Malaga in bullet points

• Where the fine men reside. Damn! I'm seriously trying to see if I can get my region switched! The amount of fine men in one city just don't make no damn sense! I'm getting mad thinking about it. Just everywhere...I can't even...
• That's all I got for Malaga.
• Oh wait, there was rain...yet again. But, I had one good day of sun. I feel badly because if I didn't miss my bus, I'm sure I would've raved and raved about Malaga. But, I did indeed miss my bus to Granada and that coupled with everything made me over this trip. Over it! There was so much construction in the city, the bus system was all messed up and nan one of the people could let me know where the hell the bus station was! I always leave an hour and change before my bus leaves and I've never missed a bus! Ugh.
• But those men were fine though....

Cordoba in bullet points

• My poor shoes! :o( These cobblestones have done a number on them. My feet! They feel like they're gonna fall off. I blame the rain.
• Arabic baths...aaahhh! Definitely the highlight of my stay. Nonstop rain for 3 days leads to misery and I was miserable....depressed....and then, the arabic baths appeared. The only open appointment was at midnight. Best appointment slot ever. Dead of the night, soaking in the dimly lit baths, nice hot mint tea, and of course, the massages. I chose the traditional amman bath, which I thought meant a longer massage, but was really about exfoliation. I think I would've preferred the massage with essential oils, but I aint even mad at the exfoliation one. It definitely helped me get right to bed and wouldn't you know the next day the sun finally came out? I can't wait until I can go back again...(the baths, I mean...Cordoba...not so much) They have one in Granada and Madrid. Gotta save up them coins...
• Tried typical Gazpacho, an andalucian dish. It's a tomato soup with onions and some...garlic? Oh yeah and it's cold. Cold, oniony, garlicky tomato soup....did I mention I don't like tomatoes? (unless it's ketchup, I love, love, LOVE me some ketchup!) This soup was interesting....tasted like...an oniony tomato. As for the glass of Montilla (wine typical to that region) shit was N-A-S-T-Y. No diplomacy here, it gets a "hayell no, never again" from me. Lawd.
• Also, I had a bad Mexican food experience. Like...never in my life...smh. I think one of the saddest things in the world is eating bad Mexican food. This was just a catastrophe. I asked for a beef burrito; Beef, onions and green pepper were listed as ingredients. But tell me whyyyyy....I had an onion burriot with tiny shavings of beef. I kept eating it thinking the meat would be further in...I can't even talk about it anymore. Every time I think about it I get nauseous. I almost threw up in that restaurant. Never again...clearly.
• Oh yeah, the Mezquita was cool. I found that I enjoyed the gardens of the Alcazar de los reyes cristainos a lot more. I'm just strange like that.

And that's my Cordoba experience.

Hola, Primavera!

 

 

Spring has hit Spain with a vengeance and I’m loving it.

The past week and a half has been nothing but sunshine and warm temperatures. Last weekend, we even hit the 80s. I’m always surprised by just how closely my mood is tied in with the weather. I now find it easier to get out of bed and out the house. I actually want to hang out after school. I don’t even mind when the kids start acting a damn fool….(That’s a lie, I still have to rein them in, but I’m more lenient than usual.)

I can’t wait for summer in the city. Whoop!

Negro vs. Negro

I picked up a private class the other day and my first time meeting the students was.....interesting....and most definitely awkward. The director of the academy, who also happens to be from Canada, decided he wanted to join me for that first meeting. When I found that out, I figured I needed to mentally prepare myself, because that man? Strange doesn't even begin to describe. And sure enough, that mental preparation came in handy.

Everything was going as well as it could be when you have a class of 50 year old women who don't know English, although they've been in the class since October but are too impatient and lazy to actually study and do homework and so they learn nothing. Then, the class took a sharp left and we fell off a cliff. One of the women tried to make a vulgar joke and followed the fail of a joke with "Don't turn green from embarrassment! I know you can't turn red, because you're Black." My head most definitely tilted to the side on some "Bitch, what?!" I may even have a visual.....

There we go!

Then she stopped and solemnly said, "In the States you can't call a person negro, because they get very upset."

Dum, dum, duuum.

The director used that as his cue to explain the difference between negro in English and negro in Spanish. (Juuust in case you had any doubts, he did a horrible job and refused to let me jump in and save him.) He then proceeded to say that only other Black people can call each other 'negro' with their friends. And I quote from his most wonderful speech: "Like Juliet here, when she speaks with her friends, she uses this word, right?"

I'm sitting there, blank face on and all I can think is "Is this man talking about the word 'nigga' or 'negro'?" And if you need the visual for my most perfect blank face, direct your attention below.

After taking that moment to think it out, I politely turned to him and said, "I don't use the word." He was shocked and appalled.

If he had a string of pearls around his neck, I'm sure he woulda clutched them. If he could do such a thing, he woulda taken my "Black card" without a second thought. That's how appalled he was.

Somehow I navigated the class away from the subject and back to what we came there to do, which was to maybe learn English, and we (finally) ended the class. Needless to say I'm now looking for someone to take the class off my hands.

Like riding a bike

Have you ever thought about how cool it is to ride a bike?

I mean, without training wheels...of course.

What about the fact that you could legitimately hop on a bike without riding for literally...years and you could ride like you never stopped. It's literally impossible to forget how to ride a bike.

Am I the only one who thinks that is amazing?

Just one of those random thoughts in my mind. I rode a bike this past weekend...for the first time in 2 years? Maybe 2 and a half. It was nice.

Some days it's all about me.....

And today is one of them.

 

Bilbao living

 

My arms are so damn long. *sigh*

That's it.

That was fun, wasn't it?

