http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T0tnh0xeDzw&feature=relmfu
Sister Rosetta Thorpe
Thursday, March 29, 2012
I have a lot of fun teaching. It is always super interesting. I just wish the preparation wasn't so stressful.
Marcelino is always fun. Tonight we studied words for routine daily activities, like getting up, brushing teeth. We had a misunderstanding about which he was asking about - the teeth brushing or the shaving, and I wrote down "to shave", so he said, "I shave my teeth."
Then somehow we ended up telling each other about grandparents: me about my grandfather on my dad's side, and him about his grandfathers, who had fought in the civil war in the 30s. Somebody had cut someone's head off and was actually walking around holding it by the hair. His grandfather ordered that particular person to be shot.
As I walk home and Marcelino takes the opportunity for a walk, we always switch back to Spanish, and this time the subject was the Spartans and their war against the Persians, and the Mongols and their hardiness and efficacy at war.
Today there was a "general strike". Two big national unions called for it. Nearly the entire city was shut down. Paco last night told me it was going to happen, and also told me that in every company above a certain size in Spain, there is something like a union, or a labour representative at least, that is elected by the employees. Anyways, it really was general. Even small businesses closed their doors in support of it. It was basically against the recently elected right wing government's cutting of certain rights or benefits of workers. Public transit and other services were running in a reduced fashion. People that may not have had anything directly to do with a big union were participating by turning off their cell phones to protest the cell phone companies, people were talking about trying not to consume or buy stuff in general, and Rocio didn't go to rehab today, to support the strike. In the morning there were people going around with noisemakers and whistles, in late morning there were people standing around talking in groups and lots of people everywhere in bars.
I have to go cook dinner and plan classes now.
Marcelino is always fun. Tonight we studied words for routine daily activities, like getting up, brushing teeth. We had a misunderstanding about which he was asking about - the teeth brushing or the shaving, and I wrote down "to shave", so he said, "I shave my teeth."
Then somehow we ended up telling each other about grandparents: me about my grandfather on my dad's side, and him about his grandfathers, who had fought in the civil war in the 30s. Somebody had cut someone's head off and was actually walking around holding it by the hair. His grandfather ordered that particular person to be shot.
As I walk home and Marcelino takes the opportunity for a walk, we always switch back to Spanish, and this time the subject was the Spartans and their war against the Persians, and the Mongols and their hardiness and efficacy at war.
Today there was a "general strike". Two big national unions called for it. Nearly the entire city was shut down. Paco last night told me it was going to happen, and also told me that in every company above a certain size in Spain, there is something like a union, or a labour representative at least, that is elected by the employees. Anyways, it really was general. Even small businesses closed their doors in support of it. It was basically against the recently elected right wing government's cutting of certain rights or benefits of workers. Public transit and other services were running in a reduced fashion. People that may not have had anything directly to do with a big union were participating by turning off their cell phones to protest the cell phone companies, people were talking about trying not to consume or buy stuff in general, and Rocio didn't go to rehab today, to support the strike. In the morning there were people going around with noisemakers and whistles, in late morning there were people standing around talking in groups and lots of people everywhere in bars.
I have to go cook dinner and plan classes now.
Monday, March 26, 2012
In Geoffrey's bathroom wall just under the shower head there is a hole through the wall just big enough for your eye, that looks out onto someone's abandoned patio below, full of weathered containers and wild plants behind a backdrop of grey concrete wall. Nobody can see through, though if you care to have a view while showering you can stick your eye up to the hole.
Quite a number of the houses that can be seen from the rooftop are needing a coat of paint, which Geoffrey would be more than willing to do, if it were up to him. The whitewash is no longer white and it would not look to most of you like something belonging to an average neighborhood in a first world country.
I knocked some space out of a wall around some pipe fittings that needed to be soldered, helped put up a cupboard, mixed cement and patched a crumbling wall, helped clean a gutter and make speculations about where the leak could be coming from, took the cover off a spray painting machine, which Geoffrey then hardwired onto the power supply or converter, as it was from the US and he had long since removed the useless plug.
Sunday I washed the white paint off the rooftop patio just below the walls, after he sprayed the walls white, and translated for him and his neighbour, the elderly Maria, who has a sparkle in her eye and likes to tease him, though they don't understand a word each other says.
In return he paid my train ticket, bought me drinks at the pena Friday night, made me food the whole weekend and took me out to a venta (definition = place Kim would like to stay forever) yesterday afternoon.
Mara thinks I am weirder than weird, going to Jerez to help a guy I just met work on his house. Mara is correct.
Quite a number of the houses that can be seen from the rooftop are needing a coat of paint, which Geoffrey would be more than willing to do, if it were up to him. The whitewash is no longer white and it would not look to most of you like something belonging to an average neighborhood in a first world country.
I knocked some space out of a wall around some pipe fittings that needed to be soldered, helped put up a cupboard, mixed cement and patched a crumbling wall, helped clean a gutter and make speculations about where the leak could be coming from, took the cover off a spray painting machine, which Geoffrey then hardwired onto the power supply or converter, as it was from the US and he had long since removed the useless plug.
Sunday I washed the white paint off the rooftop patio just below the walls, after he sprayed the walls white, and translated for him and his neighbour, the elderly Maria, who has a sparkle in her eye and likes to tease him, though they don't understand a word each other says.
In return he paid my train ticket, bought me drinks at the pena Friday night, made me food the whole weekend and took me out to a venta (definition = place Kim would like to stay forever) yesterday afternoon.
Mara thinks I am weirder than weird, going to Jerez to help a guy I just met work on his house. Mara is correct.
Friday
I am finally starting to get the hang of how Ernesto learns. He tells me exactly what he wants, and what to do and what not to do. Sometimes he just needs to play, or colour, or draw a word, instead of always talking. He asked me to read the alphabet, so I sung it. He knows a lot of words, as do my adult students, but like them, doesn't know how to say each individual letter like we do. (I have had the same problem in Spanish: I can read full length novels, but until recently, forgot how to say "x").
Then he told me to be quiet while he coloured all the letters a different colour.
The lesson was overall quite good. Though at one point he crawled behind me on the couch and either licked or spit-washed a large freckle on my lower back just above my behind, and then told me I had done "caca" on myself. (I tried to tell him unsuccessfully that it was chocolate).
I was laughing to myself as I walked home aftewards. I know my hair is a lot shorter and sits differently - there isn't much curl - it's a less "pretty" look. But I was unprepared for two Chinese boys that passed me and glanced, while one said "Nu de haishi nan de" (man/boy or woman/girl). The other one didn't hesitate a second before answering that I was a woman. But I turned around and said "HUH?!" So they turned around and looked, as they walked away. I laughed, and they said from a distance, "hasta luego". I answered, "zaijian".
I wondered how many more weird things were going to happen to me that day, but luckily I arrived in Jerez and met Geoffrey with only a small delay while he arrived from the airport.
We saw Juana la del Pipa sing at Pena Buleria, which was an event. The first time I've seen her live.
Then he told me to be quiet while he coloured all the letters a different colour.
The lesson was overall quite good. Though at one point he crawled behind me on the couch and either licked or spit-washed a large freckle on my lower back just above my behind, and then told me I had done "caca" on myself. (I tried to tell him unsuccessfully that it was chocolate).
I was laughing to myself as I walked home aftewards. I know my hair is a lot shorter and sits differently - there isn't much curl - it's a less "pretty" look. But I was unprepared for two Chinese boys that passed me and glanced, while one said "Nu de haishi nan de" (man/boy or woman/girl). The other one didn't hesitate a second before answering that I was a woman. But I turned around and said "HUH?!" So they turned around and looked, as they walked away. I laughed, and they said from a distance, "hasta luego". I answered, "zaijian".
I wondered how many more weird things were going to happen to me that day, but luckily I arrived in Jerez and met Geoffrey with only a small delay while he arrived from the airport.
We saw Juana la del Pipa sing at Pena Buleria, which was an event. The first time I've seen her live.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Oil spill in Andalucia...
But I ate it all.
Got a jug of oil - 2L, with a wide mouth, hard to pour out just a little bit. Often end up with a larger oil intake per meal than I intended. After I cut open my luscious but mal white bread and attempted to give it an adequate splash of oil, I looked again, and thought... that was not just a little much like most times, that's technically a spill, even though I was pouring it.
Add tomato slices... no pasa nada. Ate it all no problem.
