Many updates

Cherry blossom trees are turning pink, green leaves are appearing on trees, people are flocking to Plaza de España to suntan, and I am enjoying not wearing a wool coat to school anymore. Ah yes, spring has arrived to Madrid.

Since the sunshine has been calling me to enjoy time outdoors, I've been neglecting updating here for a bit. To remedy that, I'm writing a digest of brief updates on mi vida.

** I went on a trip to Amsterdam two weeks ago. The weather was a bit cloudy, but the city itself is really beautiful and a bit funky. After visiting the Van Gogh museum (and seeing "Starry Night" up close!) and Anne Frank's home, there wasn't much to do outside of the stereotypical coffee shops and partying. Although I did have Dutch pancakes, which were a delicious. They reminded me of an oversized crepe laid out instead of being folded up.



While in Holland, my 3 friends and I rented Dutch bicycles to take a ride outside of Amsterdam and find the scenic traditional Dutch windmills. As expected, the ride was somewhat of an adventure in itself, involving taking our bikes on 3 ferries, getting lost in the quiet and pretty Amsterdam suburbs, becoming an expert at "pedal and click" photography, and finding the Mecca of graffiti artists underneath a large highway. Plus, I was left with the best souvenir of all: A sore butt for 2 days.




** My good friend Angela from Northwestern came to visit! We spent the weekend exploring Madrid, visiting the Prado and the Reina Sofia, and having cheese and chorizo sandwiches at Retiro, Madrid's version of Central Park. We went to a new bar, made some new friends, and discovered the gem that is "calimocho," a very Spanish drink consisting of red wine and Coca Cola. We had the most fantastic tacos at this little Mexican chain restaurant, and shared stories about our experiences in Spain and our frustrations here. It was really fantastic to see her again and hear about what other parts of Spain are like from someone who has a perspective much closer to mine.

** The weekend ended on somewhat of a downer, when my camera was pick pocketed from my purse during our "Gran Noche Madrileña" on early Sunday morning. A blond Spanish girl came up to me and one of our new French friends asking for directions. After a bit, I heard the familiar jingle of my keys and looked down to find her putting them in her coat pocket. I asked her to empty her pockets, ended up sticking my hand in it, and getting my keys back. After checking to make sure my wallet, cell phone, and bus pass were still in my purse, I gave her a piece of my mind and went about my way, satisfied with myself for not becoming a victim. About an hour later, as I reached into my purse to take a photo of Angela and myself, my pride was shot when I realized the Spanish [expletive] had taken my camera. So much for my dignity -- and more importantly, my camera. I guess now I will be remembering my last few months in Europe through the photos of my fellow traveling buddies.

** On Monday, the principal at my school asked me if I planned on returning to the school next year. She chose to do it in front of the entire staff during our lunch hour, at the table where the staff sits to have a buffet-style lunch together. As they all grew quiet to listen to my answer, I had to find the most diplomatic way to tell them that I'd rather eat rotten fish that's been sitting out for 3 months than return. I was rather flustered, and frankly found the situation rather awkward. They were less than happy, but I'm looking out for Numero Uno here, and that would be me. It's a dog-eat-dog world, right? To me, it was just another example of cultural differences. I was thinking of turning her down in her office, where I could tell her. And her alone. Instead, I told her as other teachers stuffed calamari stew in their mouths.

** I'm heading to Dublin this weekend and rather excited about it. I keep meaning to buy a raincoat or at least water-resistant jacket, but I haven't yet. It seems as though every time I visit somewhere, it starts raining or the weather is at least drizzly. Welcome to Europe!

So sick of my "fleco"

I cut my bangs short before heading to Spain in the spirit of starting a new, more fashionable Marcy. Six months later, my "fleco" is at an awkward "too long to wear straight" but "too short to pull back" phase, and I'm still pretty unfashionable. Probably even more than I was before.

My excuses are varied, but I've made my peace with being totally "un-fashionable" and not wearing boots, having crazy hair, and loving my black hoodie. At least I don't have a she-mullet (because yes, they are still rather common here) and I don't look like a 16-year-old Amy Winehouse wannabe (sadly, also popular).

Spanish Medicine

This rant is technically a few days outdated, but last week was a rather busy week.

