One of my favorite scenes from the entire Harry Potter series occurs in the third book, the Prisoner of Azkaban, when Harry feels (more) out of place in the magical world (than usual). Harry prepares to board the Night Bus, hesitating for a second and not knowing what to expect or even how it works.
In a different city, where language, customs and the everyday life is a world away from what I know, I finally sympathized with Harry when I boarded my bus back from Las Rozas on Friday. As the green bus taking me back to the city stopped a few yards ahead of me, I hesitated for a second, thinking that, like Harry, I really had no idea where this bus was taking me. I started to think about the greater, deeper meaning of my time in Madrid, and how I really don't know where this adventure will take me.
Alas, as far as Friday went, it was rather dull. I was at Las Rozas de Madrid, a suburb on the northwest outskirts of Madrid. Most well-known for its outlet mall (with includes a Nike Factory outlet among its businesses), Las Rozas is also the place where the elementary school I will be teaching at is located (conveniently, only 5 blocks or so from the outlet mall). I went out to visit the school and get a sense of what the commute would be like. It was rather short, only about 45 minutes away, and I discovered upon getting there that the English language coordinator also commutes from the city.
The school itself, La Encina, is an elementary school, educating about 570 students total from grades K-6. I will be assisting with the third graders four days a week, and I'll also be working with the 5-year-olds twice a week. I used to love children, until I went to college. Four years of rarely seeing anyone under 18 years old has made me lose my patience and my old way with kids. Guess I'm going to have to quickly work on that one...
I met the principal of my school, Marisa, and a bunch of the secretaries and administrative staff. They did the uber-European kiss-on-both-cheeks thing, which took me by surprise and left my right hand hanging in midair. I spent about 90 minutes at the school, chatting with some of the teachers and explaining myself again and again. "Yes, I'm the new English Language Assistant," "Yes, I am from the state of Colorado, its sort-of close to California," and "I was born in the States, but my parents are Mexican, so that is why I speak Spanish."
After riding the bus back to my aparment (or "piso" as they call it here), I considered getting off at a random stop to explore, but it was near siesta time, when the majority of shops and stores close between the day for people to go on their lunch break and take a nap. Typically between 1 and 5 pm, there isn't much to do besides go to a restaurant, and I didn't want to sit by myself and eat lunch, so I went home and watched hours of "So You Think You Can Dance" videos, which I think is always a good time.
In the evening, my roommates and I tried to find an authentic yet reasonably-priced tapas and sangria bar. We headed to the Lavapies neighborhood, an eclectic neighborhood south of touristy downtown Madrid. Emerging from the Metro, we were greeted by tons of pedestrians on foot, many with dreadlocks. As we walked down Calle de Argumosa, we saw more and more Rastas, musicians and intellectuals. The whole neighborhood had a strong feeling of Bohemia, and from the conversations and saludos which I could overhear, the community is very tight-knit.
The restaurant we went to, El Economico, had some of the most fantastic sangria I've ever had -- not a lot of kick at first, but bubbly and with some zest. The restaurant didn't actually have tapas despite what Fromers said but the food was indeed fantastic. The chicken on the shishkabobs I had was some of the juiciest I've tasted, and the salsa brava was fantastic.
After dinner, we wandered around the streets in our neighborhood for a while. We found two taverns across the street from each other where people were sitting in benches outside the bar and drinking. We proceeded to do the same, making a new friend in the meantime -- a pleasantly well-dressed (and rather inebriated) gay man who called himself "Ramon" who cracked me up. He was wearing a great hat, which I complimented him on. Now, most people would say "Thanks" or something cordial like that, but Romeo just turned to me and said, "Girl, I already know that. Do you think I'd be wearing if it wasn't fabulous?" I wanted to make him my bestie right then, but he slapped some blonde girl in the ass and began to get chased down by another equally drunk gentleman wearing a suit, so I left him alone. He clearly had other problems now.