I got shorn today - look like Ms. Moore, my grade 4 teacher. That was a long time ago. 1970something. My hair is exactly like her.
Rocio went to the hospital on Wednesday. She called me over and told me she couldn't get up, was all dizzy. Called the local health unit and they couldn't understand what street we were on, even though it's central and obvious. She ended up calling the ambulance. Our street fits one car only. Plus a few pedestrians squeezed against the walls on either side. The ambulance drivers sure took their time talking to her, standing there in her room asking questions, letting her talk. Before finally getting her sitting on the convertible chair stretcher and hauling her away.
I had an excellent class today with they boys. They've added a new member. He's more my age. This is the second new member of their group since I started! It's really enjoyable working with them, because they are young and cool, but also really intelligent. Not just good computer programmers, but Rafa asked me some very good questions about Canadian history, the aboriginal people. He even seemed to know that the word "Indian" wasn't polite. Shocking. He seemed very aware of the fact that there might be valid issues and problems with this group of people, which is more than I could say for even some Canadians, let alone Europeans. Some of them over here still admire the conquest of the New World, that their Spanish explorers did, and have even been told by a Latino that a Spaniard spoke to them as if they were a under ancient Spanish governance... under a viceroy of Spain, like they had back then.
The questions came out of a text on British Culture that I gave them to read and then discuss. It was very interesting what they had to say. The article discussed the "stiff upper lip", in trying to explain the character of the British. They knew the song by ACDC. I told them what that phrase meant to me and why I thought ACDC had something to say about it. They note differences between themselves and the British that they see here. They also said in as polite a way as possible, that the British behave very differently from this when they come to Spain, especially in the beach towns. And that in the center of the city you can see British behaving the same way. I've already been told by Sevillanos that they notice bad behaviour of the British, when under the influence of alcohol. These guys told me that in Spain, after the age of 35, people do not drink to excess and behave inappropriately in public, but they had seen more than enough British doing so, and their behaviour at football matches is well known. The guys surmised what we also do, or perhaps know personally: it probably happens because they have the stiff upper lip and keep all the emotions inside.
They also told me how funny they thought it was to see the double decker busses with all the foreigners on the top level with the sun beating down on them, making them red. Andalucians have a very strong sense of self-preservation relating to sun exposure. It is instilled in them since childhood to take care and how exactly to avoid sun as much as possible.
Must sign off and sleep before I have to go out tonight. I taught late last night, saw Sachiko, then got up early this morning.
But I ate it all.
Got a jug of oil - 2L, with a wide mouth, hard to pour out just a little bit. Often end up with a larger oil intake per meal than I intended. After I cut open my luscious but mal white bread and attempted to give it an adequate splash of oil, I looked again, and thought... that was not just a little much like most times, that's technically a spill, even though I was pouring it.
Add tomato slices... no pasa nada. Ate it all no problem.
I got shorn today - look like Ms. Moore, my grade 4 teacher. That was a long time ago. 1970something. My hair is exactly like her.
Rocio went to the hospital on Wednesday. She called me over and told me she couldn't get up, was all dizzy. Called the local health unit and they couldn't understand what street we were on, even though it's central and obvious. She ended up calling the ambulance. Our street fits one car only. Plus a few pedestrians squeezed against the walls on either side. The ambulance drivers sure took their time talking to her, standing there in her room asking questions, letting her talk. Before finally getting her sitting on the convertible chair stretcher and hauling her away.
I had an excellent class today with they boys. They've added a new member. He's more my age. This is the second new member of their group since I started! It's really enjoyable working with them, because they are young and cool, but also really intelligent. Not just good computer programmers, but Rafa asked me some very good questions about Canadian history, the aboriginal people. He even seemed to know that the word "Indian" wasn't polite. Shocking. He seemed very aware of the fact that there might be valid issues and problems with this group of people, which is more than I could say for even some Canadians, let alone Europeans. Some of them over here still admire the conquest of the New World, that their Spanish explorers did, and have even been told by a Latino that a Spaniard spoke to them as if they were a under ancient Spanish governance... under a viceroy of Spain, like they had back then.
The questions came out of a text on British Culture that I gave them to read and then discuss. It was very interesting what they had to say. The article discussed the "stiff upper lip", in trying to explain the character of the British. They knew the song by ACDC. I told them what that phrase meant to me and why I thought ACDC had something to say about it. They note differences between themselves and the British that they see here. They also said in as polite a way as possible, that the British behave very differently from this when they come to Spain, especially in the beach towns. And that in the center of the city you can see British behaving the same way. I've already been told by Sevillanos that they notice bad behaviour of the British, when under the influence of alcohol. These guys told me that in Spain, after the age of 35, people do not drink to excess and behave inappropriately in public, but they had seen more than enough British doing so, and their behaviour at football matches is well known. The guys surmised what we also do, or perhaps know personally: it probably happens because they have the stiff upper lip and keep all the emotions inside.
They also told me how funny they thought it was to see the double decker busses with all the foreigners on the top level with the sun beating down on them, making them red. Andalucians have a very strong sense of self-preservation relating to sun exposure. It is instilled in them since childhood to take care and how exactly to avoid sun as much as possible.
Must sign off and sleep before I have to go out tonight. I taught late last night, saw Sachiko, then got up early this morning.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Today this is what I have to say:
Baby Please Don't Go
Because I want to sing the blues by the cathedral, along with the Spanish guy who can't really pronounce the words well.
This is the guy who wrote this song, sung by many other since: other blues artists, Bob Dylan, Them (Van Morrisson).
No amount of technique and prettiness can equal the incredible amount of soul this man has. Completely blows me away.
Hope you like it.
Baby Please Don't Go
Because I want to sing the blues by the cathedral, along with the Spanish guy who can't really pronounce the words well.
This is the guy who wrote this song, sung by many other since: other blues artists, Bob Dylan, Them (Van Morrisson).
No amount of technique and prettiness can equal the incredible amount of soul this man has. Completely blows me away.
Hope you like it.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
OLE!
This is what I have to say right now.
In love forever with this music and the place it comes from.
Because if you are ever unsure you want life to go on, this makes that question moot.
This is what I have to say right now.
In love forever with this music and the place it comes from.
Because if you are ever unsure you want life to go on, this makes that question moot.
I slept late today. When I woke up I could breathe through my nose and felt almost as if I wasn't even sick. I thought I had managed to sleep it off.
Then I got up and had a shower.
MISTAKE.
One minute into the shower the hot water goes off. I turn it off and try to wait, because last time it was getting low, it would only go on for a short time and then turn off. Then you could try again. I ended up taking the rest of the shower in cold water. There was just enough gas to heat my two small consecutive cups of tea and just barely warm up the almond milk enough to make oats.
So much for getting better quickly. I'm sneezing away as a write. It will be tomorrow before we have hot water and are able to cook or heat anything up, other than over the electric space heater.
You'd think we'd been bombed and the infrastructure destroyed. Infrastructure...?! LOL!
At least if there were a war here we could just get on the phone and call for another bonbon. There are advantages, you know.
The system could work, but it depends not on computers, or meters. It depends on the possibly drug addled, unstable, or just head in the clouds freaky artist brain of the woman who is renting this place out, who never calls for another bonbon like my responsible young student roommates last year, until both are finished.
"Are you taking echinacea?" she asks...
Then I got up and had a shower.
MISTAKE.
One minute into the shower the hot water goes off. I turn it off and try to wait, because last time it was getting low, it would only go on for a short time and then turn off. Then you could try again. I ended up taking the rest of the shower in cold water. There was just enough gas to heat my two small consecutive cups of tea and just barely warm up the almond milk enough to make oats.
So much for getting better quickly. I'm sneezing away as a write. It will be tomorrow before we have hot water and are able to cook or heat anything up, other than over the electric space heater.
You'd think we'd been bombed and the infrastructure destroyed. Infrastructure...?! LOL!
At least if there were a war here we could just get on the phone and call for another bonbon. There are advantages, you know.
The system could work, but it depends not on computers, or meters. It depends on the possibly drug addled, unstable, or just head in the clouds freaky artist brain of the woman who is renting this place out, who never calls for another bonbon like my responsible young student roommates last year, until both are finished.
"Are you taking echinacea?" she asks...
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Despite idiotic house problems, I had a great time teaching Marcelino yesterday. We both enjoyed the lesson. It makes me very happy to have a student who laughs and says he feels re-invigorated after a stressful day, due to studying English!
