The Pyramids of Mississippi && other important facts..

There have been some moments during the past year when I've wondered why the heck I am in this school, when students are obviously not listening to me and the teachers are just taking me for granted.

For instance,

- When a 3rd year said that the United States had a king.
- When a 2nd year told me that Vermont is famous for its 'syrup of moose', after I had given him a clearly labeled picture saying it was 'maple syrup'.
- When one of Eli's students wrote that "an other famous monuments are the Pyramids of Mississippi, these were built in ancient times by the Aztecs, Mayas and Incas", in reference to interesting facts about the state of Mississippi.
- When I walked into school today and the teacher with whom I have class with on Wednesday said, "you're still working this week??"
- When I asked my students to hand in the report they've been working on for the last 4 weeks, after I explained last week in Spanish that today was the final day to turn it in, and they looked at me with sad eyes and say they thought they didn't need to turn it in at all.
- When a teacher pronounced the Spanish word paella as 'pa-lela', because she was reading something in English, and I corrected her and said it was still pronounced the same, but she went on to say the word with wrong pronunciation 3 more times. Even though it was a word in her native language. Fail. Just.....fail.

Ahhhh, the good life. Where students can look you in the eye and nod and say they understand, and then turn around and whisper "wtf did she just say" to all their classmates. Yet nobody has the courage to raise their hand and actually ask.

Only 2 more days of this nonsense!

Joooooder, Tangér

(Joder is European Spanish equivalent of 'fuck'. In Spain, its used like 'good grief'/'holy shit'/'that sucks'/etc.)

Remember when I went to Tangier, Morocco back in January? No? Well, here's a refresher: it was an experience, I'm glad I went, and I vowed that I would never go back. (To Tangier that is, not to Morocco in general.) However, when my friend Kaitlin decided to come visit a few months later, she told me that she wanted to see Gibraltar and Morocco. And I cursed silently in my head, because I knew I couldn't afford to do anything more than a day trip to Morocco, and Tangier is the cheapest city to get to.

My second experience in Tangier was no more wonderful than the first. The best part of the day for me (sadly) was when we crossed the border in a bus from Spain to Morocco. Our ferry landed in Ceuta, a Spanish colony in the northern-most tip of Morocco. It's a very Spanish city. We got on the tour bus and drove about 20 minutes to la frontera, the border. The Spanish side was neat and orderly, people were standing in lines and the buildings were nicely kept up. Then we had our passports checked and crossed onto the Moroccan side. Immediately, everything changed. Even the ceiling had a definite line on it. All of a sudden cars were parked chaotically  all over the road, the white paint on the cement walls was cracking and peeling, and there was sketchy looking barbed wire on the tops of all the walls. Welcome to Morocco!

(Actually, the best part was when we crossed back over the border back into Spain that night.)

The tour was a full day and included walking tours of the medinas and souks of Tetuán and Tangér.
The title, 'Joder, Tangér' was something everyone was thinking as we climbed onto the tour bus the final time in Tangier. We had just been followed across a parking lot by 4 older men and 3 boys, trying to sell us everything from little beaded bracelets to small wooden camels to giant-sized rugs, as we ran across to the bus. One guy even went so far as to yell up the stairwell, telling us that this was our last chance and we didn't want to miss out. Yeesh. As soon as we were in the relative peace and quiet of the bus, an old Spanish lady behind me let out a sigh accompanied with 'joder!!' Which summed up as any number of swear words. The rest of the bus laughed and vehemently nodded heads in agreement.

Ceuta, the Spanish colony.

Baby camel, meet little girl. Little girl, meet baby camel.

These next 4 pictures are from Tetuán.

Tangier medina.

 Free time to shop. The owner pulled us aside to show us pictures of him with Rick Steves, ex-President Zapatero, and John Malkovich, to name a few. He was very excited to have American visitors. 

Gibraltar in the background

Ceuta from a distance

Tangier, I sincerely hope I never see you again. 

Soy como un flor...y mi novio es el agua.

I left the house wearing shorts this morning.
This doesn't seem like a big deal, right? And it shouldn't be. Unless you happen to live in Spain and don't put on tights under the shorts.
(That's a big no-no, unless you want to attract attention from all the wrong guys.)

