Thoughts on gender in language

In Spanish, there are masculine and feminine nouns. This does not mean that some people, places, and things are more masculine or more feminine than others. This dichotomy involves nouns preceded by the masculine article "el" (definitive) or "un" (non-definitive) and those preceded by the feminine "la"(definitive) or "una" (non-definitive).

For you jerks that think I'm a jerk for using words like definitive and non-definitive, here's a rundown: "el" and "la" translate to "the" most of the time, while "un" and "una" translate to "a" ("an" before a vowel sound!) most of the time. 

Anyway, this can be complicated for non-native Spanish learners, because it involves a lot of memorization. Usually, you can assume that a Spanish noun ending in "a" is feminine, and one ending in "o" or "e" is masculine. But there are exceptions, making it difficult to get it right every time. Plus, if your native language does not have gendered nouns, you're not used to making that distinction in the first place.

Here's where language can become a feminist issue, at least in places where gendered nouns are used (i.e. places with a romance language as its primary language). Take the example of a group of students: 3 ladies and a guy. A fifth friend strolls up, and says, "Hola, chicos." This friend uses the masculine form of the noun because there is at least one male present, even though the group is dominated by women. This is standard for plural nouns in Spanish.

In American English (can't really speak for anyone else, here), if I were that fifth friend, I would have said "Hey, guys" or "Hey, y'all" or literally "Hey, girls and boy." While the first option could be characterized as problematic in the same way that the Spanish salutation was problematic (remember, we're working with a feminist lens), it's not quite the same, is it? In fact, we often use the noun "guys" when addressing a group of girls in English. Still, I prefer "y'all" because, while it may be grammatically incorrect to some, at least it's gender-neutral. Yet, I'll admit that many would consider "guys" to be gender-neutral. See where this gets tricky?

Take another example of a group of 3 feminine-looking girls and an androgynous boy. An adult walks by, and says, "Hola, niñas" because she assumes they're all girls. Maybe these examples seem pointless, but I'm trying to compare how the Spanish and English languages handle these situations differently.

In this second example, a possible English translation would be "Hello, children." This would avoid misrepresenting any of the children, as "children" is a gender-neutral noun. The lack of gendered nouns, in this situation, seems favorable.

While it's difficult to overcome these issues in speaking, Spanish-speakers attempt to do so in writing. For example, a flyer might have "Bienvenid@s tod@s" (Welcome All), which simultaneously addresses both genders with the same noun. I've also seen "Bienvenidxs todxs."

English may not use gendered nouns, but language can still be a feminist issue. For example, in hypothetical or generic situations, where we use a situation or person as an example, we often use the masculine pronoun (his) when referring to this generic subject: When writing a resume, one should always list his most recent position first. 

Granted, this bias is more often seen in writing. Some writers try to overcome this issue by substituting "his" for "her," but some would argue that's not solving the problem at all. Others might just use the plural pronoun (their), but it's still awkward.

This is an example where Spanish is preferred because, for some reason, the pronouns are not gender specific. His, her, and their all translate to "su". Whadayaknow! Thus, in my translation work, I'm constantly faced with the decision of using "his" or "her" in my English translation because I don't have the author's original decision as a basis.

Another issue that's often associated with feminism is the use of different pejorative terms. Without diving too much into the concept of reclamation, I would like to compare some gender-specific curse words in Spanish and English.

It should also be noted that swearing is taken much more lightly here. Of course, you don't want to call your teacher or mother a bad word, but saying the equivalent of "gahd dammit" is not necessarily in bad taste.

Words like "bitch" or "cunt" are generally considered to be offensive. Sometimes, however, they are taken to be very hostile terms when perceived with a feminist lens. The argument? There's no equivalent for a guy. 

I would say "bitch" is used more often, and with less discretion. I think this is because we're conditioned to use "bitch" for girls that are out of line and "asshole" or "dick" for dudes that are out of line. We need a comparable term for each sex. 

However, "bitch" can also be used when someone just doesn't like what kind of girl you are (be that high-maintenance, tight with money, unwilling to fuck, etc.). In other words, I would say that "bitch" is thrown around more as a label than an insult, compared to "asshole" or "dick" anyway (there's that feminist lens, again). This can also be said for the word "slut".

