I went to see Maria tonight after dinner. I told her I was fine but a bit tired, because preparing for classes is a lot of work.
I still can't decide whether she jumped to conclusions or she is seeing me more clearly than I am. She said, "you are agobiando". It means something like you are freaking out/stressing out/worrying too much. She said she had a friend that could help me, and she was going to give me this friend's number. Then she got on the phone and called up the friend. Said friend is cathedratica de Ingles at the University. The other night we had a discussion as to what cathedratica means. I think it must be "dean" judging from how they described it to me. Anyways, Maria said, "now I'm going to pass you over to my friend Ana. Toma, Ana" (take the phone). So I end up talking to Julia, who is really lovely, and I tell her I think I'm doing okay but Maria thinks I'm agobiandoing. Julia spent quite some time with me, asking me what I was teaching and my experience and what the problems were. Then she simply reassured me that I'm qualified and have experience and I'm a native speaker besides and that she's sure I'm an excellent teacher, and that if I ever have any problems, I can come over to the university and meet her, and she can introduce me to her colleagues who know more about applied linguistics, because she really teaches the history of English, and hasn't actually taught the language for a long time. She says there is an Irish fellow who has all sorts of methods for teaching, and so on.
My class went very well today again. Maria probably is right though. I am spending an awful lot of time, because I am solely responsible for this, and I need to do a good job. I am motivated, it interests me. But I truly am overwhelmed sometimes. Textbooks don't try to teach what I'm teaching. I can't simply pick one up and follow it. The trouble at the moment is I am trying to remember or rather collate from scratch, rules for pronunciation based on spelling. I think this has gone out of vogue in schools, for native and non-native speakers of English alike. They taught me some simple rules that have many exceptions, when I was in school. They actually are helpful. The reason they don't teach them is because there are so many exceptions. But my students today were thankful. If there is a double consonant, it means the vowel in front of it stays "short" rather than turning "long" due to the added e (or other vowel) after the double consonant. That is why "letter", is pronounced with the same e sound as "bed" and "meter" is pronounced with an "ee" sound. Why cat and sat sound one way and gate, fate sound another way. Nobody teaches these any more, and especially not for ESL students, who desperately need anything they can get their hands on for indicators of pronunciation. Anyways, when you start getting to double vowels, there are some that are complicated, because they don't really follow the rules. Still, there are a majority of words that are pronounced either of two ways, when there is an "ea" in the middle of a word, or an "ai".
I think these people that don't bother are just lazy. There is no good information gathered in one place on all this, on the internet, so I am trying to figure it out myself. Then I am trying to make up exercises (I don't make them all up; the one below isn't mine.)
Today I made them all go "rrrrrrr" "deh.... deh.... deh..." "vvvvvvvvvvvvv", because they can't do good r, d or v sounds. Especially not when r and d are combined at the end of a word, like "bird". That is very hard for them.
Bid, bed, bud, bead, board, beard, bard, bared, bird. You take these sounds for granted!
Each of those gets assigned a number. They try to tell the other guy their phone number, by saying the word that corresponds to each number. All of them had at least one mistake, more like 2 or 3. Spanish speakers can't distinguish well between bad and bud or beard and bird (and a few others, but mostly those).
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Things are happening very easily here. It is scary because it is a lot of work and serious planning which can't just be done on the fly, and I have never done it before, really.
I have a second serious client. He is a very lovely gentleman from Barcelona. I knew to wear proper dress pants and heels because, when I told him how to recognise me in a red jacket, he wrote back that he would have a long black coat and a grey suit. Indeed, Marcelino is responsible for making sure Nokia and whatever cellphone service they are attached to here in Andalucia, work properly. While we were discussing English class he got a call that 19 towers were down in Granada.
He is a proper and distiguished gentleman, and I am not used to working with such people. But this particular guy seems to have a good heart and to even take the time out of his cell phone towers going all to heck, to ask a crazy Canadian girl about her interest in flamenco. In fact I feel like I fit in with these sort of people (business people, proper) when I manage to dress somewhat better than usual, and feel that my reserved nature lends itself to interactions with them. On the other hand, I have a pronounced sense of being very, very weird to somebody like this.
He is very serious about learning English, as quickly as possible, and wants an hour a day. He would like to further his career and says it is literally impossible without English. Even if he applies for a job in South America where English would not likely to be very necessary, it is a requirement, just to filter people out, he says.
Our conversation started out actually with something about the Euro problems and he told me that one European telecommuncations company is using bailout money to buy technical teams from China to add to their company - that with European taxpayers' money, they are doing this. He says that China is going to own Spain soon and they will start calling the shots, due to the Spanish debt that China has bought. And that they may eventually have to speak Chinese here.
I have a second serious client. He is a very lovely gentleman from Barcelona. I knew to wear proper dress pants and heels because, when I told him how to recognise me in a red jacket, he wrote back that he would have a long black coat and a grey suit. Indeed, Marcelino is responsible for making sure Nokia and whatever cellphone service they are attached to here in Andalucia, work properly. While we were discussing English class he got a call that 19 towers were down in Granada.
He is a proper and distiguished gentleman, and I am not used to working with such people. But this particular guy seems to have a good heart and to even take the time out of his cell phone towers going all to heck, to ask a crazy Canadian girl about her interest in flamenco. In fact I feel like I fit in with these sort of people (business people, proper) when I manage to dress somewhat better than usual, and feel that my reserved nature lends itself to interactions with them. On the other hand, I have a pronounced sense of being very, very weird to somebody like this.
He is very serious about learning English, as quickly as possible, and wants an hour a day. He would like to further his career and says it is literally impossible without English. Even if he applies for a job in South America where English would not likely to be very necessary, it is a requirement, just to filter people out, he says.
Our conversation started out actually with something about the Euro problems and he told me that one European telecommuncations company is using bailout money to buy technical teams from China to add to their company - that with European taxpayers' money, they are doing this. He says that China is going to own Spain soon and they will start calling the shots, due to the Spanish debt that China has bought. And that they may eventually have to speak Chinese here.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Quisiera volverme pulga
This is Camaron (the greatest flamenco singer of the last 50 years, as far as innovation combined with connection to his roots and as far as far-reaching influence. was like a rock star as far as filling concerts, but without attitude. my description would be: angel from heaven, whose singing can bring the dead to life)
singing a less serious form of song: Quisiera volverme pulga (I would like to turn into a flea).
The words go: I'd like to turn into a flea, and put myself in a mattress, to sleep with whoever I wish, who gives me warmth. Tonight it's going to rain...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWqgjrZWCHk
singing a less serious form of song: Quisiera volverme pulga (I would like to turn into a flea).
The words go: I'd like to turn into a flea, and put myself in a mattress, to sleep with whoever I wish, who gives me warmth. Tonight it's going to rain...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rWqgjrZWCHk
Sunday, February 26, 2012
I don't know if I said it but my hair is like 3 different bobs and I realised yesterday it needed doing something about. You don't cut layers, apparently, by sectioning off levels on your scalp and cutting the hair there to end at different points in space. Oh well.
Today I am going hiking with Mara and some of her friends.
...
And I just got back from an utterly fabulous day hiking in the Sierra Norte de Sevilla. A misty day that felt like Vancouver turned sunny, and we could hike part of the time in long sleeve t-shirts. Mara, Daniela, Ricardo (both Brazilenos) and Felipe (Belgian but of Spanish ancestry) as well as Faro, fit in Mara's car and once there picked up bocadillos (sandwiches made out of an entire small loaf of bread - me and Mara has serranitas - roased pork, jam and roasted pepper (green, fresh roasted in a frying pan without oil). The town was El Pedroso, and the countryside was like that (rocky). It was rolling and quite dry with a mix of olive and alcornoque (oak), both of the bellota (nut) and the cork kind. It was cool to see Ricardo so fascinated by seeing cork for the first time. We were all pretty excited by the pigs we came across. Not wild, but they were Ibericos, by Mara's estimation. Being a biologist, and familiar with this area, she was able to tell us about various things. All of them are biologists, actually. The pigs are the grey kind, of medium size. They were very funny, as I've rarely seen pigs firsthand. Daniela, Felipe and I even climbed a tree.
Today I am going hiking with Mara and some of her friends.
...
And I just got back from an utterly fabulous day hiking in the Sierra Norte de Sevilla. A misty day that felt like Vancouver turned sunny, and we could hike part of the time in long sleeve t-shirts. Mara, Daniela, Ricardo (both Brazilenos) and Felipe (Belgian but of Spanish ancestry) as well as Faro, fit in Mara's car and once there picked up bocadillos (sandwiches made out of an entire small loaf of bread - me and Mara has serranitas - roased pork, jam and roasted pepper (green, fresh roasted in a frying pan without oil). The town was El Pedroso, and the countryside was like that (rocky). It was rolling and quite dry with a mix of olive and alcornoque (oak), both of the bellota (nut) and the cork kind. It was cool to see Ricardo so fascinated by seeing cork for the first time. We were all pretty excited by the pigs we came across. Not wild, but they were Ibericos, by Mara's estimation. Being a biologist, and familiar with this area, she was able to tell us about various things. All of them are biologists, actually. The pigs are the grey kind, of medium size. They were very funny, as I've rarely seen pigs firsthand. Daniela, Felipe and I even climbed a tree.