I found out he has a wife, but she is in Argentina. Poor man, no wonder he wants to learn English so badly, if that is his only hope of getting a job back in Latin America. It seems she is quite the lady; the department head of dance at a University there. Of course, she teaches Argentine Tango.
I was one heck of an impressed English teacher.
I am kept abreast of the parts of the region without cell coverage (well, I exaggerate), but today there are a lot of clients in the Canaries without coverage, and for this reason we may have to make up the English class tomorrow or Saturday.
It is interesting to get a northerner's perspective on Andalucia. He says he identifies more with the French, and his way of dealing with things is quite different from people here - more persevering, more focussed, and just in general not so "manana" as the people here. He says some of the people under him have the attitude that if a tower needs repair, they wait 2 hours for the next technician to come on shift, so they won't have to work overtime. You would think that even in Andalucia they would understand that people can't be without their cell coverage!
Jill and Brian were here since Tuesday night. I went and met them that night for a drink and a walk around the city. Then again Wednesday afternoon and after class last night. We went through the alcazar yesterday during the afternoon, and had a few tapas here and there. It was nice of them to treat me; they were thankful for my knowledge of the city (and are aware of my low income). I tried to think of places for them that had less meat and more vegetables. It wasn't easy and I wasn't entirely successful. Fortunately Jill, who has feet astonishingly similar to mine, managed to find some cute boots. That is the magic of Spain: poor deprived women who search high and low in North America for shoes that are not like a pair of boats, can walk straight into a shop here and buy a nice narrow pair!
I found out he has a wife, but she is in Argentina. Poor man, no wonder he wants to learn English so badly, if that is his only hope of getting a job back in Latin America. It seems she is quite the lady; the department head of dance at a University there. Of course, she teaches Argentine Tango.
I was one heck of an impressed English teacher.
I am kept abreast of the parts of the region without cell coverage (well, I exaggerate), but today there are a lot of clients in the Canaries without coverage, and for this reason we may have to make up the English class tomorrow or Saturday.
It is interesting to get a northerner's perspective on Andalucia. He says he identifies more with the French, and his way of dealing with things is quite different from people here - more persevering, more focussed, and just in general not so "manana" as the people here. He says some of the people under him have the attitude that if a tower needs repair, they wait 2 hours for the next technician to come on shift, so they won't have to work overtime. You would think that even in Andalucia they would understand that people can't be without their cell coverage!
Jill and Brian were here since Tuesday night. I went and met them that night for a drink and a walk around the city. Then again Wednesday afternoon and after class last night. We went through the alcazar yesterday during the afternoon, and had a few tapas here and there. It was nice of them to treat me; they were thankful for my knowledge of the city (and are aware of my low income). I tried to think of places for them that had less meat and more vegetables. It wasn't easy and I wasn't entirely successful. Fortunately Jill, who has feet astonishingly similar to mine, managed to find some cute boots. That is the magic of Spain: poor deprived women who search high and low in North America for shoes that are not like a pair of boats, can walk straight into a shop here and buy a nice narrow pair!
Never thought I would think such a thing, but right now I feel that hygiene and household cleanliness should be taught in school.
I have been kicked out. With two weeks notice.
I would not have minded at all, if Concha had said that it was too much of a hassle for her to be opening the windows and airing the place out whenever she wanted to smoke. I would not have minded at all, if she had told me that is why I have to leave. But to pee on the seat, leave her inside out, bunched up pajamas, socks or underwear in the bidet (and continuously remove the chair I put in there, so I could put my clothes on something while showering), and leave her dishes piling up in the sink for days so that it is impossible to wash anything unless you remove them, (including returning them to the sink to store them there for a few more days after I remove them so I can use the sink), and then imply that I am not doing my part with the communal living area...
No, that is not all. When she cooks, leaves the counters and stovetop dirty. There are two electrical outlets that have had the sockets removed and bare wire is hanging out of one, under my desk. The other, above my bed, right where I might be liable to reach up and stick my hand, I took the initiative myself to put a piece of tape over. I asked her already about getting some grout from her mother, and offered to fix the leak in the shower, so we don't have to mop a puddle of water every time we shower. There are two unused rooms in the house, in which she piles unused belongings, in a heap. A bunch of random odds and ends have been on the hall table since the day I moved in, collecting dust. The shelf that is dangling off the wall in my room fell once when I bumped it and all my belongings went down, breaking my bottle of purple nailpolish all over. My "door" is two doors that meet in the middle but don't close well. There should be 4 door handles - one on each side of each door. There is only one. I've wanted them as closed as I could get them, first due to the smoke and then due to Rocio (with whom, luckily, the relationship has shifted for the better). I have to close the doors by hanging onto a tiny edge with my fingertips. I've wanted to ask her again about the grout, about doorhandles (could install myself if necessary!) and about the electrical outlets (I could leave the dangling shelf and just attempt not to touch it), but she is never home. In Spain it won't do to just rush up to someone and say, "look, I need this done - now!" That's the only way it was going to get said, because when we did cross paths it was niceties, and the other lady was ranting enough at her already, which I knew she couldn't handle - and then she was gone again.
We discussed Rocio at the beginning of the month. Concha said she was going to tell her to leave. Then Rocio told me that Concha had told her we would both have to leave because we weren't getting along and this bothered Concha. I was certain Concha had used that excuse so that she wouldn't have to tell Rocio directly that she couldn't stand her. Concha continued being really warm to me.
Well, Rocio and I mended things between us. Maybe for that reason, Concha had no option but to kick us both out in the end. I don't know.
I arrived home yesterday (from an excellent day with Jill and Brian from Vancouver!) to get ready for my class with Marcelino. Concha did not look okay. After a brief "hola". She said, "you have to find a new place for next month."
Her bike had been stolen from the little entrance hallway downstairs. There are two doors - the outside door and another kind of fancy iron grate one. A few days after moving in here, I noticed that the outside door was often shut but not closed properly - it was not closed with sufficient force to latch it. I made an effort to pull it all the way back, so it would slam shut properly, or pull it shut by hand. I still found that sometimes it would be open when I got back (due to others in the house). This along with the lack of care about the rest of the house, I suppose made me a little less careful about being totally sure the door was closed. If anyone had told me clearly, "do take care to shut the door by hand, as it doesn't shut properly", and indicated some sort of general effort by all, to do so, and care about it, I would have done that. Concha never said anything, neither did she explain a single thing about the house - I still do not know how to get to the rooftop, if I need a key for it, and what time the garbage bin is put out so that I can take the garbage out.
I don't think it was me who was responsible for the door being open, but I cannot be absolutely sure. Feeling that the rest of the house possibly didn't really make the effor to shut it, nor any effort really about anything, as well as the door and doorway themselves being dirty and uncared for, I suppose did not motivate me to stand there and shut it by hand every time.
After asking her a bit more, she implied that I did not do my part in looking after the place, and that someone had left the door open. She was obviously very upset about her stolen biken (it was funky). She then told me that she was sorry because she still liked me, and didn't really have a problem with me, but now she needed some time to herself - that was apparent. She looked rattled and unwell mentally. I finally clued in that some of her weirdness may be drugs. It is either that or mental illness - there is something abnormal. So she was asking us both to leave and she was going to "start over". The bombshell is that her mother wants to rent the place out for Semana Santa. It may be that all the problems with us are true, but that one thing makes me completely doubt it. It is possible they do this every year - take people for a few months and then kick them out to make loads of money for Semana Santa. Also her mother knows some girls her village that want an apartment.
Mostly, I am sick of the crazy and random personal hygiene and home cleaning rules of the people I have had to live with. I've cleaned my dishes religiously, cleaned up the counter, stove and bathroom sink after the others and mopped the bathroom floor every time I use it, but get complained at for not taking out the garbage and perhaps (but I am not even sure) not mopping the rest of the floors, which are a losing battle, and which Concha cleans almost every other time I see her.
I have been kicked out. With two weeks notice.
I would not have minded at all, if Concha had said that it was too much of a hassle for her to be opening the windows and airing the place out whenever she wanted to smoke. I would not have minded at all, if she had told me that is why I have to leave. But to pee on the seat, leave her inside out, bunched up pajamas, socks or underwear in the bidet (and continuously remove the chair I put in there, so I could put my clothes on something while showering), and leave her dishes piling up in the sink for days so that it is impossible to wash anything unless you remove them, (including returning them to the sink to store them there for a few more days after I remove them so I can use the sink), and then imply that I am not doing my part with the communal living area...
