Things I Will Desperately Miss

And thus, of course, here’s the follow-up list:

1. Patra’s knee-slapping jokes (I think there were 3 or 4 this year, and they were all gems)
2. Taking flamenco lessons in a bar, ie, doing as much drinking as dancing
3. Our terrace. Our terrace on perfect days, meals on the terrace, hanging laundry on the terrace, drinking sherry on the terrace at sunset
4. 300 children
5. Seeing one of my 300 children on the street and feeling like a star
6. Saying hello to all the old men taking their morning, afternoon, and evenings walks
7. Living in a cubist’s dream
8. Being halfway between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean
9. Taking Sevilla for granted since it’s just an hour away
10. Hearing Spanish every day, especially the awesome accent the old men have here
11. Being constantly inspired by the beauty of this town
12. Cheap tickets to everywhere else in Europe
13. Being serenaded by an incredible flamenco guitarist
14. Doing yoga in an old Spanish patio
15. The Friday market
16. Olive oil, organic eggs, fruit in season all year round
17. The cliff
18. Flamenco parties every Friday and Saturday (and spontaneous flamenco in the street)
19. The fact that everyone knows how to clap in rhythm here

This list is actually harder than the last, because many of the things I will miss aren’t as concrete as the things I won’t miss. That is, I will miss all the smells of this town, all the strange and beautiful things I see every day, I will miss the sounds in the streets of the old men talking, of bands practicing for Semana Santa, I will miss the feeling that everyone welcomes me in. And I will miss hundreds of people—Patra and Adan, Emma and all the Brits, Santi and the women we danced flamenco with, my co-teachers, the choir members, the shop keepers and café owners, all the townspeople I’ve become accustomed to seeing…and, as I said above, the hundreds and hundreds of children who I love more than I thought possible. But the year has come to an end and I don’t belong here anymore. Such is life. On to the next adventure.

Turning 23, I think I'm turning 23

23 has been my lucky number since I was five years old when it was the number on the mat assigned to me for nap time. We've been close ever since. Perhaps it's most significant appearance in my life occurred in a place ripe for superstitions and lucky numbers: a casino in Montreal. It was my first--and thus far last--trip to a casino and, big spender that I am, I placed aside $20 with which to gamble. I converted my precious cash into four 5-dollar chips (I would have done twenty 1-dollar chips if they'd let me) and headed to roulette. First chip on black and the number turned up red. Second chip on odds, the number came up even. Third chip on some random area of the board, and lost that one, too. With my last chip clutched in my hand, I eyed 23. Why not? I would most definitely lose, but all more "surer" bets had lost. But I lost heart. I selected another random area of the board, one that didn't include 23. And the number that came up? 23, of course. I took that as a direct sign that I was not meant for the gambling life, and haven't done so since. Who knows what kind of a person 23 saved me from becoming?

In any case, my affinity for 23 has long made me believe good things would happen when I finally reached the age. Many months ago I became nervous when I realized it would occur during my year in Spain. I wondered if anyone would know it was my birthday, if there would be any special celebration at all, if I would be surrounded by friends like I was last year at the end of my time at Dartmouth. Turns out I had nothing to fear.

The day itself was a study in Reasons I Love My Life in Arcos: I was with my kids in the morning, some of whom had bought presents for me (a silver coin purse, silver sandals that were somehow exactly the right size, and the first item of clothing with Minnie Mouse on it that I've owned since I was 5). There was also cake and a belly-dance performance by my 10-year olds which was just a little awkward. In the afternoon I went to yoga (Patra, to our yoga teacher: "Jenna's having a special day!" Yoga teacher, looking aghast, "You didn't get married, did you?" Me: "No, I just turned 23." Yoga teacher: "Thank God. Your mother would have killed me.") Patra and I had dinner on the terrace and went to flamenco in the evening (the class sang "Cumpleanos Feliz" and one of my fellow dancers with delightfully bowed legs chided me for not bringing a cake). All in all, it was not so different from any other Wednesday in Arcos, which is to say it was perfect. The kind of day that makes me think 23 is indeed my lucky number.

Don't know much about geography

I told one of my private classes that the following week would be our last class together.

"And then you're going home?" Alvaro asked.

"Yes, that's right, to my country."

They looked puzzled.

"Which country are you from?" Juan Manuel asked, which disappointed me since he's also in my regular classes at school and it's the kind of thing I'd think he'd know by now.

"I'm from the United States. Do you guys know where that is?"

"Oh yeah! Right next to France!" Alvaro looked gleeful in his knowledge.

"Ummm, not next to France, no. You know how there's an ocean near Arcos? The Atlantic? I'm on the other side of the Atlantic."