Friday, February 24, 2012
This is well worth your time if you feel any frustration with the state of the world in general (its relevance extends far beyond this issue) or care about BC. It will also give you hope, because it is a young person, and it might give you a kick in the pants (which you deserve) if you are unaware of or have not imagined what tends to go on in the world in general to support the status quo.
http://www.vancouverobserver.com/blogs/earthmatters/2012/02/20/oil-executive-sons-testimony-prince-rupert-northern-gateway-pipeline?page=0%2C3
Unfortunately, it did not sway the decision of whoever it was (Mr. Harper I presume) who had the final say.
I just had a bout of paranoia and erased a bunch of stuff I wrote. Just ta let you know.
http://www.vancouverobserver.com/blogs/earthmatters/2012/02/20/oil-executive-sons-testimony-prince-rupert-northern-gateway-pipeline?page=0%2C3
Unfortunately, it did not sway the decision of whoever it was (Mr. Harper I presume) who had the final say.
I just had a bout of paranoia and erased a bunch of stuff I wrote. Just ta let you know.
A madwoman has been awakened. A crazed preacher, a zealot. Unfortunately, it's not timely, and I don't have a venue.
I am awake at 6 am after only sleeping a couple hours anyways. Dreaming up ways of sending MR. Steven Harper a letter. Images of myself screaming onto video.
A friend posted a link to an Avaaz petition about stopping En-whatever. The company with the oil pipeline, and all that's connected to the tankers that will, as of yesterday, be allowed again (since when they have been disallowed, I am not sure but perhaps since the last very serious oil spill) to go down the coast OF MY PROVINCE.
As somewhat of a disclaimer, I do not know the issue very well. I do not know for sure that I should necessarily be freaking out, but this is a purely illogical response which I will explain soon.
My letter would say something like this: Mr. Harper, if you are a Christian like my parents believe you are, then you should go spend some time in the forests of Coastal B.C. because you would re-connect with God a bit better there. Then you need to go live in China. (Especially since that is who this issue concerns). You would then be very, very careful what you let happen to these forests or the coast nearby them.
Let me explain something. When someone comes near your body with something dangerous to you, you make them stop (self censored here for fear of a scary big brother world out there)
When I came back from my year in China, something had snapped. When the air AT THE AIRPORT smells like chlorophyll, the green needles of trees, and pure oxygen like you were dying of thirst and did not even know it until you took a sip (a breath), when you see mountains rising from the North Shore of the city upon which you can make out enormous, healthy trees, and you see that they are uncut... and seem to rise up from the edge of the houses completely un spoiled by anything, and you know because you've been there, that there really is NOTHING of civilisation (no clearing of the land for cultivation, no herders herding) beyond that; when you see Cedar and Douglas Fir tree trunks all around you in a dense, moist forest and this has been nowhere even within reach for one whole year, some part of you other than your brain and eyes recognises it. When you have cried just to look at pictures that showed bits of remote coastal BC wilderness where you have been dropped, and sat far from everything with utter peace and only an eagle, bears nearby...
There is a kind of thing that exists: if you have any connection or experience of the nature of the place you live ... it is part of your body. It may be that only immigrants or those who have spent a large amount of time away from their place of origin would understand me.
I am awake at 6 am after only sleeping a couple hours anyways. Dreaming up ways of sending MR. Steven Harper a letter. Images of myself screaming onto video.
A friend posted a link to an Avaaz petition about stopping En-whatever. The company with the oil pipeline, and all that's connected to the tankers that will, as of yesterday, be allowed again (since when they have been disallowed, I am not sure but perhaps since the last very serious oil spill) to go down the coast OF MY PROVINCE.
As somewhat of a disclaimer, I do not know the issue very well. I do not know for sure that I should necessarily be freaking out, but this is a purely illogical response which I will explain soon.
My letter would say something like this: Mr. Harper, if you are a Christian like my parents believe you are, then you should go spend some time in the forests of Coastal B.C. because you would re-connect with God a bit better there. Then you need to go live in China. (Especially since that is who this issue concerns). You would then be very, very careful what you let happen to these forests or the coast nearby them.
Let me explain something. When someone comes near your body with something dangerous to you, you make them stop (self censored here for fear of a scary big brother world out there)
When I came back from my year in China, something had snapped. When the air AT THE AIRPORT smells like chlorophyll, the green needles of trees, and pure oxygen like you were dying of thirst and did not even know it until you took a sip (a breath), when you see mountains rising from the North Shore of the city upon which you can make out enormous, healthy trees, and you see that they are uncut... and seem to rise up from the edge of the houses completely un spoiled by anything, and you know because you've been there, that there really is NOTHING of civilisation (no clearing of the land for cultivation, no herders herding) beyond that; when you see Cedar and Douglas Fir tree trunks all around you in a dense, moist forest and this has been nowhere even within reach for one whole year, some part of you other than your brain and eyes recognises it. When you have cried just to look at pictures that showed bits of remote coastal BC wilderness where you have been dropped, and sat far from everything with utter peace and only an eagle, bears nearby...
There is a kind of thing that exists: if you have any connection or experience of the nature of the place you live ... it is part of your body. It may be that only immigrants or those who have spent a large amount of time away from their place of origin would understand me.
Last night I went to bed excited about my breakfast of specialty lard and top quality white bread. First thing this morning it didn't appeal to me. I have a pancake based diet. So I reverted to it; made myself a small pancake. Whole rye flour, whole wheat, olive oil, whole cane sugar, the usual recipe: the right amount of flour in a drinking glass. Amounts of baking soda, salt and sugar that seem right for that amount of flour. Same amount of water into drinking glass as flour. Mix. Pour in what seems like a spoonfullish amount of oil. Fry in olive oil in the "tortilla-only" frying pan (as designated by Rocio, who hasn't the rat's ass of a clue what a pancake is).
Thursday, February 23, 2012
What happens when you have recovered from near death? You go buy some animal fat.
At least it seems that's what I do.
I had a terrible fever for more than 24 hours. Haven't been that sick since I was in China. I'm not totally better, but thought I'd better go check on Sachiko's plants, as she is away in India, and I wanted to get a little sun. I thought I might fall over at one point, and land on some semi-dried dog poo, which seemed to be abundant in that particular area.
I got through it alright and on the way back, took a very short detour to get bread and cheese, both of which I have been trying not to buy. For both money and health.
The Abaceria de San Lorenzo is worth going out of the way for, even if you might faint. Well, okay, I'm not that hard core. I was fine by then, and it was only 1 block out of the way - a short block. I had to wait a while (which I am totally accustomed to by now) while someone noticed I was there (Ramon was talking to some friends/guests with his back to me at first). Then the girl couldn't figure out which was the Payoyo cheese, and had to get Ramon to help her out, which took them both a bit. Finally she opened a new package and cut me a lardy wedge (it's the one covered in lard for preservation or just mere extravagance or whatever would make someone cover cheese in lard). There was a huge bucket of manteca or pringá, and I saw Ramon dish out a heap for a lady. He said something about Iberica, and it sounded really pretty special, and obviously homemade. I asked for a spoon of it as well. He had told the woman something about it being just his own thing he was giving away, I think. Anyways, I don't believe the girl charged me for it, or if she did, it was 50 cents. Manteca is lard and pringa is lard with a bit of meat. But from what I can tell, there is not much difference or there is quite a crossover. Manteca goes on toast for breakfast and pringa is put on sandwiches for lunch. This stuff looked really delish - it has a nice brown colour, whereas it normally is all orange. Iberica is a denominacion de origen for pigs, like the French have for their wine. Basically it means the pig is better quality. I don't know but I believe it may mean less chemicals. Oh yeah, he said bellotas, tambien. Bellotas are acorns, and the pigs fed on these are way more special. So this is some really fine lard.
I put some beans on to boil and poured olive oil over my bread, then added manteca to one side and lardy cheese to the other.
At least it seems that's what I do.
I had a terrible fever for more than 24 hours. Haven't been that sick since I was in China. I'm not totally better, but thought I'd better go check on Sachiko's plants, as she is away in India, and I wanted to get a little sun. I thought I might fall over at one point, and land on some semi-dried dog poo, which seemed to be abundant in that particular area.
I got through it alright and on the way back, took a very short detour to get bread and cheese, both of which I have been trying not to buy. For both money and health.