No, that is not all. When she cooks, leaves the counters and stovetop dirty. There are two electrical outlets that have had the sockets removed and bare wire is hanging out of one, under my desk. The other, above my bed, right where I might be liable to reach up and stick my hand, I took the initiative myself to put a piece of tape over. I asked her already about getting some grout from her mother, and offered to fix the leak in the shower, so we don't have to mop a puddle of water every time we shower. There are two unused rooms in the house, in which she piles unused belongings, in a heap. A bunch of random odds and ends have been on the hall table since the day I moved in, collecting dust. The shelf that is dangling off the wall in my room fell once when I bumped it and all my belongings went down, breaking my bottle of purple nailpolish all over. My "door" is two doors that meet in the middle but don't close well. There should be 4 door handles - one on each side of each door. There is only one. I've wanted them as closed as I could get them, first due to the smoke and then due to Rocio (with whom, luckily, the relationship has shifted for the better). I have to close the doors by hanging onto a tiny edge with my fingertips. I've wanted to ask her again about the grout, about doorhandles (could install myself if necessary!) and about the electrical outlets (I could leave the dangling shelf and just attempt not to touch it), but she is never home. In Spain it won't do to just rush up to someone and say, "look, I need this done - now!" That's the only way it was going to get said, because when we did cross paths it was niceties, and the other lady was ranting enough at her already, which I knew she couldn't handle - and then she was gone again.
We discussed Rocio at the beginning of the month. Concha said she was going to tell her to leave. Then Rocio told me that Concha had told her we would both have to leave because we weren't getting along and this bothered Concha. I was certain Concha had used that excuse so that she wouldn't have to tell Rocio directly that she couldn't stand her. Concha continued being really warm to me.
Well, Rocio and I mended things between us. Maybe for that reason, Concha had no option but to kick us both out in the end. I don't know.
I arrived home yesterday (from an excellent day with Jill and Brian from Vancouver!) to get ready for my class with Marcelino. Concha did not look okay. After a brief "hola". She said, "you have to find a new place for next month."
Her bike had been stolen from the little entrance hallway downstairs. There are two doors - the outside door and another kind of fancy iron grate one. A few days after moving in here, I noticed that the outside door was often shut but not closed properly - it was not closed with sufficient force to latch it. I made an effort to pull it all the way back, so it would slam shut properly, or pull it shut by hand. I still found that sometimes it would be open when I got back (due to others in the house). This along with the lack of care about the rest of the house, I suppose made me a little less careful about being totally sure the door was closed. If anyone had told me clearly, "do take care to shut the door by hand, as it doesn't shut properly", and indicated some sort of general effort by all, to do so, and care about it, I would have done that. Concha never said anything, neither did she explain a single thing about the house - I still do not know how to get to the rooftop, if I need a key for it, and what time the garbage bin is put out so that I can take the garbage out.
I don't think it was me who was responsible for the door being open, but I cannot be absolutely sure. Feeling that the rest of the house possibly didn't really make the effor to shut it, nor any effort really about anything, as well as the door and doorway themselves being dirty and uncared for, I suppose did not motivate me to stand there and shut it by hand every time.
After asking her a bit more, she implied that I did not do my part in looking after the place, and that someone had left the door open. She was obviously very upset about her stolen biken (it was funky). She then told me that she was sorry because she still liked me, and didn't really have a problem with me, but now she needed some time to herself - that was apparent. She looked rattled and unwell mentally. I finally clued in that some of her weirdness may be drugs. It is either that or mental illness - there is something abnormal. So she was asking us both to leave and she was going to "start over". The bombshell is that her mother wants to rent the place out for Semana Santa. It may be that all the problems with us are true, but that one thing makes me completely doubt it. It is possible they do this every year - take people for a few months and then kick them out to make loads of money for Semana Santa. Also her mother knows some girls her village that want an apartment.
Mostly, I am sick of the crazy and random personal hygiene and home cleaning rules of the people I have had to live with. I've cleaned my dishes religiously, cleaned up the counter, stove and bathroom sink after the others and mopped the bathroom floor every time I use it, but get complained at for not taking out the garbage and perhaps (but I am not even sure) not mopping the rest of the floors, which are a losing battle, and which Concha cleans almost every other time I see her.
Monday, March 12, 2012
I left immediately for the train station after playing with Ernesto. Apparently Jill and Geoffrey were going to be making me dinner, to be eaten the moment I arrived. I managed to drop off my suitcase at the hotel before arriving at Geoffrey's place. We eventually got a tiny barbeque going out on the rooftop and Geoffrey opened up a bottle of mosto - some stage of the winemaking before it gets very far, so it is still alive, and yeasty or something. It is also way cheaper than normal wine, if that is even possible here. Jill had bought some swordfish and though the rooftop was gorgeous under the stars with Geoffrey's recently potted broom or gorse that he brought down from Extremadura, we brought the barbeque indoors on to the kitchen table, under a window. Geoffrey did the fish rare, and I don't remember the last time I had fish that incredible. We had rice and grated carrots with oil thrown over them, and then opened another bottle of wine I'd picked up at "Flores" the high end ham and wine store on the main drag in Sevilla. I got something close to their lowest end, the same price as I might pay in a grocery store but unbelievably good for that price.
Well, forget about food and all that kind of useless junk. What I went there for was what we did next. I can't believe my good luck to have seen Dolores Agujetas Friday night and then El Torta the next. As far as Dolores, the Agujetas family is in a class all their own, and El Torta, well, he is a big idol of mine. I've been wanting to see him for more than a year and have kept missing all opportunities.
We were late for Dolores concert. It was standing room only, around the side of the room outside the chairs. Most of the dance students, guitarists I know in Jerez were there. She was awesome, of course. The rawest singing possible. Like chanelling something, like a demoness. Which is what happens because you access the most hidden recesses of yourself, which I suppose are not so hidden for people in Jerez, like they are for most of the rest of the world.
Saturday we helped Geoffrey clean up his house and saw him off, back to London. I ate at least one mollete con tomate y aceite and had two coffees after that. Oh, right, we saw Juana la del Pipa sitting outside on the patio of her bar, with her waiter beside her playing the guitar. She was about to sing, when she saw us. She greeted us with a huge smile and like we were old friends, just because Jill asked directions at her bar the day before. Unfortunately, which makes one feel kind of bad, we changed the atmosphere by telling her how much we admired her singing, and she went inside. Even though these people do huge concerts, when they are relaxed and among those they are close to, their art is different for them, and outsiders change that.
Oops, had to come back and add this later: at 5:30 we saw a packed show in Damajuana, a beautiful bar in a courtyard house with plants hanging down the walls and natural light coming straight in the roof. It was a bunch of young Jerezanos, but traditional style. About 10 singers all sharing the stage, trading off doing mostly bulerias, each one doing a little bit of dancing, like solo bulerias singers usually do. I met the guys I'd seen the world cup with a few years ago, and the odd other dancer.
After having a late siesta, Jill and I went for a second dinner at 10:00 at the mesa del asador, one of the best restaurants in Jerez. The menu includes meat. Lamb stew, various kinds of steaks (the Spanish do not do steak like North Americans), beef stew. Jill got the one thing on the entire menu that was vegetables - lettuce hearts covered in a mayonaissey roquefort sauce with anchovies. I had to order a second lamb stew and a second glass of excellent red wine.
Thus fortified, we arrived at Tio Zappa early (a club in the middle of nowhere down some narrow streets, with black walls full of cut out polkadots, through which clubbing type coloured light shine). We staked out a place to stand, right near the front and some Jerezanos made friends with us. Salome came at 11:30. The whole place was full and waiting more than 3/4 of an hour after that, when they finally found El Torta wherever he was, and he came beating a path through the audience and brushed right past us with his entourage onto the stage and through the door backstage.
They've told me recently that he was walking with a cane (though he didn't have it Saturday), and that he hasn't been well. Someone commented that his face was bad - drugs. Finally he came on stage in a black suit with a hot peach coloured shirt and a bright green polkadot tie, with his two palmeros and guitarist.
None of you who haven't already seen what flamenco is like over here could understand this. There is nothing like this across the ocean. The crowd was mixed but a lot of young "cool" people. There is nothing modern about his music. It is pure classic. The audience doesn't dress up. Neither do the palmeros, nor the guitarist. Torta is probably in his mid 50s.