In Spanish, the word "puta" (literally meaning prostitute) might be translated as one of the few female-specific insults I've mentioned. I would say that it can also have the same sting. For dudes, "hijo de puta" would be one of the worst insults, translating to "son of a bitch/whore." Keeping in mind that, like I said, Spanish-speakers use curse words more freely, these two words still raise eyebrows in conversation.

One Spanish insult I like is "cabrón" (meaning asshole, dick, etc.) because it has a feminine equivalent "cabrona." I think this is cool, because English-speakers might give you a weird look if you call a girl an asshole. But maybe she is. And maybe that's as insulting as I want to be.

Like the late great George Carlin once said, "These are the kind of things I think about when I'm sitting home alone and the power goes out." 

Well, this has been fun and all, but I'd really like to hear what y'all have to say. Even if all you want to do is call me a cunt.

Educating kids in Spain, the American way

In many ways, I feel my primary and secondary school education was sheltered as far as content goes. I learned a lot about the merits of an American democracy, and very little about alternative governing styles. I had one geography class and one world history class throughout all my 12 years of institutional learning, the former when I was 13 and the latter when I was 17. I didn't even learn very much about modern American cities or the cultures within them, only the main industries of each region in the 19th century.

Granted, this perspective changes from person to person, from school district to school district. It's just, I distinctly remember my freshman year in college being extremely eye-opening. I only moved 300 miles east (approximately 500 kilometers) to Philadelphia, and yet it was a whole other world for me.

Three main factors that caused this shift:

1. I knew maybe two or three kids that lived there. They had graduated from my high school before me, and we had hung out a few times with mutual friends. However, they lived in a different neighborhood, 30 minutes away by bike. And they didn't go to my university, or any university for that matter. So, essentially, I was going to a school attended by more than 30,000 people I didn't know. I was kind of obligated to meet new people.

2. I really didn't know Pittsburgh that well, the closest city during my childhood. More about this here. And let's just say that my hometown's population is smaller than that of Temple's main campus. City congestion alone was enough to make my head spin.

3. I was finally on the east coast. I was among those from Boston, New York, and Washington. I was in a city that had ethnic neighborhoods! This diversity permeated my university classes as well: fellow students that had learned English as a second language, professors from all over the globe, and class discussions about poverty, globalization, and gender discrimination.

I quickly realized how closeted my education had been. I remembered fighting for the right to publish an article about teachers' lives outside of class in our school newspaper. And now, in college, I could write a column about vodka tampons.

Just as quickly, I accustomed myself to this kind of learning. And I let my learning leave the classroom, to infiltrate my life in bookstores, bike shops, Vagina Monologues rehearsals, and my kitchen. I had always had a lust for learning, but it was able to flourish in an urban and conflicted environment that was both progressive and archaic at the same time.

In short, I don't see this in my young English students here. Perhaps it truly is just a difference in personality or interests. I enjoy language, discussion, and revelation, while they enjoy Tuenti, soccer, and going to the pool.

Throughout this past month, in the many moments I wanted to roll my eyes and throw up my hands at one of my apathetic pupils, I tried to put myself in her shoes. I remember when my peers were so important to me. I remember texting under the desk during class, and dissing the teacher during lunch. Yet, I was still very studious. I always respected the teacher, at least to her face, and I took her criticism or discipline very seriously. So, sometimes, my students' shoes just didn't fit.

I also saw some of this indifference in my students' parents, and even in other teachers. I'll admit that I'm generally uninterested in whether my students want to learn English or not. I don't expect any passion. I just expect willingness to accept the nature of their education system. You do work, you get grades, and good grades allow you to pursue most any career you want. When I was younger, I did not find history or mathematics to be particularly riveting; but I was highly motivated by good grades. I tried hard despite my disinterest.

I keep coming back to that idea, though: the nature of their education system. When I reflect on what's expected of these kids, part of me wants to blame the class format and the pressure put on exams rather than their apathy toward learning.

For example, I taught a couple classes, to children between 12 and 16 years old, everyday in August. We spent five weeks together, working through a summer review textbook to prepare for an exam they all had in late August or early September. These children had all failed their English exams in May, and were forced to repeat, and pass, the exam or otherwise repeat the course. During class, these children were totally motivated by either the end of class, or the opportunity to talk to another classmate. When assigned work, they worked through it as quickly as possible, often without reading instructions or listening to directions. Afterward, I would correct their mistakes, and they would shake their heads up and down saying they understood, but all the while glancing at their peers and surely ignoring everything I said. At home, to study, they memorized correct answers and even essays. At first, I tried to show them revision and problem-solving methods. Then I realized they didn't care. They just wanted the right answers, so they could pass the exam, and move on. This is all they expect, and this is all that their parents and teachers expect.