I left the house wearing running shorts and was sitting on a bench waiting to meet Eli to go on a walk. An old man walked passed me at one point, looked me up and down, and said with a slightly confused (because of my clothing choice) and decisive look on his face, "no hay verano este año." (There's no summer this year.) Basically, he told me that it wasn't summer and that I couldn't go around wearing so little clothing, I had to cover up. (Solely because it wasn't the summer season yet, never mind that it was summer weather.) I got very indignant and replied that I could wear whatever I pleased, thank you very much. I guess I amused him, because he broke out in guffaws and sat down next to me on the bench, looking very pleased with my response.

He asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said yes. He asked "here?" I said no, the United States. He said "that can be very dangerous." And I said "oh yeah?" And he explained that a woman without a man "es como un flor sin agua. La flor está aquí y el agua está allí. Como vas a vivir?" (It's like a flower without water. The flower is here and the water is there. How are you going to live?) Joder, man! I assured him I was living just fine.

And then he asked me if I wanted to get coffee. No. No I most definitely did not. He asked me for my number, so that maybe we could get coffee later. I said not a chance. Then he asked me if he could give me his number. Nope. "But how will we be able to maybe get a coffee later? Oh! I'll show you where I live!" Super. So now I know that he lives on the first floor of an apartment on the corner across from the train station, and that he is always in a café right on the corner, so I won't have any trouble finding him. Fantastic.

I love getting hit on by old creepy men who tell me that I can't live without a man and it's not okay to wear shorts in 70 degree weather. Spain, you really need to get with the modern era.

Only 1 month until this look won't get me stares and catcalls. 

Things to Make You Happy

Sometimes work sucks.

But then I hear a baby laughing from a coat pocket in the teachers lounge (cell phone ring) or see the most respected teacher in school laughingly give the middle finger to a group of students hanging out the 3rd floor window, and the day gets a little brighter.

Here are some other things to make you smile. 

Flashmob experiment in New York City. My favorite part is the flashlight lightsaber war, and the strobe light mask party.

How can you not be happy after watching this?

The laugh at 0:22 gets me every time :)

Kayaking Snapshots

Today was such a good day. It was eventful, fun, and worthwhile, which is not something I can usually say about my week days. Why was today so special? I went to work went kayaking! Which was such a better use of time, lets be honest. And then did an hour of spinning without sitting down once, which is a huge accomplishment for me. My legs usually give out a couple times throughout the hour, so tonight was the first time I could say that I successfully completed the entire class. It was a great feeling.

Here are some snapshots from the Bay of Gibraltar, where Jeff and I spent the afternoon:

Along the coastline. 

More coastline, complete with the picturesque ruins of a house.

Playa Getares, the prettiest beach in Algeciras. 

Completely unrelated hike from a few months ago. 

This is Eli and I gazing out across the Bay of Gibraltar.

Jeff and I were kayaking right below this cliff. 

[Photo credit to Christine]

So, if for some reason you are ever in Algeciras for a day, don't despair. I know the guide books make it seem like the worst place in the world, but it does it have its little pockets of sunshine! Take a bus out to Playa Getares and relax at the beach, before heading back to the grit and grime of the city at night.

It's Still Worth It

I've been having a really tough time at work. That's pretty obvious. All my posts lately have been about trips I've gone on, because there was absolutely nothing of worth to mention about all my hours spent at the school. On a daily basis, I feel like a waste of space. An unnecessary expense. An intrusion. I sum my job up as being a CD player. A really really really expensive CD player. All I do in class is read whatever sheet the teacher hands to me when I walk into class.

This last week I learned about volcanos, Michaelangelo, sedimentary drift, and read the names of all the elements multiple times so the students could repeat them. When I hear the teacher start to interrupt, I stop. And then I space out for the next 20 minutes standing awkwardly at the front of the class, waiting for teacher to finish explaining in Spanish what I just read in English. It's such a waste of my time, and theirs. There are British women who are paid to do recordings of what I'm getting paid to do in class. And the recordings cost about 1/50th as much.

During the first couple of weeks, back in October, I was being asked to prepare classes and interact with the kids in the classroom. But after a month or two, teachers started getting too busy to have me in the classes. They had too much to do and too little time, which of course, I could understand. To a point. Being a teacher is hard work! I've only gotten a brief glimpse with my position as a teachers assistant, but after planning just one or two lessons my mind was boggled with how teachers can do that daily, for multiple classes. Then I considered that these bilingual program teachers have to teach all the material in two languages, and I could muster up a little sympathy. After all, having a class or two cancelled just meant I had an hour or two more to spend on facebook.

