Las Rozas and an evening of sangria

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.