Naked Men, Crazy Men, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame

My poor, little blog has been neglected for quite some time. I've been too busy teaching kids about Pilgrims and Native Americans, singing "head, shoulders, knees, and toes," and roaming the streets of Paris to have sufficient time to tend to my blog. Let's see...

So Paris was beautiful (obviously). Cáceres is in the middle of nowhere and doesn't have an airport, which gave me the excuse to visit my pal, Ellie in Madrid--if only very briefly--on Thursday night before departing from Madrid for Paris in the wee hours of Friday morn.

Althea Outside the Louvre

Upon my arrival, my friend Althea (who's currently studying in Italy) and I ventured to the Louvre to see some fine art and get a break from the bitter cold. (I thought Cáceres was cold but Paris was absurdly frigid). The Louvre apparently has some sort of mall attached, which Althea and I got lost in (surprise surprise) for quite a while before finally finding Greek sculptures, the good old Mona Lisa, and some ancient Egyptian jewelry, which was even more beautiful than the jewelry in the mall section of the Louvre! We also bought 39 euro museum passes for the weekend, thinking we were being thrifty, only to find out that as young, European residents we can get into all museums for free. Please let me know if you want to buy the museum pass off me (for a discounted price!) It's valid until the end of next year. We also poked around Notre Dame for a bit--nice place!

The next day, we hung out with a bunch of naked guys. (There was an exhibition of the male nude at d'Orsay ranging from Renaissance cherubs to a close-up photo of Eminem). We heard there was an amazing falafel place in the Jewish quarter, so when we were done viewing the nudes, we went to the first falafel place we saw there, thinking it was the one and only. But when we left, we saw that the entire street was lined with falafel places, and they all had award stickers, whereas ours didn't. But I thought the falafel we got was great, so I guess that's all that matters. We then went bakery-hopping 'til we were so full we could barely walk. We wandered around endlessly in search of the Picasso Museum, following all the signs that pointed to it but never finding the museum itself. We found out the next day it's closed for renovation...but wandering around Paris is never a waste of time because, as I mentioned, it's quite pretty. When we gave up on the museum, we decided to go see the Bastille, thinking we'd get to witness the dungeon where the poor Parisians were once buried. But when we arrived at the site, we discovered that it had been demolished long ago, and just a monument stood in its place...so much for that! We proceeded onwards to a larger monument called the Eiffel Tower, which some of you may have heard of. We went halfway up it, only to find out we'd be charged a lot more to go ALL the way up it. Reluctant to succumb to this sort of manipulation, we proceeded downwards. Even from the less-impressive height we had quite a nice view! Satisfied (for the most part) with our Eiffel Tower experience, we hopped on a train to see the Moulin Rouge. We were quite hungry from a long day of trekking around, so we planned to eat dinner in the Moulin Rouge area. We soon discovered, however, that the entire area is swarming with nothing but sex shop and strip club after sex shop and strip club. It's amazing to think that they all stay in business despite their hundreds of neighboring competitors. We finally found one of the only restaurants there, and the food wasn't bad (it's hard to find bad food in Paris). However, we were the only customers because everyone else in the area must have been too busy inspecting females remove articles of clothing.

A Seductive Statue Outside the Erotic Museum

Then Sunday came round, and we returned to the d'Orsay because we couldn't miss out on some good pointillism, symbolism, and post-impressionism (most notably Van Gogh!) After seeing the art of dead artists, we went to the Pantheon to see the tombs of dead, important people. We got to stand within jut a few feet of Rousseau and Voltaire's bones! We journeyed onwards to the George Pompidou Center, which looks from the outside like a very colorful factory placed randomly among the shops in the center of Paris. There we saw modern and contemporary art. So we got to travel through art's history all in one weekend, from the ancient Greeks to the post-impressionists to artists who are still alive and thriving. On the way to the George Pompidou Center, I accidentally provoked a crazy man, forcing Althea and I to sprint away from him as he angrily chased after us, until we safely made it onto a metro and zoomed away from his infuriated shouting. Other than that it was a very pleasant day (and other than that guy, all the Parisians I met were very friendly and nice...I kept expecting to meet the Parisian snobs you always hear about but never did).