Friends and Elliot have told me this extends to university courses. Professors may even deter questions as they "slow down" the class. Students are expected to attend class, listen to lectures, and study, only to be assessed at the end of the semester with a cumulative exam. This exam is all that matters. Afterward, you can forget everything. Empty your brain for the next cramming session.

The nature of the Spanish education system does not seem to facilitate critical analysis or peer-to-peer discussion. Students are encouraged to listen and absorb as much as possible. Whatever is left to learn can be obtained through memorization.

While my education lacked in content (many Spanish teens are learning two or more languages and taking multiple world history classes), I don't think it lacked in methodology. I graduated high school completely capable of writing analytic and persuasive papers, implementing constructive criticism, and managing my time (of course, you can't always ask this of a 12-year-old, but that's what parents are for).

Even after all this experience and reflection, and even some supportive statistics, I still can't help but think that these differences are not cultural or systemic, but rather individually influenced. I remember classmates who refused to follow teachers' advice, who seemed to coast through high school. I suppose one truth that I've found is that, despite individual personality or ambition, the Spanish education system has hardly facilitated my position as a teacher.

Semi-annual conclusions on teaching English in Pamplona

I've passed the 6-month milestone in teaching this month. And I'd like to offer some thoughts to those interested, as I had some trouble researching the issue before coming here.

1. It was easy to find work. Granted, this may not go for everywhere in Spain, and definitely not everywhere in the world. When we arrived, we hung up 40 fliers on phone booths, bus stops, telephone poles, etc. We also posted a couple announcements on Craiglist-type websites. And that was it. Within a week, we had a few bites. Within a month, we almost had a complete schedule. Since then, we've been rejecting students because we're up to our ears in requests. Although it is common here to study English in school, the language is not widely spoken in Pamplona. That's mostly due to the fact that English teachers are often from Spain. Our students need to master English for their professions or a university entry exam, and this necessitates a native English speaker. Furthermore, people dig the American accent. Some want to travel (or already do travel) to the states, and they want to fit in as much as possible. In short, we came to Pamplona with a resource that (unbeknownst to us) was in really high demand.

2. Students are notoriously flaky. As I mentioned before, this statement implicates students from Pamplona only. Not only do they cancel and reschedule classes on the fly, but some of them can also be very conflicted about whether they even want classes or not. I understand, because it can be difficult to demand someone to demand something of you. I mean, who asks for homework assignments? But it's easy to get frustrated because you often need their money to live a decent life. Of course, when students have dropped my classes in the past, it hasn't been a big deal (see #1). Sometimes, though, I attend a class hoping for a 10-spot that I can use to buy some bread and cheese the next morning. So when my student says "Oh sorry, I can't come to class today" or "Oh sorry, I don't have money today" it can be like a little pinch on your arm. You get over it fairly quickly, but at the time it's a bummer.

3. On that note, it serves to mention money. For the most part, my students have been pretty easy-going about money. They don't argue about price. They offer to pay me when I want to be paid. Sometimes they even tip! It took a while to learn this, but the best thing to do at the beginning is establish a clear payment method. Explain how much you want to be paid, why you're charging that much, and also why you prefer to be paid weekly, monthly, whatever. Students will understand. They might end up changing the class time every week, but they will understand.

4. Not every student is a linguistics nerd. Even though I find studying language (as well as its components and acquisition) very interesting, my students might not. So when I start throwing words around like phrasal verb, deductive modal, or intonation, it doesn't really motivate the student at all. In fact, it just confuses them sometimes. You can't expect them to understand why sentences are structured a certain way. All you can really ask is that they structure them the right way. Some students aren't interested in grammar at all. They just want to feel comfortable talking. So if you're considering being an English teacher for the thrill of discussing linguistic nuances with your students, dream on.

5. Working in an educational institution can be way worse than individual classes, or way better. In my case, it's better. The school is really small, and the classes are often individuals or small groups of people. In addition to English, they offer tutoring in other topics like math, German, and Spanish. The director of the school is really great, and always around. What I really appreciate is that she handles the shitty aspects of teaching (i.e. finding students, charging students, printing/copying worksheets). Plus, these students are paying a tad bit more than I would charge, so it feels like they truly are enthusiastic about learning. Of course, working in a school can be terrible, from what I've heard. Some schools don't pay their teachers very well, they don't offer them any resources to use in their classes, and their students are often young and bored. And some teachers would prefer individual classes, because it offers more flexibility. Most of the teachers I've met in Pamplona are also university students who don't have 20 plus hours to devote to an institutional teaching position.

