Reality check!

Le mardi, 29 septembre 2009

Alarm a 8 am. “Rise and shi- …shine? What… where is the Andalucian morning light? Wow this bedroom really isn’t bright at all… hold on.” Look out the window… the sky is pitch black and starry. Starry!!! At 8 in the morning??? Did I change the time on my cell right or is it 6am? Did I sleep through the day and it’s 8 pm? HAS THE EARTH STOPPED TURNING?? I just fell asleep again, wondering how long it would take for one side of the earth to freeze and the other to burn should the Earth really stop turning… Later on during the day I figured out that 1) my cell was one hour ahead and 2) the sun does get up rather late. At this time of the year. And the people to. All year long.

Breakfast up on the terrace: THAT’S what it’s all about! To the east, for as far as the eyes can see, there are hills that get higher and higher. Some of the closest and lowest are covered in wind turbines. The humid wind was so strong, as it always is way at the top of this village, so strong I though it would knock my hot chocolate out of my hands. You can hear everything from up there: an old car passing a few streets down on my right, a couple arguing further ahead, a kid running after his friends “Espera! Basta!” somewhere beyond the terra cotta rooftops… rooster, truck in the distance, a million birds, the smell of smoked meat of some kind, stray dogs yapping… my sense were so awake I felt like Superman!

First things first, I found a phone box to call my parents and tell them I arrived. I don’t think they liked being woken up at 5 am… I went down to the more commercial area of the village to buy some food, and to the Chinese bazaar to buy soap, clothe hangers, candles and slippers. I searched for the electronics store Pete had told me about but had to stop and finally found a cell phone store. I thought I was really smart in brining my French cell phone here, but the lady said that it couldn’t be done and made me buy a new one. 15 euros… Plus I didn’t have my passport number with me and had to walk wayyyy back up to my house! (really, not such a long walk, just very steep) Of COURSE I found later the actual electronic store Pete talked about where they CAN change phone numbers.

I thought I’d go check out my school while I was at the bottom of the village. Little voices could be heard overhead from the courtyard but the front gate was locked and there was no bell. As I turned around, the door squeaked open and a young man poked his head out “Hola! Catherine?” Well that was easy! Turns out that man was Jose, my contact at the school and the coordinator of the bilingual program. He showed me around the reception area and introduced me to Carmen, the principal, and a bunch of other teachers. I was then paraded from classroom to classroom, interrupting nearly every one of them to introduce myself with a red face and shaking knees. In most classes, I did not even speak except of a shy “hola!” and Jose spoke as I shat myself. In another classroom, the teacher pulled one of the kids in front of the class and had him speak to me in English, and in his most adorable British accent and shy little voice, Lucas said: “Hullo, I’m from England, my name is Lucas… and uh… I like Spain a lut.” or something cute like that. “Nice to meet you Lucas!”, we shook hands and the class applauded.

Jose explained that, as this is “year zero” of the bilingual program, we’d be mostly creating material and translating stuff, basically working in the shadows rather than with the children. This, I’m ashamed to say, instantly reassured me rather than disappointed me... you don’t understand how all these little bobbles of energy and affection that squeak another language can be intimidating and terrifying! And aDOrable at the same time. I have to say my self-esteem is in for quite a roller-coaster ride. When it was at a peak later that evening, the disappointment of not working in class with children seeped in a little… so much for teaching songs in English…

After the visit, Jose showed me around downtown Alcala and invited me to have coffee later to meet his wife, Belatrix, which I did. After the siesta of course. Getting to the bar El Luca was quite a mission because they both knew every single person we crossed on the way there. I met a few of their friends and struggled to understand conversations. At this point, I catch about 2 words per sentence, which is not always sufficient to grab hold off the topic of the discussion. Belatrix assured me that even she didn’t understand what people said here when she arrived in Alcala… and she’s Spanish! …I’m not sure if this should be reassuring or reminding how much work I have on my plate… But I’ll get there! I will!