TEFLees in Spain

Living in Spain has a spring break quality for young Americans teaching English in Madrid.  The cheap and generous portions of alcohol, the communal living quarters, the constant opportunity to party, the excellent weather and beautiful people.  And, most importantly, what happens in Spain stays in Spain.

Reality overrides the vacation feeling sometimes.  We learn that no one in the city proper seems to feel obligated to pick up after their dog.  We learn that it does, in fact, rain in Spain – and not only on the plains (though still little enough to love our sunny city).  We learn that we cannot complain about the rain to your classes because they will lecture us on being grateful that we are not in a drought.

But overall, we can’t shake the aura of good times, sunshine, and summertime – all year round.  Maybe that’s why TEFL graduation parties can be so ridiculous.  After all, the TEFL is intensive by definition.  Letting off steam is to be expected.

And like spring break, TEFL graduations precipitate stories… and laughter… and gossip… and… maybe a little bit of embarrassment.  And maybe the important thing to remember is that laughing at ourselves is what makes us a success in a foreign country.  Our failures and embarrassments are what make us human, what make us vulnerable and approachable and loveable.

Laughing at yourself as you make mistakes in the Spanish language is what prevents you from giving up entirely.  Laughing at yourself making a mistake in class is what gives you the strength to keep teaching.  Laughing at yourself when you step in canine droppings is what stops you from going home to change and being late to work.  And laughing at yourself in life out of your natural habitat is what helps you love Madrid for all it is.

And as the rain washes the dog feces from the sidewalk in front of the entrance to our building, we begin again.  A fresh start.  Which is why we came here.

Learning to live in Spain is an adventure.

Adventure is such a positive word. It makes you think of Tarzan and James Bond and Christopher Columbus and Toby McGuire. But we forget… we forget that for an adventure to be an adventure, we also need Captain Hook and Kryptonite and Valdemort and the Big Bad Wolf. Overcoming obstacles, getting over the struggle, and remaining noble in the face of adversity are all requisite for hero status.

Spaniards often criticize the Anglo-Saxon tendency to live for work. And this is probably a valid argument, although we counter it with our own critique of Latin work ethic. If you aren’t careful, it is easy to pull yourself out of the culture you live in and see it all for all that it isn’t.

For example, the banks in Spain are open from 8.15 to 2pm. I am not sure what these people do in the afternoon. I do not know why no one else is angry about this. I have a sneaking suspicion that all bank managers spontaneously convert to pumpkins at 2pm and don’t want anyone to be the wiser.

Whatever the reason, I needed to go to the bank at 8.15 in the morning on the way to work (which isn’t actually on the way) to claim and collect my bank cards which the bank is apparently unable to post to my physical address.

I waited by myself in front of the bank, just my ipod and me. Twenty minutes later, I was starting to get concerned, as it was still just Eminem and me. Twenty MORE minutes later a very well-dressed, relaxed Spanish man greeted me good morning and explained that Yolanda, who usually opens this branch (of the nationally recognized bank, situated in the middle of a city with 4 million inhabitants) was on vacation, so no one was able to be there until 8.40.

I took this in stride. I explained to him that I just needed my bank cards. Unfortunately, the safe takes 20 minutes to open. As I was already late to work, this was not an acceptable option. I was just about to leave peacefully when he advised me that it was just silly for me to open an account so far from my place of work. I took this very personally. This was my very own Gollum, withholding my precious ring.

I turned my very sleepy not-yet-caffeinated self around and told him in my very best pretend grown up Spanish that in some countries, you can do business in any branch of the bank where you open an account. That in some countries, customer service is important and things open when they say they will. That in some countries, businesses stayed open for reasonable amounts of time and they were convenient for everyone to go to. I told him that it was better not to have a bank account than to have my money and bank cards trapped in an un-openable box in an un-openable bank with a national bank that cannot function when someone goes on holiday.

I stormed my Anglo-saxon self out of that bank and onto a bus. When I got to work, I opened an email from my sister. She was stuck at work. Someone was on vacation, and she had to cover. She hadn’t seen her husband in ages, because someone was sick at his work as well. But, of course, they couldn’t just shut down!

The longer I sat in front of that email, the more I started doubting the American emphasis on work… how we arrange our lives around it, define ourselves as parties by it, subject our families and friends to its schedule. And then, I was glad that the bank manager’s sister would never have to read an email like the one that I was reading. And even though I desperately wished I had a bank card…the glass really is half full. I do love living in Spain, because here in Spain, we work to live.

The Spanish always find a reason to celebrate.  Yes, Americans do dress up as everything other the sun to (against all reason) ask for candy from strangers on October 31st, but the Spanish insist on November 1st being a national holiday.  It’s just too convenient. 

The beautiful thing about Spanish holidays is the phenomenon we call “puente.”  If a holiday falls on a Tuesday, the Monday is a write-off.  If a holiday falls on a Thursday (which it always seems to…), then of course, a four-day weekend is declared. 

Although I am fairly certain that this relaxed mañana attitude is huge part of why we love the Iberian Peninsula, we definitely criticize it when it affects us negatively (in line at the bank, in line at the supermarket, in line for the bus…. in any line, actually).  We laugh about the disproportionate amount of liquor in our copas and shake our heads at the two-hour lunch.  But maybe, unconsciously, we are slowly synchronizing with the dawdling pace.

So last night, in honor respecting Spanish culture, I fulfilled my civic duty by going to a Spanish bar with some of my August TEFLites.  And there we discovered Madrid’s best kept secret… the 60 cent caña.  (I am not disclosing the location of this bar, because it was hard enough last night to get a table)  For 60 cents, it would have been rude to leave after one… or two… or three. 

So we bought each other rounds.  We toasted to the cheap beer, and to the 2-month anniversary of their course graduation, and to the new TEFLees (whom I adore, but whom no one else at the table actually knew), and to the return of Meaghan, who went back to Canada for a while after the August TEFL ended. 

And then, with no warning, I think we toasted to the random holiday that probably none of us completely understood, just searching for a reason to celebrate.  Maybe we laugh at the leisurely pace of Spaniards to distance ourselves from a truth we are afraid to admit: After a short time of heavy exposure, we’re all a little Spanish on the inside.