¿Dónde está la bombilla, boludo?

I was invited to my friend Eliseo's house a few Sundays ago to eat pupusas, a Salvadorean thick-stuffed tortilla-like thing filled with either refried beans, or meat (in this case chorizo, since we are in Spain). Eliseo's girlfriend's family arrived a few weeks ago from El Salvador to look for jobs, so they decided to all have a feast and teach me how to make pupusas. I couldn't refuse because I am a huge fan of all Latin American food. Basically you take masa (which is corn-flour mixed with water to make a dough) and form it into a ball, then make a pocket and put the filling in it, then make it back into a ball and flatten it into a fry pan...sooo good. My friend Erin and I ended up hanging out there all Sunday afternoon playing with Daniela, the cutest 1-year old ever, and talking about how funny British and Spanish accents are (it always ends up being the Americas vs. Europe...), and learning about how immigration works in Spain (a lot easier and safer to be undocumented or "clandestino" here than it is back in the States).

I am proud to say that I am the new owner of a Madrid Public Library card! I discovered a branch close to my house and immediately went in to find out how to sign up. All you need is a passport and a Madrid address and you are set. So I have been frequenting the library every few days or so, stocking up on dvds (I plan on studying Spanish culture through film) and books about linguistics and Spanish grammar.

The school system here (or maybe just our school?) doesn't cease to surprise me...the other day the water system just stopped working. Completely. Fortunately the toilets here work differently, so they never overflow (they are amazing, I don't know why we don't have them in the States), but I still couldn't believe that they kept the school open. Then I look out the window and see the principal carrying buckets of water from the preschool to the primary school. Seems interesting to me that he was doing that job...don't principals have more important things to do? Not here I guess. 

I am now included in the teacher's gossip circle and I have come to realize that the administration is not exactly super liked or competent (nothing I am a stranger to in the States, hello Fairmount Park Elementary) and whenever I tell someone I have to go talk to the principal they say to me, oh god, you will be in there for an hour. He likes to talk. About nothing in particular. Or about the same topic over and over again. On the first day of work he gave me a tour of every single classroom in the primary and preschool, telling me about each decorated wall in the hallway and every name of every teacher (I think it took about an hour). 

One day last week they forgot to send in a sub to the other 1st grade class and the kids were running around and rowdy, so I asked Ramón if I should go over and keep them quiet (we share a doorway). So I ended up spending 45 minutes teaching them Math in Spanish. It was pretty amusing, I had them make a "cocodrilo"with their arms to "eat" the bigger number. I had fun, but that is not in my job description (or my contract) and the assistant principal caught me in the hallway to apologize, saying she had forgotten to give the note to a sub.

P.D. They subtract double-digit numbers differently here than in the States. I wish I could somehow draw a picture into my blog, but I don't think that is going to happen anytime soon.

Pull the aluminum lever to release the oregano

I have been informed that I speak English in a funny way. I say thir-dy, instead of thirty, and I say carrrr instead of "cah" or eraser instead of "rubber". This Friday night I was out with my Australian friend Erin and her British roommate, Emma. Even though all three of us speak the same language, we were having trouble communicating. Though Australia and Britain are worlds away, for some reason I ended up being the odd one out. I was asked to say the sentence "Pull the aluminee-um leever to release the oreGAHno" just so they could laugh at how I say the words. I am constantly saying "huh"? whenever Erin says something because she will use words that I don't know, or say it in a way I am not used to. I tell her that my ear is not tuned to the linguistic patterns of Australian English and she says that I am lazy or deaf. But being around so much English that isn't American, I realize that it is starting to permeate my vocabulary. The other day I was walking down Gran Vía, a pretty large thoroughfare in downtown Madrid, and I saw a huge line going out of a business. I asked myself "what are they queueing up for?" Other words I am starting to use are: dodgy instead of sketchy, trousers instead of pants, trainers instead of tennis shoes, underground instead of subway...but one that I am resisting is using rubber intead of eraser. THAT I will never use.

It is interesting to talk to people who are native Spanish speakers about learning English and different accents. In Spain, everyone learns British English so the teacher I work with, Ramon, tells me it is easier to understand the accent, and he also thinks it sounds more intelligent (I guess if you compare Tony Blair to George Bush, our accent doesn't really hold up). When I talk to my friends from Central and South America they are more in tune to American English, since there is an abundance of television programs and products from the States. My friend from El Salvador was joking around about how snobby British English sounds. I guess it all depends on what you are used to, because to me, Spanish from México is way easier to understand, and I tend to make fun of the Spain Spanish accent (when I am not around Spaniards, jaja).

