more although anyone who saw my first month binge on Spanish food would beg to differ), including me in all of their conversations and going out of their ways to welcome me and ask me about my general welfare with sincerity in their faces.

I am scared to have conversations with them about food at this point because I know that they will have a bag or "tupper" of it waiting for me the next day at school. Don't get me wrong, I love the food here, but I have run out of ways to say thank you. It's so kind. The first example that I have for you regards Veronica, a younger teacher here I ride home with every Wednesday. One day we talked about Spanish raisins, a vocabulary word I was unfamiliar with. The short conversation describing this fruit in Spanish was quite interesting. The next Monday I showed up for work she had a bag for me she said she had her Dad pick up for her when he went to the market. Why was this woman concerned about sharing Spanish raisins with me? I´m not sure, but it meant a lot. I also privately tutor one of the teacher´s children. When she came to pick them up at my apartment last week, she had just purchased a traditional Andalucian dessert from the bakery across the street for me. Unneccesary of course, but once again, means so much. The list goes on and on. After a conversation with the woman teacher that the rest of the teachers have told me is crazy, I am expecting a tupper full of fried pig brains which she insists that she makes the best. She says when I eat them I will have no idea they are brains. The jury is still out on that one.

I also can't explain how thankful I am that these people have included me in their lives. In fact, the director of my school told me the other day that he would like me to come to his house for Christmas to spend the holiday with his son and his woman. It's funny because they say "mi mujer" which literally translates to "my woman". I am going to say his woman instead of his wife because, well, it's just a lot more fun. Or today for example I was walking down the hall when Angel, an extremely kind male teacher at my school, sprinted down the hall to make sure that I knew I was invited to his birthday party on Friday and that he wouldn't take no for an answer. I have also received invitations for future trips to hike, ski and surf. I just can't believe how open they are. It's so much different from the Catalans I experienced.

Now I know that the people I was previously speaking about are all teachers, my colleagues that trust me because they know me personally. However, the same is true for people on the streets. The man at the fruteria (fresh vegetable and fruit market) that I went to tonight insisted on showing me and explaining me how to cook a specific bean I chose. The funniest time I experienced this desire to go out of their way to be friendly was when Liz, Courtney and I went on our roadtrip. We were lost in our rental car driving around the ancient part of Jerez that literally has streets a car can barely fit into and that I swear even a lab rat could not find their way through. We had a map out and were driving when a man on the street in Spanish yelled, "They're lost, let's help them" and ran over to our car. OK, so we might be 3 American girls in a car, but still, I just can't believe it. The truth is that I don't normally use maps or even have any idea where I'm going because my favorite part about finding something here is going to up to a random person on the street and asking them where the best ____________ is. By doing this I get an opinion from a local who knows the area best, an opinion or recommendation for something else in the area as well which always comes with the first directions and recommendation, and a genuine smile and feeling of care from a human being that has absolutely no idea who I am.

I'm sure after reading the above paragraphs you are barely holding attention to this blog as I am now realizing has become extremely long. However, I have one more story to share on the subject so far. When Courtney, Liz and I went to Ronda, we bumbled into a tapas bar where we ended up spending about 6 hours. It was packed full of people from the neighborhood and we quickly became best friends with all of them. Manolo, a 82 year-old-man who danced and performed his personal rendition of "Papa Americano" always made sure our wine glasses were full the entire time, with many of the glasses being on him. He and I almost got into a socio-political argument in Spanish regarding the regions of Spain, but he was just so open and friendly. During the conversation I of course was defending Catalunya. However he had some valid points regarding the people in the different regions and their overall character. He was genuinely interested in hearing about America and sharing his culture and personality.There is no room for stuffiness in Andalucia.

Well I hope my random stories about kind people here were interesting enough. If not, during my private lessons yesterday I taught three kindergartners how to say numbers in English using a stuffed cow in front of my face. I of course had a cow voice and everything I said was in Spanish except for the numbers, because they don't speak any English. If the image in your head of me using a cow voice in Spanish with a stuffed cow in front of my face sitting at table made for 5-year-olds isn't interesting enough, I just don't know what more I have for you.

Miss all of you. I really do think of you often.

xoxo

Kenzie Shea

Acceptance

Ronda

This past weekend I went on a Spanish roadtrip. Courtney, Liz and I had decided it was about time to hit up the Spanish wine country, so we found out the most popular town in Southern Spain and rented a car.

