52 signs you're an American in Spain

...because you can take the American out of America, but you can't take the, well, you know...

1. You have a love/hate relationship with the siesta.  
2. You're not a fan of dubbing. 
3. You're really awkward with the double-kiss greeting.  
4. Your English gets worse by the day. 
5. You're waiting for Netflix and Pandora to get their you-know-what together and start functioning overseas. 
6. You curse the lack of toilet paper, paper towels and/or soap in the bathrooms here. 
7. You've explained countless times that rugby and American football are not the same. 
8. Your internal meal bell still rings around noon and 6 p.m. 
9. Cooking with butter reminds you of home.
10. You've gone to the ethnic aisle to find peanut butter. 
11. You have introduced said peanut butter to foreign friends. Their response was something along the lines of, "It tastes like peanuts," or my personal favorite, "Um, it's really thick."
12. You've paid outrageous prices for said peanut butter, ingredients to make tacos or baking supplies.
13. You wonder why anyone builds living quarters without an oven.
14. You've corrected a Spaniard's English and then later realized it was actually correct in British English.
15. You've been teased for your Central American/South American Spanish.
16. You'll never be able to keep up with Spaniards on the social scene. Going out at 2 a.m. isn't easy. 
17. You try to adapt your wardrobe to Europe, but on days when life sucks, you put on tennis shoes and your college sweatshirt and ask Europe to cut you some slack.
18. You brought a college sweatshirt from home. Or four college sweatshirts from home. 
19. You're the go-to expert on how life in America is/is not like it appears in the movies.
20. Spaniards think it's weird that you wear socks around the house.
21. Anywhere within eight or nine hours driving is a totally doable weekend trip. Spaniards don't agree. 
22. You don't have the heart to tell Spaniards that you don't catch a cold from not wearing shoes in the house/not wearing a scarf/not buttoning your coat. 
23. It's hard for you to understand that going to the doctor is free. As in, you don't have to pay. At all. No, really, you just go and then leave and keep your money.
24. You see gas prices here and suddenly $3.50 a gallon seems like a bargain.
25. You wonder why Europeans prefer hatchbacks over small sedans.
26. You've had to explain to people back home that Spanish food is not Mexican.
27. "Spicy" Spanish food doesn't seem remotely spicy to you. 
28. Sometimes the whiny, entitled American comes out when you can't buy something at 1 a.m. or anytime on a Sunday.
29. Your friends in America are 24 and married, while your friends in Spain are 30 and still staying out 'til 8 a.m.
30. You've realized that wine and coffee in Spain are far superior and cheaper than in America. 
31. You've told a Spaniard which part of the country you're from, and they've related your state/city to something from pop culture.
32. Or they said, "That's in the north, right?" To which you've responded, "No, it's actually in the southwest/center/complete opposite part of the country."
33. You've explained that Americans don't wear scary costumes for Halloween, and we instead use the holiday as an excuse to dress like an idiot or a lady of the night.
34. When you visit the States or have a visitor in Spain, you stock up on food (i.e. Reese's) and cosmetics.
35. You've realized Americans know nothing about European geography or politics.
36. You've visited more of Spain than most Spaniards. 
37. You've lost multiple battles against Spanish bureaucracy and customer service. 
38. It took you months to stop apologizing to people who run into you on the street.
39. Old people on park benches in the evening strikes you as the epitome of Spain.
40. You regret not learning to drive a stick-shift (or you're really glad your parents made you do it). 
41. You can point out America's flaws, but if a European does it you suddenly get all sensitive. It's like the great U.S. of A is your best friend or your mom. Nobody dogs on your mom.
42. Sometimes the lack of political correctness in Spain makes you squirm.
43. The Spanish practice of putting a heater under the table in the living room took some getting used to.
44. You dearly miss your clothes dryer. 
45. You'll never stop eating breakfast on the run/ordering coffee to go, even though it's totally un-Spanish. 
46. You've yet to eat an American-caliber burger in Spain.
47. You've explained that we don't eat burgers every day.
48. You feel uncomfortable in McDonald's or Burger King because you feel like everyone there knows you're American and are therefore fulfilling the stereotype. 
49. You have no good defense for, "That's why Americans are obese."
50. You wonder why America doesn't have cañas.
51. Given the crisis, you're thankful for the economic opportunities we have waiting for us in America.
52. But you're not ready to pursue those opportunities yet because you're floating through your youth in Spain, where life is usually beautiful, sometimes frustrating, sometimes backwards, occasionally tears-inducing, mostly entertaining and always worth it.

