Bedtime stories

Less than a week to go — it's so hard to believe. Tomorrow is our farewell dinner, which seemed so distant when I saw it in my planner.

Yesterday I had my last official day at Mar Bella. The kids have actually made a ton of progress in their English this semester. In October, I was doing interview questions with the advanced sixth graders, and now even the fifth graders can tell me where they live and what their hobbies are.

Spanish kids get two weeks of vacation for the holidays and the pre-vacation jitters have definitely settled in. The school is covered in decorations — every inch of the hallways is covered in paper Christmas trees and paper mache ornaments. I love how unapologetically Christmasy Spain is. Don't get me wrong — I am the most obnoxious Hanukkah promoter (I write this as my baguette menorah burns on the kitchen table), but there's something very magical about the unhampered Christmas spirit. The entire city looks BEAUTIFUL (pics coming soon).

After leaving the school yesterday, I walked home (normally I take the bus). I was actually enjoying the fact that I needed a coat and gloves. I happened upon a Dunkin' Coffee and I decided that it was the perfect antidote for studying for finals. The woman looked at me like I was nuts when I ordered an iced coffee, but it was so perfect.

Today was my last trip on the ferrocarril out to UAB. It was an anti-climactic ending (classes continue through next week, we're just not going), but I had a personal celebratory lunch in the cafeteria and waved goodbye to the campus as the train pulled away. Tomorrow morning is my social theory final (yes parents, I am about to go to bed) and then I am all done! (Minus the papers I'm emailing in in January.) I'm excited to have the last few days to run around Barcelona, revisit my favorite places and cross off the few remaining items on my to-do list.

Cute story of the day before I get into bed: This afternoon as I was returning to Onix, three girls stopped me in the hallway. They asked if I spoke English (they were Spanish) and when I said yes, they asked if they could "make an interview." (It was an assignment for their English class.) I said of course and invited them into my room. Using a tape recorder, they asked my name, where I'm from, etc. It was a funny change of events because I'm so used to walking around the city and being the inquirer. They asked my opinion of the mediterranean diet (positive) and what things I missed from my country. Put on the spot, I said the first two things that popped into my head: large cups of coffee and functioning dryers (we've been using a clothesline all semester).

So that's where you'll find me pretty soon: drinking copious amounts of iced coffee and doing my laundry.

Well that was embarrassing...

Even in Spain, American Christmas music seems to take over every public venue — cafés, supermarkets, the accordion players on the Metro. As a result, my Catalan first graders, who barely know how to introduce themselves in English, know all the words to "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." This morning as we were making Christmas-tree-shaped cards, the class started an impromptu sing-along. After their mini performance, they asked if I would sing it (accompanied by one of the more fluent girls, Laia).

But as we left the chorus and progressed into the actual words of the song, I drew a total blank, while she kept going. I just smiled and laughed — I decided it was easier than explaining that I'm a Jewish girl from Long Island.

Bonjour mon ami!

This year, I got to celebrate Thanksgiving overlooking the Seine with a side of French bread. Not too shabby.

I met my cousins in Paris on Thursday and enjoyed a delicious (and very legitimate, thanks to my aunt's cranberry imports and fantastic cooking) dinner. Everyone around us may have been speaking French and the only parades we saw were museum workers on strike (seriously), but we still enjoyed all the American classics.

We spent Friday at Versailles, exploring the decadent bedrooms, the unbelievable Hall of Mirrors and the sprawling gardens. Everything just felt so French. (Yet another language barrier could have been a part of that. However, my conversational Catalan was actually helpful. I'm debating if I should list it as a "Skill" on my resume.)

On Saturday we made our way through the gigantic Musee D'Orsay, focusing on the Impressionist wings (my favorite part). It would have been impossible to see everything — the converted train station is filled with five floors worth of art. We were lucky that we could even go into the museum — one of the other major attractions (Centre Pompidou) was striking, and rumor has it that all the other museums will be too.

We braved the elements and hit the pavement to stroll the Parisian streets (and admire all of the beautiful stores). The window displays even look prettier in France.

It was a brief trip, but I had a great time — and considering I wasn't stateside, it was really nice to be with family for Turkey Day.