George Pompidou Center

On Monday morning, I left Paris sad and greasy (the hostel shower was disgusting so I bathed in the sink, which didn't work so well) but also content that we'd had such a lovely trip.

As for other updates...the weekend before Paris, there was a Medieval Market here in Cáceres so two of my friends who are teachers in the nearby city of Badajoz came and visited. Unfortunately, the market didn't really seem all that medieval--there were just a bunch of stands selling things I didn't need and shouldn't buy. But on the plus side, a yak was wandering around, and I got to pet it.

I have a class of kindergarteners, four different first grade classes, a fourth grade class, a fifth grade class, and a sixth grade class, as well as eight private students...but I'm finally starting to learn some of the names and get to know some of the kids (although there still kids who will say "hola" to me on the street and I'll have no idea who they are). But that's been fun. There's nothing like being in a bad mood from having to wake up so early and then being swarmed by first graders all wanting to hug you. But it's not all perfect. It still bothers me that none of the gypsy kids have class books. ("Gypsy" sounds weird to me, and I know "Roma" is the politically correct word, but that sounds weird to me, too). They clearly miss out on learning and practice, and by fifth grade they're very behind and have a much lower level of English than the rest of the students. The other day, a gypsy girl in kindergarten asked me "where's my book?" when I was passing out the books, and it was heartbreaking to see how disappointed she was when I told her she didn't have one. She then proceeded to scribble with a black crayon in three of her classmate's books, and I knew I needed to reprimand her but absolutely hated having to do so, because if her parents had bought her a book, I know she'd be sitting there, writing in it, and causing no trouble.

That's a sad note to leave on, but I don't have much more to say, and I think the post is long enough. So with that, I'll bid you adieu.

Why I Can't Stand Nightclubs

Last night, I went with Caroline to the first club (or "discoteca" as they call them here) I've been to in Cáceres. I realized I really don't, in fact, like clubs at all. Here's why:

a) Girls spend forever putting on makeup beforehand (my roommate, for instance, got ready for hours before leaving the apartment), which stresses me out because I always just put on a little eyeliner and mascara, which takes 30 seconds at most. So I always feel like I've done something wrong and that I shouldn't even be allowed to enter the club--that I haven't sacrificed enough time pruning myself and therefore I'm not worthy of entering. Maybe I should go out and invest in some blush, fountain, and lipstick, but I don't even know where I'd begin or what colors I'd choose, and the energy all this involves makes my stomach churn. What's more, other girls show up in tiny dresses, heels, and no tights or jackets. They're willing to endure sore feet and the cold for the club, while I've got heel-less boots, a nice warm jacket, and adequately covered legs. I end up feeling guilty that I get to be comfortable, just like one o' the guys (who always get to wear warm jackets and heel-less shoes), while my fellow females are likely suffering, which in turn makes it hard for me to enjoy the night.

b) The volume of the music negates the possibility of conversation. This is about as long as a conversation gets in a club: "What's your name?" "Huh?" "What's your name?" "Mariel." "Maria?" "No, Mariel." "Maria?" "Yes." "Where are you from?" "Massachusetts." "What?" "Massachusetts." "What?" "Never mind." Therefore, if you want to interact with someone, the only way you can do so is by dancing. I like dancing, and I did enjoy dancing with Caroline right when we arrived last night. No one can deny that moving to music is satisfying. But I like moving to music, not moving up against random guys. However, guys on the prowl love clubs because the inability to converse gives them an excuse to immediately start grinding with you without having to get to know you at all first. Grinding, aka people pushing their bodies together in an extremely sexual way in the middle of huge crowds of other people, is considered socially acceptable because it is categorized as dancing, although "animal mating ritual" would be a much more accurate classification than "type of dance."I personally don't feel the need to get cozy with any random guy who for all I know could have picked his nose five minutes earlier or tortured his pet rat that afternoon. People on the street don't suddenly start pressing their sweaty bodies against you (or at least this hasn't happened to me...and I hope it hasn't happened to anyone else) so why is it suddenly OK in clubs?