Dear fellow countrymen and women, any signs you'd add to the list?

Don't envy me.

People call me brave and adventurous, ambitious and determined. They congratulate me for making a decision that changed my life even though I was terrified it would, well, change my life. But for as courageous and composed as people think I am, the truth is deep down I'm as frazzled and anxious as you are. The path I've chosen wears on me, just like yours wears on you. 

I'm scared - Every. Single. Day. Of what I'm missing back home. Of losing touch. Of losing people. Of not learning enough or trying to learn too much. Of missing the signs that I'm in the wrong or the right place. You may think my life is worth envying. You see my pictures on Facebook; you imagine me regularly parading through passport control; you see me making friends around the globe and pursuing the opportunities I always said I would.

But you know what? I envy you, dear 8-to-6'er (nobody works 9 to 5 anymore, let's be honest). You're chained to your desk, at a job where you don't feel fulfilled. You sometimes plot how to accidentally spill your coffee on your keyboard so that it can be out of commission for a while. You eat lunch at your desk because coming back from a break just reminds you how much you don't want to be there. But hey, you have stability. You have a steady paycheck, perhaps a retirement account and savings, even. There are times when you feel accomplishment and optimism and self-worth. I envy that.

Dear wearied mom, you think cleaning runny poop - or, God forbid, crusty poop - off your teething infant's butt is unglamorous and perpetual. Perhaps you feel moribund, stuck in the monotony of your day-to-day. While I'm eating couscous in Morocco and Parmesan in Italy, you're taste-testing baby foods. Those meats really are awful. As much as you love your kids, sometimes you dream of travel, adventure or, hell, just a few days off. But guess what? I envy you, too. You are surrounded by people who know and support you. As much as that baby cries, she loves you, and you can hold her when you're about to break. I envy that.

Dear straying partner, you think your relationship is sparkless, blissless, romantic-comedy-moment-less. On Monday you talk about a weekend date night, but by Friday you're microwaving popcorn and falling asleep at 9 with crumbs in your bed. He's tired. You're tired. You wonder about passion and romance and surprise. But guess what? You're falling asleep next to him. When he holds you, it reminds you why you've hung on for so long. I envy that.

Dear young newlywed, you still hold your hand in the sun and watch your ring sparkle. You can't help but cry when you hear the song you danced to with Dad at your wedding, and you have tiered white cake in the freezer. But sometimes the naysayers get to you, the ones who've said you're not at an "OK age" to marry, that being ready only happens after you pass a certain birthday, that you didn't have time to find you before you agreed to we. You know what? I envy you, too. I envy the strength you had to commit. I envy the burnt dinners at home and the wedding album on the coffee table. I envy you having an us.

Even so, life is about decisions and accepting the highs and lows that come with them. There are good days and bad days for all of us. I'm not cleaning baby poop off butts, but I'm cleaning pigeon poop off my European sandals. Some days I'm OK with that. Some days I'm not. But I can't sit and compare my life to yours, and you shouldn't compare yours to mine. Because envy is a cancer. So here's to fighting it with everything good we've got.

Adventures in teaching

Kids say the darnedest things, and even more so in a foreign language. Sometimes my students' questions and/or comments catch me entirely by surprise, and I have to maintain composure while I think about how I'm going to address *insert taboo topic here*. Every day is an adventure. As an auxiliar, my job is as much to teach the English language as it is to teach the way we use the language (and the way we don't use the language.)

In a recent class with 14-year-olds, we were reading a news story about Samoa Air's charge-by-passenger-weight ticket policy. We were debating about fairness, discrimination, obesity, etc. My students kept using the term "fat people," i.e. "fat people have to pay more" or "it's unfair to fat people." I decided to give them a lesson about the intricacies and subtleties of  English (I wrote before about the loose Spanish PC code here): We don't say "fat people," I explained. Instead, we say "overweight," "large," "obese" or "big." This small lesson somehow morphed into a much longer, much more uncomfortable discussion. One student asked what we call "los negros" (black people). I explained that we typically say "African-Americans," which then prompted the "so why do you say 'white' but not 'black'?" follow-up. Good question. I had no sufficient answer. Then a girl asked when we say "n*****." She was 100 percent sincere. I was admittedly shocked and had to think for a bit about how to explain such a delicate word without actually repeating the word. I told them that it's incredibly derogatory and offensive, and I advised them to never, ever, ever use it. "But why do we hear it in music and movies so much then?" Another good question. Another unsatisfactory answer from me.

