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I don’t understand…

/ helenstasa / 4 Comments

One thing which has become clearly apparent to me over the last week (yes, I have been in Spain for 7 days now!) is how different it is trying to speak Spanish in the real world versus learning Spanish in class…

In class, the teacher spoke incredibly clearly and distinctly, repeating things where necessary, and making sure we had SOME idea what was going on before asking us to respond. (Gracias, Gabriel!)

Not so in the real world. Everyone seems to be speaking INCREDIBLY fast, and because I’m not fluent, I need lots of time to a) translate what they are saying, then b) formulate my response in English, and c) then say it in Spanish.

Let’s just say, the pace is leaving me for dead.

But not only is the pace too fast, I’ve also come to realise that I have a REALLY nasty habit of smiling and nodding and saying “si, si, yo entiendo” (yes, yes, I understand), even when I most certainly do not entiendo.

Nada.

Today’s example. I went to the Town Hall in Valdebernardo to try and register as a Madrid inhabitant, which I need for my identity card (hello, bureaucracy). First, I approached the secretary’s counter. She said something that I couldn’t understand, but waved her hand towards the other side of the room, which I took to mean “You go over there.” So off I went.

Then I explained my purpose, in carefully rehearsed Spanish, to the man behind the counter. He responded with a barrage of words, gesticulating wildly, as I furiously nodded, and “si”-ed away. From what I could gather, he told me that he couldn’t register my document as I don’t live in Valdebernardo. Instead, I have to go to the office closest to my residence, but there is a one month wait for appointments. At least I THINK that’s what he said. I heard “No”, “not here”, “where you live”, “wait a month”, and inferred the rest.

I don’t know why (Social expectations? Shyness? Being totally overwhelmed? A mixture of all?) I never say “I don’t understand.” I just play along with it, and the less  I understand, the more crazy my gestures and “si”s become.

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I really need to summon the courage to say “Look, I didn’t get that. Could you repeat it?”, or else I may soon find myself nodding furiously and agreeing that yes, I am a complete idiot, and yes, I should take the first plane back to Australia and never set foot in Spain again…

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My first day of school

/ helenstasa / Leave a comment

Today, I started back at school, something I never thought I would be doing at the ripe old age of 35…

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The day started poorly, when I realised I had left my passport at home, and had to return to my apartment. But it wasn’t all bad! When I went to change train lines, there was a busker playing “Beds are burning”! It was positively bizarre to hear a Spanish guy perfectly imitating Peter Garrett’s distinctive warble (albeit without dance moves, unfortunately).

My school is a public infants/primary school in a suburb called Valdebernardo, about 40 minutes from my place. It’s a bilingual school, so 40% of the lessons are in English, with the remainder in Spanish. Here’s the website.

This year, there are 5 English language assistants at the school. Three of them were there last year as well, which I guess is a positive thing. If the school was REALLY bad, they wouldn’t want to go back, would they? I am by far the oldest, by about 10 years, and I’ve got to admit, our priorities seem to be VERY different. The other assistants’ conversation seemed to focus almost entirely on money (in particular, the things they do in order to save 1€, such as hitching to Portugal instead of taking the bus); gossiping about who the worst teachers are (the ones whose classes I am in, needless to say); and complaining non-stop about their schedules (which, to be honest, weren’t that bad- we are all only working 3.5 days a week, with Monday or Friday free).

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I’m not going to deny it, I found these conversations depressing. Sure, it’s important to save money, I can accept that. And yes, I am probably in a very different financial position to some of the 22 year old conversation assistants. But, pathetic as it may sound, I actually WANT to teach at the school, rather than using it purely as a means to a Spanish visa, and to be made to feel that there was something “wrong” with me because of this was a bit disheartening 😦

Hopefully, things will improve when the teaching starts 🙂

The running of the bulls

/ helenstasa / 2 Comments

For the past few months, I have been practicing my Spanish online with a Chilean guy named Mario. When I told him I was coming to Spain, he gave me the contact details of a former colleague, Anita, who now lives in Madrid. “She’s really nice,” said Mario. “You should contact her.”