The Abaceria de San Lorenzo is worth going out of the way for, even if you might faint. Well, okay, I'm not that hard core. I was fine by then, and it was only 1 block out of the way - a short block. I had to wait a while (which I am totally accustomed to by now) while someone noticed I was there (Ramon was talking to some friends/guests with his back to me at first). Then the girl couldn't figure out which was the Payoyo cheese, and had to get Ramon to help her out, which took them both a bit. Finally she opened a new package and cut me a lardy wedge (it's the one covered in lard for preservation or just mere extravagance or whatever would make someone cover cheese in lard). There was a huge bucket of manteca or pringá, and I saw Ramon dish out a heap for a lady. He said something about Iberica, and it sounded really pretty special, and obviously homemade. I asked for a spoon of it as well. He had told the woman something about it being just his own thing he was giving away, I think. Anyways, I don't believe the girl charged me for it, or if she did, it was 50 cents. Manteca is lard and pringa is lard with a bit of meat. But from what I can tell, there is not much difference or there is quite a crossover. Manteca goes on toast for breakfast and pringa is put on sandwiches for lunch. This stuff looked really delish - it has a nice brown colour, whereas it normally is all orange. Iberica is a denominacion de origen for pigs, like the French have for their wine. Basically it means the pig is better quality. I don't know but I believe it may mean less chemicals. Oh yeah, he said bellotas, tambien. Bellotas are acorns, and the pigs fed on these are way more special. So this is some really fine lard.
I put some beans on to boil and poured olive oil over my bread, then added manteca to one side and lardy cheese to the other.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
I didn't have time to post it last night, and besides I've probably posted it before here and on Facebook at least once.
most fantastic video maybe on all of youtube
I don't know of anything more beautiful than Camaron's cante here, (it's not about the dancing, but that's an integral part of what makes the whole video so great. And Carmelilla isn't wearing red shoes but anyways...
The moment she started to move I was in awe. She is about 50, but is one of the most beautiful dancers I've watched. This is because of her face and the incredible expression it carries. Todo es sentido puro - everything is pure feeling. I also can't imagine her being anything but a truly nice and kind person. You also respect her because there is nothing even remotely cheap in what she does. It is all profound.
She's from a very famous flamenco family. Everyone in all of Spain knows the Montoya family; her aunt and uncle are Lole y Manuel. If people here don't know anything about flamenco, they know these names. I think they were practically like pop in the 70s. She worked with members of her family in a group, performing, she appears in probably the most important documentary (a multi-DVD thing) on flamenco, done back in the 70s or 80s.
For all that, she wore a plain, almost boring, black skirt and average kind of top. Her hair got messed up. She spoke to the audience informally as if she was in a private fiesta (there has never been a microphone at Torres Macarena when I've been there). She doesn't dance with fireworks, nor does she move around a lot - that is for cheesy flamenco. Most of what she does is understated. Then when she actually does something big, it matters.
It's amazing to watch a truly great dancer. There is almost no self-consciousness; no barrier between you and them. There is also a sense, with some of my favorite performers, that they are in another realm, where only the things that matter take up their attention. Camaron is like this, so is Aurora Vargas.
I could have happily gone home and slept after that, but it was good to finally have properly met Takako, who used to practice at Esther's studio right before me, last spring. Sachiko is off to India today, so Takako and I went out by ourselves. We found a totally empty little bar off the Alameda in my favorite neighborhood. After ordering drinks, the bartender told some other women that came by, that she was closing. It sounded serious, but maybe I didn't catch the joking. Anyhow, the three other women came in and eventually a man. We all got to talking, as we were all standing around a small bar. This is when Spain and the culture here are so superior to the reservedness of Vancouver. The ladies were totally hilarious. They were fascinted by Takako, and among a thousand jokes and funny Andaluz sayings, asked her questions, gave us their nearly flippant but at the same time serious take on flamenco, told us what bar La Lole (aunt of Carmelilla) still sings in Sundays, used the funky light fixture as a globe, "Canadá esta pa'ca, Japón pa'ca, donde esta Australia...?" Around 1:30 the bar started to fill up. It was a very cool little place - two of the ladies we hung out with were gay, and the owner was watching a show of drag queens on TV, though the bar was certainly a place where everybody hung out. Another bit of information to help fit together the puzzle about how this place works - it sometimes seems so much more traditional than North America.
One thing I have in common with a good many Japanese friends is respect for flamenco and the culture it comes from. I share a healthy reservation about just getting up and dancing in any situation. I think this is a good thing, because I know I am an outsider and this is their art, and I have come here to learn not only from the teachers, but from the general atmosphere full of average flamenco lovers who have grown up with it, and have it in their blood. But this "respect" is not how they think. This lady told us that if we feel moved, we should get up and dance, and it has nothing to do with respect or lack of, or with showing off. Others have said the same. "You must do it - you must get up and express yourself, if you have the urge".
On the other hand, the respect and willingness to actually observe another culture is a really positive thing that my Japanese friends seem to have. Takako said she felt she could learn about flamenco from these ladies (despite the fact that they are not dancers, just average Sevillanas). They have a way of being that is Andalucian; that is flamenco. Many foreigners do not see that deeply into what flamenco is. Sachiko described the same thing - a friend brought a bunch of Andalucian friends to Juan del Gastor's bulerias practice session. She said they didn't move around very much. But you could see them feeling the music, and when it builds enough, they erupt with small moves that are pure feeling; not a bunch of memorized pasos that foreigners do that are showy jumping around all over, and certainly have feeling too, but excited, frenzied or disorganised feeling, rather than grounded, full of space and time.
most fantastic video maybe on all of youtube
I don't know of anything more beautiful than Camaron's cante here, (it's not about the dancing, but that's an integral part of what makes the whole video so great. And Carmelilla isn't wearing red shoes but anyways...
The moment she started to move I was in awe. She is about 50, but is one of the most beautiful dancers I've watched. This is because of her face and the incredible expression it carries. Todo es sentido puro - everything is pure feeling. I also can't imagine her being anything but a truly nice and kind person. You also respect her because there is nothing even remotely cheap in what she does. It is all profound.
She's from a very famous flamenco family. Everyone in all of Spain knows the Montoya family; her aunt and uncle are Lole y Manuel. If people here don't know anything about flamenco, they know these names. I think they were practically like pop in the 70s. She worked with members of her family in a group, performing, she appears in probably the most important documentary (a multi-DVD thing) on flamenco, done back in the 70s or 80s.
For all that, she wore a plain, almost boring, black skirt and average kind of top. Her hair got messed up. She spoke to the audience informally as if she was in a private fiesta (there has never been a microphone at Torres Macarena when I've been there). She doesn't dance with fireworks, nor does she move around a lot - that is for cheesy flamenco. Most of what she does is understated. Then when she actually does something big, it matters.
It's amazing to watch a truly great dancer. There is almost no self-consciousness; no barrier between you and them. There is also a sense, with some of my favorite performers, that they are in another realm, where only the things that matter take up their attention. Camaron is like this, so is Aurora Vargas.
I could have happily gone home and slept after that, but it was good to finally have properly met Takako, who used to practice at Esther's studio right before me, last spring. Sachiko is off to India today, so Takako and I went out by ourselves. We found a totally empty little bar off the Alameda in my favorite neighborhood. After ordering drinks, the bartender told some other women that came by, that she was closing. It sounded serious, but maybe I didn't catch the joking. Anyhow, the three other women came in and eventually a man. We all got to talking, as we were all standing around a small bar. This is when Spain and the culture here are so superior to the reservedness of Vancouver. The ladies were totally hilarious. They were fascinted by Takako, and among a thousand jokes and funny Andaluz sayings, asked her questions, gave us their nearly flippant but at the same time serious take on flamenco, told us what bar La Lole (aunt of Carmelilla) still sings in Sundays, used the funky light fixture as a globe, "Canadá esta pa'ca, Japón pa'ca, donde esta Australia...?" Around 1:30 the bar started to fill up. It was a very cool little place - two of the ladies we hung out with were gay, and the owner was watching a show of drag queens on TV, though the bar was certainly a place where everybody hung out. Another bit of information to help fit together the puzzle about how this place works - it sometimes seems so much more traditional than North America.
One thing I have in common with a good many Japanese friends is respect for flamenco and the culture it comes from. I share a healthy reservation about just getting up and dancing in any situation. I think this is a good thing, because I know I am an outsider and this is their art, and I have come here to learn not only from the teachers, but from the general atmosphere full of average flamenco lovers who have grown up with it, and have it in their blood. But this "respect" is not how they think. This lady told us that if we feel moved, we should get up and dance, and it has nothing to do with respect or lack of, or with showing off. Others have said the same. "You must do it - you must get up and express yourself, if you have the urge".