I am extremely lucky to have seen him sing well. He was fantastic. Definitely under the influence of something, as well as the beer he kept drinking. But he wasn't drunk, and didn't have problems slurring his words nor with staying on the chair. Unfortunately he breathed heavily after each number, as if it had cost him dearly. Not at all suprising if you'd seen or heard him. If healthy people put half the amount of energy he does into singing a song they would be wasted after it. It was a little bit hard to see him in the state he was in. He is like a rock star, but not. Someone with true integrity and an obviously sensitive soul. No dork that wants to throw anger at the world or show off. He is in a very small category of flamenco singers that seem to have no self-consciousness whatsoever, while he is singing. It seems like there is nothing else that matters to someone like this. The other one who he can be compared to is Camaron; who died at about my age. Geniuses.
Better than seeing him in a large concert, I was really close to the stage, and he sang two sets of a reasonable length. During the second set he sang letras that I've watched many times on youtube. So had everyone else, apparently. I have never heard the audience sing along at any other flamenco concert - especially not a traditional, serious one. It was unclear after the second set whether there would be another. Nobody seemed to be going anywhere. There were a few chants of "Torta, Torta". I assume people would have felt the same way I did: I didn't want him to sing any more because I value him and don't want to see him damage himself for my sake.
I really have no idea how he does it. It is not the physical effort I am thinking of this time, but the fact that everyone in Jerez and all the foreigners too, know about his struggle with drugs and alcohol in the past. And things travel like wildfire - everyone is pretty much aware of the state he is in currently. He is up there on stage looking colocated (high). I do not know how a person can bare their soul the way he does at the same time as everyone being witness to his personal problems. For all that especially, I kept trying to send him love and good vibes.
Jill left the next morning. It was Sunday and I finally got my chance to relax. I had molletes again, in two different places, and then sat on a bench under some olive trees by the Lola Flores statue, surrounded by splattered and crushed olives. Eventually men in suits the same colour as the olives were spilling in and out of a bar a few feet away, with an unmarked door. It was the same one attached to the zambomba I saw at Christmas.
Eventually Salome met me and I went to stay at her place for one more night. Yesterday evening we went to meet a Jerezano friend of hers, who gave us a tour of Barrio Santiago. Barrio San Miguel is the more accessible of the two flamenco neighborhoods and as we found out, the better preserved. Rafa pulled us in to the courtyards of numerous traditional houses, and emphasised again and again how "authentic" this lifestyle would be. The Santiago houses are different from others I'm used to, for example in Sevilla. They are often one story and simpler. They would be home to numerous families that shared a toilet and a kitchen and a common living space outdoors (surrounded by the four walls which were the indoor rooms. The only other thing I've seen like this was in China. Rafa had grown up in this kind of house, and indeed we saw his. He said how much he loved it and what an excellent life it was, but that most people were abandoning it now, and the old houses were all being torn down to make apartment blocks. He insisted that even as extranjeras, it was perfectly fine to walk right into these people's courtyards. We did so, following him, and the people that were inside their rooms generally just looked out and said hello and didn't mind us being in their courtyard.
Rafa took us out for fried fish and then to a teteria (teahouse) run by a friend. Rafa is classic Jerez - full of beans. A 50 year old partly bald guy with the most mischevious possible look in his eyes. Continually joking, flirting and generally doing anything he can to keep from being serious.
This morning I went to dance class before coming home. There is nothing better than studying with Ana Maria. It is the only time I feel like I am actually doing flamenco, because there is a guitarist and singer who are the genuine articles and the whole atmosphere is as if you are just hanging out partying with them (between being taught stuff). I learned a good pataita today and she told me I dance well. Salome made me yet another meal and then I got on the train.
Well, forget about food and all that kind of useless junk. What I went there for was what we did next. I can't believe my good luck to have seen Dolores Agujetas Friday night and then El Torta the next. As far as Dolores, the Agujetas family is in a class all their own, and El Torta, well, he is a big idol of mine. I've been wanting to see him for more than a year and have kept missing all opportunities.
We were late for Dolores concert. It was standing room only, around the side of the room outside the chairs. Most of the dance students, guitarists I know in Jerez were there. She was awesome, of course. The rawest singing possible. Like chanelling something, like a demoness. Which is what happens because you access the most hidden recesses of yourself, which I suppose are not so hidden for people in Jerez, like they are for most of the rest of the world.
Saturday we helped Geoffrey clean up his house and saw him off, back to London. I ate at least one mollete con tomate y aceite and had two coffees after that. Oh, right, we saw Juana la del Pipa sitting outside on the patio of her bar, with her waiter beside her playing the guitar. She was about to sing, when she saw us. She greeted us with a huge smile and like we were old friends, just because Jill asked directions at her bar the day before. Unfortunately, which makes one feel kind of bad, we changed the atmosphere by telling her how much we admired her singing, and she went inside. Even though these people do huge concerts, when they are relaxed and among those they are close to, their art is different for them, and outsiders change that.
Oops, had to come back and add this later: at 5:30 we saw a packed show in Damajuana, a beautiful bar in a courtyard house with plants hanging down the walls and natural light coming straight in the roof. It was a bunch of young Jerezanos, but traditional style. About 10 singers all sharing the stage, trading off doing mostly bulerias, each one doing a little bit of dancing, like solo bulerias singers usually do. I met the guys I'd seen the world cup with a few years ago, and the odd other dancer.
After having a late siesta, Jill and I went for a second dinner at 10:00 at the mesa del asador, one of the best restaurants in Jerez. The menu includes meat. Lamb stew, various kinds of steaks (the Spanish do not do steak like North Americans), beef stew. Jill got the one thing on the entire menu that was vegetables - lettuce hearts covered in a mayonaissey roquefort sauce with anchovies. I had to order a second lamb stew and a second glass of excellent red wine.
Thus fortified, we arrived at Tio Zappa early (a club in the middle of nowhere down some narrow streets, with black walls full of cut out polkadots, through which clubbing type coloured light shine). We staked out a place to stand, right near the front and some Jerezanos made friends with us. Salome came at 11:30. The whole place was full and waiting more than 3/4 of an hour after that, when they finally found El Torta wherever he was, and he came beating a path through the audience and brushed right past us with his entourage onto the stage and through the door backstage.
They've told me recently that he was walking with a cane (though he didn't have it Saturday), and that he hasn't been well. Someone commented that his face was bad - drugs. Finally he came on stage in a black suit with a hot peach coloured shirt and a bright green polkadot tie, with his two palmeros and guitarist.
None of you who haven't already seen what flamenco is like over here could understand this. There is nothing like this across the ocean. The crowd was mixed but a lot of young "cool" people. There is nothing modern about his music. It is pure classic. The audience doesn't dress up. Neither do the palmeros, nor the guitarist. Torta is probably in his mid 50s.
I am extremely lucky to have seen him sing well. He was fantastic. Definitely under the influence of something, as well as the beer he kept drinking. But he wasn't drunk, and didn't have problems slurring his words nor with staying on the chair. Unfortunately he breathed heavily after each number, as if it had cost him dearly. Not at all suprising if you'd seen or heard him. If healthy people put half the amount of energy he does into singing a song they would be wasted after it. It was a little bit hard to see him in the state he was in. He is like a rock star, but not. Someone with true integrity and an obviously sensitive soul. No dork that wants to throw anger at the world or show off. He is in a very small category of flamenco singers that seem to have no self-consciousness whatsoever, while he is singing. It seems like there is nothing else that matters to someone like this. The other one who he can be compared to is Camaron; who died at about my age. Geniuses.
Better than seeing him in a large concert, I was really close to the stage, and he sang two sets of a reasonable length. During the second set he sang letras that I've watched many times on youtube. So had everyone else, apparently. I have never heard the audience sing along at any other flamenco concert - especially not a traditional, serious one. It was unclear after the second set whether there would be another. Nobody seemed to be going anywhere. There were a few chants of "Torta, Torta". I assume people would have felt the same way I did: I didn't want him to sing any more because I value him and don't want to see him damage himself for my sake.
I really have no idea how he does it. It is not the physical effort I am thinking of this time, but the fact that everyone in Jerez and all the foreigners too, know about his struggle with drugs and alcohol in the past. And things travel like wildfire - everyone is pretty much aware of the state he is in currently. He is up there on stage looking colocated (high). I do not know how a person can bare their soul the way he does at the same time as everyone being witness to his personal problems. For all that especially, I kept trying to send him love and good vibes.