We headed over to another Irish pub near the house next, where we met up with our roommate and neighbor. The pub, O'Malleys, had loads of American music, and a grand ol' flag drapped on the ceiling, which looked red white and gray due to the cigarette smoke. A bit odd, but a great place to dance until 4 am on Friday night in Madrid.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Finally Settled
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were spent pretty much the same way -- waking up at noon or so, finding our way around the Metro and the area to find stores and purchase things we need to get settled. So far, we've discovered a wonderful Target-like store called Carrefour. The one nearest us, about 7 blocks, is an Express store, meaning they stock mainly the grocery items: fresh fish, meats, pantry items, etc. We bought a few items, although we are still waiting for the roach problem to get fixed before we set out on a big grocery expedition.
The realization that eating out for lunch and dinner is quickly emptying our pockets has encouraged us to seek food alternatives that don't require much cooking or a need to be stored (Amy has spent countless hours researching roaches and has become the expert, and we all agreed it would be best to not give the roaches any more reasons to nest. And to avoid opening my box of Spanish cereal and having a crunchy surprise in there).
Yesterday we took a trip to IKEA, the very same Swedish-made furniture that was such a big part of apartment living at Northwestern. We took a bus out to San Sebastian de los Reyes, a small suburban town about 30 minutes outside of Madrid. On our way back to the bus stop, we found ourselves caught in a downpour, so we ran across the IKEA parking lot to a Burger King to seek shelter. Ten minutes later, semi-wet and grumpy, we returned to the bus stop and made our way back to Rios Rosas.
At night, we opted to find a Tapas bar and have a night of authentic Spanish cuisine (instead of the pizza, tacos, and sandwiches we had been eating for dinner). Setting out in search of El Tigre, a tapas bar in Madrid's Chueca neighborhood, we were lost for about 20 minutes before finding El Tigre, closed of course, just as our roomshare-mate Luisma (who joined us for dinner) had suggested earlier. We ended up having Turkish kebabs (kabobs) for dinner (so much for authentic Spanish). After dinner, we stopped at the oldest McDonald's in Madrid, found off the Gran Via Metro stop, for a McFlurry, before meeting our other roomshare-mates Eucevio and his friend Jaime. The six of us went to O'Donnells, an Irish pub filled with Americans and which was blasting music in English, from 50 Cent and Ludacris to Gloria Gaynor, Bruce Springsteen, and Timbaland ("Give It To Me," a song which holds so many memories for me, made me feel almost at home, -- big ups to Emmet!). Although the pub's music was quite loud, we had a great time. I asked about 30 billion questions, from Spanish futbol (soccer) teams to the depth of American cultural influence in Spain. Apparently, there are many Spaniards who think they are "thugs" too!
I've been learning so much already in these last few days, mostly about Castilian vocabulary -- bleach, mopping, and beef are completely different words here than in Mexico/the U.S. I also find it very amusing that I am "obviously" Mexican here. At Northwestern, I was always ethnically ambiguous, some days appearing Indian or Persian and others looking half-black. Not in Madrid. Here, there is never a doubt that I'm Mexican. I've heard that my accent (I have one?) gives it away. My Spanish neighbors were getting a kick out of hearing me speak last night, using Mexican slang and a very "charra" intonation. I'll take that as a compliment...
The realization that eating out for lunch and dinner is quickly emptying our pockets has encouraged us to seek food alternatives that don't require much cooking or a need to be stored (Amy has spent countless hours researching roaches and has become the expert, and we all agreed it would be best to not give the roaches any more reasons to nest. And to avoid opening my box of Spanish cereal and having a crunchy surprise in there).
Yesterday we took a trip to IKEA, the very same Swedish-made furniture that was such a big part of apartment living at Northwestern. We took a bus out to San Sebastian de los Reyes, a small suburban town about 30 minutes outside of Madrid. On our way back to the bus stop, we found ourselves caught in a downpour, so we ran across the IKEA parking lot to a Burger King to seek shelter. Ten minutes later, semi-wet and grumpy, we returned to the bus stop and made our way back to Rios Rosas.