On the other hand, the respect and willingness to actually observe another culture is a really positive thing that my Japanese friends seem to have. Takako said she felt she could learn about flamenco from these ladies (despite the fact that they are not dancers, just average Sevillanas). They have a way of being that is Andalucian; that is flamenco. Many foreigners do not see that deeply into what flamenco is. Sachiko described the same thing - a friend brought a bunch of Andalucian friends to Juan del Gastor's bulerias practice session. She said they didn't move around very much. But you could see them feeling the music, and when it builds enough, they erupt with small moves that are pure feeling; not a bunch of memorized pasos that foreigners do that are showy jumping around all over, and certainly have feeling too, but excited, frenzied or disorganised feeling, rather than grounded, full of space and time.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Well, today was a success. I was very scared to go play with Ernesto. I thought he would tell me I was boring again, and we wouldn't get along. But by the time I left my hair was all messed up and I was laughing. He seemed excited to see me and we fell off the couch, helped each other get up, and pretended to do whatever random thing entered our minds. He organised his numbers (up to 25) and his animals that he already knows well enough, and the only thing I really did was try to keep the conversation in English. Basically I spent much of the time translating. He would say something in Spanish and I would repeat it in English instead. It seems like he and his mom do most of the actual learning during the week and they just want a native speaker to make it more natural, I suppose.
Now I am dressed in my dress pants that I thought I absolutely had to get to work in a business environment, and red shoes. It is suitable to go see Carmelilla Montoya wearing read shoes, cause she dances in them. She is the dancer in what may be my all time favorite video on youtube, where Camaron sings bulerias in a private fiesta, and she dances at the end.
Now I am dressed in my dress pants that I thought I absolutely had to get to work in a business environment, and red shoes. It is suitable to go see Carmelilla Montoya wearing read shoes, cause she dances in them. She is the dancer in what may be my all time favorite video on youtube, where Camaron sings bulerias in a private fiesta, and she dances at the end.
Well a bunch of technology guys inventing new search engines that have prospective applications in artificial intelligence are just not going to go find their English teacher from a piece of soggy paper taped to a wall of some random building. Thank goodness I didn't even bother with that in the end.
The classes went well today. I tell you, it is not an easy thing to come up with a lesson plan. I made my best effort at that in China and half the time it failed. What might seem like a great idea in your head sometimes doesn't work well when received by a bunch of students. You can't just randomly tack together a bunch of diverse ideas for stuff to do. Unless you have worked with or led groups of people before, it is hard to know how to handle them. For me it is hard to take control; I prefer to let things go their own way and be there to help out. But that is not possible in structured classes. I can already tell I am going to have to tell Fran to stop talking and let his guys get practice. And the beginner group (there is a large range in ability) - it isn't as easy as you think it would be, to keep your explanations very, very simple.
Anyways they all responded well to games (I spy worked well for advanced and beginner alike), and most of them benefitted from saying the alphabet, and spelling out their names using the English way of saying letters. Nobody needed the detailed pronunciation of "h" that I had planned; they could all say a short "i" as in my name "Kim", and they weren't too bad with "Spain" either. (Normally Spanish speakers can only say an "sp" if there is an "e" in front of it: "Espain")
Now I rush off to Ernesto's house.
The classes went well today. I tell you, it is not an easy thing to come up with a lesson plan. I made my best effort at that in China and half the time it failed. What might seem like a great idea in your head sometimes doesn't work well when received by a bunch of students. You can't just randomly tack together a bunch of diverse ideas for stuff to do. Unless you have worked with or led groups of people before, it is hard to know how to handle them. For me it is hard to take control; I prefer to let things go their own way and be there to help out. But that is not possible in structured classes. I can already tell I am going to have to tell Fran to stop talking and let his guys get practice. And the beginner group (there is a large range in ability) - it isn't as easy as you think it would be, to keep your explanations very, very simple.
Anyways they all responded well to games (I spy worked well for advanced and beginner alike), and most of them benefitted from saying the alphabet, and spelling out their names using the English way of saying letters. Nobody needed the detailed pronunciation of "h" that I had planned; they could all say a short "i" as in my name "Kim", and they weren't too bad with "Spain" either. (Normally Spanish speakers can only say an "sp" if there is an "e" in front of it: "Espain")
Now I rush off to Ernesto's house.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
I feel rotten today due to lack of sleep and late sleeping hours for the last two nights.
But I've joined the working world again. The "normal" working world too.
I spent Tuesday preparing and took the bus at 7:30 from Plaza Duque to the Parque Empresarial Nuevo Torneo. It was like any other business park - sets of towers and nicely designed-up plazas with coffee shops and papelerias. You even press the button for what floor you want to reach and the console tells you what elevator will go to that floor. There are no buttons once you're inside the elevator.
They widely varied in levels of English, and I gave them a "placement test", so I could map out exactly what grammar points there are problems with and what each person is good at. I didn't get time to do the rest of the long lesson I'd planned because they sent me another group right away. There are two companies that want lessons.
There are two or three that have confidence speaking. A few others know a lot and have excellent grammar but are shy to speak. Then there is a whole group who are kind of in between and a few who don't understand much.
The oldest man in the group was 38, and also the only one dressed in business attire. He is from the assessoria. I think that means tax stuff, law stuff. The rest are a range from 22 to 34, with Fran's guys being all in their 20s.
I went and had a coffee and media tostada (half toast) in one of the coffee shops at the bottom of the towers. It was slightly less characterful than the traditional bars in the city center, but it still had a nice feeling that the Spanish give their bars, with the patrons all standing around chatting while they take their coffee break, and the interactions with the bartender who is all business and fast, and has none of the tacky Starbucks fake professional mannerism. I sat there in the sun, having finished two hours of work before 11 am, and being among a bunch of productive business-y type people.
But I've joined the working world again. The "normal" working world too.
I spent Tuesday preparing and took the bus at 7:30 from Plaza Duque to the Parque Empresarial Nuevo Torneo. It was like any other business park - sets of towers and nicely designed-up plazas with coffee shops and papelerias. You even press the button for what floor you want to reach and the console tells you what elevator will go to that floor. There are no buttons once you're inside the elevator.
They widely varied in levels of English, and I gave them a "placement test", so I could map out exactly what grammar points there are problems with and what each person is good at. I didn't get time to do the rest of the long lesson I'd planned because they sent me another group right away. There are two companies that want lessons.
There are two or three that have confidence speaking. A few others know a lot and have excellent grammar but are shy to speak. Then there is a whole group who are kind of in between and a few who don't understand much.
The oldest man in the group was 38, and also the only one dressed in business attire. He is from the assessoria. I think that means tax stuff, law stuff. The rest are a range from 22 to 34, with Fran's guys being all in their 20s.
I went and had a coffee and media tostada (half toast) in one of the coffee shops at the bottom of the towers. It was slightly less characterful than the traditional bars in the city center, but it still had a nice feeling that the Spanish give their bars, with the patrons all standing around chatting while they take their coffee break, and the interactions with the bartender who is all business and fast, and has none of the tacky Starbucks fake professional mannerism. I sat there in the sun, having finished two hours of work before 11 am, and being among a bunch of productive business-y type people.
Monday, February 13, 2012
It was a big day.
After making sure my clothes were ironed and free of lint and I had deodorant on and even perfume and my roommates made a bit of fun of me for wearing heels, I went to meet Fran, the young director of the IT company interested in English classes.
I hadn't needed to be worried about dressing too properly, but it is far better to be overdressed than under, especially when dealing with gente de negocio (businesspeople) and in Spain. I kinda assumed that a bunch of IT guys would be casual, but you really never know.
Fran (short for Francisco) must be about 30. There are 5 people in total in the Sevilla location of the company, which has offices in London, South Africa and Sri-Lanka. The London office has an wide variety of nationalities represented by their workers. Obviously everyone from all the offices speaks English.
It seems like a pretty cool company, really, and is nice to think I can help out these people with a fairly new business. They use open-source software (which is exciting) but work for all kinds of companies worldwide, to deal with their electronic or online content management. This area is still slightly hazy to me, but basically they need to have their data available and organized online, and I suppose this is not a simply task.
Anyhow, it will be good work for me. There may be another company next door in the Parque Empresarial who also need an English teacher. If it all works out and they both want me for the time he mentioned, every week, it would pay the rent. Then I will just need a few more Ernestos to pay for the food...
My hands feel like the skin is dissolving. There are cracks, and they are swollen and red. It is really dry as well as being cold. Que horror, que barbaridad. The "h" is not pronounced, the two r's get rolled, and the emphasis is on the second syllable. The only difference with barbarity is that the "i" is pronounced "ee". That is what the Spanish say when they are disgusted, in this case by the cold.