Jill left the next morning. It was Sunday and I finally got my chance to relax. I had molletes again, in two different places, and then sat on a bench under some olive trees by the Lola Flores statue, surrounded by splattered and crushed olives. Eventually men in suits the same colour as the olives were spilling in and out of a bar a few feet away, with an unmarked door. It was the same one attached to the zambomba I saw at Christmas.
Eventually Salome met me and I went to stay at her place for one more night. Yesterday evening we went to meet a Jerezano friend of hers, who gave us a tour of Barrio Santiago. Barrio San Miguel is the more accessible of the two flamenco neighborhoods and as we found out, the better preserved. Rafa pulled us in to the courtyards of numerous traditional houses, and emphasised again and again how "authentic" this lifestyle would be. The Santiago houses are different from others I'm used to, for example in Sevilla. They are often one story and simpler. They would be home to numerous families that shared a toilet and a kitchen and a common living space outdoors (surrounded by the four walls which were the indoor rooms. The only other thing I've seen like this was in China. Rafa had grown up in this kind of house, and indeed we saw his. He said how much he loved it and what an excellent life it was, but that most people were abandoning it now, and the old houses were all being torn down to make apartment blocks. He insisted that even as extranjeras, it was perfectly fine to walk right into these people's courtyards. We did so, following him, and the people that were inside their rooms generally just looked out and said hello and didn't mind us being in their courtyard.
Rafa took us out for fried fish and then to a teteria (teahouse) run by a friend. Rafa is classic Jerez - full of beans. A 50 year old partly bald guy with the most mischevious possible look in his eyes. Continually joking, flirting and generally doing anything he can to keep from being serious.
This morning I went to dance class before coming home. There is nothing better than studying with Ana Maria. It is the only time I feel like I am actually doing flamenco, because there is a guitarist and singer who are the genuine articles and the whole atmosphere is as if you are just hanging out partying with them (between being taught stuff). I learned a good pataita today and she told me I dance well. Salome made me yet another meal and then I got on the train.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
I should be relaxing, drafting, in this couple hours free, but it is an outlet to have a captive audience and to talk about how things are here, so here I am.
I have two Pacos as new students. The Paco I met last night is an accountant, a young man probably younger than me, in his 30s, I'd say. He was very interesting to talk to and that's mostly what we did, or rather, he did. His level of English is probably similar to my level of Spanish. He is fluent and can talk a lot and likes to do that. A very smart fellow. I learned some things about the economic activity in various parts of Andalucia.
The second Paco, I've just met this morning, a man in his 50s, a "technical architect" who has a project this month doing some design for Burger King. We will start lessons later this month.
The one thing I am truly confident of being able to help my students with is their pronunciation. Simply helping them say and hear the difference between a short i and a long e sound is really helpful to them; it is something they are not expecting and seems to almost surprise them - they see how essential it is right away. After all, it really won't do to confuse fit and feet, ship and sheep, and so on. All of them of course are looking for conversational ability. The fact is that if you grow up never hearing or using certain sounds, you hear and say the sound closest to it, in your native language. And then your ear cannot recognise the difference between them without some concerted effort. Speech is so subconscious that your mouth cannot form those new sounds without concerted effort. For some people, they manage to make them and others it really costs them effort (sorry, Spanish word usage...)
It really has been necessary to speak Spanish fluently to communicate initially with them. I do the classes only in English, but really must be able to organise and communicate with them over the phone in Spanish. It would be difficult and uncomfortable for some of them if they had to deal with me in English only.
I have two Pacos as new students. The Paco I met last night is an accountant, a young man probably younger than me, in his 30s, I'd say. He was very interesting to talk to and that's mostly what we did, or rather, he did. His level of English is probably similar to my level of Spanish. He is fluent and can talk a lot and likes to do that. A very smart fellow. I learned some things about the economic activity in various parts of Andalucia.
The second Paco, I've just met this morning, a man in his 50s, a "technical architect" who has a project this month doing some design for Burger King. We will start lessons later this month.
The one thing I am truly confident of being able to help my students with is their pronunciation. Simply helping them say and hear the difference between a short i and a long e sound is really helpful to them; it is something they are not expecting and seems to almost surprise them - they see how essential it is right away. After all, it really won't do to confuse fit and feet, ship and sheep, and so on. All of them of course are looking for conversational ability. The fact is that if you grow up never hearing or using certain sounds, you hear and say the sound closest to it, in your native language. And then your ear cannot recognise the difference between them without some concerted effort. Speech is so subconscious that your mouth cannot form those new sounds without concerted effort. For some people, they manage to make them and others it really costs them effort (sorry, Spanish word usage...)
It really has been necessary to speak Spanish fluently to communicate initially with them. I do the classes only in English, but really must be able to organise and communicate with them over the phone in Spanish. It would be difficult and uncomfortable for some of them if they had to deal with me in English only.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
I suppose it is due to cultural bias and stereotypes that I have the following ideas. It seems to me that when people are more relaxed, less driven, warmer and friendlier, that they would also be less reserved. And that when they are less reserved in one way, they would automatically be less reserved about everything.
This is just not true. We would never dream of kissing a total stranger on the cheek, the moment he/she is introduced to us. But the exact same people who do this, sometimes stick to a formal version of address, despite showing a sense of fun and mischeviousness even. It is a way of keeping a sort of barrier - a safety zone so that things don't become inappropriate in some way, I suppose.
It feels extremely akward to me to use a formal, 3rd person form of addressing a someone, unless the person is much older "Hello, how is he?" "I am fine, and how is he?" The west coast of North America must be one of the most casual places on earth, maybe except for Australia and New Zealand.
The subject of dress and speech is another one. I have had such limited experience in corporate settings. Several of them were really "old boys school" but only one of those necessitated an obviously formal attitude, and even then, I don't remember it being all that formal, except that I was a receptionist and really had to do something about my hippy-ish messy hair! And realised it was not appropriate to yell across the office to make sure that one of the senior people got a phone call he might be looking for.
It is quite an effort and a discomfort for me to decide on the spur of the moment whether to call someone "Usted" or "Tu". You are really stuck and have to choose in a split second, if they beat you to asking "Que tal?" Because you are then the one that has to reply with, "fine thanks, and you?" I've tried repeating "que tal?" over again but that feels ridiculous. Most people automatically choose "tu" with each other, unless they are serving you in the service industry.
Some act like you are being crazy and silly if you call them Usted. They say, "please! what's this calling me usted business, come on!" Then others don't say anything so you have to assume you should keep addressing them formally. My problem is that in writing e-mails to people about teaching English, it often starts out formally, because it is a business type of interaction, and the Spanish do not start e-mail with, "Hi!" In a business environment, e-mails start with the equivalent of "Dear..." (It's even better actually; it is "Estimada Srta. Callaghan" - esteemed señorita Callaghan). Some people send e-mail this way, others start off very casually. There is a big range, but I think the ones who are proper businesspeople, rather than some random guy wanting English classes, write formally.
There have been few times, so many years ago, where I actually needed to wear business attire or to speak formally. When teaching people English (in China as well), I find it against my instinct to teach them anything truly formal. From my point of view it is obsolete in the English speaking world; and certainly does not seem to exist in my end of the world. Only the Queen would ever say "How do you do." I tell my students not to use this, unless they find themselves in the House of Lords in Britain, or something. I believe that most businesspeople speak casually, in Vancouver. The only formality I am ever used to hearing is in Starbucks or a fancy restaurant. This amounts usually to simply contrived sounding speech, rather than anything more respectful than normal.
There certainly is a different way I would talk to people my parents age, whom I don't know very well. I just wouldn't say "how's it going?" or "what's up?"
I am starting to realise that I really don't know, and that there may exist a world even in Vancouver, where people are all "proper-like".
In many experiences in my life, dressing and acting formally would be looked upon with a sense of distrust or perhaps just confusion. "What on earth is this girl wearing a silk blouse and scarf with her jeans, to work in a physics lab for!?" What is she trying to prove?
I feel that perhaps I should put on heels today ... but the only ones I have are bright red suede or snakeskin. The only flats I have that are suitable are fake snakeskin with a patent leather red trim... hmm Hmmm... dancing salsa, maybe or going on a date. Oh well. That is the only option my feet leave me with. Maybe I should just do that stuff and not work at all... :)
Except that I am looking forward to another session of "vvvvv" and "zzzzz" and sit vs. seat, liver vs. leaver, bat vs. but, and forth vs. ford.
