I saw some of my students

at a discotheque last night. It was 'normal' for both parties to be there. (My oldest students are 16.) I also saw small children running around a bar at 2am. Their parents, and grandparents, were chatting in a corner, and Michael Jackson was blasting.

Icky Feet

One thing I've noticed about Spain: the feelings about feet.

- being barefoot is unacceptable. In a situation where I would generally remain shoeless (say, just after waking up), I now wear house slippers.
- objects, like purses and backpacks, are not placed upon the floor. Once, a teacher at my school went so far as to pick my bag up from the floor and set it upon a table for me. Special purse hooks are used by many women to prevent purses from sitting on the floor while at a restaurant.
- floors are mopped every few days. This is a combination of the fact that every single floor is made of the same faux-marble white tile that highlights every fleck of dirt, and (I think) the feeling that feet are unclean.

These observations could suggest that Spaniards are somehow 'cleaner' than Americans because of their awareness about the germs that might inhabit the feet/floor, but I don't think it works quite like that. While precautions are high surrounding these lower appendages, hand-washing is at a minimum. I think it all evens out.

What do I do? Well, I'm torn between adapting this particular Spanish trait, and rejecting it. Thus, my actions are inconsistent and a bit odd. I always wear some form of shoes, because that one seems most important, but I can't quite decide what to do about contact between my bag and the floor. So, sometimes it's on the floor, sometimes it's on a chair, and sometimes I switch it back and forth. (I'm only half joking about this.) And I'm completely unable to take up mopping every few days. That would be far too much work. Partial adaptation seems sufficient, for now.

Full adaptation may be further in the future.

AMERICA FOR CHRISTMAS!

I didn't even realize I wanted to come to America for Christmas until the chance was offered to me (by a very generous sister), but YAYAYAYAY my excitement is growing. It's not that I'm especially homesick, or that I dislike living in Spain. It's quite the opposite.

Traveling is fun, speaking Spanish is always interesting, and I like being here in Spain, but there's a different aura to home. I think I'm more excited to go 'home' than I am to go to Barcelona (Dec 3-7) or London (March 11-14), even though I really love traveling. Home is different. I know what to expect from it, and I know that I like it.

So, home, I'll see you on December 18.

This is, by far, the hardest thing I've ever done. I've moved to a foreign country where I know absolutely no one, and I'm trying to do a job that I have no idea how to do. I'm on the most extreme emotional roller coaster that I've ever experienced. Small things, both good and bad, seem amplified. I meet someone cool, and I'm high as a kite, my heart is pounding, and I feel like everything will be alright. Or, my students are talkative and won't pay attention to me, and I'm down in the gutter, nearly crying in the classroom.

It's challenging in nearly every way. Constant translation is tiring, but it's a requirement for daily life. To meet new people and make friends, which I so dearly want to have, means that I must be outgoing and confident, which I usually am not. To teach my students English, which is the job I am paid to do, I need to entertain and motivate large groups of early teens who are required to take the class I'm teaching (thus, many are not interested in what I have to say).

It's intense, but it's getting easier. There are fewer frustrating situations, because I'm learning how to avoid making the same mistakes, and there are more uplifting situations -- whether I like it or not, I have to be outgoing sometimes, and I really have met some great people. Sometimes it's rough, but that would happen anywhere in the world. Any anyway, it makes the sweet times all the more enjoyable.