6. Young students can be great if their parents don't hold you to very high standards. Don't get me wrong, I love being held to high standards. However, there's only so much I can do with one or two hours per week. I realized that some parents only expect you to supplement their children's English teachings, but a few expect you to advance or even replace their children's teachings. The latter is nearly impossible if the child doesn't care to learn or study, which is a common problem. I could give a shit whether they like my classes or not, but when the parents crack down on you for their children's poor grades...no fun. Otherwise, I really enjoy working with kids. Some of them are better than the adults.

7. Lesson-planning is a legit skill. If you can't do it, you might want to reconsider this professional decision. There are the some students that just want to practice speaking in English. They don't expect worksheets, exercises, or activities. You just show up with a topic and discuss it for an hour or so. Most students, though, especially those at a lower level, expect structured classes. This obligates the teacher to not only have materials prepared, but also to arrange their order of presentation. For example, you start with a brief review of vocabulary or easy conversation to get the student warmed up. Follow that with some new concepts related to grammar, pronunciation, spelling, etc. Finally, you want to make sure the student can apply the new information practically so you prompt them to speak or write. It would be stupid to ask the student to write about something they haven't learned yet, or to interrupt the study and application phases of the lesson with an irrelevant game (unless the student is 5 years old with a short attention span).

8. It's okay to not be the world's best English teacher. I've found that while I may be a decent teacher, I don't enjoy it. So sometimes I find myself not trying too hard to think of interesting topics for my students. Shame on me, I know. I'm trying to make a point, though, by admitting that yes, teaching English is just another job to me. But I will do well in any work situation, because I want to please people. I think there is a weird pressure that falls on teachers to be exceptionally passionate about what they do. I don't think that's essential. Sure, you appreciate a great teacher, but why are they any different than anybody else? They still have bad days, when they hate everyone, even your kids. I'm not passionate about teaching English, but I'm good at it. My students aren't inspired, but they're satisfied.

Like I said, I wish that someone like present-me was there seven months ago to tell past-me these things about teaching English. Thus, I'm open to any inquiries from those who are in the same confused/curious/anxious state.

This is your English teacher, using her native language to build lego towers.

Pessimistically Positive

As much as I wanna bitch and moan to you guys about...

...the rain,
my lack of inspiration,
too-soft potatoes,
my period,
and my student leaving me to go back to her homeland,

I should really talk about something positive. Because good things are happening.

1. My 23rd birthday is coming up, and Elliot's throwing me a par-tay (more pics to come, fur shur). He's gonna put his hostin' hat on, whip up some gourmet pintxos, and make sure everyone has a good time. Especially me! We are inviting pretty much everyone we know here, which makes for a nice little soirée.

2. Speaking of soirée, I've decided to learn French! I downloaded a Lonely Planet phrase book on my iPod, and a step-by-step language book on my Kindle (here's to teachin' yerself). Even though it seems like I had a terrible time skiing there, I realized that I really want to explore France. And I've wanted to take up a third language for a long time. The choice was originally between German, French, and Chinese. Although I haven't given up on the others, French seems the easiest right now, and the most accessible while living in northern Spain.

3. Elliot and I did the good deed of helping our next door neighbor move out of her apartment last week. It was amazing, the system they had. Of course, Elliot and I realized that it was the only way to do it. We live on the "fifth" floor of our building (I use quotation marks because although our apartment number is 5C, we technically have to climb seven flights of stairs) and in order to avoid tuckering yourself out too fast, you need approximately 7 or 8 friends spread out between your door and the street. We moved all her shit down "five" flights of stairs, and then up another four, in about 2 hours! Plus she gave us a bunch of expired, albeit frozen, organic chicken (she works at one of the health food stores we frequent). Not only was our help very much appreciated, but we felt good enough to go out and drink 'til four in the morning that night!

4. I've been freelance translating! For pay! And I may have found what I will seek to do in order to make a living throughout my life -- I think they call this a career. I've only translated a few pieces, but they're generally articles from academic journals. Believe it or not, my degree in psychology is helping me more than my degree in Spanish. Due to my current (and more lucrative) position as an English teacher, I can't get too serious about this just yet. But I plan on getting serious within the year, and possibly making it a full-time gig within the next two years.