I felt a bit awkward, but I did. I sent her a message introducing myself, and we had a bit of a chat. She asked if I was busy today, and when I said no, she invited me to join her and her husband, Cristian, in their township, Las Rozas (it’s about 30 minutes out of Madrid) for the celebration of the day of San Miguel.

“We’ll meet at 10a.m., as there’s something exciting happening at 10:30a.m.,” Anita wrote mysteriously.

So, I walked to the main station in Madrid, and caught the train out to Las Rozas.

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Walking to Atocha

Anita and Cristian met me there, and we headed into the town centre, where there was a massive crowd of people lined up against some barriers. “This is it!” Anita said. “It’s the corrida, the running of the bulls!”

On the bull running street were a number of men, dressed in athletic gear, engaging in a variety of stretches to prepare for the run. After about 10 minutes, a loud explosion sounded to warn the crowd that the bulls would soon be released. And sure enough, out trotted four white and brown bulls, with huge horns, and bells around their necks.

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These were the “guide bulls.” They proceeded at a leisurely rate.

I was a bit disappointed, as the “fierce” bulls weren’t all that fierce. In fact, one of them insisted on stopping, and returning back to his pen, as he clearly wasn’t interested in any kind of running.

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This bull didn’t want to run, so he headed back to the pen. Fair enough.

But the man next to me explained that these were the “guide bulls”, who would lead the way when the “fighting bulls” were released.

The guide bulls made their sedate way up the road, and when they reached the top, the starter’s gun sounded again, and this time, it was for real. It was amazing to watch the men start running as the guide bulls rounded the corner, this time followed by two fast, fierce, and very dangerous black fighting bulls, which seemed to be almost flying through the air.

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Here come the bulls!

Even though their horns weren’t as big, they more than compensated for this by their general demeanour.

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This is one of the “flying fighting bulls.”

After the run, Anita and Cristian showed me around the town, and then we went and had some tapas with Anita’s 84 year old grandma, who kept receiving calls on her smartphone while we were there, and who seemed to have the most active social life of anyone present.

Me and some friends; The Church of San Miguel

Overall, it was a wonderful day, and it was a real joy to be able to meet such lovely people. It makes a HUGE difference to feel welcome and accepted 🙂

International yoga

/ helenstasa / 2 Comments

Being a creature of habit, Thursday equals yoga night, so I decided that I would have to find myself a class in Madrid.

I decided to do a bit of Googling, and I eventually found this place.

It looked good for a number of reasons:

  1. Easy walk from my apartment
  2. Website in English
  3. Teachers seemed to have a fair bit of experience
  4. Didn’t look too much like “ego yoga” (think supermodel-type instructors, wall-to-wall mirrors, and ultra-hip designer exercise gear).

So, at 7pm, off I went.

When I arrived,  I introduced myself, and explained that my Spanish was dreadful. “Don’t worry!” exclaimed the teacher. “It will be fine!”

But it wasn’t. Maybe I overestimated my ability. Maybe the teacher was just talking really fast. Maybe I had neglected to realise that yoga instructions are usually pretty specific, and so you need to be a competent speaker of the language. Maybe it was a combination of things, but I literally had NO IDEA of what she was saying.

I deviously tried to copy the woman next to me, but as we were lying down most of the time, I couldn’t do this without being incredibly obvious. And the harder I tried to concentrate on my Spanish, the more stressed I became, which really defeated the whole purpose of the class.

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(Translation- the Lego man is saying that he thinks that this isn’t for them)

The teacher clearly realised I was struggling, so after she’d explained how to rotate the inner thighs and avoid spinal curvature in Spanish, she would say to me in English “Helen. Thighs. Out.” or “Helen. Back. Flat. Floor.”

This was surprisingly effective, and I managed to survive the class, albeit with my pride severely dented 😦 But the teacher invited me to come back next week, as she said she needs to practice her English, and so my being in the class forces her to do this. I guess this is positive, but I really hope that by the end of the 9 months here, I  am able to go to a Spanish yoga class and understand what’s happening!