After officially becoming a Spanish resident and waiting in line for three hours at the police station on Friday, I bumbled into a bookstore in Malaga. I found a map of Portugal and Spain along with a new book in Spanish by an Andalucian writer and made my purchases. I figured a map would come in handy for a roadtrip. After taking the wrong bus home, I packed quickly to go pick up our rental car.

I promise I'll write about the cities we saw, the people we met, the wine we tasted, the horse show we saw, the flamenco we felt...but right now I'm preoccupied with a thought and feeling I remember from my previous time abroad. I had forgotten what Europe and the Mediterranean taught me before that I was missing in my life and needed to remember.

Traveling to Ronda and Jerez de la Frontera, we winded through miles and miles of countryside and mountains. The city of Ronda itself is perched high up in the mountains, yet its history spans before A.C. (I just realized I wrote A.C or antes de Cristo....the Spanish form of B.C.). I have no idea how people traveled. I was in awe in the car. These cities are built of stone and rocks from thousands of years ago. You literally can see and touch the stones that men laid down before I even have any idea what the world really looked like. Hard labor. Sweat and blood that I was walking on. We also saw coins from B.C. at a museum of Ronda. Currency the people used there. Now I know that these things are obvious, and duh, they happened years ago, but seeing and touching them firsthand makes them so much more real.

The mountains and sea are part of my daily life here, but winding through them to the sights of these ancient civilizations where the culture is so strong, so present to this day, humbles me. God made all of these amazing and beautiful natural wonders on the Earth that have stood and are testaments to the thousands of years that have went by. The ancient cultures have used them to their benefits at times and have been crumbled by them at others. As I said, the combination of these two things humbles me beyond words.

I guess this past weekend made me realize how small I am- how my daily insignificant problems are nothing compared to what the Earth and Mother Nature have stood to testify to. The billions of people that have been part of these ancient civilizations have had problems similar to mine, I'm sure of it, and they have now all passed.

OK so I'm sure you're thinking ummm Kenz, are you OK? But the reality is that I can look at this idea in two ways. I can...

A) Think that there is no point and become depressed because because we are so small and have no control...

OR

B) Accept that this is how it is. Asi es la vida. Stop trying to control things and let them happen. I cannot change the actions of others or what happens to me all the time. All that I can do is live my life every single day to be the kindest and most caring person I can possibly be and attempt to surround myself with similar people while enjoying each day for what it brings.

I choose B.

I think I had forgotten about this acceptance part of life -- Acceptance of Mother Nature, time, others' actions, fate...the list goes on. I guess I just needed some old coins and a European roadtrip through the mountains to remember?

You may agree and you may not, but I feel peaceful and that is something that isn't always easy to come by.

OK update on the fun stuff later. Promise promise.

xoxo

Kenzie Shea

A day in the life of Spanish MacKenzie

A view of Rincon de la Victoria, my city, from a hike

Mornings. I have mixed feelings. While every day of my life I am thankful to wake up safe, alive and healthy, the act of stopping my sleep is not preferable. I also hope that one day I'm blessed enough to wake up everyday next to that someone that I'm madly in love with and treasure comfortable mornings with..but I'm not preoccupied with that thought right now. Right now, I'm just happy to wake up in my little twin bed and look out to the small main avenue of my town below my balcony as I listen to the mixture of Spanish and coffee cups being placed on the tables of the cafes that line the street.

I am reflecting on mornings because of how much I have come to love them here. Mornings hold the anticipation of the countless little adventures I will encounter that day with my life here. If you know me, you know that I strive to find my own adventures no matter where I live everyday, whether it's venturing to a farmer's market or finding a new running path that I have no idea where I will end up. However, living in Spain makes that a little easier.

I thought it might be interesting to read about an average day in the life of MacKenzie here. As in teacher MacKenzie (what my kids call me) on a weekday. Probably not. But just in case, you can keep on reading.