But now it's gotten to the point that I haven't gone to 3rd level biology since March, the social studies teacher "forgot" she had me in class last week, and there's been no math with 2nd or 3rd years for over a month due to a very complicated disparity in when the substitute teacher left and when the actual teacher came back from pregnancy leave. And then there are the times when teachers realize as the bell is ringing to start class that they forgot to mention we don't have class that day. (Keep in mind that I've had the exact same schedule since I started.) 

My co-worker and I have discussed once or twice that one of the most important aspects of a job is knowing that you have a purpose. And with this job, I absolutely do not have that feeling at all. There is so much potential, but it just never gets there. 

WITH THAT SAID. I actually started this post because of something one of my students did on Thursday. This came at the end of a very long, very bad day at work. (2 private hour classes with my least favorite teacher, and the next teacher telling me there was no time to waste on me in class....great...thanks.) 

This 2nd year is one of my favorite students. He is extremely shy, to the point where I think he has a disorder of some sort. He never volunteers in class, hates talking in front of people, and turns bright red and starts stuttering when I ask him how he's doing. A lot of the teachers use this as an excuse to dislike him, and say that he's lazy and doesn't try. But he's so sweet, and despite all this he always makes an effort to shyly say hi and ask how I am. He's one of my favorite students.

He is also truly terrible at English. The first time I heard him read a paragraph in English out loud, I was shocked. He was stumbling over words like 'it', 'an' and 'tree'. It was no wonder the rest of the class laughed at him. Then, on Thursday, I got the biggest surprise of the year when I called on him, and....his pronunciation was perfect! It was actually better than a lot of other kids who have been speaking in class all year. My jaw almost dropped. (I called on him a second time in class just to make sure it wasn't a fluke.) After class I stopped by his desk and asked him if he'd been practicing. He did his trademark flush and duck of the head, and smiled and said "...yes." I wanted to jump up and down, I was so excited for him. I've never seen somebody make that kind of improvement over the course of a couple months, especially when he made no outward signs of working towards it. 

So, after a day of feeling completely worthless and fed up my job, that was just what I needed to put it all in perspective. The government program might be messed up, the teachers might not have any idea what resource they're missing out on, but I'm here for the kids, and as long as one student gets something out of my year here, then it wasn't a waste. 

Ireland part 2: Meet the Family

Genealogy has always fascinated me. I am very clearly American, born and raised in the country known as 'the melting pot', but have always wondered exactly where my roots are from. Throughout the years I've gathered that my Mom's grandmother was an immigrant from Poland, and that I am a mix of Russian/Polish/Irish and probably about 10 other nationalities. (My grandma spoke both Russian and Polish fluently, but unfortunately that skill never got passed on to my generation.)

As I was getting ready to leave for my year in Spain, a relative off-handedly mentioned that we have relatives in Ireland. *Cue me jumping up and down at the thought of being able to visit Ireland*.
After I settled in in Algeciras, I sent a 'hail mary' sort of postcard to the address I had been given. A couple months passed with nothing. Then, out of the blue, I got an email from the niece of the couple I had mailed. She explained that my direct relative was 88 years old and not in the best health, but that he and his wife would be delighted, of course, to have me visit.

Two days later I booked a ticket, and three weeks later I showed up in their little coastal town in Northern Ireland. Call me compulsive.

The day that I spent getting to know this side of the family was by far the most rewarding day I have spent since coming to Europe. Over the course of the day I met my 3rd set of grandparents, and another aunt and uncle. (That's easier than saying than 'the 88 year old man who is a blood relative and his 82 year old wife, their niece, and another guy who is a direct descendent of the guy who my genealogy traces back to.' Right?)

Let's start off with some background, so you can get to know my family too.
In 1810, my great(x5) grandfather was a minister at a little church in Northern Ireland. (He was very well respected, and I managed to find quite a bit written about him on various history sites.) He married and had a bunch of children. Most of those children had lots more children. One of those children married, and they had lots more children. One of those kids moved to Illinois, where he met and married a woman who was also originally from Northern Ireland. They had lots more kids. And so on and so forth, until my mom was born.