I made it back to Barcelona just in time for "El Clasico" — the epic fútbol match-up between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid. We started scoping out a place to watch at 6 or so (game time was 7) and found every bar, restaurant and cafe in the city to be PACKED. Apparently no one watches from home. We managed to squeeze our way into the pizza place across the street and watched Barca eke out a 1-0 win (despite a ton of violence from both sides).

Today at Mar Bella, almost every single one of my kids had on a Barcelona jersey — just in case there was any question about whose side they were on.

This week in food

On Monday, I got to participate in a taller de cocina — a cooking class — which was delicious, enlightening and full of adventures. In groups, we helped to prepare each course. Feeling eager to participate, I volunteered to help with the crema catalana, which despite being dessert, was the first thing we worked on. My task was to separate eight eggs. Psh, easy...

ORR not. The first one was a total failure. I had to have Paige vouch for the fact that she has seen me make egg-white omelets innumerable times. Making fun of me, Ignacio, our chef instructor, tried to teach me a weird trick that involved putting my fingers into the egg. Needless to say, when professional chefs make something look easy — it's not.

Other notable moments included a huge soup spill on the counter, and Ignacio's subsequent recovery of the soup using a giant knife.

Our finished dinner included: pan con tomate, gazpacho garnished with a homemade pesto, tortilla española, chicken paella, and the crema catalana. Right before dessert was served, I got to take a blow torch to half of the cremas in order to caramelize the sugar. I want one for my birthday.

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In other food news, today at Mar Bella I gave the Catalan children a presentation about Thanksgiving. Other than little clips from movies, none of them (5th and 6th graders) knew anything about the holiday. Explaining the Pilgrims to a group of kids who (a) know nothing about American history and (b) speak limited English is ... challenging. We trudged through and made it to the pictures of food. At the end of the presentation, one of my sixth graders came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "I'm hungry, and it's your fault." At least food is a language we all speak...

News Digest

This weekend, Chaz came to visit Barcelona. He was here on vacation pretty recently though, so Paige dubbed him a "bad visitor" — he'd seen pretty much all of the sights already. But that gave me a chance to show off all the hidden gems of Barca that I've found: the unbelievably menu del día, the fun walking routes, other top eating destinations. We went to the MACBA and saw a couple cool exhibits (including one of a collage artist who used to live in Locust Valley!).

We also went to the Fonts de Montjuic — a magical fountain show that plays muisc in synch with a fantastical light show. I've heard rumors that the Bellagio's show in Las Vegas was inspired by the one on Montjuic. The music changes with every show (four a night) — we got to see classical opera and 2000s era American pop music. Apparently there's a rocking Disney-themed performance, but I have yet to see it.

Yesterday I spent the morning at Mar Bella, as per usual. With the sixth graders, I've been doing interviews to help them practice asking and answering questions. They've gotten bored asked where I live and how old I am; yesterday we moved onto how much I weigh, whether or not I'm married, and if I can drive a helicopter.

In other news, it's still about 70 degrees in Barcelona, and it shows no signs of becoming winter. Ever. On the plus side, using a resource found by one of my friends, now I can figure out how to appropriately dress for this mild climate.

Trick or Treat!

Even though I didn't dress up, I did get to celebrate Halloween today. Because the holiday is associated with the English language, all of the English classes at Mar Bella go all out — and I was invited to attend. All week, the third through sixth grade classes had been learning songs in English, which they performed for the younger kids. The words were mildly inaudible, but the masks were adorable. The older kids then went trick or treating to all the younger classrooms and sang the "Trick or Treat" song, which I had taught them on Wednesday. Per the teachers' suggestion, we changed "If you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underwear" to "I'll put red ants in your hair." I'm not sure how much better that is, but ok!

Most of the kids go home between 1 and 3 to eat lunch, and so I am usually not at Mar Bella during those hours. Today I got to stay and eat with the teachers though, and I have to say, their cafeteria lunch trumps anything I ever saw at FA. We had lovely fresh grilled fish, a wide assortment of vegetables and potatoes, and there were at least three other things I was just to overwhelmed to try.

After lunch was the day's actual main event: the Castanyada.

