Some days can be more tiring than others, and today was one of those days. I've been working on a bunch of different projects in school. There's teaching a group of kids a play for theatre we're going to perform in May, then there's constant delegations that come from all over the world to see our school that I have to prepare for, and then of course I've got my regular teaching in the morning in the afternoon. By the time I get home, it's unequivocally time for a siesta.
Apparently -- and I haven't gotten an answer to exactly why quite -- my school is especially important. We had the higher ups of the European Teacher's Union (or something along those lines) come a few weeks ago, and I got to meet a bunch of people from France who said they were very impressed with what we do as conversation auxiliaries and with the school in general.
Then there was last month when the Ministra de la Educación (a.k.a. the Secretary of Education) came to hang out and I got to teach in front of her. I was also put on TV here in Spain on a few different news channels!
But yet another group, from South Africa and South America is coming on Thursday, which means tomorrow I get to spend all day preparing my lesson for the kids for a subject I don't normally do, but hey, maybe I'll be on the news again.
And Spring has finally come around! ...Make that Summer. It's definitely Summer. I know the weather might tell you that it's in the 70s or 80s here, but that's a lie. It's actually, most definitely, in the 90s and for some reason the Spanish still find it appropriate to walk around in pants and sweaters over their collard shirts. I, on the other hand, will be going to work tomorrow in shorts and sandals, most likely making a spectacle of myself (the Spanish don't know what sandals are, and they think its funny whenever someone wears them).
In other news, my speaking skills have indeed gotten better. It's easy to imitate the Andalúz accent, you just drop off the final letter of every word, a lot like French. Just take a look at this example:
Sopató. This is the word that taught me that Spaniards actually speak in code. What they're actually saying is "Sopa para todos," and some how they manage to cut the amount of syllables in half. When my coworker Oscar taught me this, I told him he was a cheater and not actually speaking a real language.
I'm serious. Sometimes it reaches a point where all their saying is exhaled vowel noises.
Fine. I can imitate that. So I played a little experiment on my principal. Every day when I finished I'd walk up to here and ask "Necesitas algo más?" (Do you need anything else?) and a day at a time I'd start removing letters from my speech.
Necesita algo má?
Necesita alo má?
Ecesita alo má?
Ecesita ao má?
I said the last one in front of a Spanish-French translator who then immediately commented "Oh listen to how great his Andalúz accent is!"
Rumor has it the Madrileños (people from Madrid) pronounce every single letter. I can't wait to go visit.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Life Since New Year's
Life since Amsterdam has been a lot of things. Sometimes quiet, sometimes loud, sometimes peaceful, sometimes obnoxious, and most of it Spanish.
Except for, perhaps, the food. Now I don't know if I've discussed this before, but for the most part, the food in Spain leaves something to be desired. That's not to say it isn't good, as there's some good things here and there for you to find in fancy restaurants and hip cafes, but the fact of the matter is that if you haven't heard about Spanish food and if you don't know what it is... well, perhaps there's a reason for that.
Let's start with the good:
Paella. Rice, seafood, spices, veggies all mixed together in a pan that you share with whomever you're eating with. Paella is fantastic if made properly, and I've had lots of different varieties, one of which had black rice due to the squid ink that was squirted all over it (yes, it was actually reeeeally tasty). It's also cheap. I mean, it's basically rice and whatever you have in the fridge.
Salmorejo. Salmorejo is tasty... soup... bread dip... thing... made out of stale bread, tomatoes, water, and olive oil with an egg thrown in the middle. Yes, it's made out of stale bread, and yes it's actually quite tasty, but for something that's made out of bread that's been sitting in the pantry for a week, it's surprisingly expensive.
Kebab. Spain, of course, has a very high population of Arabic peoples, and with that comes a nice influence of their culture through their food, one of which being Kebab. Let me tell you, there is nothing more delicious than thin slices of chicken thrown into a pita and topped off with goat cheese, veggies, and sauce. I make it a point to have one from this little place I know just around the corner at least once a week, and have even become good friends with the owners!
Let's move on to what I consider the bad.
There's not a whole lot of bad food in Spain, as most of it falls into the "Oh, it's just different" category, but there is something in particular that's especially frightening. Something that haunts my sleep and to which I awake screaming in the middle of the night. It is something widely and abundantly available in Spain, and something I wish I never knew existed.
Let me introduce you to Serrano Ham.
Yes, it's a leg of ham that has been cured in some mysterious Spanish fashion. No, it is not wrapped in plastic, and yes, the pig's hoof, as you can see, is still attached to the end of it. I've recently learned that the color of the hoof can indicate both the quality and variety of serrano ham, a minute detail that only left me feeling even more disgusted by it.
Imagine, if you will, walking through your local grocery market in search of something delicious, such as fresh fruit.