Ultimately, we're just hankerin' for some summer. We got a taste of warm weather the last few weeks, but lately it's been cold and rainy. May, June, and July will not only bring higher temperatures, but also some visitors from back home, a huge music festival, and San Fermin (i.e. the running of the bulls).

Exciting times ahead! Must look forward!

When bilingualism becomes no-lingualism

"Dude, are you smoked?"

In English, I was trying to ask if he was high -- you know if he was puffin' the herb -- and it came out different. Probably because in Spanish I would ask, "¿Tio, estás fumado?" which literally means smoked. I guess it sounds cool in English regardless, but the point is: I fucked up in my native language.


Don't be fooled. That ain't the first nor the last time that has happened. I say stupid stuff in my native language all the time now. I'd like to tell you that's because I'm excelling in my second language. But that ain't the truth neither.

I value my words -- on paper and in conversation -- so much that it pains me to say something I know isn't correct. In Pamplona, I'm constantly switching back and forth between two languages. I use Spanish to survive, and I use English to teach, or get a fuckin' point across to my beau. This kind of linguistic adaptation results in both languages suffering. Man, even that sentence doesn't really make any sense does it?

Let me give you an example. One of my students is of elementary school age. We talk about things like the difference between mammals and reptiles, or the process of photosynthesis. After an hour of speaking in English, his mother usually approaches me with my payment and some small talk. This is where my head starts to spin.

I can follow her just fine. We're talking about the weather, then Easter break, and finally classes during the summer. I try to say something insightful and persuasive like: "Summer is a great time for English classes because we can take it easy. Without school and homework, an hour a week of English doesn't seem like a big deal. Our classes would be fun and relaxed!"

Instead this, roughly translated, is what comes out: "Summer is a good time for classes, because you can take advantage of the lack of homework. In the summer, classes don't...relaxed."

By the end of my rambling, the mom understands what I'm trying to say and probably finishes my sentence for me. Maybe she understands that after talking about chlorophyll and carbon dioxide for an hour, my Spanish might sound a little rusty. Or maybe she just thinks I'm a big ol' dummy.

So while my English deteriorates, my Spanish slowly improves. I'm certainly not struggling to understand, and I'm less hesitant in conversation. But I wanna sound eloquent and I end up sounding like...well...a goddamn foreigner.

I WANT SPEAK SPANISH GOOD.

The way it's always been...

I chose to embed this song for two very good reasons:

1. Diana Ross, a babe and a legend, is beltin' out a classic.
2. I'm comin' out to y'all...as a writer.

Maybe you already figured it out. Many of you know me for journal-keeping, news-reporting, note-scribbling, and blog-posting. But chances are, I've never said to your face: "I'm a writer." To be honest, I never say it out loud.

In the same way I've been afraid to call myself fluent in Spanish, I've been hesitant to call myself a writer. Just like I constantly make mistakes in my second language, I often find myself in situations where the words don't come out right. And sometimes, they don't even come out at all.

But this trip has opened up more than one door for me. I came here, primarily, to perfect a language -- to discover new words, new expressions, new accents. An opportunity I did not foresee, was a shit ton of free time to perfect my writing.

Perfect seems like such a stronger word when I see it before writing as opposed to before language. I've learned to abandon all inhibitions when using Spanish. It's a must when it comes to learning, and later practicing, a foreign language. I'm much more inhibitive about my writing (better read: much more sensitive to criticism).

When I was younger, I went through the typical "what-I-wanna-be-when-I-grow-up" phases. First, I wanted to be a paleontologist. Then a tornado chaser. Finally, in 8th grade, I remember promising myself to be the youngest published author in history. Unfortunately, 13-year-old me didn't realize the world of competition for child authors.

Anyway, as I got older, I became more cynical about...you know...dreams. Duh, they don't happen. At least not before a long streak of disappointments. I continued to keep a journal, even through college. I continued to get paid very little for journalistic ventures, which were, for the most part, easy and fun. But attempting anything more creative, more autonomous, was pretty intimidating.

Now, seeking employment, or even feedback, for my writing -- outside of a less competitive, more laid-back university publication -- is downright terrifying. Because the worst that could happen is that I get rejected. Yeah, it's the absolute worst.

