TEFLees in Spain

Our students trust us.

Our students depend on us to tell them the mistakes on their CV and how to proposition their blind date and how to ask for a medium rare steak.

So when new TEFLees come every month to be their brand new teacher, it is difficult for them to adjust. This proves to be discouraging for incoming teachers at times. It is especially true of upper-intermediate students that they have a strong tendency to doubt.

When a TEFLee explains a complex grammatical structure, upper-intermediate to advanced students are not likely to believe him. They are likely to turn around and ask one of us (the instructors grading the class) “Is this true?” as if they are watching a mockumentary or are on candid camera. They are also likely to turn around in the middle of the class and look at us and roll their eyes, as if we are collectively making fun of the new TEFLee and are exasperated together by them.

This offends new teachers sometimes, who are not used to having their credibility questioned on a language in which they consider themselves fluent.

During these moments, it’s important to remember that trust is earned, especially in a forum which requires it so completely. Because students have no other reference, they need to test out their new sources of information to make sure that they can walk on the ice confidently without it cracking under their feet one day.

And in the meantime, just keep being right.

Today is a gorgeous sunny day in Madrid. As I chat with TEFLees from the UK, I feel smug about our good weather, as if it is a personal accomplishment of mine during my office admin time. Like blogging and creating facebook networks and soaking in gossip and offering unsolicited advice and secretly giving away chocolate was has been gifted to the office, bragging about our fabulous climate has become an unwritten task of my job.

They (the unnamed smart people who we so often plagiarize) say that sunlight makes you less depressed. I don’t know if it’s necessarily the vitamin D I’m soaking up from the sunshine or the terrace drinking culture of Springtime in Madrid, but I do know that all of the TEFLees’ spirits — and mine — have been high the last few weeks.

The Spanish are attracted to the streets. The first ray of sun streaked through the clouds, and suddenly there were tables of beer and sangria on every corner. And, as is appropriate, people flocked to them.

My other favorite thing about Spring is Semana Santa. I love that Madrid closes down for a week… and it’s certainly great for the teachers. It’s been fun listening to all of our TEFLees talk about the places they are going and the things they are doing. Cheap bus trips to the coast, 15 euro hostels, easyjet to Paris, walking tours of the Camino de Santiago in the north, Geneva, Prague, off to a mountain village of Madrid.

Spring is a time for new beginnings. For travel, for resolutions, for lighter jackets and white sandals. And apparently, a time for calling the course administrator at the TEFL school of your choice to complain about British weather, so she remembers to relish her own:).

The office is very strange today.

It is strange partially because it is Natasha’s first day of official pregnancy leave. She is now at home incubating baby Jack.

It is also weird because we built teeny tiny rooms into the reception area of TtMadrid.In my mind, they were going to look similar to phone booths, and I wanted them to be red, which i think would be appropriate for an English school. However, if the lack of enthusiasm from other employees was any indication, it was doomed to be significantly less exciting than I had anticipated.

But I like that we’ve built teeny tiny rooms. TEFLees make a lot of noise when in one conglomerate space, and maybe dividing them into smaller portions will make them quieter. In other words, maybe they’ll be less inclined to yell across the room at each other if they can’t see each other. After spending 4 weeks in one place with the same people, TEFLees’ brains often start to turn to mush and they — like children under 18 months — cannot be expected to grasp object permanence.

Or maybe the mini-spaces will provide more ares for TEFLees to tell us secrets. Senida and I are both a bit overwhelmed by the personal information we’ve gotten lately — which is surprising since I don’t think either one of us are particularly empathetic people. I certainly wouldn’t choose us to confide to.

Another option which is consistent with our office’s habits is that we will use the stalls to hide food or stationary. We have an impressive amount of both hiding in our office. In case of hurricane or Basque seizure, we could eat and do coursework in our school for years.

I suppose the administrative reasoning behind this is more practical (and debatably less interesting). We have experienced and expect to experience substantial growth at work, and we need more rooms for classes, TEFLees, students, and employees.

When all else fails, we can build Jack a playpen in there maybe.

I love to travel.

I love airports.

I love layovers and stewardesses and suitcases and new stamps in my passport.  I love duty-free vodka and packaged sandwiches and earphones that only work on planes because they have two prongy things.

I enjoy making friends with the beautiful Danish men who may sit next to me and giving directions to confused people and pulling pretend-looking money from ATMs.  I like watching people hug and cry and yell in foreign languages and making up stories about them in my head.

Most of all, I appreciate the stage of transition.  I thrive in-between.  I relish being missing-in-action — not being in a particular place or with certain people or with any responsibilities.  Maybe traveling is special to me because I can’t — and I’m not expected to — accomplish much more than arriving at point B.   This is almost mandatory space to reflect and anticipate.  Cushion.  Buffer.

Time to think about my life and my plans and my friends and my TEFLees.  Time to think back on all that has changed — and all that has stayed the same — since my last introspective airport terminal appointment.  Time to appreciate how lucky I am to be on the way to my destination or on the way from my origin.  Time to hide in a hole with gobs of other people just like me.

That’s life in Spain to me.  The big standstill transition where I am allowed to relax, spend too much money, meet strangers, and think.  Life in Madrid is my layover that gives me time off the record to enjoy the journey.

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.