c) It's suddenly OK in clubs because guys have the idea that girls are there simply to pick up guys (which is most definitely true of some girls, but definitely not all, and I speak from first-hand experience). Guys must think girls are just there waiting for a nice grinding session, or worse, for a kiss. (Yes. This happened last night. I was standing at the bar, with Caroline, when out of the blue and with no warning whatsoever, a grimy guy with an unappealing mustache kissed me. He didn't give me a kiss on each cheek, as would have been slightly more culturally appropriate. No. Smack on the lips, right out of nowhere. I now I'd slapped him, but just as I never think to honk at drivers who've done something dangerous on the road, I didn't think to do anything. I was too shocked). You shouldn't have to lie that you're married (which is what I did) in order to get guys not to harass you. You shouldn't need to be married in order to not want these things to happen to you. But somehow these charming men can't seem to comprehend that a girl who isn't married or even in a relationship could actually prefer NOT to suddenly be touched or kissed. And Latin men are notoriously pushy, but this type of lack of respect happens in liberal, little Northampton, too.

d) Filling up on alcohol is always a temptation because this can make even the most unfortunate of nights a little more pleasant. But spending 6 euros ($8) on a mixed drink I could easily have made myself at home for less than half the price is not something I like to do. It's one thing to spend extra money on food in a restaurant because in that case you're paying for the skill and preparation involved. But spending so much on drinks that take a second to make just doesn't make sense.

e) (This last one is specific to clubs in Spain). Spaniards don't go out til around 2am (the hour when bars close in America) and therefore stay out til sometime between 6am and 9am. As I don't know how to sleep in at all, this means I just completely lose a night's sleep. For instance, last night I went to bed at nearly 7am and yet I woke up at 9:57am. Missing out on sleep to spend a lot of money and deal with irritating guys just isn't worth it to me. Although I've never been a huge fan of clubs, when I was in Granada a year and a half ago, I didn't seem to mind going out that much--I often liked it. Maybe it's just that I'm getting old and boring.

I had more fun yesterday during the day. Caroline and I went to Mérida, a city south of Cáceres. It's home to the most important Roman ruins in Spain and the longest Roman bridge in the world. Highlights included a. meandering around and taking annoying, tourist pictures in the very site that bloody games and gladiator fights took place back in the day and b. eating freshly-made churros and chocolate. Delishhhh.

Roman Theater

An Arduous and Reckless Journey

So, my friend Stephanie and I set out this morning for what we thought would be a nice hike in the national park, Monfragüe. We took the train for an hour, looking forward to exploring the outdoors. When we arrived, the conductor asked us if we really wanted to get out at that stop. We said "yes..." not understanding why he seemed so surprised. Once the train had departed, we asked him how to get to the park. He said it was 15 kilometers (nearly 10 miles) away but that we could walk to a campground and maybe rent bikes there. So after trekking through a long path in the middle of nowhere, where there were just as many horses as people (not many of either), we got to the campground. When the receptionist said there were four bikes available to rent, we were quite relieved. But then, of course, it turned out that three out of the four had punctured tires. She called a taxi for us, but it would have cost us 60 euros, which seemed absolutely absurd. At this point, the park started to seem like this faraway nowhere land that we'd never reach in this lifetime. But there were still seven hours til our train back, and we weren't prepared to spend the day sitting in the station. So we began to walk and did something I thought I'd never do: put up our thumbs every time a car came into sight (which wasn't often, as no one seems to live in Monfragüe). We planned that if anyone questionable stopped for us, an imaginary friend would call my cell phone and tell me he/she could give us a ride, and we'd therefore avoid having to drive with creeps. When car after car went past without noticing our plight, we started to lose all hope. But then, at last, one came to our salvation. It was unfortunately a man (I would have preferred a woman) but he looked clean-cut and said he was a classical music teacher, so I tried my best to not be too anxious. He turned out to be fine in the end. I risked my life to go to the park, but it was beautiful and worth it. Luckily, on the way back, we got rides with three park rangers who were going towards the train station. So we got to go to the faraway, fantasy park that we thought would never be ours to see, and it all worked out in the end.