The Castanyada is a Catalan holiday, celebrated on the same day as Halloween, and centered around castanyers, or chestnuts. I'm still a little fuzzy on the symbolic reasons as to why chestnuts are eaten, but the holiday is extremely festive, and involves a lot of singing and dancing.

The sixth graders dressed up as the gypsies who sell chestnuts on the streets. (I pulled out my best face painting skills to make wrinkles and mustaches.) The preschoolers performed a dance in the gym and were then given folded pieces of newspaper, containing roasted chestnuts. One of the teachers overheard me saying I had never had a chestnut before, and taught me how to properly crack and eat one. Good thing — all of the little kids then decided my nails were perfect for peeling open their treats.

After the youngest and oldest kids had their song and dance time, the entire school congregated on the playground for more dancing and chestnut eating. The first grade class — who have fully attached themselves to me — pulled me into their circle and we all danced to the Catalan castanyer songs. It was unbelievably fun, and the kids got so into it. At the end they got a little Peter Pan-esque on me — three of the first graders refused to let go of my leg and begged me to come home and be their mothers. I promised I would be back on Monday.

You know, I'm just Sarah Palin

Today I had my second day at Mar Bella. This time I was working with a fifth grade class, who were giving presentations about the different animal groups. I watched to try and get a sense of where they were skill-wise. It was funny - seemingly hard words like "oviparous" they had no trouble pronouncing because the Catalan cognate sounds so similar. On the other hand, the ea sound in "breathe" or "dead" is nearly impossible for them.

After class I was talking to Ángels and the vice principal. In Catalan, the vice principal asked me what I was studying. I answered (in Spanish), political science. "Emmy for President!" she said, adding (in Catalan), "You would be better than that dumb woman from Alaska."

I'm glad some concepts translate.

Marvelous Monday Morning at Mar Bella

Today I (finally) started working in Col-legio Mar Bella (also known as Mar Bella Elementary School). After a brief transportation snafu (I didn´t really know what bus stop to get off at and overshot - good thing I walk fast), I arrived at 9, just as all the kids and their parents were lining up outside the school gates. Some things are exactly the same - all the little kids had Hello Kitty, Disney and FC Barcelona backpacks, the sixth graders had those annyoing wheely backpacks, with which they were running over everyone´s feet.

I walked inside and found Ángels and Ángels, the two English instructors at the school. They introduced me to a couple key people, including the vice principal. She asked me questions in Catalan, I responded in Castellano, and was told I could only speak English while in the classroom. Oy vey.

First I worked with a class of first graders. Within the last few years, Halloween has become an actual holiday in Spain (for totally commercial reasons), but prior to that, it´s always been celebrated in English classes. The class was learning different vocabulary, like "witch" and "spider," and making little booklets to help them along. I sat down with a boy named Guillem, who showed me his coloring and started spèaking in Catalan. "Guillem," a nearby little girl said (also in Catalan), "Ángels SAID she only speaks English." (Obviously they believed that and I was pretty good at pretending I had no idea what was going on.) "I know that," Guillem responded, "but I´m going to teach her."

My favorite part about six year olds though: every little girl came and hugged my legs at the end of the hour.

Next I headed to a very rambunctious third grade class, where we practiced the song they´ll be singing at the Halloween party on Friday. They were getting antsy though - at 11 am they have "breakfast" (sandwiches brought from home) and play extremely physical fútbol on the playground.

Between classes, I had a chance to sit down with the two Ángels and talk about future classes. I´m really glad this program actually allows me to help coordinate what I do. When I worked in a bilingual classroom in Providence, I showed up, stood there and did what I was told. I felt like I was helping - but only to a degree. Here, I get to actually influence what we do during the hours I´m in the classroom.

To finish off my morning I went to a classroom of sixth graders. They were shyer about speaking at first, but by the end, had warmed up to me. All they wanted to know (once they found out where I´m from) is whether I had ever seen any famous people. I named a couple of my more obscure celeb sightings, but what they really wanted to know is whether I have ever seen the Jonas Brothers.