...It's the stench that gets you first. You might not have come to the Serrano Ham Aisle, but you can definitely smell it. It's a sickly sweet, sickly sour smell that stings the nostrils and encourages any in it's aromatic path to hold their breath or to inhale shallowly. Then, it attacks your vision. Aisles of dozens if not hundreds of legs of ham hanging out in the open for all to see and smell. It's a foul festival of flesh that no one but you seems to fret themselves over.
"Oh it's delicious!" they claim.
"Try it, you'll love it!" they suggest.
And in the spirit of neighborliness you oblige them. You take a slice, and with a bead of sweat rolling down your forehead you taste it for the first time and come to one singular conclusion:
Ham should not taste sour.
But you smile, and you chew, and you make an ernest attempt at what sounds like a half hearted "Mmmm" wondering where you can spit this out without offending anyone. You resign yourself to the fact that you'll have to consume it entirely, but make an important, bolded, italicized, and underlined mental note that the next time you're offered this delicacy, you'll politely pass with the excuse that you just finished a rather large meal just a few minutes prior.
You might think I'm over exaggerating. That I'm making a hyperbole. You would be wrong.
Except for, perhaps, the food. Now I don't know if I've discussed this before, but for the most part, the food in Spain leaves something to be desired. That's not to say it isn't good, as there's some good things here and there for you to find in fancy restaurants and hip cafes, but the fact of the matter is that if you haven't heard about Spanish food and if you don't know what it is... well, perhaps there's a reason for that.
Let's start with the good:
Paella. Rice, seafood, spices, veggies all mixed together in a pan that you share with whomever you're eating with. Paella is fantastic if made properly, and I've had lots of different varieties, one of which had black rice due to the squid ink that was squirted all over it (yes, it was actually reeeeally tasty). It's also cheap. I mean, it's basically rice and whatever you have in the fridge.
Salmorejo. Salmorejo is tasty... soup... bread dip... thing... made out of stale bread, tomatoes, water, and olive oil with an egg thrown in the middle. Yes, it's made out of stale bread, and yes it's actually quite tasty, but for something that's made out of bread that's been sitting in the pantry for a week, it's surprisingly expensive.
Kebab. Spain, of course, has a very high population of Arabic peoples, and with that comes a nice influence of their culture through their food, one of which being Kebab. Let me tell you, there is nothing more delicious than thin slices of chicken thrown into a pita and topped off with goat cheese, veggies, and sauce. I make it a point to have one from this little place I know just around the corner at least once a week, and have even become good friends with the owners!
Let's move on to what I consider the bad.
There's not a whole lot of bad food in Spain, as most of it falls into the "Oh, it's just different" category, but there is something in particular that's especially frightening. Something that haunts my sleep and to which I awake screaming in the middle of the night. It is something widely and abundantly available in Spain, and something I wish I never knew existed.
Let me introduce you to Serrano Ham.
Yes, it's a leg of ham that has been cured in some mysterious Spanish fashion. No, it is not wrapped in plastic, and yes, the pig's hoof, as you can see, is still attached to the end of it. I've recently learned that the color of the hoof can indicate both the quality and variety of serrano ham, a minute detail that only left me feeling even more disgusted by it.
Imagine, if you will, walking through your local grocery market in search of something delicious, such as fresh fruit.
...It's the stench that gets you first. You might not have come to the Serrano Ham Aisle, but you can definitely smell it. It's a sickly sweet, sickly sour smell that stings the nostrils and encourages any in it's aromatic path to hold their breath or to inhale shallowly. Then, it attacks your vision. Aisles of dozens if not hundreds of legs of ham hanging out in the open for all to see and smell. It's a foul festival of flesh that no one but you seems to fret themselves over.
"Oh it's delicious!" they claim.
"Try it, you'll love it!" they suggest.
And in the spirit of neighborliness you oblige them. You take a slice, and with a bead of sweat rolling down your forehead you taste it for the first time and come to one singular conclusion:
Ham should not taste sour.
But you smile, and you chew, and you make an ernest attempt at what sounds like a half hearted "Mmmm" wondering where you can spit this out without offending anyone. You resign yourself to the fact that you'll have to consume it entirely, but make an important, bolded, italicized, and underlined mental note that the next time you're offered this delicacy, you'll politely pass with the excuse that you just finished a rather large meal just a few minutes prior.
You might think I'm over exaggerating. That I'm making a hyperbole. You would be wrong.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Amsterdam, the world's most beautiful city
Of many possible reason, there is one specific reason why Amsterdam is, perhaps, the world's greatest city.
In the middle of December, with snow swirling through the streets, there's an outdoors flower market that stretches for several, several blocks. Yes, they are selling flowers and plants. Turns out Tulips from Amsterdam specifically need to be frozen over the winter, or they don't grow the following spring!
Well, there's that and then there's pofferties.