Yesterday I had a much less eventful day seeing Trujillo, a small city in the province of Cáceres. Although it's home to only 9,000 people, it had quite an impressive array of palaces, castles, and handsome views. I won't bore you describing it further, but it was quite a pretty city. And home to Pizarro, the dear conqueror of Peru! Gotta love him...

And two days ago I moved into my new apartment. It's infinitely cleaner and more appealing than the other one. My roommates are youngins (college Freshmen!). They all went home for the weekend but two out of the three are now back so we chatted a bit, and they seem nice, although I'm gonna need to get used to how fast they talk.

I would post pictures of Trujillo and the park, but I haven't uploaded them to my computer yet, and I'm feeling way too tired and lazy after hiking so much today. But later I'll be sure to post them on Facebook, and you can check them out if you want! (Although no one ever gets that excited about looking at other peoples' landscape/architecture pictures).

P.S. Don't worry, Mum. I don't plan to hitchhike ever again!

Diclaimer Regarding Dead Birds

It turns out that my roommate, Antonio's boss hunted the birds and gave them to him as a gift. Featherless and cooked, they were more appetizing. I actually ended up trying one--tough but decent. So, I feel bad I was so quick to complain in my previous post. And at least now that they've been consumed, there's one fewer gross thing to look at in the kitchen!

Dead Birds, Badajoz, and British-isms

I figure since my last post was about highlights, I might as well balance it out by recounting a few of the more bothersome moments:

 

-The school I work at twice a week in Cáceres is a half hour walk from me, which is fine when the weather is nice, but not so ideal when it’s raining, as it often is. Both days I worked there last week it rained, and on one of the mornings, it was pouring to the point that the streets were flooded. So when a bus passed me, I was the lucky recipient of a tidal wave that caused my jeans to cling to my legs and smell like mildew the rest of the day.

-One of the teachers I work with at my school in Miajadas consistently talks in unison with me while I’m trying to teach kids new English words, and as her voice is much louder than mine, all the kids can hear is her strong Spanish accent, which completely defeats the purpose of my being there. I’ll point to a red stuffed cat and try to say “red cat” before she can, but she always manages to shout it out at the same time, so all the kids can hear is “rrrrred (with a rolled ‘r’) cahhhht (with the ‘a’ sound of ‘almond’)”.  She’s a very nice person, though, so hopefully it won’t be too hard to work up the courage to tell her I’d like to speak on my own.