At night, we opted to find a Tapas bar and have a night of authentic Spanish cuisine (instead of the pizza, tacos, and sandwiches we had been eating for dinner). Setting out in search of El Tigre, a tapas bar in Madrid's Chueca neighborhood, we were lost for about 20 minutes before finding El Tigre, closed of course, just as our roomshare-mate Luisma (who joined us for dinner) had suggested earlier. We ended up having Turkish kebabs (kabobs) for dinner (so much for authentic Spanish). After dinner, we stopped at the oldest McDonald's in Madrid, found off the Gran Via Metro stop, for a McFlurry, before meeting our other roomshare-mates Eucevio and his friend Jaime. The six of us went to O'Donnells, an Irish pub filled with Americans and which was blasting music in English, from 50 Cent and Ludacris to Gloria Gaynor, Bruce Springsteen, and Timbaland ("Give It To Me," a song which holds so many memories for me, made me feel almost at home, -- big ups to Emmet!). Although the pub's music was quite loud, we had a great time. I asked about 30 billion questions, from Spanish futbol (soccer) teams to the depth of American cultural influence in Spain. Apparently, there are many Spaniards who think they are "thugs" too!
I've been learning so much already in these last few days, mostly about Castilian vocabulary -- bleach, mopping, and beef are completely different words here than in Mexico/the U.S. I also find it very amusing that I am "obviously" Mexican here. At Northwestern, I was always ethnically ambiguous, some days appearing Indian or Persian and others looking half-black. Not in Madrid. Here, there is never a doubt that I'm Mexican. I've heard that my accent (I have one?) gives it away. My Spanish neighbors were getting a kick out of hearing me speak last night, using Mexican slang and a very "charra" intonation. I'll take that as a compliment...
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Day 1: Arriving in Madrid
After a 14-hour flight from Denver to Madrid (with layovers in Chicago and Toronto), it was nice to feel my butt again( I mean, I did spent a day and a half meandering about different airports) Saturday morning.
Madrid's Barajas Airport was a lot like the Guadalajara Airport in Mexico -- the same long lines for a passport stamp at the airport. I picked up my bags, met my two friends Meagan and Amy (whom I'll be sharing many a Spanish adventure with), and we hopped on the Metro to look at the apartment where the three of us will be living.
The apartment is actually a roomshare on the northern outskirts of the Chamberi neighborhood, located on the northern end of Madrid. Six separate rooms with a lock-and-key share a kitchen and bathroom -- it's partly dorm, partly apartment. In truth, it reminds me a lot of the Tit, the apartment I lived in with six great friends during my senior year of college. This new place has the same dingy, well-used feeling the Tit has, with an added bonus: the permanent smell of cigarette smoke. We spent most of the afternoon trying to find ATMs that would allow us to take out enough money to cover the first months' rent plus a fianza, a deposit on the apartment which is also the same as a month's rent. Amy and I had trouble taking out the needed amounts ($440 euro for me, or about $650 USD), so the three of us set out (sans the needed amount of money) for the apartment on Rios Rosas street, to meet Luis, the landlord.
Luis the Argentine, a 50-something year old man with gray hair, was a bit peeved about having waited nearly an hour before our arrival (Amy had called from the airport to tell him we were on our way over, but we were sidetracked by our financial woes). After more waiting as he went to see another potential customer, we were able to secure our rooms. Only two minor problems existed:
1) The kitchen has a minor cockroach problem, minor of course being a relative term. Several teeny-weeny cockroaches would peak out from under the sink, behind the TV (yes, our only TV lives in the kitchen), or at night, from around the light switch. Luis promised to take care of this roach problem by calling an exterminator first thing Monday morning.
