On Monday I had given the introductory lesson on Roman housing to give the kids a background on what they’d be seeing. I presented to each of the two groups of segundos, which was the first time I’d done more than talk about myself, observe the actual teachers or take smaller groups aside. I think I’m still a guest in the kids’ eyes - they listened intently without talking (a first in one of the classes). When they started to get a little restless and chatty, all I had to do was look disappointed and wait for them to calm themselves down, which they were quick to do.
I’ve now been in the school for ten working days - I’m getting my schedule down, learning the teachers’ expectations of me, trying to learn the names of the segundos, cuartos and first year bachilleratos. I’ve been working to prepare well in advance for each lesson, but am learning flexibility as few things ever go as planned.
For instance, on Tuesdays I pull out small groups of the first year bachilleratos (the 15-17 year olds) to practice conversational English. Technically, bachillerato classes aren’t in my contract - I’m only supposed to be working with the secondary students - but the bachilleratos (this class in particular) need help preparing for their oral exams. This past Tuesday I showed up, and the teacher did not.
In Spain, the students stay in one classroom while the teachers rotate in and out. If a teacher doesn’t arrive, some of the teachers who don’t have class during that time have guardia, which means they will take over for the absent instructor. So when I got to class, the guardia asked me what I normally did with the students. With the holiday the week before, I’d only had one day with them, and the teacher had told me never to prepare anything on my own, as she would always have a speaking practice for me to work on with six of the students at a time.
So the guardia sent me out with the six boys sitting sullenly in the back of the room just to chat in English for an hour. They start out by telling me their names and three things about themselves. The generic answer: “I’m Jorge. I’m sixteen. I like football and girls.” So then I ask them what there is to do in Boadilla del Monte, since I don’t know the suburb at all. “Drink. In the park.” Is there anything else to do? Apparently not. So I ask if they go to the city to have fun. Yes. What do they do in the city? “Drink. In the park.” I’m looking for travel recommendations, so I ask where they’ve traveled. All over. And what did they do in these places? “Drank. Smoked.” I need a better back up plan for future classes.
With Wednesday’s bachilleratos, who’ve been studying descriptions, we played a celebrity guessing game. I gave each of them a celebrity name, which they stuck to their foreheads, so that they couldn’t read the name but everyone else could see it. Then they had to ask yes or no questions to the group to find out who they were: Lady Gaga, Robert Pattinson, Johnny Depp, Angelina Jolie...it was fascinating to find out which celebrities they knew and which they didn’t. It’s not only an ocean that separates our cultural references, but a five to ten year age gap too.
In the coming weeks, I’ll be beginning a research project on US states and preparing lessons on chemistry with the segundos. I’ll also be teaching las clases teóricas de informática - the theoretical aspects of computer class - to the cuartos and celebrating Halloween with them.
I’ve been keeping busy outside of school too. Last Sunday, Leah, Charleen and I took a day trip to Segovia, simply because I wanted to get out of the city (only four days after returning from Galicia) but didn’t have the energy to plan a bigger trip. I could move to Segovia. In fact, if I ever became a writer and got a book deal, I would rent an apartment in Segovia to use as my writing studio. The city is tranquil and gorgeous and full of history. We spent the afternoon wandering from the Roman aqueduct to the cathedral to the Alcázar palace with a break for lunch (Cochinillo, a Segovian specialty - roasted suckling pig - very tender but very pork-y) and dessert (Ponche segoviano - a moist cake with marzipan crust and a carmelized pattern on top).
My need to get out of Madrid had me worried - after all, I’ve still got eight months here, but I think it was due to aftershocks of coming back from five days on the Camino in the middle-of-nowheres of Galicia, which the occasional twinge in my right ankle continues to remind me of. Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried to break in my new Spanish four inch heels the night we went out to celebrate our return to the city. This week, though, I’m starting to feel more at home here. I can finally understand most of what the driving class instructor shouts at us in the fastest Spanish I’ve ever heard in my life. (“Si no es prohibido, repito...si no es PROHIBIDO, REPITO...SI NO ES PROHIBIDO...es permitido.) I can find my way around the city on foot and by metro by myself without getting desperately lost. As the weather’s changing, a few of us Fulbrighters are starting a knitting night on Wednesdays at a fabulous used bookstore/bar/café. Last night, Janel and I went to an amazingly fun concert featuring three Spanish groups. And today I got my official residency card and am currently writing this while sitting in my favorite café with wifi just down the street from the Prado.
I’m on my way to being madrileña.
Segovia - see why I want to live there?
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