-The guys I live with are all good people, and the apartment itself is quite nice, but day by day it gets messier and messier. And since I don’t want to be the only person who really cleans, I must say, I’ve started to somewhat neglect the cleaning, as well. I wash my dishes after eating no matter what because it takes a second and it’s rude not to, and I wipe down the kitchen counters and floors and take out the garbage. But I lose motivation to go beyond the basic when no one else seems to care about the plate palaces in the sink, the cigarette ash coating the furniture, the cigarette butts in the toilet, the dog poop on the terrace, the nine toilet paper rolls on one of the bathroom floors that no one has bothered to throw away (I avoid that bathroom), the inches of grime that somehow creep onto the stove minutes after I clean it, the uncooked hamburger patties that are left on the counter for days on end (why?!), and the plate of dead birds (complete with feathers and all) that sits on top of the fridge (no joke). What’s more, I didn’t realize before I moved in that the sentence “no one smokes” (which is what it said in the ad for my apartment) actually means “everyone living here smokes.” I’ve gotten the privilege of waking up to the hour-long mucous-coughing episodes that only a smoker can provide. I’ve tolerated a permanently scratchy throat at the expense of sitting in the living room and socializing with my roommates rather than hiding from the smoke all day. But I can’t say that the idea of spending the next eight months with three “human chimneys” (as my dad calls smokers) appeals to me much. So I’ve had enough, and in a few days I’m moving to a relatively smoke-free apartment (I think only one of the roommates smokes but only does so in his room, which is really the best you can expect here in Lung Cancer-Lovin’ Spain).  My new bed and room will be half the size of my current bed and room, but apartment is cute and sunny with a beautiful view, so I think all should be fine in the end. I must say, I will miss my current roommates, despite their flaws, but we’ll pretty much be next door neighbors, so it’s alright.

-Shortly after informing my landlords of my decision and receiving a somewhat passive aggressive response about how it’s so hard to find new tenants in November and that the place is an apartment, not a hotel, who do I run into at a bar but one of the landlords herself. Not exactly the person I felt like spending my Friday night with. But she must have felt bad about her husband’s message because she was in fact quite friendly to me and told me to save her phone number and call her any time I had a problem or needed help with anything. She’s probably not the first person I’d turn to for help, but I appreciated the offer.

Now that I’ve gotten out some angst, I must add a few highlights to the post because for the most part, everything here continues to be wonderful and it wouldn’t be fair to ignore the good parts:

-I saw The Butler dubbed in Spanish. Despite the absolute absurdity of seeing a movie about American civil rights in Spanish, I quite enjoyed it. Also, my friend Caroline and I had previously tried and failed to go to the movies twice (we got lost the first time, and they were sold out the second time) so the success of actually seeing a movie in theaters was part of the reason for my enjoyment.

-My friend, Jacob, who in fact studied with me in Granada back in the day and is currently teaching in Badajoz, a city south of Cáceres, came to visit with his friend, Tom on Friday. On Saturday, Jacob’s friend, Pedro, a Cáceres local, gave us a proper tour of the ancient part of Cáceres. I hadn´t spent much time wandering around the winding, cobblestone streets, and I hadn´t yet seen the Aljibe, the Arab water house, so the tour was a plus. I then got to be a tourist in Badajoz Saturday night and Sunday. Badajoz is bigger than Cáceres so there was definitely more nightlife, and it has some pretty plazas, but the old part of Cáceres is much prettier than that of Badajoz. A main highlight of Badajoz was buying peanut butter, which I´m trying to refrain from eating all at once since I don’t think they sell any in Cáceres. 

Badajoz

-I might be learning just as many British-isms as Spanish words, as I’ve spent quite a bit of time recently with Caroline and Tom, both British. Apparently “fancy dress” means “costume,” (so you’d say “what fancy dress will you be wearing for Halloween?”), “push chair” is stroller, “pissed” is “drunk,” “stupid “ is “large” (“I’m learning a stupid number of British phrases”),  and the word “brilliant” or more often, simply “brill” is thrown into speech as much as humanly possible. It’s definitely been rubbing off on me. Instead of saying “I’ll meet you at your apartment at 8:30” I’ll find myself saying “I’ll meet you at your flat at half 8” or simply “I’ll meet you at yours at half 8.” I should probably try to resist this and stay true to my American roots or I’ll return in 8 months  speaking an odd mixture of European dialects and forgetting my true identity. The English that’s taught in schools here is also British, which sometimes really throws me off. The students learn phrases such as “She has got brown hair/She’s got brown hair” (which seems so silly to me…why not just say “she has brown hair”?!). When something is correct, you mark it with a “tick,” not a “check.” And the letter “z” is pronounced “zed.” What?! 