Wake up at 8 angry at my alarm for going off again. Remind myself that I'll be able to take a nap when I get home during siesta time. Walk to the window of the living room or balcony, check out the sunrise over the Mediterranean. Bumble to the bathroom to attempt to make myself look descent. Raid Liz's closet for some article of clothing. Get dressed/organize my teaching materials for the day/listen to music/drink espresso if I or Courtney were ambitious enough to make some. Attempt to leave the house by 8:50 to catch the bus at the bus stop just down the road. This includes a walk past the taxi drivers that line their cars up in the morning. I've never actually seen them drive away with a person in the car but they line up there, and they creepily check me out as I walk to the bus stop. I used to dread this part of my walk, but I almost got hit by a car crossing the pedestrian crosswalk the other day right by them, and they all got completely protective and were up in arms swearing at the driver, assuring me it was their fault and that the driver had no right to honk at me.

Then I sit on a bench for about twenty minutes waiting for my bus. I eat whatever piece of fruit I choose to have for breakfast that day. Today it was a banana. Sometimes it comes early, sometimes it's late, but I have an amazing time people watching and listening to my Ipod. First there is a Spanish man with long hair that drops off his trash across from the stop and continues on his way. Then there is a dog. Now this one I'm still curious about. He has no owner, but he walks himself down the sidewalk on the street at the same time of the morning 3 out of the 4 mornings I wait there at this time. He even walked across the street using the pedestrian crosswalk today. Seriously people, no owner. I have gotten out of my seat to look around trees or other possible obstacles, but nothing. No one. My jaw dropped when he used the crosswalk and I of course laughed out loud, looking around to see if anyone else found this as amusing as me. Nope. Oh well. I'm just a freak that laughs to herself at Spanish bus stops I guess.

The same buses come in the same order and the same people get on each one. There is a woman who tends to wear an outfit two days in a row that gets on her bus about 5 minutes before mine comes. I especially enjoy a mom that brings two boys of about 16, both autistic, to the bus stop every morning. They are so excited to get on the bus, and the son of the mom is always helping the mom walk and get on and off the bus. It's touching because you can tell that they both give back to one another so much. It's amazing how no matter where you go, the routines of transportation, the schedule of people, always exists. These strangers become a comforting part of your schedule to see. While conversations are usually non-existent with these people, they become part of your daily life, something you can count on. When they're not there, it's hard not to wonder, to worry, about people you have never shared a single word with.

My actual bus ride consists of me putting on my "Spain bus" playlist (actually it's spelled Spain bud because I spelled it incorrectly in Itunes and am still too lazy to change it) which is chalk full of easy listening songs to doze off to. I look out the window and nod in and out of consciousness, looking at the Mediterranean, hoping I don't fall into too deep of sleep that I miss my stop in 40 minutes.

Then I get off, walk in my path along the main avenue of Velez, looking at the foothills, mountains and palace in the small mountain town off in the distance. This includes a walk past a coffee shop, packed full of men and Spanish policemen drinking shots of espresso, yelling in their Andalucian Spanish, all gloriously not working. Then I walk past the coffee shop I stop in for coffee at when I have extra time, a wave from the women who work there, and turned Spaniards on their stools gawking at the weird American that walks past their coffee shop in the morning.

INSERT SCHOOL HERE

After arriving home in the heat of the afternoon, which greatly differs from the morning chill that is present in the mountain town of Velez, I make myself lunch around 2:30 p.m., which is when everyone eats lunch here. This usually consists of something combined with tomatoes in olive oil and balsamic. Then I bumble down to the beach below our piso. I bring my beach blanket and reading material, although I usually don't actually read. That's because this is my favorite time of the day. After a nice lunch, I doze off on the beach, pushing everything out of my mind except the sound of the waves of the sea crashing on the shore next to me.

I'm usually awaken by Liz or Courtney as they join me for a couple of hours of relaxation on the beach. Don't worry though, I now have to go back to work, completing lesson plans and then giving private English lessons in the evening, followed by a sunset run along the shore or some sort of physical activity. Possibly a trip to the fruteria to buy fresh veggies or fruit, and let's be honest, a trip to a convenience store to buy a bottle of wine.

And that's it. That is my average day. We'll see if it gets old.