I finally went to see Maria tonight after meeting with Fran. Maria gave me a huge hug and we talked and got some beers from next door and then some friends of hers came in and more chatting happened. I don't know how she ever gets any work done. This time there were several ladies from Jerez, and one from Madrid here for a market of artesan products which they've invited me to come to. It is the Madrid girl's birthday Thursday and I am invited to that. The guy from the tiny bar next door came over with about 8 huge empty tomato cans for Maria. A discussion got started on what kind of bugs everyone hates or doesn't mind, because one of the ladies suggested Maria put geraniums in the cans, at the door of her shop. She said no, because she can't stand gusanos (worms) which the geraniums here get. The Jerez lady said that she quite liked ratoncitos (little mice). Her husband's family is involved in the Jerez winery Gonzalez Byass and she told us the former boss, an old man, used to give pocket money to his nephews for catching mice. He would put a sherry glass with sweet wine out, and one by one the mice would climb up and drink. The next one would push the previous drunken one out of the way so he could drink and this way the drunken mice were easy to catch.
I never did get a chance to ask Maria about getting in touch with the man who fixes sewing machines, who would have a line on good used ones for sale.
After making sure my clothes were ironed and free of lint and I had deodorant on and even perfume and my roommates made a bit of fun of me for wearing heels, I went to meet Fran, the young director of the IT company interested in English classes.
I hadn't needed to be worried about dressing too properly, but it is far better to be overdressed than under, especially when dealing with gente de negocio (businesspeople) and in Spain. I kinda assumed that a bunch of IT guys would be casual, but you really never know.
Fran (short for Francisco) must be about 30. There are 5 people in total in the Sevilla location of the company, which has offices in London, South Africa and Sri-Lanka. The London office has an wide variety of nationalities represented by their workers. Obviously everyone from all the offices speaks English.
It seems like a pretty cool company, really, and is nice to think I can help out these people with a fairly new business. They use open-source software (which is exciting) but work for all kinds of companies worldwide, to deal with their electronic or online content management. This area is still slightly hazy to me, but basically they need to have their data available and organized online, and I suppose this is not a simply task.
Anyhow, it will be good work for me. There may be another company next door in the Parque Empresarial who also need an English teacher. If it all works out and they both want me for the time he mentioned, every week, it would pay the rent. Then I will just need a few more Ernestos to pay for the food...
My hands feel like the skin is dissolving. There are cracks, and they are swollen and red. It is really dry as well as being cold. Que horror, que barbaridad. The "h" is not pronounced, the two r's get rolled, and the emphasis is on the second syllable. The only difference with barbarity is that the "i" is pronounced "ee". That is what the Spanish say when they are disgusted, in this case by the cold.
I finally went to see Maria tonight after meeting with Fran. Maria gave me a huge hug and we talked and got some beers from next door and then some friends of hers came in and more chatting happened. I don't know how she ever gets any work done. This time there were several ladies from Jerez, and one from Madrid here for a market of artesan products which they've invited me to come to. It is the Madrid girl's birthday Thursday and I am invited to that. The guy from the tiny bar next door came over with about 8 huge empty tomato cans for Maria. A discussion got started on what kind of bugs everyone hates or doesn't mind, because one of the ladies suggested Maria put geraniums in the cans, at the door of her shop. She said no, because she can't stand gusanos (worms) which the geraniums here get. The Jerez lady said that she quite liked ratoncitos (little mice). Her husband's family is involved in the Jerez winery Gonzalez Byass and she told us the former boss, an old man, used to give pocket money to his nephews for catching mice. He would put a sherry glass with sweet wine out, and one by one the mice would climb up and drink. The next one would push the previous drunken one out of the way so he could drink and this way the drunken mice were easy to catch.
I never did get a chance to ask Maria about getting in touch with the man who fixes sewing machines, who would have a line on good used ones for sale.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Yesterday: shopped for material with Sachiko and gave advice on what I thought would work and not work. Bought cheap pants that could be worn to an office. Cut my (own) hair. Met Salome and Angela but they went to a pena that cost €5 for a student dancer that I didn't care about seeing so I left and went home to listen to George Michaels and Duran Duran and Eurythmics and wonder if there were any 80s nights at clubs here. I worked on my teaching certificate.
Today I worked on the blouse pattern for Sachiko, which has a serious flaw and I need to re-do it. Besides she asked for a design change. Had a frigid shower in a cold house. Was completely unhappy and ranted on facebook about leaving a sensible 9-5 job in a country that never runs out of hot water to live in a place where the stable temperature of my body is seriously at stake.
The last few days have been really cold - about how Vancouver was when I was home. It felt like 2 degrees, and apparently went below zero last night. This is not normal here. I stopped for a coffee after my practice session today. I try not to spend money on things like that but sometimes it is the only way to get sun and I need to do it. I read in the paper that Andalucia has gotten only 63% of the precipitation it normally gets, and it has not been this dry since the 60s. In fact, it is as sunny as summer, every day.
Well, for the last two days Rocio and I have been both having the hot water cut out after only showering a few minutes - not long enough to get your body temperature up enough to cope with the water going cool. Today it was COLD the whole time. The gas "box" on the wall that is responsible for the heating is new; there should be no problems like a year ago when the pressure went so low you couldn't actually shower unless it was lukewarm. Our "bonbon" was getting low - we still had gas though - enough to make several cups of tea and fry some food, yet it refused to allow me hot water.
I don't mind a bit of the "starving artist" thing. I knew I was getting myself in for a different life without some stuff; having to be careful. But this is not much of a step above being homeless - (fine, I'm exaggerating, but shivering to me is like a kind of terrible suffering - I think I might rather go without food).
The problem is this is the norm, in middle class apartments. Even the poor (as long as they are not homeless) have a better standard of living in Canada. If a person in Canada has a roof over their head, there is always (to my knowledge) a hot water tank that stands as tall as a grown adult, and only runs out of water when several people take long showers and do the dishes too. You have to be really extravagant at home, to run out of hot water, and you have to be homeless to not have an enormous hot water tank.
Even Sachiko's really lovely apartment all stylishly built only lets you have 5 minutes of hot water (I counted). This is only barely enough to satisfactorily shower. It is not quite enough to warm up a cold body in a building less insulated than an igloo.
I can live with dirt, without toilet paper, with a bedroom disconnected from the house where you have to go outside to the toilet. But I cannot live without heat. Homayoun's place was a drastic improvement above most Sevillan apartments; the main living space was generally heated! I couldn't care less that the shower floor was full of mud - the hot water didn't run out unless the water itself got disconnected and ruined the solar panel.
My hands are full of chilblains - swollen and cracking. That is because you do not have hot water on demand, the moment you want it here. And because I have not adjusted my use of water. At home, it would be necessary to turn on the water in the sink before you sit on the toilet. By the time you get up, the water might have run warm enough to use, depending on how long you sat there. Same goes in the kitchen. If you need to rinse off your hand quickly - sorry. When you are using a washroom elsewhere - a bar or cafe, the studio - they usually only have cold water. That's why you get chilblains. If you think it doesn't matter using cold water every time you wash your hands in winter, try it - while having the thermostat in your house turned off and having to go around the house in a puffy coat.
Okay. I have complained enough. It's great here.
Fine, my place is nice and has 12 foot ceilings.
Today I worked on the blouse pattern for Sachiko, which has a serious flaw and I need to re-do it. Besides she asked for a design change. Had a frigid shower in a cold house. Was completely unhappy and ranted on facebook about leaving a sensible 9-5 job in a country that never runs out of hot water to live in a place where the stable temperature of my body is seriously at stake.
The last few days have been really cold - about how Vancouver was when I was home. It felt like 2 degrees, and apparently went below zero last night. This is not normal here. I stopped for a coffee after my practice session today. I try not to spend money on things like that but sometimes it is the only way to get sun and I need to do it. I read in the paper that Andalucia has gotten only 63% of the precipitation it normally gets, and it has not been this dry since the 60s. In fact, it is as sunny as summer, every day.
Well, for the last two days Rocio and I have been both having the hot water cut out after only showering a few minutes - not long enough to get your body temperature up enough to cope with the water going cool. Today it was COLD the whole time. The gas "box" on the wall that is responsible for the heating is new; there should be no problems like a year ago when the pressure went so low you couldn't actually shower unless it was lukewarm. Our "bonbon" was getting low - we still had gas though - enough to make several cups of tea and fry some food, yet it refused to allow me hot water.
I don't mind a bit of the "starving artist" thing. I knew I was getting myself in for a different life without some stuff; having to be careful. But this is not much of a step above being homeless - (fine, I'm exaggerating, but shivering to me is like a kind of terrible suffering - I think I might rather go without food).
The problem is this is the norm, in middle class apartments. Even the poor (as long as they are not homeless) have a better standard of living in Canada. If a person in Canada has a roof over their head, there is always (to my knowledge) a hot water tank that stands as tall as a grown adult, and only runs out of water when several people take long showers and do the dishes too. You have to be really extravagant at home, to run out of hot water, and you have to be homeless to not have an enormous hot water tank.
Even Sachiko's really lovely apartment all stylishly built only lets you have 5 minutes of hot water (I counted). This is only barely enough to satisfactorily shower. It is not quite enough to warm up a cold body in a building less insulated than an igloo.