After all of that, just when I thought I was off the hook, a girl mentioned African immigrants selling sunglasses, watches, ice cream and other goodies on the beach. A student raised his hand and, again 100 percent sincerely, asked if I could explain the difference in pronunciation and meaning between "bitch" and "beach" because he couldn't hear any distinction between the two (I wrote a bit about that here). So, I got the go-ahead from the teacher, and I explained it. What. A. Day.

Here's to students keeping teachers on their toes.

Un saludo,
Teresa

On my decision to stay

I've accepted a position to teach again next year in the province of Cáceres, Extremadura, where I work now. With that said...

No one said following your gut was easy. Constant goodbyes are awful. Distance is awful. Tough decisions are awful. But so is forgoing an opportunity that will change your life out of fear that it will, in fact, change your life. Don't let your dreams be dreams, as they say.

My decision to stay will fray relationships and jeopardize career opportunities I could've taken. I'll waste money I should be saving and postpone the adulthood I should be planning for. I'll miss moments, birthdays and holidays with the people who are most important to me. I'll see cake-smeared nieces and nephews on Facebook and wonder if I should be home watching them evolve from infants to toddlers to schoolchildren. I'll see Husker tailgates and wonder if I should be connecting with old friends, rebuilding bonds naturally strained by distance.  I'll see family photos and wonder if I should be sitting at my grandparents' kitchen table while I can. I'll think about my unworn wedding dress hanging in a closet and wonder if sacrificing a marriage to my very best friend in order to stay here was foresighted or careless. I'll wonder about regrets and everything that was but isn't anymore. And when I leave let again, there will be more tears and more hard-as-hell goodbyes.

I have very little to show for the last six years of my itinerant existence. I have a college degree with honors and a hard-earned résumé that don't necessarily apply to my current pursuit. I own almost nothing, I have meager savings, and I can fold, stuff and Space Bag most of my life into 100 linear inches. What I do have is an email inbox and a blog full of travel dispatches, a Paleolithic computer full of photos and a memory full of characters and chapters.

I really hate "what ifs" and "could've beens," but there'd be no avoiding them next year in Nebraska or Spain. Anthony Bourdain (goodness, I really can't stop quoting him; the man's a machine) said, “[When I die], I will decidedly not be regretting missed opportunities for a good time. My regrets will be more along the lines of a sad list of people hurt, people let down, assets wasted and advantages squandered.” So here's to another year of adventure, discovery, growth and independence in Europe. Here's to another year of being poor, lost and foreign. With that, The Nomad Chronicles continues...

Un saludo,
Teresa

"This week in errors," Issue 2

This feature publicizes the week's most epic/memorable/blush-inducing language fails.

1.) ...trying to tell my mentor that "tienes que bailar esta noche, sabes." ("You have to dance tonight, you know.") When I speak quickly, proper pronunciation goes by the wayside and things can get a bit hairy. In this situation, "bailar" became "balar," which means "baaaa," like a sheep.

2.) ...while working on vocabulary with my fifth-graders, we came across the word "beach," which induced back-of-the-classroom laughter. English-language learners are infamous for confusing the pronunciations of "beach" and "b****," so I figured the juvenile chuckling was related to that. I launched into a spiel about how "beach" is not a "palabrota" (bad word) and how the pronunciation of minimal pairs completely changes the meaning of the words. The teacher and the students were noticeably confused by my sudden soapbox lesson and what had initiated it. Turns out a kid in the back had accidentally written "beach" on his name tag instead of his name. There was no "palabrota" confusion. Awkward.
 

3). ...I'd nominate this label for the worst Spanish-English translation of the year. It's certainly the worst I've seen in person. This doozy of a disaster comes from the label of a sauce my roommate brought home from the Canary Islands.

I'm no professional, but the translation should be something like, "'Mojo rojo' is a red sauce typical of the Canary Islands that's used with meats, fish, vegetables, roasted cornmeal, baked potatoes, etc."