The Currency of Knowledge

Day trip last week to the pueblo of Nerja

Today I was sitting in the teachers' lounge, looking up past participles (really exciting, I know) on one of the computers. I overheard one of the teachers I work with, Ricardo, mention something about "hacer surf" (surfing) to another teacher, Ramon. I saw Ricardo open a surf report on the computer next to mine for Andalucia and then a couple of beaches nearby. I have wanted to learn to surf for a while, and if you read my blog on my goals for my time here, one of them is to finally learn how to (you're supposed to be holding me to these goals, remember!). After realizing that one of them had to know how, I asked if they could teach me. The three men pointed at Ricardo and told me that he was a very "chulo" surfer. This means cool surfer. I told him I would pay him if he wanted or that we could work something else out too if he preferred that - as in I could teach him something I know in exchange for his surf lessons. There is no better way to learn something than from a native speaker or native person to an activity. Here enters my love of intercambios.

For those of you who don't speak Spanish, it means interchange. In fact, one of my favorite things about Spain is intercambios. Each time I have lived abroad, there is this constant exchange of skills. Like I said, I've wanted to learn to surf for years, and I now know that I can either offer up one of my skills which could be as basic as my ability to speak English to teaching someone how to use a 35mm film camera. It's amazing...you want to learn how to speak German? No problem, someone will teach you if you teach them how to play the guitar. You want to learn Spanish? OK, someone will post an ad online or you'll meet them at a bar one night and the two of you will start talking about your shared interest in learning the other's language and make a deal. You'll decide to meet up once a week and speak in the other's language as they speak in yours and you'll teach other for free. However, on my contemplative ride home on the bus today, with the Avett Brothers pumping through my Ipod, I realized this isn't true. You don't teach people for free- you teach people for knowledge. This is where my bus ride home started to make me wonder -- What better currency is there than knowledge?

This concept is beautiful. I believe in the power of education at every level, whether it is a formal college degree or eating dinner with a foreign family after which you learn and accept cultural differences. I've always been drawn to educational locations from the different universities and schools I've worked at during and after college. I have such a magnetic pull towards these places and their ever-constant drive for understanding and learning. Living abroad, every single day is this constant thirst for knowledge--cultural knowledge, dialect knowledge, bus timetable knowledge, grammar knowledge. The list never ends.

The fact is, locals and Spaniards always know that I am not one of them. I don't take a bocadillo break everyday at 11:30 a.m. or naturally eat lunch at 2 p.m. followed by a short siesta, and I definitely don't catch every joke because I was not brought up to understand the same idioms and sayings they have heard since they were born. Because of this, with every Spaniard I meet, I am either confronted with an "I want to understand you" presence or "I don't care if I understand you, you're different and weird" presence. OK so some Americans may argue I 'm a little odd either way...BUT the point is, there is usually a constant struggle to understand the other, or if I may say so, gain more knowledge on the other and their culture. Luckily, I usually only encounter people who share that desire to understand the other more.

Today during my lesson with my 26-year-old student, Laura, we struggled for a couple of minutes two different times. I was trying to explain the different meanings of the preposition "by" to her, then followed by (ha) the expression "makes sense". It was so funny and amazing. This American and this Spaniard were rustling through piles of papers and drawing diagrams hastily, making faces and acting things out just because of the general desire to understand the other.

But don't worry fellow Americans, while I'm sure it may seem that I want to drop my identity from our country all together, the truth is rather the opposite. I constantly feel our culture and identity abroad living here more than I do at home. I am constantly comparing and contrasting the manner we do things, say things and communicate. I love it. Today in a first grade class, we're learning the parts of the body and a little boy asked me what we call the "caja" (chest). The teacher and I instantly looked at each other as both realized that "caja" and "chest" have figuratively similar meanings and physical presence in our respective languages. Despite the history and cultural differences dating back to hundreds of years ago from the foreign yet similar origins of our languages, there is something in common.

The first thing I have taught my first graders is the simple phrase of, "how do you say...". They will sit silently for long periods of time, raise their hands, and ask me how I say everything. They love it, and I love quiet kids at the end of my day. However, I've realized the intent behind the question. It's not how do YOU say, it's how do you AND your people say. Even young children seem to realize that languages are more than words, they are idioms and references to objects, places and feelings that have important connotations to cultures. And as much as I love Spain, I always answer their questions as a proud American.

Learning is just such an important aspect in the lives of human beings. The accomplishment of having a better understanding of someone or something, or the acceptance that you may never understand it, which can be a lesson in itself, is an important motivating factor for humans' everyday lives.

So ummmm, go learn something : )

Hasta luego amigos.