-My private, afternoon classes are the best. After spending the mornings trying to get the kids in my primary school classes to stop jumping around and giggling, working one-on-one with eager learners in the afternoons is quite satisfying. I had no idea just how many people were looking to learn English until I started these classes. I made the mistake of giving out my number a while back, and now I get calls nearly every day from desperate parents. I’ve capped it at five kids because I think more would be just too many different lessons to plan. But the satisfaction of seeing the kids improve and get more confident has made me consider some sort of future career in which I’d help people one-on-one. That’s quite vague, I know, but I don’t have more of an idea than that just yet…

Highlights

-Starting private tutoring sessions (I stopped working at the academy in my apartment building because the director was driving me crazy, showing up at my apartment all the time and changing my schedule on me...I'd rather work for myself without an absent-minded boss. I can make just as much money, so I might as well be boss-less and free). Yesterday I taught a boy who reminded me of my little brother, Ezra and made me miss him! Today I taught a very eager, energetic girl who's obsessed with One Direction. It was rewarding to teach them because they both really wanted to learn, unlike some of the kids in my classes in Miajadas, who persist in responding with "hola" when I say "hello" to them.

-Discovering that the reason a box of croissants I'd bought had magically disappeared this morning was because my roommate's dog ate them (the empty box was discovered in his little spot on the terrace). I thought my roommates had stolen them and was about to second-guess myself for thinking they seem like good companions. I'm sad about the lack of croissants (they were so good!) but I'm glad only the dog is too blame. (And according to his owner, he has a very strong stomach, so I'm not too worried about his well-being).

-Going out with my friend, Caroline, with the intention of seeing a movie, but ending up lost in the maze that's the Old City. We never found the theater, but we had our bags of candy we'd brought with us to eat at the movies. So we went to a bar and awkwardly munched on the candy while drinking wine until a waiter came over and sternly asked us whether we were finished. "¡Sí!" I said, my mouth full of candy.

-Teaching first graders at my new school in Cáceres. I asked the students what they like to do after school, and most of them said they liked to play sports, play video games, see friends, etc. But one girl said she liked to go to her friend's house so she could kiss her friend's brother. This type of lack of embarrassment is why I love first-graders.

-Finding a new trail to run on. (I'm obsessed with finding running trails!) Before my discovery, I was making lots of laps around a somewhat small park, but this trail seems to stretch on endlessly, winding around fields of tall grass; crumbling, graffiti-covered walls; and cottages where small, peaceful dogs stare at me as I go by (dogs here are much less yappy and territorial than in the U.S.).

-Spending the entire day last Saturday at one of my fellow teacher's country house with about 20 of her friends. We literally sat and ate from 11am to 12pm. When we weren't eating lunch or dinner, we were munching on olives, cheese, cakes, and chips. When I recounted this experience to several Spaniards, they told me that this type of excessive sitting and eating is very normal in Spain.

Me and My New Friend!
(I don't know too many people here so I have to make due with statues for now).
There was a woman who used to always sell newspapers in this spot. When she passed away, this statue was constructed in her honor. I know it was with good intentions, but there's something quite morbid about replacing a human being with metal...

Settling into Extremaduran Life

Two Pals Bonding in a Park near my Apartment

Now that I've been in Cáceres for 17 days (I can't believe it!) I've started to get into a rhythm: 

Tuesday through Friday my alarm shrieks miserably at 7am when it's still dark. I travel for an hour to Miajadas, a small factory town in the province of Cáceres, with fellow teachers who, like me, live in the city of Cáceres. 