Here's to being entertained by shaming myself and others.

Un saludo,
Teresa

This week in errors

This is a new feature I'm introducing that will publicize the week's most epic/memorable/blush-inducing language fails.

1). ...in reference to a "real heartbreaker," I said, "Es un rompecabezas, de verdad," which means, "He's really a puzzle."

2.) ...from a Spanish friend who's learning goofy English phrases from a Mr. T phone app: "Get out of my finger." He wanted to say, "Get your finger out of my face," which he wanted to follow up with "or I'll turn it into chopped liver." (He didn't really understand the chopped liver part, either. He thought Mr. T was saying he was going to insert his finger into his liver.)

3.) ...during English class, I told the kids I was going to sketch a "cheat sheet" on the board regarding the proper use of "some, any, an and a." Turns out if you say "cheat sheet" quickly it sounds like "chichi," which is Spanish slang for female genitalia. My students erupted in uncontrollable laughter, which I suppose I would've done, too, as a 12-year-old if my Spanish teacher said she was going to draw a you-know-what on the board.

4). This is a must-read: "The best worst translations between Spanish and English."

It's not like getting paid is important, right?

I started work here in Spain on Oct. 1.
Today is December 17.
And I just got paid for the first time.

I hadn't received a dime for 2 1/2 months' worth of work until today. But this is Spain, after all, and knowing that there has been some pretty serious economic instability plaguing this lovely nation, I expected some delays. But I didn't realize payment would be pushed back as far as it was. There's been speculation that the Extremaduran government was trying to put off paying us until January to keep our salaries off the 2012 books -- with our pay included, the government hasn't complied with its budget.

Only after some other auxiliares mounted pressure on the Extremaduran government via angry, desperate letters and appeals to the press, we got paid. Ah, the power of bad publicity.

Story about our delayed pay in the "Hoy" paper of Extremadura.  Source

Speaking of bad publicity...

Apparently our lack of pay is normal around here, sadly. Read this New York Times story about how working and earning money aren't necessarily mutually inclusive for Spanish employees.

Un saludo,
Teresa

North American Language and Culture Assistants: Application advice

As much as I want this blog to be a record of my adventures and misfortunes in Europe, I also want it to be helpful for potential North American Language & Culture Assistants who are drowning in questions about how everything works. To all ye applicants out there: The tales of mindblowing bureaucracy, late payments and the general lack of efficiency on the part of the Spanish government are all true, sadly. But the good news is, despite speculation that the dead-broke Spanish government would cut the auxiliars de conversacion program for next year, they haven't done so.

The application officially opens Jan. 8 (it opened in early November last year). You should start your application right now. Yesterday, actually. In the spirit of the season, I put together a nice list of application tips to help you on your way.

1. Don't expect to be placed in Andalucia, Valencia or Madrid
Because everyone wants to, and your odds just aren't that great. Not to say it can't happen, because it obviously does for hundreds of auxiliars every year, but hundreds of others end up in regions that they haphazardly listed as their third choice because they just knew they wouldn't end up there (I'm pointing to myself). I applied for Valencia first, inspired by photos of sun-soaked beaches and crazy parties. Then, because Andalucia, Valencia and Madrid are all in the same region group, and you can only choose one from each group, I put Cataluña, home to Barcelona, as my second choice. I listed Extremadura third, having never even heard of the place. Guess where I ended up?

Aw, Valencia.     Source

2. Don't expect to have a better or worse experience than your friend/cousin/brother/sorority sister did. 
Because it just doesn't work like that. There's so much variation between regions, schools and students. A friend who spent last year teaching in Madrid said her students were half-human, half jungle animals. I've heard of an auxiliar in a rural region whose students refused to participate because their parents were pig farmers, and they didn't think they needed English to take over the family farm (disclaimer: My dad's a farmer, and there's nothing wrong with wanting to take over the farm. But there is certainly something wrong with not wanting to learn.) I've heard stories of teachers practically bolting out of the room as soon as the auxiliar arrives, forcing the auxiliar to teach the class solo while the teacher has a café con leche in the breakroom. One of my friends is basically a live sound machine that only gets used when an English passage needs to be read. So keep all of that in mind.