The kids still looked confused. Then Alvaro spoke up again, "Okay, so not next to France but above France?"

I shook my head. Juan Manuel jumped out of his seat. "I know!" He picked up a marker and began to draw a crude outline of Spain and France on the whiteboard. "Okay, here's where we are, and here's where you live," he said, indicating approximately where the UK is.

"No, I'm not from England, I swear," I said, but Alvaro was already agreeing with Juan Manuel.

"Yep, yep, that's where teacher lives."

Finally I found a book on Christopher Columbus and showed them an egregiously out-dated map. I pointed at southern Spain, showed them England, and then showed them where Minnesota would be, relative to them. Their eyes widened.

"You live all the way over THERE? That's so far!"

"That's right," I said. "Nowhere near France."

Dani the Saint

On Thursday, I had my after-school group of thirteen-year-olds discuss what they would do in certain situations to practice conditionals. First, I gave them an article about an American man who deposited a fake check for $95,000 on a whim and, to his surprise, the bank credited him with the money (a true story: you can check it out at http://www.goodthink.com/writing/view_stories.cfm?id=11&page_id=2). Would my students keep the money? There was near-consensus: six of the seven kids there said yes, they would, no question.

We got around the table to Dani, a tall, skinny kid whose hair is the only thing that's out-of-control about him. Whereas the other kids run around, lock each other in and out of places (including the balcony outside our classroom and a nearby refrigerator) and generally go crazy during our breaktimes, Dani always stays seated at the table with hands folded, looking at me with an expression of "Kids, what can you do about 'em?" He's well-behaved, but also well-liked; all the girls wanted Dani on their team last week when we were creating rules for new sports.

When it came to the question of keeping the money, Dani was appalled. "No, I would not keep the money because it does not belong to me! I would not want to be a robber." I told him that technically the money was not the man's, but the bank had made the error in his favor. Dani was immutable in his opinions. He would keep the money under no conditions. I applauded him and moved on to the next question. What would the kids do with this extra money? Their answers showed their confusion about what $95,000 can buy these days.

"I would buy many houses and nice cars!" said Javi, whose sentiments were echoed by Alba and Pedro: nice houses, nice cars, maybe a few islands in the mix (Pedro also thought he might be able to buy his way to the presidency of the United States--"I'm the second Barack Obama!" he assured me). At the other end of the spectrum, Maria asserted, "I would buy a dog;" Nieves agreed. She too would buy a dog for just under 100 grand. Meanwhile, Jose Maria contemplated the question, then said, "I would buy Spiderman." I raised my eyebrows. "No wait, I would buy Spiderman and Superman. And then I would conquer the world."

Again to Dani. "Dani, if you legally had $95,000, what would you buy?" He looked very serious as he replied, "I would study at Oxford." None of this materialist stuff.

We moved on to a game where one person leaves the room and everyone has to come up with a solution to a problem. The person re-enters the room, listens to all the solutions, and then tries to guess what the original problem was. I gave them the problem of being on the sinking Titanic. Dani's response: "I would jump off, then swim behind the rescue boats."

"Why wouldn't you get in a rescue boat, Dani?" I asked.

"Because they would be full of women and children. It's okay, I would get used to the cold water."

To which I pretty much slammed my hand on the table in shock and shouted, "My God, this kid's a saint!" Dani turned bright red, making him look only more like the cherub he is.

I speak their language

Not Spanish (well, I try). No, I'm becoming fluent in the language of young children. The other night I walked into my flamenco class--held in the back of a bar--and started putting on my shoes. A boy, maybe 5 or 6 years old, walked up to me and stuck out his tongue, perhaps thinking to intimidate me. I stuck my tongue back out at him. He looked surprised for a moment, then nodded in approval. He held out a piece of gum; "for me?" I asked. He nodded again. I could see the conclusion in his eyes: I'd passed his test, and thus was aptly rewarded.

The girl with two novios

For all those stressed about upcoming Valentine's celebrations, either lonely at the lack of a significant other or wondering just how to remind a beloved that they are truly loved, imagine how much easier things were when you were a child. When everyone in school decorated brown paper bags with red hearts and doilies, and teachers mandated that if you were to pass out any cards at all you had to have enough for everyone. Moreover, the whole question of significant others takes on different meaning through the eyes of a child.