Sorry...I've been a bad blogger

Rincon de la Victoria

I just got back to the apartment from a night run under the moon and next to the sea. It's amazing how easily entertained I am running in the wet sand next to the shoreline, running forward while dodging the incoming waves. I also realized today that if I have the opportunity, I always brush my teeth before I go running. There is nothing worse than a bad tasting mouth while you run. Seriously. Fresh breath is way better.

OK onto more serious subjects I guess, although I know that my teeth-brushing habits hold you captive.

So much has happened since the last post. So many little stories, moving moments. I want to share them all, but it's impossible. I've been a bad blogger...please forgive me!

However, I feel settled in now. I feel at home when I walk in the door, put my briefcase bag next to my bed, and cuddle up on the couch with a blanket. My room is cozy from the candles and new down comforter I bought (among many other things) at IKEA during a horrible hungover trip we made 2 weeks ago involving multiple forms of dizzying public transportation. Let's just say hungover Kenz took a 45 minute nap in the IKEA cafeteria at 8 p.m. Yup. I knew I would feel better after a siesta and glass of apple juice though. Woops. Zero points for America's image, sorry guys. It was just one day though.

I love my schedule here though because I have as much of a routine as I need to feel like I'm a real person accomplishing things and helping the world, along with room and space everyday to explore and be spontaneous. I need both, whether the spontaneous thing is finding a seafood market to buy mussels and learning how to cook them (which I did this week) or venturing into Malaga to meet up with my teacher friends for sushi followed by watching one of them play in a live band at a club until 2 in the morning (2 Thursdays ago).

Upon coming here, I knew that I would be making enough money to live here, but I knew I wanted to make more. The only way of course to do that is through under the table jobs, paid cash, as my visa to live here does not allow me to work outside of the school I "assist" at. One of these ways is by giving private English lessons (clases particulars). I was lucky enough to have several of my teachers approach me the first week at my school voicing an interest in either private lessons for themselves, their children, or their friends. I didn't think it would be that easy, as we had been given information at our orientation about how to advertise for these and such. I made an effort to put myself out there with the fellow teachers the first weeks here from talking during our half-hour break every morning, to going to lunch with groups of them or meeting up with them for whatever they invited me to do. I guess that the last English "assistant" they had didn't speak very well in Spanish and wasn't very outgoing. I hope and think that my effort paid off to try to make genuine Spanish friends through the teachers at my school as well as meet prospective private students. Either way, I now have 3 scheduled lessons every week, with 2 more on the way.

I love my private lessons. They're a lot more work than I had expected though. Right now I'm trying to gauge the level each of the students is at in order to develop materials, games and homework for each. I am tutoring one of the teachers at my school, a daughter of another who is 26, and a 12 year old daughter of another. In the upcoming weeks I'll be adding a group of about three six-year-olds. Should be fun! I'm completely engaged during each lesson though. It's a constant intense translation and understanding of how they are thinking in a Spanish mentality and how I can better explain it and how it is used in English. I get to see ideas and concepts click in my students' minds right as they are sitting next to me. I get to see the smile of satisfaction when something finally makes sense to them that I know all too well from my own Spanish struggles in the past and daily in the present.

My Kids : )

All in all, I have come to love teaching. I'm excited to go to school in the morning, and the students are all generally interested in me. I get hand drawn notes, presents, hugs and smiles from kids. Yes, there are times I want to pull my hair out or walk out for 2 minutes for silence, but I really do care about them. Thinking about leaving them after three weeks already pulls at my heartstrings, June is going to be hard.

I was teaching a sixth grade class today and those rubber bands that are in shapes of animals and such are popular here as well as in the U.S. for kids of that age. It is funny to watch the little sixth graders flirt with each other, exchange bracelets, take them. Teaching has been such a memory provoking experience for me so far, racking my brain to when I was those ages, what interested me and kept my attention. It's amazing to me to look at the 4th graders and think that I met Liz at that age and that through all of the possible life changes, we're still close friends. It's pretty cool if you ask me. When I look at the fourth graders I see their innocence and all of the possible life changes that will come from boyfriends to college. There are so many things that happen and people that come into your life that can change your outlook on life that either push friends apart of closer together. I'm glad the Lizard and I are still friends from our fourth grade class with Mrs. Larson...if she could only see us now!