Before we started class the other day, 1 of my favorite girls came up to Arancha, my co-teacher, and complained that she was bleeding. When we both took a look, we discovered a big wound on the back of her left hand. We thought it a strange place to get injured and questioned her about what happened.

She blushed a little and sheepishly confessed that she was playing a game and injured herself. Arancha seemed ready to accept this excuse, but something about it didn't seem right to me and so I questioned her further. "Tell me more about this game." She tensed up and after much silence, reluctantly revealed the nature of this so called "game." The game requires a person to recite the alphabet and something that begins with each letter while scratching the back of one's hand. We didn't quite understand the game (or maybe we didn't want to believe what we were hearing) and so the little girl decided to demonstrate. "A. A is for apple. B. B is for baby..." and while she recited each line she was clawing the skin off the back of her hand. Apparently the goal is to get to the end of the alphabet.

Jesus Christ.

"This is a game?! How? Why? What's the prize?" She just laughed and shrugged her shoulders. We questioned her even further and discovered about 6 other girls who bore the same scars. When asked to show us, they raised the backs of their hands with pride.

Arancha and I stared at all of them like they were aliens. The guys in the class just shook their heads and continued with their arts and crafts. Crazy doesn't even begin to describe....

Just a day in the life

I'm rushing to school in the morning, cold and upset that I'm even up so early when this random old woman stops me.

She starts to mumble and of course, I don't understand what the hell she's saying. Finally, I get that she wants a cigarette from me. "No dice, lady, I don't smoke." I think that's that and start to go about my way when surprise!  The lady turns out to be fucking insane.

Why does she reach out and try to caress my face after I tell her I have no cigarettes? She's not even saying a word, either. Her hands are just reaching out towards my face. Best believe I made like Neo in The Matrix.

See that? Yeah, I did it. We were both silent as we did that little dance: she reaching for my face and me bending every which way to avoid her hands.

Finally, I said "what are you doing?!" and just ran around her. I glanced at the people who happened to be around us and they had the most perfect blank faces. For a minute, I had to reassure myself that I was walking the streets of Spain and not NYC. Then I met my teacher and life went on.

Just a day in the life.

Lesson for today:

Never get a seat facing the person eating alone....especially when you're eating alone too.

Rookie move, Juliet. You should know that by now.

Talk about awkward.

"What did you say?!"

Today we were practicing names of places and shops in the city. I asked what things they could buy at the mall and the kids were throwing out all sorts of things.

One kid said “knickers,” but the way he prounounced it, it sounded like “niggers.”

My head snapped up so quickly. I said, “what?!” and the bass in my voice? It was somethin’ serious. I’ve never seen a child look so afraid. He whispered “knickers” again and then said “como ropa interior, no?” Everyone was looking at me like I had lost my mind. I had to play that off. Thank God there were only 10 mins left in the class.

I blame the British for teaching these kids these words. I mean, knickers? Knickers?

God.

I find it quite humourous the lengths Spanish women will go to obtain "great" skin. I mean, just looking at the prices they're paying for all these creams are shocking enough!

S-M-H.

All they need to do is stop smoking, exfoliate, and drink more water. I'm positive they would get the results they're searching for at half the price. Ha.

And she's back....

I must admit, I've been "doing the USA" these past few weeks.

It was good to see my family and some friends...and it felt even better to be in a country where I could understand everything without having to concentrate, but now I'm back to doing Spain....which leaves me with mixed feelings.

I thought Spain had changed its wiley ways during my absence, but I was sadly mistaken.

I was greeted well enough when I first arrived. The customs official was very nice to me. He even tried to flirt by asking if I had found my Romeo yet. (I hate that line with a passion, but I decided to give him a pass because he was trying to practice his English and he had a nice smile.) The Metro officials were nice and helpful and even the people on the bus to Logrono smiled more than usual. All seemed well.

Then I got to Logrono and my bubble was popped. I get to my apartment building and I struggle to open the door. This lady comes up behind me and watches me struggle to open the door and then struggle to get my bags inside. I mean, it wouldn't have cost her anything to drag my other bag inside. It wasn't heavy and it was small. Noo, she couldn't do that. Instead she watched me fight with my bags with a slight look of disdain and then hurriedly walked inside. Then she mumbled "Buenos dias" and I kept it moving without responding.

Tell me whyyyyy this lady had the audacity to turn around and try to berate me for not responding. Talking some, "You didn't hear what I said? I tried to say Good morning to you" blah blah blah. I looked at her with the most perfect blank face and then attended to my bags. She gonna mumble "She didn't hear me." Only the Lord Jesus stilled my tongue and stopped me from replying, "Actually trick, I did hear what the fuck you said, but since you wanted to be so rude I didn't see it fit to respond to your snotty ass. Now move from my path so I can enter the elevator. You tried it, honey, and I aint the one." I hope she said her prayers and thanked the Lord for saving her from me.

I finally get to my apartment and I get to opening the door. I'm so ready to be up in my bed, I'm damn near taking off my shoes in the hallway. Why don't my keys open the door? Apparently my landlady saw it fit to lock one more lock in the damn door and wouldn't you know that's the key she didn't give us? So I had to take me and my suitcases to her house (thank the Lord she lives like around the corner otherwise I wouldn't have been a happy kitty) and call her, because of course I don't remember the exact apartment she lives in. This chick had the gumption to act surprised, talking some "You don't have that key? Woow, I thought I gave it to you!....Are you the first one back?" Nah trick, you knew nan one of us had the key to that top lock, you just wanted a way to know when we came back. And you damn sure already know that I'm the first one back. Don't play with me. So she gave me her set of keys and I was finally able to enter my damn house.

Oh yes, and of course, my cookies that I brought back with me from the States opened up into my suitcase and crumbled into the tiniest of bits. Needless to say, I slept forever.

Bienvenidos a Espana, Julieta!