This is just not true. We would never dream of kissing a total stranger on the cheek, the moment he/she is introduced to us. But the exact same people who do this, sometimes stick to a formal version of address, despite showing a sense of fun and mischeviousness even. It is a way of keeping a sort of barrier - a safety zone so that things don't become inappropriate in some way, I suppose.
It feels extremely akward to me to use a formal, 3rd person form of addressing a someone, unless the person is much older "Hello, how is he?" "I am fine, and how is he?" The west coast of North America must be one of the most casual places on earth, maybe except for Australia and New Zealand.
The subject of dress and speech is another one. I have had such limited experience in corporate settings. Several of them were really "old boys school" but only one of those necessitated an obviously formal attitude, and even then, I don't remember it being all that formal, except that I was a receptionist and really had to do something about my hippy-ish messy hair! And realised it was not appropriate to yell across the office to make sure that one of the senior people got a phone call he might be looking for.
It is quite an effort and a discomfort for me to decide on the spur of the moment whether to call someone "Usted" or "Tu". You are really stuck and have to choose in a split second, if they beat you to asking "Que tal?" Because you are then the one that has to reply with, "fine thanks, and you?" I've tried repeating "que tal?" over again but that feels ridiculous. Most people automatically choose "tu" with each other, unless they are serving you in the service industry.
Some act like you are being crazy and silly if you call them Usted. They say, "please! what's this calling me usted business, come on!" Then others don't say anything so you have to assume you should keep addressing them formally. My problem is that in writing e-mails to people about teaching English, it often starts out formally, because it is a business type of interaction, and the Spanish do not start e-mail with, "Hi!" In a business environment, e-mails start with the equivalent of "Dear..." (It's even better actually; it is "Estimada Srta. Callaghan" - esteemed señorita Callaghan). Some people send e-mail this way, others start off very casually. There is a big range, but I think the ones who are proper businesspeople, rather than some random guy wanting English classes, write formally.
There have been few times, so many years ago, where I actually needed to wear business attire or to speak formally. When teaching people English (in China as well), I find it against my instinct to teach them anything truly formal. From my point of view it is obsolete in the English speaking world; and certainly does not seem to exist in my end of the world. Only the Queen would ever say "How do you do." I tell my students not to use this, unless they find themselves in the House of Lords in Britain, or something. I believe that most businesspeople speak casually, in Vancouver. The only formality I am ever used to hearing is in Starbucks or a fancy restaurant. This amounts usually to simply contrived sounding speech, rather than anything more respectful than normal.
There certainly is a different way I would talk to people my parents age, whom I don't know very well. I just wouldn't say "how's it going?" or "what's up?"
I am starting to realise that I really don't know, and that there may exist a world even in Vancouver, where people are all "proper-like".
In many experiences in my life, dressing and acting formally would be looked upon with a sense of distrust or perhaps just confusion. "What on earth is this girl wearing a silk blouse and scarf with her jeans, to work in a physics lab for!?" What is she trying to prove?
I feel that perhaps I should put on heels today ... but the only ones I have are bright red suede or snakeskin. The only flats I have that are suitable are fake snakeskin with a patent leather red trim... hmm Hmmm... dancing salsa, maybe or going on a date. Oh well. That is the only option my feet leave me with. Maybe I should just do that stuff and not work at all... :)
Except that I am looking forward to another session of "vvvvv" and "zzzzz" and sit vs. seat, liver vs. leaver, bat vs. but, and forth vs. ford.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Splurge
I am drinking a very good glass of tempranillo (red wine) that cost €2.20 or something, while desperately trying to concentrate on my lesson plan for tomorrow. How to teach when to use continuous form or gerund of a verb instead of the simple verb, or the infinitive.
I went to Corte Ingles (department store with a supermarket - upstairs you get clothes, nailpolish and grande mantones, large beautiful embroidered shawls, downstairs, food, towels and sewing supplies) and stocked up, because I'd just gotten paid by Marcelino for one lesson, and I had nothing in the fridge. I bought some salchichon iberico on sale (big piece of sausage made of special pig), wakame, jar of sardines, and a few other things, like long green peppers meant for frying.
I got back from Jerez at 3:45 and had to figure myself out before going to teach Marcelino. He seems very formal in his business suit but is very nice and walked me back after class to get a break from being indoors working constantly. As usual, a short a and u sound are difficult to tell apart, as are a th and a d. I enjoy working on pronunciation, because I think it is neglected but people have a hard time hearing effectively, if they cannot distinguish two sounds that to them are very similar.
Jerez unfortunately seems to be the center of my universe. I got there Sunday, and spent a while decompressing from the stress of teaching here, and the situation in my apartment. It is so quiet and relaxing there. It is a magic place and I never want to leave once I go there.
Jill, a professional flute player from Vancouver who has recently got into flamenco, very generously invited me to stay with her in her hotel. She arrived several hours after I got there and after I'd had a chance to relax and have a siesta. I showed her around and then we met Salome and had tapas, and both of them went to the Teatro Villamarta for a show. I was not so interested in the show and could not have afforded it anyways. I went for a walk and then sat in Bar Arriate, a legendary flamenco place where music happens spontaneously, but usually after midnight. I read about the absolute havoc that is happening in Jerez, as far as politics and economics (police not being paid, protesting by burning tires and effigies) and other completely loco things. I finally started talking to the three guys that own or work there, who told me where the late show was.
I ran into Andrew from Vancouver, and after the show, Hiro, who lives in Granada now, and then some Japanese friends of Salome. The girls went to bed, and I went out with the Japanese girls and a Dutch woman. We had to take a taxi to get way out to a pena where Nino Jero and Luis El Zambo were performing. I couldn't believe how good Oloroso seco de Jerez is, when you have it in Jerez instead of Sevilla (a golden coloured sherry, dry). The audience was highly Japanese, all the people from the festival had come. I saw Manu, back from Switzerland. Nino Jero is very renouned as a guitarist. Luis El Zambo is an incredibly intense and beautiful singer - a big man, but attractive. Nino Jero was in the strangest mischevous mood, and was grinning and making a Japanese girl in the front laugh in the middle of the Siguiriyas. I found him kind of distracting. He is so well known that he can do whatever he wants, I suppose. If it were up to me to judge, I'd say there was something going on with him and the Japanese girl.
Despite these funny things, it was an incredible show, and I felt again that this is my place. I want to be here. In Jerez, not Sevilla.
Monday was relaxed. Jill and I slept in late. I helped her look for flamenco shoes and find her way around town. We had a late siesta, and then Salome came knocking on the door, dragging Jill out to a dance class. Salome is a very busy working mother in Vancouver, and does not have too much time to herself. I admire the way she is just going for it, doing everything, seeing all the shows, going to tons of dance classes - giving this holiday all she has got. She looks happy and energetic.
I went off to meet Geoff, an Irish/English guy with a place in Jerez. I'd contacted him about "couchsurfing" before Jill told me she'd rented a hotel with two beds. He said let's meet anyways. After Jill's class, she came and we all went to Geoffrey's house, and had a great evening drinking wine and shooting the breezes; don't know what else to call it. Meeting new, cool people.
This morning just before I left, Jill and I ran into Kiko, back again from France, who spoke to us in a mischevous mixture of 5 different languages, and Julz, the London hip hop/breakdance/flamenco/capoeira/metal artist.
I made sure to have breakfast of molletes con tomate y aceite and coffee both mornings. How completely satisfying to sit by the market on a sunny and slightly misty morning and have a huge dose of olive oil with pureed tomatoes on "molletes"...
Things are going better at home too. "La piedra" as I was beginning to call her, initiated a talk with me this evening to make things smoother. I think she is really a decent person, but there is an enormous cultural and personality difference between us. Hopefully it will continue this way.
The only thing I need to do now is reconcile my life here in Sevilla with my desire and need to be in Jerez. I may need to travel there often. Jerez is what I am over here for.
I went to Corte Ingles (department store with a supermarket - upstairs you get clothes, nailpolish and grande mantones, large beautiful embroidered shawls, downstairs, food, towels and sewing supplies) and stocked up, because I'd just gotten paid by Marcelino for one lesson, and I had nothing in the fridge. I bought some salchichon iberico on sale (big piece of sausage made of special pig), wakame, jar of sardines, and a few other things, like long green peppers meant for frying.