After gym class the other day, my second-graders were lining up to go inside. Divided by an invisible barrier, the boys stayed to the front of the line discussing the merits of Real Madrid versus FC Barcelona while the girls sniffed at the kiddie-perfume they'd dabbed on to their wrists at the back of the line. As we waited for the bell to ring, Javi-the-gym-teacher reminded the kids that Valentine's was coming up. Two boys wanted to let Javi know about their girlfriend--singular (nuestra novia). Javi and I expressed shock.
"You both have the same girlfriend?"
The boys shrugged their shoulders. "Sure, why not?" They were good friends and shared many other things in their lives--juice boxes, crayons--so why not a girlfriend?
"Well, who is it?" Javi asked.
"Andrea," they said.
Javi and I went to the back of the line where Andrea was twirling her hair unsuspectingly. He asked if she knew she had two boyfriends. She said she didn't, though she seemed unfazed by the idea that two of the boys in class would have put forth the idea. Javi and I went to the front of the line again.
"Andrea says she has no boyfriend," Javi asserted to the young Romeos. They shrugged again.
"She's wrong," they said. "We are her boyfriends."

Jenna, the exotic zoo animal

I don't know all that many people in Arcos, so I always get excited to see one of my 300 or so Spanish schoolchildren around town. I have come to realize, however, that seeing me usually inspires some excitement for the kids, and then fear. Miss Jenna, out in the wild? What to do?

Similar to a zoo, the children are thrilled to see me move around and make utterances when in the confines of a classroom. Sometimes they chant my name when I enter or cheer or even take pictures. This adds to my sense that the kids might actually, you know, like me.

In the supermarket or on the street, though, it's more like the kids are on safari. They spot me, they grin, and then they get nervous. Avoid eye contact! She might growl (in English)! She might advance toward me! She might....well, I'm not even sure of all that they're afraid of. But I do remember when I was a kid that some people just didn't exist out of a certain sphere of my life. Schoolteachers were NOT real people and therefore had no need to buy groceries or be anywhere outside their cages...ahem, classrooms.

Lesson: lions are cute and cuddly when you watch them from outside a protective glass barrier, but when you could be prey to their claws and golden manes (allow me that), you're best off just freezing, hoping they haven't seen you, and slinking off in the opposite direction as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Which is exactly what my children do.

Always the last to know...

I’m living in a haze of misunderstanding, and it’s not always due to my lack of fluency in Spanish. One of the phrases I have heard most often in my school is, “Oh, no one told you?” This has been followed with endings such as “…that we’re having a party tomorrow?” “…that we don’t have class?” “…that we don’t have school on Monday?” etc etc. Sometimes it turns out to be a nice surprise: I found out that I don’t have my weekly English conversation time with teachers tomorrow since they’re having a fish fry instead (and thus I can use the class I already planned for them for next week).

Sometimes, though, it’s more of a panic-inducing surprise, like when I went outside today to meet up with Ana, whom I assist in her first-grade English classes. Instead of Ana standing at the front of the line, Javi-the-gym-teacher was there.

“Where’s Ana?” I asked.
“Not here,” he said, shrugging (the implicit message: “no one told you?”).
“Oh…so are you doing P.E. with them now?”
“No. You are the teacher! You will do the English lesson!”
“WHAT?!”

Luckily Javi stayed with me for the whole hour, because my Spanish is definitely not good enough to control a roomful of screaming five-year-olds. The first few minutes were a little scary, though, because Javi kept asking me where different supplies were in the classroom—teacher’s book, CD for listening exercises, flashcards—and I didn’t know. But we found all these things, and soon got the kids on track (the nice thing about five-year-olds: activities need not be very difficult to keep them entertained; they spend their days counting, coloring, gluing, and singing). By the end of class we were having so much [educational] fun I almost didn’t want to leave. With all my frustration of feeling constantly out of the Spanish loop, being with the first-graders is the best reminder of why I love this place and this job so much.

Childrens' Rights Day

Today, all the third graders of Arcos got together to celebrate "Childrens' Rights Day." This meant painting a banner (Juan Apresa's banner was painted hurriedly the day before, mainly by teachers--including yours truly), and playing games to demonstrate different rights.

Javi, the gym teacher, and I ran the Africa station. We put the kids in small groups to create Tanagram puzzles; one of the children was supposed to cover their eyes with a blindfold (which, of course, no one had) and the other children had to guide the "blind" child in putting together the puzzle. The game was pretty wack, and much more difficult than anyone had anticipated. At least, maybe, it taught the kids that they should help those less fortunate than themselves...The wackness of the game gave me plenty of time to take pictures, though. Without further ado, here are some of my adorable 3rd-graders:


Our Africa banner: I painted the two A's and the F!

One of my favorites, Alejandro in the yellow shirt; he reminds me of the mouse in Cinderella that's joins the mouse posse at the beginning of the movie

The kids join together in a big circle to sing; also, the China station

Two of my favorites in the front: Jose Manuel and Jesus (Jesus is in "the Animal" shirt)

One of my third grade classes. Adorable!