This could be you.    Source

3. Don't expect the schools to follow the rules
Because they don't. According to the rules, auxiliars aren't replacement teachers, and we're only supposed to work 12 hours a week. We're assistants ("auxiliar" means assistant), but some schools treat auxiliars as teachers while the real teachers chat outside, presumably about their students' beast-like behavior. You may very well be teaching classes on your own. Fortunately, I've been placed in two schools that use me well but don't abuse me. Although I do teach full lessons by myself, the teachers are in the room with me in case I need them. I actually prefer it that way.

Best image that came up when I googled "clueless teacher."

 4. Start saving your money now
Because you'll need it. You'll likely work for two months or longer before getting paid. As I write this, it's late November, and I haven't received a dime. Apparently the auxiliars who applied through the British Council recently received an email saying they should get paid in December, but the date is thus far undetermined. I don't know what that means for we Americans. Fortunately, I anticipated this, and I have a cushion so that I can travel freely without obsessing over my dwindling funds (although I am still kind of obsessing over my dwindling funds). You'll need at least $3,000 to live and travel for the first two months if you want to do it right and eat more than ramen noodles.

Source

5. Read current and former auxiliars' blogs
Because you'll need their advice. Start here, although some of Liz the Young Adventuress's tangles with pissy Spanish funcionarios (government workers) will make you think twice about joining the mess. This blog outlines late payments and lies from the government. This one details lots of the quirks of Spanish culture from an American's perspective. I just stumbled up on this one today, but it looks like it's packed with useful tips and engaging writing.

6. Follow the application instructions 
Because you'll need them. Without them the application is downright nonsensical. Even with them the process is downright nonsensical but to a lesser degree. If you scroll toward the bottom of this page, you'll find a link to a "how to register online" document and a "program manual." Both of those are invaluable. But you'll likely still be confused.

Source

7. Only submit necessary documents
Because you want to work smarter, not harder. There's a lot of misinformation spread among auxiliars regarding what you do and do not need to send in with the application. Supposedly some things are going to change regarding this year's application. I can't confirm or deny that, but I can tell you that last year we didn't need to submit a background check or doctor's note with our program application (you do need a state or FBI check and a health clearance for your visa application if you get accepted, but WAIT TO GET THOSE!) I sent a background check from the city police and a health form because word on the street was that I needed to, even though the instructions didn't say I did. It turned out that I didn't need them. (Keep in mind I'm American and don't know how it works for auxiliars from other countries.)

8. Send in your application on Jan. 8
Because that's the first day you can do so for 2013/2014. Last year, the app opened Monday, Nov. 7, I believe. I started the application Nov. 8 and submitted it Nov. 11. I was applicant No. 642, meaning 641 people got location assignments before me because placements are first-come, first-serve. Submit the online portion before getting the letter of reference, if need be, because you can send that in later. Also, don't waste a lot of time filling in information about merits and work history because that stuff has no influence on your acceptance/rejection. Your application number is what matters, and you want a low one, so the sooner you apply, the better.

Source

9. Don't expect to find out where you're placed by the date the government gives you
Because the government doesn't adhere to deadlines. The application closed in March, and I believe we were told we'd get our placements in late April or early May. On May 22, I got an email saying I'd been accepted and placed in Extremadura, but I wasn't told specifically where. I had to accept my ambiguous placement as a prerequisite to getting more information. I accepted May 26 and was given the names and addresses of my schools June 5.

Source

10. You don't need to speak Spanish to teach English, but you should
Because this is Spain. Officially, auxiliars are supposed to have an intermediate level of Spanish, but many don't because our job is to speak English, after all. But being able to speak Spanish helps immensely at school when you're trying to make copies or find the restroom (although the restroom situation was a bit spotty for a while for me.)

11. Lastly, join the Facebook groups
Because it's good to commiserate together. You'll need a forum to curse the system and make a friend or two. This year's group for my region is Auxiliares de Conversacion 2012-2013 Extremadura, and yours will probably be named similarly. It's a valuable resource; I met one of my roommates on there.

So, that's that, applicants. Scared yet? Don't be. This program certainly has its want-to-pull-my-hair-out qualities, but putting up with the bad stuff has been worth it thus far, for me at least. I've had an amazing time teaching, learning and traveling, so realize you'll have to take the bad with the good.

Are you a current or past auxiliar with wisdom to add? Are you a potential applicant with lingering questions? Let me know in the comments section. 

Un saludo,
Teresa