I can live with dirt, without toilet paper, with a bedroom disconnected from the house where you have to go outside to the toilet. But I cannot live without heat. Homayoun's place was a drastic improvement above most Sevillan apartments; the main living space was generally heated! I couldn't care less that the shower floor was full of mud - the hot water didn't run out unless the water itself got disconnected and ruined the solar panel.
My hands are full of chilblains - swollen and cracking. That is because you do not have hot water on demand, the moment you want it here. And because I have not adjusted my use of water. At home, it would be necessary to turn on the water in the sink before you sit on the toilet. By the time you get up, the water might have run warm enough to use, depending on how long you sat there. Same goes in the kitchen. If you need to rinse off your hand quickly - sorry. When you are using a washroom elsewhere - a bar or cafe, the studio - they usually only have cold water. That's why you get chilblains. If you think it doesn't matter using cold water every time you wash your hands in winter, try it - while having the thermostat in your house turned off and having to go around the house in a puffy coat.
Okay. I have complained enough. It's great here.
Fine, my place is nice and has 12 foot ceilings.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Apparently I am no fun. "No tiene gracia," said Ernesto (using the formal conjugation of the verb for me, I suppose because I am a stranger and way older). Ernesto is three. He already can read in Spanish and quite a lot in English, though I believe a lot of that is memorized. He keeps his toys, puzzles and books astoundingly organised, of his own accord.
Yesterday when Ana called me and said it was a niño of three years, I thought, "Good Lord, can they even speak?" Evidently I am not very experienced with kids. I was terrified to go meet Ana for an "interview", but she really didn't quiz me or anything. I spent a long time yesterday looking up all sorts of children's learning activities, but she says I will not need to prepare anything. He enjoys reading or being read to, and drawing a bit.
Anyways, kids don't lie. If he says I am boring, well, I guess that's what I am.
I have walked far and wide looking for a straightedge and finally found one in a sewing store with excellent, high quality products and sewing machines, right next to home. I am 100% confident that I can make a stretchy blouse with ruffles around the neck, custom fit to my friend (given time enough to correct any mistakes and try over). This does not frighten me. Trying to "teach English" to a three year old does. Learning to speak Chinese does not intimidate me in the least, nor does taking up the violin. Pretending I am an expert in teaching English to businessmen and having to put on clothes that will be suitable enough for an office, and invent activities and lessons for them, does (the hard part of it is that I don't enjoy orchestrating groups of people to do some kind of activity of imagined or indirect importance. It takes a heck of a lot of confidence - or bull-headedness - to drag along others on a hoop jumping expedition and actually believe in what you are doing. Perhaps businessmen who need English will be different.) Anyways, it is time to hide in my own little space with the heater and music on and do what I want.
Oh and by the way bulerias suck too. I haven't got the slightest clue about anything and I've been studying it for a while.
Yesterday when Ana called me and said it was a niño of three years, I thought, "Good Lord, can they even speak?" Evidently I am not very experienced with kids. I was terrified to go meet Ana for an "interview", but she really didn't quiz me or anything. I spent a long time yesterday looking up all sorts of children's learning activities, but she says I will not need to prepare anything. He enjoys reading or being read to, and drawing a bit.
Anyways, kids don't lie. If he says I am boring, well, I guess that's what I am.
I have walked far and wide looking for a straightedge and finally found one in a sewing store with excellent, high quality products and sewing machines, right next to home. I am 100% confident that I can make a stretchy blouse with ruffles around the neck, custom fit to my friend (given time enough to correct any mistakes and try over). This does not frighten me. Trying to "teach English" to a three year old does. Learning to speak Chinese does not intimidate me in the least, nor does taking up the violin. Pretending I am an expert in teaching English to businessmen and having to put on clothes that will be suitable enough for an office, and invent activities and lessons for them, does (the hard part of it is that I don't enjoy orchestrating groups of people to do some kind of activity of imagined or indirect importance. It takes a heck of a lot of confidence - or bull-headedness - to drag along others on a hoop jumping expedition and actually believe in what you are doing. Perhaps businessmen who need English will be different.) Anyways, it is time to hide in my own little space with the heater and music on and do what I want.
Oh and by the way bulerias suck too. I haven't got the slightest clue about anything and I've been studying it for a while.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Job interview yesterday. Three responses so far to an ad I put in mundo anuncio, a classified online thing. I was aiming for individuals, but two of the responses so far have been businesses: and academy and a company wanting in house training.
Basically the situation is this: there is a demand for my services as English teacher here. I could have had at least 3 jobs last fall, except for work permit issues. Two had been desperate. I am better qualified than some of my friends or acquaintances who teach: I have experience and am (almost) certified, whereas I don't actually know anyone personally, who is certified, yet they all have jobs.
Also, I do not have even a remote chance of work like this at home: to work at a "decent" job in Canada I would have to return to physics lab teaching which I will simply not do (besides, there are only a few colleges and the position I left is filled). In Vancouver is it not possible to teach ESL without a degree in English, often a Masters, plus the other certification. The wages are not good for Vancouver, either. This is not saying that I won't come home if it seems like the best idea. It just means I will be working in a cafe or freelancing at something.
Irony.
I took a trip to the oficina de extranjeros this morning instead of going to the studio. I stood in the long line up and went through the new x-ray machine they have installed, so I could ask what I already knew online, but thought perhaps might be different or more relaxed if I went in person, seeing as how an amiga did that and it sounded less complicated than what officially was written. Not so.
I decided to stop on the way back for a chance to sit in the sun. It is often warmer outdoors than in. The weather has been back and forth - warm to cold. I stopped in Barrio Santa Cruz, the tourist area, and asked beforehand how much the cup of coffee would cost me there. A very friendly Brazilian waitress who charged me 25 centimos less in the end, advised me that I should go work in Brazil, and even wrote down on my newpaper the city: Rio del Norte. I could barely understand her Spanish.
Yesterday I went late in the day to the studio, since I had the interview in the morning. I practiced in studio C, instead of A, as at that hour someone was scheduled in A and B. No one came, however, which makes me think that I am the most faithful practicer, besides perhaps Sachiko, using that studio, as the same thing happens in the morning. All the clocks in the studio run on some different conception of time, I suppose. Often time has stopped entirely, but it will randomly begin again when the clock happens to feel like starting up. I have really never seen clocks like this and am surprised that several of them exist in one location.
Basically the situation is this: there is a demand for my services as English teacher here. I could have had at least 3 jobs last fall, except for work permit issues. Two had been desperate. I am better qualified than some of my friends or acquaintances who teach: I have experience and am (almost) certified, whereas I don't actually know anyone personally, who is certified, yet they all have jobs.
Also, I do not have even a remote chance of work like this at home: to work at a "decent" job in Canada I would have to return to physics lab teaching which I will simply not do (besides, there are only a few colleges and the position I left is filled). In Vancouver is it not possible to teach ESL without a degree in English, often a Masters, plus the other certification. The wages are not good for Vancouver, either. This is not saying that I won't come home if it seems like the best idea. It just means I will be working in a cafe or freelancing at something.
Irony.
I took a trip to the oficina de extranjeros this morning instead of going to the studio. I stood in the long line up and went through the new x-ray machine they have installed, so I could ask what I already knew online, but thought perhaps might be different or more relaxed if I went in person, seeing as how an amiga did that and it sounded less complicated than what officially was written. Not so.
I decided to stop on the way back for a chance to sit in the sun. It is often warmer outdoors than in. The weather has been back and forth - warm to cold. I stopped in Barrio Santa Cruz, the tourist area, and asked beforehand how much the cup of coffee would cost me there. A very friendly Brazilian waitress who charged me 25 centimos less in the end, advised me that I should go work in Brazil, and even wrote down on my newpaper the city: Rio del Norte. I could barely understand her Spanish.
Yesterday I went late in the day to the studio, since I had the interview in the morning. I practiced in studio C, instead of A, as at that hour someone was scheduled in A and B. No one came, however, which makes me think that I am the most faithful practicer, besides perhaps Sachiko, using that studio, as the same thing happens in the morning. All the clocks in the studio run on some different conception of time, I suppose. Often time has stopped entirely, but it will randomly begin again when the clock happens to feel like starting up. I have really never seen clocks like this and am surprised that several of them exist in one location.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Smoke, smoke, missing lighters, tables and more tables
Despite Rocio being brusque and slightly on the bossy side, she has made the kitchen and "living room", if it can be called one, a bit more homey. She finally insisted on installing an Andalucian heating system: a blanket over the kitchen table. Me da igual - it's equal to me/I don't care. Having to be stuck at the kitchen table when I am at home in order to keep warm is almost pointless. I live in my inherited puffy jacket. All day, all night.