To make a long story short, I ain't gonna be a coward no more. I'm still cynical, but I'm going to stop hesitating, and start trying. Many life plans have come and gone, just as easily as a cheese pizza, but writing has always been at the back of my mind. It's always been something I knew I wanted to do. Now, it's just about letting more people see what I write.

So here I am...

Name: Sarah Sanders
Profession: Writer
Interests: Gender, travel, language, cities, psychology
Inspiration: The two Georges (Carlin & Orwell)


This is what it's all about.

Selling myself short

We were barely two weeks into our new lives in Spain, but we already had appointments with prospective students and even more calling. Elliot answered the call from Liliana, but handed the phone to me as she expressed interest in classes for her two sons, ages 14 and 19. We had decided that I would teach the younger learners; and I felt more comfortable with kids. It was still difficult for me to talk on the phone, so I tried to keep the conversation short. With the air of an experienced babysitter, and perhaps a hint of arrogance, I was on my bike to their apartment the next morning.

Liliana buzzed me into the building and greeted me at the door with a baby on her hip.

"Hola, ¿como estás?" I said, trying to make small talk while I looked for a place to put down my helmet and my bag. It had been raining, so I apologized for dripping everywhere. She smiled at me revealing two silver front teeth.

"Somos de Perú," she said, adding that her sons had only been in Spain for four years. Each had some language training, but they hadn't really retained anything. And it turned out that the baby on her hip was her nephew; his father was also living in the apartment.

After meeting the boys briefly, and talking more with their mother about what kind of class they would prefer, we started discussing price. Elliot and I have a sliding scale rate of 10€ to 15€ per hour for our classes, depending on how much preparation we have to do outside of the class. These boys already had textbooks, so Liliana and I figured not much more would be needed. I settled, then, at 10€ per hour. She wanted two hours a week for each of them, so I left thinking I had done right by this family, and I had added 40€ to our weekly income.


My first class with the older teen was just a few days later. I found their place a little easier this time, so I arrived a few minutes early. It was one of the boys who buzzed me up this time, but the mother still greeted me at the door. A few words into our small talk and I realized she was saying something more than hello, how are you. There was a problem with the price.


Suddenly, I felt like she was speaking very quickly. She wanted me to lower the price, that much was clear. She had spoken to other people who said they've heard of teachers charging less. She wanted to pay 35€ instead of 40€.


I tried to explain that the rate I charged was for my time and experience, that Elliot and I were partners and we decided on a minimum rate of 10€ per hour. After all, we had read that most teachers charged a minimum of 15€ per hour. I felt like we were already giving her a deal. No one else had disputed price before. Why did I have to sell myself to her for five more euros?


I gave into her discounted price at first, because I was already there to teach a class, and I wanted to avoid any further confrontation. So I taught the class, all the while thinking anxiously about what had just happened. By the time two hours had passed, I had decided to talk about it later with Elliot. If he thought it was too little, I would call Liliana and explain that we couldn't accommodate her situation. At this point, I definitely preferred talking to her on the phone rather than to her face. 


Once we finished, she came back into the living room with a 50€ bill. I was confused again.


"Lo siento, igual no te he entendido." I felt like an amateur. Dumb. Maybe even crazy. And she seemed a little frustrated. Why wasn't I getting this?


I thought she wanted to pay 35€ per week for two classes, each two hours long. But she thought I expected that price for each class, thus amounting to 70€ per week. Ah, what a great misunderstanding! I was so glad to tell her I didn't expect to earn nearly as much as she thought. I couldn't stop smiling, anticipating that this weird tension would evaporate. We both laughed, me nervously and her somewhat skeptically, but I left feeling better.


The weird tension didn't really go away, though. I realized over the next few weeks that these boys didn't know a whole lot. Each of them had important exams within the month, so we just had to hit the books to cover as much material as possible. And the books sucked. These kids relied heavily on dictionaries and internet translations, which made conversation nearly impossible. Let's just say it's a good thing I spoke Spanish; otherwise the classes may have crashed and burned. 


Plus I was feeling a lot of pressure from their mother. Every week she would ask me how they were doing, if they were advancing. I was hesitant to say yes, because they weren't. But how could I say no -- we had only been working together for a few weeks.


When the exams were approaching, I started to wonder what our classes could be like afterward. I could design my own lesson plans, teach at a more appropriate pace, and maybe even get these boys to enjoy the classes! There was a catch, however. In order for me to do this comfortably, I would have to ask for a little more money. But I felt like money was what had made this relationship weird in the first place.


