Classes and work are in full swing now. I love my internship. So many interesting people come in to the tourism office and usually I am able to help them, which is really thrilling. Sometimes though, when I can't understand them, I just defer to one of my native Spaniard colleagues for the answer...or I just nod, say sí, and hand them a map. My favorite part is when people come in looking very lost, come over to me and ask, "Do you speak any English at all??" It's all I can do to keep from jumping up and saying "YES!!!!! I DO speak English! Sometimes I pretend I speak Spanish...but it's terrible anyway so it doesn't really count!" My relaxation upon relapse to English is probably extremely obvious, but those Brits and Aussies are the most well-directed tourists to pass through Toledo since language barriers were invented. Some of them even got a free poster, just for making my job easier.
Since we had a full week of classes last week, the only way to relieve the stress of 4 classes and a job was to go to Madrid for the weekend. Obviously. We took a free bus with people from the Fund and had a touristy Friday, complete with a panoramic bus tour...a rather painful experience due to my extreme aversion to being labeled as an American tourist. I'd say it's a phobia, of sorts. I hate to travel in groups larger than...6 or so, and prominent American labels (North Face, for one) are totally taboo. Of course we would be with a group of 100 people, led by a guide with a neon vest. Perfect. The tour finally ended with all 100 of us filing into the Museo de Jamón, past all of the regular patrons, to our specially reserved room in the -2 floor (aka the basement) because that's the only place we could all fit. We might as well have paraded in waving an American flag and singing the National Anthem. One good part of lunch though was that The Bacon Wallet was able to return home to its bacon roots. It was an utterly meaningful experience.
The rest of the weekend was filled with shoe shopping (there is literally a zapatería every other store in El Centro of Madrid), fiesta-ing, meeting interesting people, and eating lots and lots. Some photo highlights.....
The Bacon Wallet in its first hostel room.
From left to right: Caitlin, The Bacon Wallet, Elizabeth and Courtney in La Puerta del Sol, in the exact center of Spain.
This superstar claimed to be 19 when he tried to talk to us in La Puerta del Sol Friday night. We knew he was actually 15 (maybe), but when he revealed his Pau Gasol Grizzlies jersey, I had to be nice. All in all, the excursion to Madrid was a success. But I must admit, it's nice to be back in the small town of Toledo. At the beginning of the semester, I wondered why Notre Dame sent us to Toledo instead of Madrid, but it became very clear that it is a LOT easier to get by with no Spanish in Madrid than it would be in Toledo. Everyone knew we were American (despite my efforts to disguise my nationality) and they always talked to us in English. I know for a fact that it would be way too easy to fall back on the crutch of familiarity and speak English all the time if I were in Madrid. Since hardly anyone in Toledo knows enough English to engage in a full conversation, it's 100% Spanish--all day every day.
Also, I came home the most adorable kids ever playing Wii in our house (Javier's niece and nephew). My Spanish is about on the same level as theirs, so it was fun to talk to them. When I asked the boy, "Cuantos años tienes?" he held up two fingers and the girl called out "Yo cinco." That's the kind of Spanish I can understand. KISS--Keep It Simple, Stupid. Also when I went into my room I found clean laundry, in a pile, folded on top of my freshly washed sheets. Score. Welcome home.
P.S. My Spanish is actually sliiiiightly better than I let on. I can converse. I can understand. I know more words than Javier's two-year-old nephew. Just in case anyone was fooled by my witty jokes and thought that I was seriously floundering over here.
Also, I came home the most adorable kids ever playing Wii in our house (Javier's niece and nephew). My Spanish is about on the same level as theirs, so it was fun to talk to them. When I asked the boy, "Cuantos años tienes?" he held up two fingers and the girl called out "Yo cinco." That's the kind of Spanish I can understand. KISS--Keep It Simple, Stupid. Also when I went into my room I found clean laundry, in a pile, folded on top of my freshly washed sheets. Score. Welcome home.
P.S. My Spanish is actually sliiiiightly better than I let on. I can converse. I can understand. I know more words than Javier's two-year-old nephew. Just in case anyone was fooled by my witty jokes and thought that I was seriously floundering over here.
2 comments:
I am having so much fun with you in Spain. Love your blog!
I would like to see a picture of all your new shoes lined up. Next to the bacon wallet, of course.
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