The other week Alena, the other auxiliar (assistant) at my school, took me to get our paychecks cashed at the Ibercaja bank. We took a different way back to school, and she showed me the makeshift gypsy community that is located on the slope running from the school to the highway. It looked like something straight out of the outskirts of DF, México City. Wooden boards slapped together with metal sheets as roofs, and garbage littered everywhere. It looked semi-abandoned, except for the kids toys strewn about in the grass and weeds. Alena says that the government is in the process of razing the favela (Portuguese for shanty town). Apparently a couple of our students live down there so I am not sure what is going to happen to them.

Last week with my third grade class I did a class activity to learn the difference between a "map" and a "plan". I had them draw a plan of their bedroom and label everything in it. I noticed that one of the students, Agustín, wasn't doing the activity, and was sitting there half covering his paper. I then realized that maybe he didn't have his own room...or maybe he didn't have a home. This is something I am ultra sensitive to in the States, since we had a few students from Ethiopia who lived in a shelter. But being here around a lot of kids who live pretty comfortably, the idea had slipped my mind. So I had to modify the activity a bit to include any room...maybe your classroom, or the "comedor" (the lunchroom).

Next up: Learning how to make El Salvadoran pupusas (like Mexican sopes stuffed with black refried beans)

More cooking...

Ok so the picture makes it look like a pretty disgusting mash of food, which I know is my "trademark" (I  love being able to eat everything with a spoon and a bowl), but please take my word for it, this dish was mm mm good.

I didn't follow the recipe exactly, as I had to improvise (we have no measuring cups, and everything is in metric and celsius), but it was really good anyway. Mariana and her friend Chio tried it and now my nickname is "La Abuela" (The Grandma) because the Abuela always has something good cooking in the kitchen.

I got this recipe from cooks.com:

Baked Chicken Breasts with Gruyere and Mushrooms

2 to 3 chicken breasts, boned & skinned (3 is good)

4 eggs, well beaten

1/2 tsp salt

1 c. fine bread crumbs

8 tbsp. butter

1/2 lb fresh mushrooms, sliced (the more mushrooms, the better)

4 oz. Gruyere cheese, shredded

1 c. chicken stock

Juice of 1 lemon

Cut boned breasts into strips. Marinate in egg and salt mixture for 1 hour. Roll chicken in bread crumbs to coat. Brown lightly in butter in small pan. Transfer to 1 1/2 quart casserole dish. Slice mushrooms over chicken. Sprinkle cheese over mushrooms. Pour chicken stock over all. Bake in 350 degree oven for 30 minutes or until heated through. Pour fresh lemon juice over casserole just before serving.

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies, 

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil

wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend

you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold

mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your

words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your

hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got 

diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in

pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and

wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in

the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror

and fear

I rise

into a daybreak that's

wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my

ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of

the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

iSí se puede!

ENHORABUENA

I awoke to my mom calling me from the States to tell me the good news. 

I opened my email to stories and links of the parties going on in Seattle and the rest of the States.

I arrived at work to "felicitaciones" congratulations, enhorabuena, it's about time, viva obama.

I felt like it was my birthday and New Year's wrapped into one. One of the hard things about being abroad (amidst the amazing things) is that you miss out on moments like this when you feel such hope that things in the world, or at least in your part of the world, can change for the better, and that people can embrace their differences and refrain from using them as a device to create more hate and division. Being here in Spain makes me hyper aware of racial and cultural differences. Thursday night I was walking home on Gran Vía (a main street in downtown Madrid) and was called a "guiri" (foreigner) by a fairly drunk man standing on the corner. He continued to harass me from afar (don't worry Mom, there were a lot of people out) and said "THAT girl, you can TELL she isn't from here. You can tell by her face." I am continuously reminded that I am not from here, as though I ever forget that fact. My desire to shout back "¿Y qué?" (And so....?) is outweighed by my desire to not look like a crazy foreigner, so I quietly ignore them, and walk on, feeling a little bit more alienated than the day before.

The next day I arrive at a house party in celebration of Halloween and realize that in this one small apartment on Calle San Bernardo in Madrid, that at least ten countries are in representation, everyone having a good time, everyone so incredibly welcoming, everyone under the age of 30. Now more than ever, with our world ever more connected (for better or for worse) especially the younger generation, people from all over are meeting each other and breaking down those walls. Just think of what can happen a few generations from now...