Last Tuesday, as I was finishing up the last hour of class with my first graders, cutting and decorating some shamrocks for St. Patrick's Day, my middle finger befell a tragic fate -- the extra skin around my phalanges was snipped off by a playful 6-yr-old.

After going to the school nurse (unlike most other Spanish schools, my school has one of these), she asked when I last had a tetanus vaccine. Since I stuttered for a bit, she took that to mean "quite a while" and suggested I get one. The following day, I set about securing said vaccine, and quite the adventure ensued.

I should have taken the difficulties in finding the doctor's office as a sign of what was to come. There were two buildings with the same number; I went through all five floors of the tall building with apartments trying to find the "Consultorio" or Doctor's Office. It was the building next door.

After arriving at the right place, I inquired about the vaccination. I had calld the day before asking to make an appointment, and I was informed that all that was necessary was to show up between 9 am and noon. It was about 10:30 am when I arrived, and the woman behind the desk asked if I'd brought the vaccine with me. Apparently, I was supposed to purchase the vaccine on my own; they were merely going to do me the favor of injecting me with it. After visits to three different pharmacies, I discovered that I could no longer purchase the tetanus vaccine without a prescription. And since I'm not a Spanish resident, and therefore unable to go to the public clinics, I had to call my insurance provider to ask where I could go for a vaccine.

Fourteen euros in pre-paid phone credit later, I was finally on my way to a different clinic in the posh area of town, where I was still going to pay out of pocket for my vaccine, since the vaccine against tetanus is "outside" the calendar of vaccinations. After arriving, paying my 9 euros, and getting shot in the left arm, I was finally on my way back to school, commuting one hour each way to spend a thrilling 90 minutes coloring some more.

Conclusion: Trying to get decent health care sucks, whether in the States or in Spain. In the former, you don't get decent health unless you have the money for an awesome insurance provider. On the contrary, in the latter, you don't get any attention if you're an outsider of any kind. Next time I need medical attention, I'll just throw myself in front of a bus and hope they figure out whether the private or public sector should cover me before I bleed to death.

Castellano vs. Español

Being the product of two Mexican immigrants makes me one of those first-generation Mexican-Americans that speaks Spanish because it is absolutely necessary to communicate with my parents. Spanish was probably my first language, with English following shortly thereafter. And my education, which was mostly in the States and therefore in English, makes me much more comfortable speaking, reading, and writing English.

This having been the case, however, has always meant that I am less than 100 percent confident in my Spanish-speaking abilities. I know sufficient Spanish to get by, and my pronunciation is good, but one of the reasons I came to Spain was to really improve my grammar and gain more confidence in my Spanish. I have this (now not-so) secret fear that when native Spanish speakers hear me, they silently correct my improperly conjugated verbs. When does "dormir" change to "durmir," if ever? What about the REAL difference between "ser" and "estar" and knowing whether I "soy" morena for life or I "estoy" morena after coming back from the beach?

"What better way to really make me as comfortable in Spanish as I am in English than by spending a year in a country where it is the native tongue?," I thought to myself stupidly. Then I came to Spain.

Below is a short list of words I thought I knew -- until arriving in Spain and being "corrected" by a Spaniard. These words are totally different in "Español Mexicano" versus "Castellano" or Spanish Spanish.

*GRAPEFRUIT: "toronja" (EM), "pomelo" (C)

*ANGRY: "enojado" (EM), "enfadado" (C)

*BUTT: "nalgas" (EM), "culo" (C)

*BUS: "camion" (EM), "autobus" (C)

*The verb "TO TAKE": "agarra" (EM), "cojer" (C)

A yucky feeling

Whatever bug had been incubating in my body for the last few weeks finally exploded in my system, resulting in me having some major mucus this past week. It seems as though it is finally subsiding, although I spent most of this afternoon trying to ignore the queasy feeling in my tummy.

One of my co-workers skipped out on work last Thursday because of what she said was some sort of 24-hr flu virus. She also left work early today because it seemed to have made a comeback. I'm slightly fearful that whatever attacked her doesn't come after me as well. As much as I'd love to skip out on a day of work, I'm not sure I'd really like to do it because I'm barfing all over the bathroom.