2) My assigned room, No. 2, is currently inhabited by a 6'6" tall basketball journalist named Eusebi. Until then, Meagan and I will spending the next three weeks re-living our sophomore year of college as roommates. In all honesty, the room we are currently sharing is probably bigger than the space we shared living together in 1835 Hinman two years ago. Sharing a room isn't a problem, really; more like a minor glitch. I just feel too lazy to unpack my things and get comfortable if I'm going to be moving two rooms over in a few days.
The three of us set out to find sheets and possibly, new pillows for our beds. We took the Metro again to La Corte Ingles, an everything store I remembered my friend Aliza telling us about (gra-thi-as ali-tha!). We asked the woman helping us there to point us to whatever was cheapest, a set of 50/50 cotton/polyester sheets which really weren't all that cheap. But they're getting the job done.
The most vivid memory I have of day 1 is the immense feeling of tiredness. Between my lack of sleep on the flight (too many good movies to watch), fighting with my body to realize we're functioning 8 hours ahead now, and the potpourri of mixed emotions, hitting the sack (which feels more like a cot) never felt better.
Madrid's Barajas Airport was a lot like the Guadalajara Airport in Mexico -- the same long lines for a passport stamp at the airport. I picked up my bags, met my two friends Meagan and Amy (whom I'll be sharing many a Spanish adventure with), and we hopped on the Metro to look at the apartment where the three of us will be living.
The apartment is actually a roomshare on the northern outskirts of the Chamberi neighborhood, located on the northern end of Madrid. Six separate rooms with a lock-and-key share a kitchen and bathroom -- it's partly dorm, partly apartment. In truth, it reminds me a lot of the Tit, the apartment I lived in with six great friends during my senior year of college. This new place has the same dingy, well-used feeling the Tit has, with an added bonus: the permanent smell of cigarette smoke. We spent most of the afternoon trying to find ATMs that would allow us to take out enough money to cover the first months' rent plus a fianza, a deposit on the apartment which is also the same as a month's rent. Amy and I had trouble taking out the needed amounts ($440 euro for me, or about $650 USD), so the three of us set out (sans the needed amount of money) for the apartment on Rios Rosas street, to meet Luis, the landlord.
Luis the Argentine, a 50-something year old man with gray hair, was a bit peeved about having waited nearly an hour before our arrival (Amy had called from the airport to tell him we were on our way over, but we were sidetracked by our financial woes). After more waiting as he went to see another potential customer, we were able to secure our rooms. Only two minor problems existed:
1) The kitchen has a minor cockroach problem, minor of course being a relative term. Several teeny-weeny cockroaches would peak out from under the sink, behind the TV (yes, our only TV lives in the kitchen), or at night, from around the light switch. Luis promised to take care of this roach problem by calling an exterminator first thing Monday morning.
2) My assigned room, No. 2, is currently inhabited by a 6'6" tall basketball journalist named Eusebi. Until then, Meagan and I will spending the next three weeks re-living our sophomore year of college as roommates. In all honesty, the room we are currently sharing is probably bigger than the space we shared living together in 1835 Hinman two years ago. Sharing a room isn't a problem, really; more like a minor glitch. I just feel too lazy to unpack my things and get comfortable if I'm going to be moving two rooms over in a few days.
The three of us set out to find sheets and possibly, new pillows for our beds. We took the Metro again to La Corte Ingles, an everything store I remembered my friend Aliza telling us about (gra-thi-as ali-tha!). We asked the woman helping us there to point us to whatever was cheapest, a set of 50/50 cotton/polyester sheets which really weren't all that cheap. But they're getting the job done.
The most vivid memory I have of day 1 is the immense feeling of tiredness. Between my lack of sleep on the flight (too many good movies to watch), fighting with my body to realize we're functioning 8 hours ahead now, and the potpourri of mixed emotions, hitting the sack (which feels more like a cot) never felt better.
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