Orbayu

It's like a broken record, not that any of us still play records (except for you hipsters and oldies), but the point is that: ever since I had been placed to work in Gijon, all I heard was,

"It rains A LOT. But it's beautifully green."

My first thought process was also a broken record, Crap, it's going to rain all the time and I am going to feel depressed and miserable without sunlight for 8 months straight... It turns out that (surprise?) it does rain quite often, but, (better surprise!) the rain is an on and off again type of rain, and it's not a heavy rain, it tends towards a sprinkle or an orbayu, as they say in the local Asturian language/dialect (I don't want to get into that debate quite yet)... Orbayu is a special word in Asturiano that means something like a light mist or sprinkle. Now, it's important to note that, for example, when I woke up this morning it was raining snow. From my apartment I could hear the rain hitting the patio floor, but when I stepped outside and looked up towards the streetlamps (it's still dark here at 8am), I saw snow. But that same snow, upon touching the ground, transformed completely into rain. No sleet, no shitty, brown mess, just straight up rain. Using my Minnesnowtan knowledge, I took that to mean it was probably around 35 or 36 degrees... not cold enough to snow like it meant it, but not warm enough to simply rain. Anyway, by 10am it was sunny outside, and around noon it rained again. And back and forth rain and sun pendulum went.

I am finding this city to be quite charming and pleasant. I can say that I feel more comfortable here in the North of Spain than I did last year in the South. So far, I have deducted that this is normal because of the simple fact that I honestly believe that "the north" in countries all over the world have things in common, as do "the south." I also honestly believe this is simply due to the fact that the weather impacts your personality, lifestyle, habits, and ways of being in general. Why cold weather makes people more polite, modest, and kind? I don't know. I haven't figured that one out yet. I'm kidding... kinda. The north is just as precious as they told me it would be. Looooove it.

I must now address a topic I've been avoiding because I'm not quite sure how to explain it successfully, because more than a theory or a practice, what I am about to attempt to explain is an experience. So it may be true that Asturian people drink beer, wine and hard alcohol like all other normal people in the world... But Asturians have mastered the most socially entertaining and enjoyable yet sneakily dangerous form of drinking ever: SIDRA. Sidra translates into English as cider, but it has nothing to do with either the non-alcoholic OR the alcoholic version of cider in the US. Here in Asturias, they don't just pour sidra, lo escancian. Escanciar is a special verb used only to describe how sidra is poured. So, it goes a little like this: The waiter (or the drunk idiot on the street) holds the bottle of sider in his/her outstretched arm far over his/her head. The opposite hand is extended all the way down to the knee and holds a wide sidra glass. And, escanciar:

Next, the waiter passes the glass with a thick shot of sidra to the first person in the ordering group who makes eye contact or who reaches for it first. The next step is to CHUG. Note: Sidra is a flat drink and poured from waaay above the head aaaaall the way down to the knees to force some bubbly fizz out of it. Sidra tastes pretty damn convincing if it's bubbly but if it's flat... mmmmm... it's kinda like drinking a flat beer and we all know that's no bueno. The waiter pours a shot of sidra to every person in your group, all in the same cup, and decides when the next round starts. Oh, and when the bottle runs out, they'll bring you a new one automatically, unless you stop them first, that is. Sidra is known for sneaking up on you, too. And, it does. It got me once. I was out like a light only two hours later.

To my new friends who til now have tended to be pretty amazing but still will only be referred to by their nationality cause I think it's entertaining: The Polish, the Belgian, the German, the Canadian and the Italian. Yes, when you say it like that it sounds the the start of a joke. Honestly, with the way we communicate in our strange mix between English, Spanish and the four other native languages involved, our lives sound like a joke. But, it's good. And the only other random thing I can say about summing up why I am loving these people is: "Que hora es??":

Besos,

Molly

Gijón

So, it’s true, I am off again on another adventure to Spain.

I will be working as an English Language and Culture Assistant (again) with the same program (through the Spanish Ministry of Education). Last year I made the tough decision not to renew my position in Jaén, and instead apply to work in a new region. Being as I am, I decided to make my life as difficult as possible by moving as far away from everyone I know in Spain for no particular reason, and so here I am in one of the most northern parts of Spain: Gijón, Asturias. Being a city on “La costa verde” (The Green Coast) on the Bay of Biscay, the weather here is consistently compared to that of the UK. It’s considered as being rainy and “cold” by Spanish standards, but therefore is one of the few areas with truly green open spaces in the country. It’s got a couple of small, scenic beaches where people go surfing year round and even an “old quarter” that I have yet to visit. Oh, and sidra (cider), of course. I’m sure that there will be a post to come when I learn a bit more about the story behind that deliciously awful alcoholic Asturian drink.

In Gijón I am working at a school called, formally, “Centro Integrado de Formación Profesional de Hostelería y Turismo.” A mouthful, yes. In a nutshell, it’s comparable to a Tech College in the US that teaches courses specifically in tourism and hospitality. I will be working alongside two different English teachers, who, surprise, are actually fluent in English! My students are quite a bit older this year- I have one class of 17-20 year olds, while the other classes range from 20 to 40-something years old. This year, all of them already know how to say how old they are, which makes a much easier starting point than last year. In fact, they understand at least half of what I say in class (or so that’s the impression they give). On the first day of classes I believe I taught every class more than I ever could in two months in Cambil. So, I’m already assisting with classes in Catering, Bar and Restaurant Services, and something like Hotel Services. In the school they study everything from room cleaning to reception, wine tasting to baking, French to English, ahh the joys of a fun school! The cafeteria where the students will practice on the public opens soon and I caaaan’t wait!

I am honestly shocked to say that I have been here for two weeks already. I successfully completed my orientation in Madrid, where I roomed with a girl from South Minneapolis, because the world is always really, really small in my life. In Gijón I can say I have successfully made one friend, a Polish girl named Magda who is a human angel, really. She warmly welcomed me into her home through Couch Surfing (a website for travelers) and is letting me stay until I find a place, which has proven to be a bit more difficult than I imagined. Turns out that arriving in Gijón after university classes started in October was a baaaad idea. I’ve called over 50 ads for apartments or rooms and ALL except abouuuut, oh let’s say seven, have been full. I’ve seen a few places, a few good, a few creepy, a few smelly, and am still working on finding the combination between the place and the people that “click.” One more mental breakdown call to my mom and I she just might fly out here to console me (with ulterior motives of traveling in Spain of course), but honestly, I’m hoping that by tomorrow or the next I’ll have a place to call home. I can feel it in my desperate bones. I also have successfully already taken a weekend off from doing nothing to do some more of nothing with a side of heavy drinking during a long, five day weekend… I’m guilty of enjoying life too much. I went to Jaén for “La feria de San Lucas.” It takes about 12 hours to get from Gijón to Jaén on bus, and isn’t exactly cheap either (round abouts 120 euro), but as I expected it was totally worth it. As a group of wailing hooligans, my good friends from last year and some new ones from this year spent four nights in a row de fiesta until at least eight, nine, or ten in them morning, take your pick. Feria in Jaén is like everything a street drinker could ask for. It consists of 70 or so “casetas” (tents) set up in the local fair ground, each caseta holds either a bar, club, or restaurant. It’s like a glorified pub crawl that lasts 24 hours a day for 10 days straight. Everyone’s mom, uncle, and cat goes to Feria. There, I ran into everyone I met last year and it made me slightly sad to not be back in Jaén for the second year in a row. It would have been quite easy to roll back to the same city with the same great friends and even more new ones, but I am looking forward to getting to know a new city, have a new teaching experience, and, well, a new life experience as well.

Ta ta for now,

Molly