It was actually a challenge to NOT speak any Spanish, especially with everyone around me rattling away in a combination of Catalan and Castellano. I had to think really hard about what to say before I started speaking in English. One of the Ángels said she felt more self-conscious speaking English to the class with me there, and I understand the feeling. Right now I´m in the UPF library about to walk into my social theory class, where I am mildly terrified of raising my hand because I don´t even know what´s going to come out. But if I can teach a bunch of elementary school kids how to speak English, maybe Guillem and his friends can teach me to speak Catalan too. Maybe.

Color by Numbers

I was waiting to write about a number of things because I wanted the accompanying images, but with my computer's unexpected "vacation" upon us, a little imagination is required...

1. Last Friday, we finally met with the teachers who we'll be working with in the Barcelona elementary schools. (Remember that? Yeah, we almost forgot about it too.) I have been assigned to a school called Mar Bella, which is in the Poble Nou district — a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood near the Olympic Village. (According to the director of the school's English program, the parents are working class but the kids grow up to be professionals.) While in the classrooms, we have to pretend we speak absolutely no Spanish — it's our job to get the kids to speak in English and really practice. I'll be working with first, third and sixth graders. My first day is Monday — my schedule made it hard to find times to go, but luckily Juanjo's "Guerra Civil" class is optional on Mondays (seriously), so I'll be kicking it with the kiddies instead.

2. On Tuesday night, I went to my first fútbol game. FC Barcelona — more religion than team — was playing a team we had never heard of (Russia's Rubin Kazan), but it was a championship game and there were decent seats available, so we went for it. We dressed up, painted our faces, and cheered loudly with the best of the Catalan fans. Barça lost (2-1) and there were some shocking cultural differences, but it was awesome.

3. At long last, I am an official UAB student. Given that I have been here for two months, that statement may seem confusing. Well, in fact, I am only matriculated as of this week. It seems no one was in that big of a rush. The good news? I now have access to the course websites and can pretend to an even greater degree that I know what's happening. The bad news? All those readings we thought didn't exist? We found them.

4. I personally thought that the rain in Spain only fell on the plain, but for the last few days, Barcelona has really been evoking Providence. Here's hoping it's only temporary. That being said, it's definitely fall now. The summer dresses are going under the bed and the sweaters are making their first appearances.

We're approaching the halfway point of CASB, which I cannot believe. October can't possibly be almost over, can it?

Subways, schools and Spanish spreads

After Catalan class #2 this morning, I am confident I could introduce myself and announce where I'm from. I am also very skilled at repeating what my teacher says, in unison, with my class (though after having my very strong coffee).

Class was held at UB — Universitat de Barcelona — which is the third Spanish school in the Consortium. Fall students don't take regular classes there because they have finals in January.

We had to head over to the CASB center after class, so Matt and I embarked on what seemed like a foolproof Metro journey. Locating the line we needed, we saw a train pulling onto the platform and hopped aboard. Only seconds after the door closed did we realize it was going the wrong direction. (In our defense, the signs are VERY unclear in certain spots.) So we disembarked at the next stop and started to cross over to the other platform, only to hear the train pulling in. We started running for it, but I was a little behind. (Yes Dad, I was wearing sandals) Needless to say, the door closed with Matt on the train and me on the platform. But the moral of the story: we were still early. So at least this time we got that part right.

At the center, we had our first training for prácticas educativas, an optional program that allows us to work in Spanish schools, particularly with kids learning English. We had a long first session all about schools in Barcelona, which teach primarily in Catalan, but are faced with large immigrant populations that don't speak the language (let alone Spanish or English). The program is organized directly by the Consorci d'Educació de Barcelona, and we will get to meet with the teachers and help plan curricula.

I'm really excited for this program because it will be an interesting contrast to my experience last semester in Providence. (Background: Because of my Spanish class, I got involved with a very cool organization called VIPS that places college students in classrooms. I spent Tuesday mornings in a bilingual first grade class at Laurel Hill Elementary School.)

We were given a lunch break in the midst of our informational session, so four of us headed to a cafe down the block for a menu del día. The paper menu said a drink was included, but much to our surprise, two bottles of wine were plunked down on the table. Hello, lunchtime. The assumption is that you'll eat enough to soak it all up, I think... (And the bonus: it's part of the 10 euro price tag that includes three generous courses.) Though the Spanish claim they don't drink wine to get drunk, they do take their consumption quite seriously.