I got back from Jerez at 3:45 and had to figure myself out before going to teach Marcelino. He seems very formal in his business suit but is very nice and walked me back after class to get a break from being indoors working constantly. As usual, a short a and u sound are difficult to tell apart, as are a th and a d. I enjoy working on pronunciation, because I think it is neglected but people have a hard time hearing effectively, if they cannot distinguish two sounds that to them are very similar.
Jerez unfortunately seems to be the center of my universe. I got there Sunday, and spent a while decompressing from the stress of teaching here, and the situation in my apartment. It is so quiet and relaxing there. It is a magic place and I never want to leave once I go there.
Jill, a professional flute player from Vancouver who has recently got into flamenco, very generously invited me to stay with her in her hotel. She arrived several hours after I got there and after I'd had a chance to relax and have a siesta. I showed her around and then we met Salome and had tapas, and both of them went to the Teatro Villamarta for a show. I was not so interested in the show and could not have afforded it anyways. I went for a walk and then sat in Bar Arriate, a legendary flamenco place where music happens spontaneously, but usually after midnight. I read about the absolute havoc that is happening in Jerez, as far as politics and economics (police not being paid, protesting by burning tires and effigies) and other completely loco things. I finally started talking to the three guys that own or work there, who told me where the late show was.
I ran into Andrew from Vancouver, and after the show, Hiro, who lives in Granada now, and then some Japanese friends of Salome. The girls went to bed, and I went out with the Japanese girls and a Dutch woman. We had to take a taxi to get way out to a pena where Nino Jero and Luis El Zambo were performing. I couldn't believe how good Oloroso seco de Jerez is, when you have it in Jerez instead of Sevilla (a golden coloured sherry, dry). The audience was highly Japanese, all the people from the festival had come. I saw Manu, back from Switzerland. Nino Jero is very renouned as a guitarist. Luis El Zambo is an incredibly intense and beautiful singer - a big man, but attractive. Nino Jero was in the strangest mischevous mood, and was grinning and making a Japanese girl in the front laugh in the middle of the Siguiriyas. I found him kind of distracting. He is so well known that he can do whatever he wants, I suppose. If it were up to me to judge, I'd say there was something going on with him and the Japanese girl.
Despite these funny things, it was an incredible show, and I felt again that this is my place. I want to be here. In Jerez, not Sevilla.
Monday was relaxed. Jill and I slept in late. I helped her look for flamenco shoes and find her way around town. We had a late siesta, and then Salome came knocking on the door, dragging Jill out to a dance class. Salome is a very busy working mother in Vancouver, and does not have too much time to herself. I admire the way she is just going for it, doing everything, seeing all the shows, going to tons of dance classes - giving this holiday all she has got. She looks happy and energetic.
I went off to meet Geoff, an Irish/English guy with a place in Jerez. I'd contacted him about "couchsurfing" before Jill told me she'd rented a hotel with two beds. He said let's meet anyways. After Jill's class, she came and we all went to Geoffrey's house, and had a great evening drinking wine and shooting the breezes; don't know what else to call it. Meeting new, cool people.
This morning just before I left, Jill and I ran into Kiko, back again from France, who spoke to us in a mischevous mixture of 5 different languages, and Julz, the London hip hop/breakdance/flamenco/capoeira/metal artist.
I made sure to have breakfast of molletes con tomate y aceite and coffee both mornings. How completely satisfying to sit by the market on a sunny and slightly misty morning and have a huge dose of olive oil with pureed tomatoes on "molletes"...
Things are going better at home too. "La piedra" as I was beginning to call her, initiated a talk with me this evening to make things smoother. I think she is really a decent person, but there is an enormous cultural and personality difference between us. Hopefully it will continue this way.
The only thing I need to do now is reconcile my life here in Sevilla with my desire and need to be in Jerez. I may need to travel there often. Jerez is what I am over here for.
Friday, March 2, 2012
The favorite people of my day today were Ernesto and the retarded guy. Actually I love the guys in the company that I'm teaching too. But they are normal adults and right now I just want to not be normal.
I am not that bad at playing with a kid. I let him lead most things, but this time I managed to direct the playing a bit, though not very logically or particularly adult-ly. I just keep on trying to talk in English while I am crawling under the table or pretending to snore or kicking a ball or pretending I am terribly frightened of the monster that Ernesto has drawn and is flinging at me.
On the way back from the Empresarial Park today, a big mentally handicapped guy got on the bus with earphones. One of the other passengers knew him and they greeted each other. Then the retarded guy burst out into song at the top of his lungs. He would stop and start rather suddenly, and at the same time as he sang, he moved his head up and down in rhythm, and he'd also move his hands vigorously as if he was playing the drums, and then the electric guitar or even directing with a baton. He had decent tone and good rhythm. In fact he didn't seem to lack that much that the rest of us have except inhibition. Some of the words of his music were about a niña, and he started singing to one of the girls and then blowing kisses at her. He eventually did this with various other girls and kept on singing at the top of his lungs and playing drums and guitar with all his might. It didn't take the other passengers long to be in an uproar. He kept interrupting his singing to say, "joder, tengo calor!" ("fuck, it's hot!") What was so cool was the way all the passengers interacted with him. Nobody seemed bothered, most of them were totally amused and laughed (with, not at him) and people noted what "arte" he had (arte is a bit like art, but used as a characteristic of a person - funny, artful). People were generally looking around at each other and laughing and making comments to or about him to each other. I've seen people at home interact with handicapped people on busses and treat them kindly, but what was noteably different was how much more, and easily people were able to interact with each other and him. I felt they treated him more like one of them, and with a lot of respect, along with their usual live and let live attitude. The young, pretty girl he kissed just laughed and called him guapo when she got off the bus - but it wasn't in a condescending way that I've seen so many people treat others whose minds are less capable (the elderly, children or mentally handicapped). People here seem so willing and able to see the human aspects of things - the heart. Whatever this fellow had inside him was just coming straight out, and it was something everybody could identify with. Who doesn't want to sing at the top of their lungs and play drums with all their might, wherever they feel like it? Andalucian people have quite a lot of propriety. Though they are very relaxed, and like to live and let live, they do have a sense of the way things go, and of what is appropriate. It's not that his behaviour was normal to them nor were they blasé about it (that's why they were all laughing so much).
I am not that bad at playing with a kid. I let him lead most things, but this time I managed to direct the playing a bit, though not very logically or particularly adult-ly. I just keep on trying to talk in English while I am crawling under the table or pretending to snore or kicking a ball or pretending I am terribly frightened of the monster that Ernesto has drawn and is flinging at me.
On the way back from the Empresarial Park today, a big mentally handicapped guy got on the bus with earphones. One of the other passengers knew him and they greeted each other. Then the retarded guy burst out into song at the top of his lungs. He would stop and start rather suddenly, and at the same time as he sang, he moved his head up and down in rhythm, and he'd also move his hands vigorously as if he was playing the drums, and then the electric guitar or even directing with a baton. He had decent tone and good rhythm. In fact he didn't seem to lack that much that the rest of us have except inhibition. Some of the words of his music were about a niña, and he started singing to one of the girls and then blowing kisses at her. He eventually did this with various other girls and kept on singing at the top of his lungs and playing drums and guitar with all his might. It didn't take the other passengers long to be in an uproar. He kept interrupting his singing to say, "joder, tengo calor!" ("fuck, it's hot!") What was so cool was the way all the passengers interacted with him. Nobody seemed bothered, most of them were totally amused and laughed (with, not at him) and people noted what "arte" he had (arte is a bit like art, but used as a characteristic of a person - funny, artful). People were generally looking around at each other and laughing and making comments to or about him to each other. I've seen people at home interact with handicapped people on busses and treat them kindly, but what was noteably different was how much more, and easily people were able to interact with each other and him. I felt they treated him more like one of them, and with a lot of respect, along with their usual live and let live attitude. The young, pretty girl he kissed just laughed and called him guapo when she got off the bus - but it wasn't in a condescending way that I've seen so many people treat others whose minds are less capable (the elderly, children or mentally handicapped). People here seem so willing and able to see the human aspects of things - the heart. Whatever this fellow had inside him was just coming straight out, and it was something everybody could identify with. Who doesn't want to sing at the top of their lungs and play drums with all their might, wherever they feel like it? Andalucian people have quite a lot of propriety. Though they are very relaxed, and like to live and let live, they do have a sense of the way things go, and of what is appropriate. It's not that his behaviour was normal to them nor were they blasé about it (that's why they were all laughing so much).
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)