Then I help the teachers infiltrate their students' ears with English. It's heartbreaking to correct their charming accents, to tell them that "does" is pronounced "duhhz", not "doos" and that "milk" has a short I sound--that you don´t say "meelk." It doesn't matter much anyway, though, because their English teachers are native Spanish speakers who have very thick Spanish accents, so the English they've learned up until my arrival has been a very Spanish-inflused type of English. Therefore, getting them to change they way they're used to speaking is not something that can happen in a day. I'm not sure it will even happen by the end of the eight months I'm here. But honestly, if their Spanish accents stay strong, that's fine. It's a beautiful accent. What I at least need to get them to do is UNDERSTAND English when it's spoken by a non-native Spanish speaker. They understand their teachers when they speak English, but when I speak English with my American accent, they look at me like I'm from a different universe. "Hello!" I'll say super slowly, so each sound is accentuated to the fullest. "How aaarreee youuu todayyyy?" They'll stare at me blankly, giggle, and say "¡habla en español!" ("Speak in Spanish!") But speaking in Spanish is not something I'm allowed to do, so instead we have to communicate with smiles and gestures. This isn't just little kids I'm talking about. Twelve-year-olds, who have been learning Spanish since kindergarten, will often fail to understand a phrase as basic as "how are you?"

I hope I can help them, but I'm starting to teach at another school next week, so I'll only have six hours at each one, and within each one, I'm divided up among many classes. So I'll only see some students for about an hour a week, which really isn't enough to expose them to English. If it were up to me, I'd devote all twelve hours to one class so at least those students could benefit, rather than spread myself so thin that no one benefits. But it's not up to me.

Many of the students here in Miajadas are gypsies. According to the teachers, gypsies don't value education and therefore don't buy their children the books they need or bring their kids to school on a regular basis. By 6th grade, many of the students have taken on a defiant attitute. When I try to talk to them, they say "No entiendo inglés" ("I don´t understand English") as if it's an established fact and there's nothing they'd like to do to change it. But in kindergarten, they still seem eager to learn, and it's disturbing to see them sitting at their desks, with nothing to do, while the other children color in their books.

Anyway, around 2pm the teachers and I embark on the hour-long drive back to Cáceres (during which time I usually sleep). If it's a Tuesday or Thursday, I then have more classes to teach at an English academy that happens to be right in my apartment building. Here's how I got the job there: One day, I was walking down the stairs with one of my roommates, Unai, and the door to the academy was open. Unai is friends with the director, so they were chatting, and the director, when he found out I was American, immediately asked me to work there. He let out quite a sigh of relief when I said yes-- he was clearly overbooked and desperate. So the following day I arrived at the academy, expecting that he'd tell me about the students, give me some teaching tips, provide me with some materials, etc. But he immediately set me off to teach four classes of students of all ages. Luckily improvising proved to work out fine, although by the end of the day I was so dazed i have no idea how I was able to cook dinner, brush my teeth, or put on my pajamas. Although it's obviously quite convenient to have the academy right in my building, it's not always ideal. The director showed up at my apartment one day when I wasn't supposed to be working, and asked if I could work. I told him no because I really wanted to take a nap. So hopefully he got the point and won't do that again. When I told Unai about what happened, amazed at how unprofessional it was for him to show up like that, he didn't seem surprised at all. He said bosses in Spain are often unprofessional and disorganized, and in order to avoid getting trampled on, you have to "echar cara" (stand up for yourself and be confident).

So yeah, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, basically all I do is teach. On Wednesdays and Fridays, I have a little more time after teaching in Miajadas to nap and explore Cáceres, which is always hustling and bustling at night. Unfortunately I can never stay out late if I want to avoid being a zombie the next day at work. Saturdays, Sundays, and Mondays are free days! It's definitely necessary to have three-day weekends if I want to travel at all since Cáceres is tucked far away from everywhere else in Spain. For instance, this past weekend, I went to a beach in Malaga with Antonio (who was back in Spain for a few days) and visited Javi's apartment in Malaga. That was about a seven-hour busride--definitely not worth it for only two days. Going to the beach in October made me feel like I was going back in time and that it was summer once again!  It's supposed to get cold here soon, though...But least I'll be able avoid the Massachusetts snow storms.