Biking to their apartment one day, I rehearsed the conversation in my head. At the end of that class, I asked to speak with her. I kept my speech tempo up, to get in as much as possible before she could interrupt. I tried to remain open by making these more formal classes seem like just another option. But at the same time, I emphasized that the books alone don't do a great job of explaining and elaborating certain topics.


She seemed interested, but she still continued to ask why I would want five euros more per class. Sure, I wanted to say, it's only five euros more. But maybe she was thinking that's 20 more per month. So I stood there, and sold myself again. Well, I explained, I have to prepare these extra materials outside of class, and this takes time. She understood, and conceded.


But it just seemed so reluctant. Of course I expected her teenage sons to be a little resistant, but not her. I didn't want her to think that I was teaching classes purely for monetary gain, and at the same time I could not trivialize my own work ethic. 


I'm proud of myself, because I've never asked for a raise before. I didn't think I would feel so conflicted afterward, though.  

It ain't no Jeopardy, that's for sure

We've found a great, new, edgy way to learn Spanish. Instead of attending a class, or investing in Muzzy, just follow the several entertaining game shows that air in Spain every single day.

Pros: You broaden your vocabulary through random trivia questions (about both Spanish and non-Spanish people or things), you witness useless and annoying banter between the hosts and contestants, and even if you don't follow a word you can at the very least determine who has won and who hasn't simply by looking for frowns vs. smiles!

Cons: Native Spaniards think you're kind of strange for knowing so much about game shows!

The host of "Ahora Caigo!" welcoming the audience.

1. ¡Ahora Caigo! (American version is called "Who's Still Standing?")
The set-up of this show consists of one contestant and 10 "opponents" who go back and forth answering trivia questions about anything from pop culture to literature to other game shows. If the contestant doesn't know a question, she has three passes to her opponent to avoid losing. If the opponent misses a question, however, she gets a big "aww" from the audience and then falls through a trapdoor underneath her feet. This same fate can fall upon the contestant if she uses all of her passes. So now I'm sure you can imagine the russian roulette ambience this game show has! Each opponent is worth a certain amount of euros to the contestant (1€ to 5,000€), so as she beats more of them, she wins more money. If she beats all of them she gets the ultimate prize of 100,000€. On the weekends, the prize is 200,000€ and opponents are worth even more. Sometimes contestants leave with only some of their winnings, as they're hesitant to go on and lose everything. And sometimes you get to see the host do an awful horse impression!

This "Ahora Caigo!" contestant is trying to determine "what English term is used when a
soccer player makes three goals in a game." 

2. Atrapa un millón (American version is called "Million Dollar Money Drop")
This show is just two contestants answering 8 different questions, each with four possible answers. Sometimes the contestants are two friends or family members, and sometimes the contestant is hooked up with a random celebrity. Whatever their relation, contestants work together to strategically gamble their original quantity of 200,000€ as they answer each question. For example, if two of the answers seem very plausible to the contestants, and they can't decide which to go for, they can divide up their remaining cash (literally bundles of 5,000€) to ensure that they move on to the next level. Whatever money they put on the incorrect answers falls through a trapdoor and into a large container. Most contestants only end up with 15,000€ or less by the end of the game, but that's still something to write home about. 

The stage of "Atrapa un millón" -- note the big pile of cash on the right.

3. Uno para ganar (no American version available, but literally translated as "One to Win")
Now this show separates itself from the others by involving much less knowledge, but a lot more grace, swiftness, and patience. Contestants must complete somewhat useless tasks with various household objects, within 60 seconds mind you, in order to move through each of the ten rounds, each time with more money at stake. The "one" in the name means "one minute" to win. The tasks start out easy -- maybe something like taking 120 tissues out of a tissue box one at a time with only one hand -- and they get harder -- we have yet to see anyone successfully stack three golfballs on top of each other. If the contestant beats every level, which has yet to happen, they win 500,000€. Some people are crazy about this show, especially the contestants. Most of them have seen every episode, and thus every challenge possible. In fact, there is an inventory of the tasks on Wikipedia. My favorite has to be the one that has the contestant wear a pedometer strapped around their head; within 60 seconds, they must head-bang their heads until the pedometer reads 125 steps. Keep in mind, they can't see the pedometer themselves, and so they basically just shake their heads violently for a whole minute. Enough to make you cry -- from laughter!