Rewind to the minister's grandchildren, still living in Northern Ireland. While one son moved to Illinois, other kids stayed in Northern Ireland and continued to raise their families in the same town where their father had preached. I'm not sure of that lineage, but the end result was my grandma, grandpa, aunt and uncle that I got to meet.

(Confused yet?)

What this means is that part of the family history can be traced back through that single town for over 200 years. Aunt M drove me around, pointing out sites like the church where he was a minister, the farm where he was born, the graveyard where numerous other relatives are buried, and the current houses of all the living relatives. It was an incredible mix of old and new. It was fun to see how Aunt M interacted with everyone in the community. Because the town is so small, only around 1,500 people, and she has lived there her whole life, she knew everyone and everything about the small town. She gave me an incredible tour of the area.

Later in the day I met uncle N, and he showed me pictures of the little town from the 1920's. He was so excited to meet me, and thought it was great that I was just stopping by for the weekend. Aunt M told me he was known as "the bear" because he was such a big guy, but very sweet and fun. His Irish brogue was a bit harder for me to understand than Aunt M's though, which made for a couple awkward moments when I didn't want to admit I couldn't understand him. Luckily, after living in Spain for 7 months, I've gotten really smooth at the smile-and-nod move.

After that it was off to meet Grandpa B and Grandma M. Grandpa B had been bedridden for the past 4 weeks and wasn't doing very well, but I watched his eyes light up as I walked in the room, which was enough to make me tear up a little. He asked me how I liked 'their section of the world', and I replied that I loved it and never wanted to leave. That got a small smile from him.
Then Grandma M showed me pictures from over 20 years ago when my great grandmother and her kids came to visit. She had met my Mom's parents as well, and we shared stories about my Grandmother's strange eating habits. (If you're family you know why that's funny). She immediately made me feel so at home, like I belonged there. We talked for ages, and there was never a dull moment in the conversation. It was such an amazing feeling to connect with relatives on the other side of the world. I wish I had gotten to know them years ago, they are a great bunch!

Driving out to see the house where my great(x5) grandfather was born. I loved how the sea was so close no matter where in town we were.

This plot of land is where my great(x5) grandfather lived. It used to be a farm on the outskirts of the town. Most of the farm is still there, and this gated entrance, but the house has been knocked down.

 Town garden, right by the sea.

 Town garden mural.

 Beautiful coastline.

 200 year old windmill. 

 Main St. in 1946. It still looked pretty much the same, except with a few more buildings and few less horses. 

Main street today.

 Crazy-talented cat at Uncle N's. I'm not sure if this means he wanted out of his cage, or if it was just good exercise...

 Uncle N's wife, Aunt M, Uncle N (The aunt and uncle are not the married ones, sorry if that's confusing. They're relatives.)

 A picture of a picture - Grandma M and Grandpa B are the white-haired ones.

 Grandma M and Aunt M

Irish cows just hanging out in the backyard of their house. 

 The famous church! It was built in the 1700's and hasn't changed much since. The graveyard has graves from the 1800's all the way up to now.

 Gorgeous location right by the seaside.

 Turns out I was unknowingly named after a relative.

 Yellow flowers that absolutely cover Northern Ireland. 

 View across the bay of a nearby town

Cute beach houses.

As the day was wrapping up, I was contemplating exactly how much it would cost me to "miss" my flight home and spend a couple extra days in Northern Ireland. Luckily though, common sense kicked in and I decided against it. This made it especially ironic when there was a miscommunication the next morning over which airport I needed to go to, and I realized at 5:30am that I was at the wrong airport for a 7am flight. Sigh. I knew my weekend had been going too smoothly. 

A gigantic, titanic weekend in Northern Ireland

Ever since I first checked out a book on Ireland during my mom's impromtu homeschooling geography lesson where we went to the library and I picked out a book on the country I wanted to study first, I was hooked. I remember looking at pictures of the rolling green hills and thinking "ooooooohhhh pretty!" 10 years later, when I actually got to visit the rolling green hills of Ireland, my reaction was pretty much the same. There might have been a little jaw-dropping too.

This wasn't the sole cause of my excitement however. When I was about 10, there were two main sources of my nerd-ness: Pompeii, and the Titanic. I could spew off endless amounts of information about either of the two, and even had a miniature 3-D puzzle of the Titanic that took me weeks to put together. It was my prized possession for a couple of years.
I was lucky enough to visit Pompeii a few years ago, and it was incredible. So then for this trip, when I realized that I would be in the birth town of the Titanic, I flipped out a little. (Ask my parents.)