Anyways, today the readout on the dash of the taxi said 18 degrees. Yesterday and the day before he told me it had been reading 2 or 3. I now have a very large tilting table in this place that I am still feeling uncomfortable in. I should have taken the apartment in Triana, from where the girl who sold it me was leaving. It was bright, big, nice and with nice girls. Concha thinks that smoking in her room will solve the problem. I still haven't had a chance to tell her the only way that it will work is if she opens the window to let the smoke out. (How I hate to ask that of someone... if she has any problem with doing it, which she very well may, then I need to leave.) What an awful, awkward situation. I don't want to be demanding of such a nice person. I go in my room and close the door(s) when I am here. They have to remain as closed as they can, which isn't very closed, being two very funky old half-doors that are warped at the top, with a large space at the bottom, and no proper handle to close them. From the inside there is a lame latch. I stuff bags under the doors at night.
My intuition is always wrong, it seems. At least when it comes to living arrangements. All my life I have been taught to trust it. It cannot be trusted, evidently. I think I should hire someone else to choose the correct place for me next time.
Salome, a dancer friend from Vancouver here for a couple months has a worse place though. She asked me for tips finding places here. I did my best but I couldn't really help her in the end. She found this place with a literally crazy Russian lady who controls everything, doesn't let her have an extra blanket or heating, even after her brother went back to Costa Rica, and there obviously is an extra blanket. It was nice to have her visit yesterday. She brought wraps, tea and coffee, beer and even lemon to put in it. I told her she didn't have to bring all this, and she says, "I am a mother, you know!" We sat in the dark "living room" while Rocio blasted the TV with "Dead Man Walking" dubbed in Spanish of course, and Salome and I tried not to cry about Sean Penn about to be electrocuted or whatever barbaric thing they do to them. It was cold in the dark "living room" and Concha had taken away the lighter (needed for the stove) to her room and appeared to be gone to sleep. So I made a note to buy my own lighter and keep it in secret reserve, and we didn't have anything else hot to drink but went and talked flamenco sitting on my bed, huddled up to the heater. It all feels very starving artist. How many times have I said it already? - the standard of living here is not equal to that at home... that is, if it is measured in heat and hot water, fitting doors, and toilet seats and shower heads that actually stay where they belong. At least Concha is an adult with a job and feels like she can afford to leave on the pilot light of the gas hot water heater. Still, it takes too long to wait until the water is heated up to have warm water to wash your hands in every time you actually need it. Chilblains.
I must try to remember what the heck my "heart" really cares about and try to concentrate on that. Sometimes I don't know though.
Hmmm... at least I have two tables. What luxury. You should see my huge drafting table!
Anyways, today the readout on the dash of the taxi said 18 degrees. Yesterday and the day before he told me it had been reading 2 or 3. I now have a very large tilting table in this place that I am still feeling uncomfortable in. I should have taken the apartment in Triana, from where the girl who sold it me was leaving. It was bright, big, nice and with nice girls. Concha thinks that smoking in her room will solve the problem. I still haven't had a chance to tell her the only way that it will work is if she opens the window to let the smoke out. (How I hate to ask that of someone... if she has any problem with doing it, which she very well may, then I need to leave.) What an awful, awkward situation. I don't want to be demanding of such a nice person. I go in my room and close the door(s) when I am here. They have to remain as closed as they can, which isn't very closed, being two very funky old half-doors that are warped at the top, with a large space at the bottom, and no proper handle to close them. From the inside there is a lame latch. I stuff bags under the doors at night.
My intuition is always wrong, it seems. At least when it comes to living arrangements. All my life I have been taught to trust it. It cannot be trusted, evidently. I think I should hire someone else to choose the correct place for me next time.
Salome, a dancer friend from Vancouver here for a couple months has a worse place though. She asked me for tips finding places here. I did my best but I couldn't really help her in the end. She found this place with a literally crazy Russian lady who controls everything, doesn't let her have an extra blanket or heating, even after her brother went back to Costa Rica, and there obviously is an extra blanket. It was nice to have her visit yesterday. She brought wraps, tea and coffee, beer and even lemon to put in it. I told her she didn't have to bring all this, and she says, "I am a mother, you know!" We sat in the dark "living room" while Rocio blasted the TV with "Dead Man Walking" dubbed in Spanish of course, and Salome and I tried not to cry about Sean Penn about to be electrocuted or whatever barbaric thing they do to them. It was cold in the dark "living room" and Concha had taken away the lighter (needed for the stove) to her room and appeared to be gone to sleep. So I made a note to buy my own lighter and keep it in secret reserve, and we didn't have anything else hot to drink but went and talked flamenco sitting on my bed, huddled up to the heater. It all feels very starving artist. How many times have I said it already? - the standard of living here is not equal to that at home... that is, if it is measured in heat and hot water, fitting doors, and toilet seats and shower heads that actually stay where they belong. At least Concha is an adult with a job and feels like she can afford to leave on the pilot light of the gas hot water heater. Still, it takes too long to wait until the water is heated up to have warm water to wash your hands in every time you actually need it. Chilblains.
I must try to remember what the heck my "heart" really cares about and try to concentrate on that. Sometimes I don't know though.
Hmmm... at least I have two tables. What luxury. You should see my huge drafting table!
Friday, February 3, 2012
Luis Moneo y Juan del Gastor at Torres Macarena.
Amazing traditional singing and guitar. Really traditional. Which means better, to me. Juan plays like his uncle, Diego del Gastor (guitar giant). Slow, simple, but with a subtle kind of energy like the best kind of traditional blues - like hot burning coals, not a roaring fire. The energy is contained, it is all deep down, not some hyper junk on the surface. If you aren't used to it and judge things based on technical prowess rather than feeling it, you might think it's boring or too simple. That is, until the energy builds and makes you take notice. Juan gets in a zone, playing a very simple riff, almost like he's meditating. Some of the best rock'n'roll was like this - simple but with soul.
Luis on the other hand has the classic flamenco voice. Kind of perfect. It's clear, you can even hear almost all of his letras and understand them. But he has queja (complaint) in his voice. Luis is El Torta's brother (I think, or relative, but looks like brother). He did a beautiful solea, an awesome siguiriyas and a stunning tonas (most serious and deep, a capella).
It is really cold today. I have been saved by Sachiko's friend who left a suitcase full of clothes stranded here in Spain for 2 years until finally she was forced to give them away. I am currently wearing a brown padded coat. It is on me almost all the time, even at night, as an extra blanket. Rocio, the new roommate, complained like crazy last night because there was no tablecloth on the kitchen table with a heater under it. I never noticed. Unless there is central heating it's all the same to me. We have heaters in our rooms. I am not sure about Rocio. I'm sure she'll be fine. She is a bit pesada ("heavy") though, like sticking her laptop in my face while I'm trying to fry some onions, because she can't get it connected to the internet. She expects me to somehow be able to figure it out better than her, with all these technical things written in Spanish that come up on her computer.
Today I bought a pair of proper scissors for my upcoming sewing projects. I also picked up yet more fabric - this time from the leftovers rack. It has huge polka dots and is the kind of stuff feria dresses get made out of except that it isn't enough to make a dress. It was very cheap so I will practice to see if a woven cotton that stretches in only one direction can work for a dance piece. The fabric store had an enormous lineup on a Thursday evening, and the atmosphere seemed high. I asked a woman browsing the remnant rack why there were so many people there - what was the special occassion. She said it is carneval season and people are probably buying stuff to disfrace (dress up, disguise themselves in costume). Entire families were there in the lineup which didn't really move, until they jumped me ahead of several guys with their kids.
Amazing traditional singing and guitar. Really traditional. Which means better, to me. Juan plays like his uncle, Diego del Gastor (guitar giant). Slow, simple, but with a subtle kind of energy like the best kind of traditional blues - like hot burning coals, not a roaring fire. The energy is contained, it is all deep down, not some hyper junk on the surface. If you aren't used to it and judge things based on technical prowess rather than feeling it, you might think it's boring or too simple. That is, until the energy builds and makes you take notice. Juan gets in a zone, playing a very simple riff, almost like he's meditating. Some of the best rock'n'roll was like this - simple but with soul.
Luis on the other hand has the classic flamenco voice. Kind of perfect. It's clear, you can even hear almost all of his letras and understand them. But he has queja (complaint) in his voice. Luis is El Torta's brother (I think, or relative, but looks like brother). He did a beautiful solea, an awesome siguiriyas and a stunning tonas (most serious and deep, a capella).
It is really cold today. I have been saved by Sachiko's friend who left a suitcase full of clothes stranded here in Spain for 2 years until finally she was forced to give them away. I am currently wearing a brown padded coat. It is on me almost all the time, even at night, as an extra blanket. Rocio, the new roommate, complained like crazy last night because there was no tablecloth on the kitchen table with a heater under it. I never noticed. Unless there is central heating it's all the same to me. We have heaters in our rooms. I am not sure about Rocio. I'm sure she'll be fine. She is a bit pesada ("heavy") though, like sticking her laptop in my face while I'm trying to fry some onions, because she can't get it connected to the internet. She expects me to somehow be able to figure it out better than her, with all these technical things written in Spanish that come up on her computer.