What are pofferties, you ask? Why, they're tiny, spherical silver dollar pancakes that are covered in real butter and about a pound of powdered sugar. Yes they are amazing, and yes, I ate them for breakfast every day that I was there.
...yes, I will be investing in a pofferties pan when I get back to the States. Here's a picture of pofferties lady, doing God's work.
Most of my days in Amsterdam were spent recovering from Paris and all of its evil. Why, just today I was watching a documentary where the narrator goes to Paris. Cue the romantic accordion music and beautiful shots of the Eiffel Tower. Don't be fooled, it's all lies.
Amsterdam, however, was amazing. In spite of Dutch being the weirdest language in the world with words like "Gemeenteraad" and "Leidseplein" and "Werkpleinen", everyone there also happens to speak English, so you don't have much of a problem when you're lost (and you will get lost) and trying to find your way around.
Sure there was the cold, and sure I had to wear adidas pants under my jeans, two pairs of socks, gloves, a scarf, a beanie, three shirts and two sweatshirts every time I went out, but the entire atmosphere in Amsterdam is frankly a whole lot friendlier than their bitter coffee drinking, cigarette smoking, wine drinking neighbors to the south west (at least, those of them in Paris). Not to mention this country also has actually functioning heaters that actually functionally HEAT the rooms their placed in, and not the faux heaters I've seen everywhere else so far.
So yes, all of this put together makes Amsterdam one sweet city. And New Year's was a total blast. The city organized a huge party in the main square of the city with lots of fireworks:
And let's not forget everyone in Europe was there. Spanish, Italian (who are drunk and loud), French (who are very pleasant outside of Paris), English, Irish, Scottish (wearing Kilts in the dead of winter), Russian (wearing full tiger coats, this one makes more sense), German (all of whom, I've decided, are at least 6 foot tall with blonde hair), and I'm sure many, many others.
Music poured through the streets as people danced their ways home and everyone -- EVERYONE -- was drunk.
Oddly enough, with all the things that go on in Amsterdam, with how so much is legal there, I've never felt more safe in another other city I've been in so far. I was never worried about walking down the streets at night or getting lost because, frankly, everyone was perfectly friendly and helpful.
So, yes, after so much stress and so much fighting to get anywhere, Amsterdam finally made it all worth it. It's a beautiful city, and one I definitely plan on going back to.
In the middle of December, with snow swirling through the streets, there's an outdoors flower market that stretches for several, several blocks. Yes, they are selling flowers and plants. Turns out Tulips from Amsterdam specifically need to be frozen over the winter, or they don't grow the following spring!
Well, there's that and then there's pofferties.
What are pofferties, you ask? Why, they're tiny, spherical silver dollar pancakes that are covered in real butter and about a pound of powdered sugar. Yes they are amazing, and yes, I ate them for breakfast every day that I was there.
...yes, I will be investing in a pofferties pan when I get back to the States. Here's a picture of pofferties lady, doing God's work.
Most of my days in Amsterdam were spent recovering from Paris and all of its evil. Why, just today I was watching a documentary where the narrator goes to Paris. Cue the romantic accordion music and beautiful shots of the Eiffel Tower. Don't be fooled, it's all lies.
Amsterdam, however, was amazing. In spite of Dutch being the weirdest language in the world with words like "Gemeenteraad" and "Leidseplein" and "Werkpleinen", everyone there also happens to speak English, so you don't have much of a problem when you're lost (and you will get lost) and trying to find your way around.
Sure there was the cold, and sure I had to wear adidas pants under my jeans, two pairs of socks, gloves, a scarf, a beanie, three shirts and two sweatshirts every time I went out, but the entire atmosphere in Amsterdam is frankly a whole lot friendlier than their bitter coffee drinking, cigarette smoking, wine drinking neighbors to the south west (at least, those of them in Paris). Not to mention this country also has actually functioning heaters that actually functionally HEAT the rooms their placed in, and not the faux heaters I've seen everywhere else so far.
So yes, all of this put together makes Amsterdam one sweet city. And New Year's was a total blast. The city organized a huge party in the main square of the city with lots of fireworks:
And let's not forget everyone in Europe was there. Spanish, Italian (who are drunk and loud), French (who are very pleasant outside of Paris), English, Irish, Scottish (wearing Kilts in the dead of winter), Russian (wearing full tiger coats, this one makes more sense), German (all of whom, I've decided, are at least 6 foot tall with blonde hair), and I'm sure many, many others.
Music poured through the streets as people danced their ways home and everyone -- EVERYONE -- was drunk.
Oddly enough, with all the things that go on in Amsterdam, with how so much is legal there, I've never felt more safe in another other city I've been in so far. I was never worried about walking down the streets at night or getting lost because, frankly, everyone was perfectly friendly and helpful.
So, yes, after so much stress and so much fighting to get anywhere, Amsterdam finally made it all worth it. It's a beautiful city, and one I definitely plan on going back to.
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