She may look pretty now, but all contestants look like they're being electrocuted when they do this challenge.

4. Tu sí que vales (again, no American version, but literally translated as "You're Worth It")
Some may not consider this a game show, because it's more like a talent show, but there is a contest and there is money on the line! This show is like "American Idol" in that it involves three judges that influence the fate of the contestant, but it is better because while there are many singers, there are also pizza dough jugglers, magicians, comedians, and dancers. Talk about entertainment! Both the audience and the judges get to vote as to whether the contestant is "worth it." If there is a unanimous vote, the contestant receives 1000€ immediately. Unfortunately, there is also the typical stern and sour judge, reminiscent of Simon Cowell. He has a stupid faux-hawk, wears sunglasses inside all the time, and is only popular because people think he "tells it like it is" when in reality he just likes to say no because it increases ratings. (This reminds me of the recent season six premiere of "30 Rock" where Jenna plays this cynical judge role -- see I still watch American TV, too!)

The host, judges, and other characters on "Tu sí que vales" -- note the jackass third from the left.

So now you know a little bit more about Spain's trashy TV programs. Show those "Jersey Shore" looneys that you're more cultured than them!

Like a dish with sardines, Spain feels normal

It hasn't even been seven weeks, and Pamplona is already getting to me.

I mean, it's not home. It's definitely not home. But there are some things that were weird, and now they aren't anymore.

1. The double-cheek kiss. Remember when I mentioned that a few posts ago? Well, it's getting better. At least to the point where I don't feel like I've bruised my acquaintance's cheek from swinging my head in too fast. Five o'clock shadow rug burn doesn't even phase me anymore. In fact, I notice more when someone doesn't do the kiss.

2. The food. I can go to a market or grocery store without any kind of shopping list, and bring home a meal. Mostly because there's not a huge amount of variation in Navarran cuisine, which is what I try to make most of the time. If you've got bread, eggs, EVOO, leeks, potatoes, chorizo, onion, and garlic, you've got something. Add in peas, carrots, jamón, and some cheese, and you've got a multi-course meal.

A food-related aside -- Elliot and I have taken to sardines (of all things) as a sort of always-appropriate meal starter. We always keep a can or two around, and this weekend we underwent the four-hour task of baking a sardine empanada.

Perhaps a fish empanada isn't so strange to some, but my parents can vouch for the fact that I'm not an adventurous eater, nor have I ever had a taste for the sea. But I dug this. Dipping bites of this "pampanada" in homemade tahini was even better.


3. The language. The best moments are when we're out with friends, or maybe just watching a stupid Spanish game show (more to come on that, btw!), and I'm listening to someone speak when suddenly I realize that I'm following everything they're saying. I literally stop and think to myself, holy shit. I don't even have to try sometimes. My speaking has improved as well, but not nearly as much as my understanding. It's cool because I'm getting what I came here for -- a second language!

4. Teaching English. Elliot and I have eleven students we see every week (some twice a week). That means classes everyday, lesson preparation between classes, and biking or walking all over Pamplona to the students' homes. While this kind of work certainly means less hours relative to what we were used to in Philly, it takes up a lot of energy. Suddenly, English feels like the foreign language that I have to work on, as I attempt to break it down to very basic elements for my students.

5. Wine is cheaper than water. When it is sold by the bottle, anyway. And for this reason, I'm trying to rediscover my wine affinity. I used to dig it way more than beer, until I started drinking beer. But when I'm in a bar, and I order a beer, I'm always disappointed by how much it tastes like piss (i.e. Heineken, San Miguel, Amstel). Plus you can buy a nice bottle of organic wine for maybe 4€ (a little over five bucks), while an organic six pack will run you closer to 12€. And if I'm feeling real cheap and saucy, I could even go for the 0,65€ liter of generic vino tinto. That's right, I use measurements like liter, meter, kilogram, or centigrade, even if I don't fully understand their conversions.


In so many words, I'm starting to feel less out of place. While I don't think my life here will ever be boring, or even routine, I don't feel like a blundering foreigner so much anymore. Don't get me wrong, I make mistakes everyday -- in speaking, in understanding, and in orientation -- but I recover much faster, sometimes so quickly that no one really notices. At the very least, they don't say anything.


PS. Something I still have not gotten used to is taking my camera out of the house, hence the abundant pictures of food and the missing pictures of people, scenery, and buildings. I will try harder!