Today I bought a pair of proper scissors for my upcoming sewing projects. I also picked up yet more fabric - this time from the leftovers rack. It has huge polka dots and is the kind of stuff feria dresses get made out of except that it isn't enough to make a dress. It was very cheap so I will practice to see if a woven cotton that stretches in only one direction can work for a dance piece. The fabric store had an enormous lineup on a Thursday evening, and the atmosphere seemed high. I asked a woman browsing the remnant rack why there were so many people there - what was the special occassion. She said it is carneval season and people are probably buying stuff to disfrace (dress up, disguise themselves in costume). Entire families were there in the lineup which didn't really move, until they jumped me ahead of several guys with their kids.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Solea
I just discovered Concha on youtube dancing basically the same solea as what she taught me. Things are adjusted and rearranged, but I've learned most of the same moves. Her dancing is some of the very best. It starts slow. Like many good things - it is not hype nor show-offy. Wait and you see energy, not polished technical perfection or fancy-shmansy stuff.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=030ONissIgU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=030ONissIgU
Have been working on resumes all evening. Finally I have someone who is able to offer me good advice on what people would be looking for here in Spain. I have added a graphic as a background - a manipulated photo I took of a flower. Concha told me I needed to put a photo right under my name - totally opposite of Canada; one is not supposed to ask for that as an employer, I believe (unless you are specifically hiring strip club chicas or something, I suppose).
Rice with whatever I had around to stick in it and red wine for vegetable matter - my cheap bottle that Rocio, the 2nd roommate who just moved in this afternoon, turned her nose up at. "Yes, but you can get other better stuff for E1.70! This is bad. She is about 50. Walked straight into my room with closed door. Introduced herself over again and looked out my window, then asked why I had chosen this (the bigger) room, as she thought she had scoped it out for herself. I believe I talked to Concha before she was around, or had decided for sure to move in.
Concha is a very gentle person, very caring and very nice. She was very sorry her smoking bothered me and attempted to smoke in her room with the door closed. I don't know if that will solve the problem, but we'll see. She works a lot from home, watches serials on TV to take a break (which she complains about saying how terrible they are but she knows half the actors and likes to just zone out and watch her friends). Concha has worked in Madrid for years and has a girlfriend from Galicia.
I am now off to see Juan del Gastor and Luis Moneo (the brother of a favorite singer - El Torta) at Pena Torres Macarena. Maybe a bad idea but I am going to dress up nice - in heels. Need to do something as I've been inside all day.
Rice with whatever I had around to stick in it and red wine for vegetable matter - my cheap bottle that Rocio, the 2nd roommate who just moved in this afternoon, turned her nose up at. "Yes, but you can get other better stuff for E1.70! This is bad. She is about 50. Walked straight into my room with closed door. Introduced herself over again and looked out my window, then asked why I had chosen this (the bigger) room, as she thought she had scoped it out for herself. I believe I talked to Concha before she was around, or had decided for sure to move in.
Concha is a very gentle person, very caring and very nice. She was very sorry her smoking bothered me and attempted to smoke in her room with the door closed. I don't know if that will solve the problem, but we'll see. She works a lot from home, watches serials on TV to take a break (which she complains about saying how terrible they are but she knows half the actors and likes to just zone out and watch her friends). Concha has worked in Madrid for years and has a girlfriend from Galicia.
I am now off to see Juan del Gastor and Luis Moneo (the brother of a favorite singer - El Torta) at Pena Torres Macarena. Maybe a bad idea but I am going to dress up nice - in heels. Need to do something as I've been inside all day.
Wolfing down comida but one large chicken thigh and polenta doesn't seem enough. Yesterday I started at a new studio 2 hours a day (and ran everywhere back and forth to move my stuff), and by evening I did not feel normal, so I went to Corte Inglés (the department store) and bought 3 chicken thighs, a salmon filet and a jar of pate (for the liver). Thank God Dr. Lee put me on spirulina, royal jelly and ginseng before I left. I missed them one day and felt awful.
The people at Oscar's bar would have good reason to think of me as "suitcase girl" - I don't know how many times I have rolled suitcases back and forth across the bridge since October; embarassingly many. Probably one good reason why Oscar doesn't seem very interested that I am back.
But as of yesterday I am no longer quite as unstable - at least I hope not. I was really happy when I came back and met Concha to get the keys (a different Concha - a photographer about my age). She was cool, as I had judged the first time I came. And the apartment has more light than I thought. She said, "Estoy contenta que has venido. Me cayaste bien." (I am content/happy you have come. You "fell well" to me - kind of equivalent to "you sit well with me".)
There is one somewhat large problem - she smokes. I thought it wouldn't be a problem because it is natural tobacco that she rolls herself (besides, she wants to quit). I have found this practically non-offensive, while the commercial kind I can hardly bear for a moment. Probably because it was well ventilated at Mara's place and at Homayoun's. But last night Concha was a smoking night owl, and my room door is two doors that don't close well. Maybe I can give her motivation to quit, but I don't know if that is really a good idea.
I am happy with my new studio. It is only 15E per month more than the old one but I can have 3 times as many hours. It isn't as nicely kept up - there are 3 adjoining studios, all a bit dusty and with beaten up floors, but the price is right. It also gives me a chance to go to a quiet part of Triana every day.
I cleaned the dust off the iron railings on my 6 inch balcony (no exaggeration!) and put a small, cheap potted plant there. At the moment - 2:30 in the afternoon, I've been airing the place out with the large balcony door wide open. During the height of day it is not too cold for that. I shall now have a siesta and worry about being clean and looking for work later on.
This place is an old building with very high ceilings and archways. It is not in wonderful repair, but not bad either. There is a dentist office below us, and we are on a narrow but somewhat important thoroughfare, as it is a one way street that curves around, giving motorists on a main artery nearby a chance to turn off and go in another direction, reaching another nearby (one way) artery. Thus it is much louder here than Sachiko's place, or Mara's along the river. It is near one good bar for getting molletes with tomate y aceite, although this morning when I went there, it seems they've stopped having proper molletes. Just beside the bar is a tiny church with one of the most interesting pasos during Semana Santa - an ancient hermandad (brotherhood) that has very interesting Jesus and Virgen Maria statues - this means I can see it from above, provided things work out here. On the other side of the bar is a very nice plaza always full of tables during eating hours, and backed by a pretty orange building and church. It is an absolutely central location, perhaps even better than being right near the cathedral, as it seems close to just about everywhere.
The people at Oscar's bar would have good reason to think of me as "suitcase girl" - I don't know how many times I have rolled suitcases back and forth across the bridge since October; embarassingly many. Probably one good reason why Oscar doesn't seem very interested that I am back.
But as of yesterday I am no longer quite as unstable - at least I hope not. I was really happy when I came back and met Concha to get the keys (a different Concha - a photographer about my age). She was cool, as I had judged the first time I came. And the apartment has more light than I thought. She said, "Estoy contenta que has venido. Me cayaste bien." (I am content/happy you have come. You "fell well" to me - kind of equivalent to "you sit well with me".)
There is one somewhat large problem - she smokes. I thought it wouldn't be a problem because it is natural tobacco that she rolls herself (besides, she wants to quit). I have found this practically non-offensive, while the commercial kind I can hardly bear for a moment. Probably because it was well ventilated at Mara's place and at Homayoun's. But last night Concha was a smoking night owl, and my room door is two doors that don't close well. Maybe I can give her motivation to quit, but I don't know if that is really a good idea.
I am happy with my new studio. It is only 15E per month more than the old one but I can have 3 times as many hours. It isn't as nicely kept up - there are 3 adjoining studios, all a bit dusty and with beaten up floors, but the price is right. It also gives me a chance to go to a quiet part of Triana every day.
I cleaned the dust off the iron railings on my 6 inch balcony (no exaggeration!) and put a small, cheap potted plant there. At the moment - 2:30 in the afternoon, I've been airing the place out with the large balcony door wide open. During the height of day it is not too cold for that. I shall now have a siesta and worry about being clean and looking for work later on.
This place is an old building with very high ceilings and archways. It is not in wonderful repair, but not bad either. There is a dentist office below us, and we are on a narrow but somewhat important thoroughfare, as it is a one way street that curves around, giving motorists on a main artery nearby a chance to turn off and go in another direction, reaching another nearby (one way) artery. Thus it is much louder here than Sachiko's place, or Mara's along the river. It is near one good bar for getting molletes with tomate y aceite, although this morning when I went there, it seems they've stopped having proper molletes. Just beside the bar is a tiny church with one of the most interesting pasos during Semana Santa - an ancient hermandad (brotherhood) that has very interesting Jesus and Virgen Maria statues - this means I can see it from above, provided things work out here. On the other side of the bar is a very nice plaza always full of tables during eating hours, and backed by a pretty orange building and church. It is an absolutely central location, perhaps even better than being right near the cathedral, as it seems close to just about everywhere.
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