The yellow flower is known as Paddy's Poison down in Australia. It's easy to see why, because even in its native Ireland it's everywhere. 

Northern Ireland captured my heart. Plain and simple. The people were so welcome and friendly, and when I spent around $80 on taxis trying to catch my flight home, I had such great 5am conversations with my taxi drivers that I almost didn't mind. But that's a whole 'nother story. 

I had flown into Dublin Wednesday night because it was cheapest, and Thursday morning I had to take a 7am train to Belfast to go on a tour. This is when the ATM card eating incident happened and I was left with no cash, no debit card, no breakfast, an unpaid tour and hostel, and a long day ahead of me. Thanks Dublin, you rock. 

Luckily my tour guide was fantastic and took my inability to pay right in stride. (She even bought me a coffee later in the tour.) Susie Millar is the great granddaughter of Thomas Millar, first an apprentice at Harland & Wolf and then a deck engineer on board the Titanic. Thomas Millar took the job on the Titanic so he could go to America and find a better life for himself and his 2 young boys. Just before he left, he gave 2 pennies to each of his sons and told them not to spend them until they were all together again. When the Titanic sank, Thomas was killed. His youngest son kept his father's wish, and 100 years later the family still has those pennies.  

Susie gave an incredible tour of the history of the Titanic, intermixed with the history of Belfast and her family story. I was lucky enough to be the only person on the tour that day, and so it was very informal, laid back and relaxed.

The drawing room offices, 

where all the magic happened.                                                             Harland & Wolf logo 

 The drawing room in its heyday.                                                 The drawing room today.

                                 Chairman Lord Pirrie's office.           Creepy and possibly haunted.

These are the 2 pennies from Susie's great grandfather. 

When Belfast was bombed during WWII, most of the buildings were destroyed. 

This one street however, somehow survived. Now it looks like a movie set, set down in the

 middle of bustling Belfast. This houses were called '2 up 2 down', and they were tiny, and 

huge families of 9 or 10 lived in 1 of these. 

 A memorial to the Belfast shipyard workers.

Thomas Andrews's house. He was the top designer of the Titanic.

 Today his house is the main office for the Northern Irish Football Association, 
but its still has the same decor that it did from the 1900's. 

The 1,500 names of the people who died. 

 Titanic Belfast: the largest Titanic exhibit in the world!

The gray lines on the ground mark

out the shape of the ship.                                                                      Same spot [Source]

The next day I went on a day tour to the Giant's Causeway. I was a little nervous when I was picked up outside my hostel in a large, old yellow clunker bus. It had seat belts that you wore like harnesses, no heating, and signs on the door saying 'please don't talk to the driver while vehicle is in motion.' It was shaping up to be a very long day.
Luckily, that was just for hostel pick ups, and we were transfered to a real tour bus with normal seat belts. Thank god.
The tour took the Antrim coastal road, a scenic drive that follows the eastern coast of Northern Ireland. It was BEAUTIFUL.

We saw Carrickfergus castle:

stopped in a small seaside fishing village:

walked across a rope bridge surrounded by stunning cliffs and turquouise water:

stopped at one of the oldest distillery's in the world and drove by a medieval castle:

and ended the day at a 60 million year old rock formation, Giants Causeway:

If you're interested, check out the history of Giant's Causeway here. Scientists say that the stones were created during a volcanic eruption, but the Irish like to think that a giant built it. Or, as my tour guide stated, "volcanos don't exist so it was obviously Fin MacCool who built it." 

I made friends with a fellow solo traveler at the Causeway, thankfully, because otherwise the high velocity winds whipping my hair in my face and knocking me off balance on the rocks would have just been obnoxious, instead of cause for some laughter. Somehow the Irish weather made me numb and shivering from the wind, while still managing to sweat from the sun overhead. 

Belfast and the surrounding areas where absolutely gorgeous, and it quickly nestled its way into my heart as a city I'll have to return to. (Just add that on to the ever growing list....) Stay tuned for day 3 of my trip, when I went to a nearby coastal town to meet some distant relatives! They were very Irish and very wonderful, and showed me around 200 years of family history in their little town.