So maybe we were just a little bit spoiled in La Alberca . . . our days were filled with interesting conversation and activities, the weather was warm yet breezy, the company was sublime, and the food and wine just kept flowing . . . Three days later I found myself in Viseu, Portugal, and instead of embracing the adventure in true Wander Woman fashion, I was fighting off a serious case of The Crabbies. This particular bout was induced by a lack of food, a lack of breeze, and a lack of open businesses. Alas, Robert couldn't do much about the change in weather, but he was able to magically produce two cokes and a ham and cheese sandwich, sustaining both our bodies and spirits. The day was saved! It's embarrassing how much sway the presence (or absence!) of food has on my mood. Anyway, Robert will probably write his own blog and give a more thorough overview of our experiences in Portugal thus far. I'll just stick with my sustenance for body and spirit theme: Food and Music.
Menus Lost in Translation:
Just when we thought the observation of Sunday Sabbath in Viseu meant bar food for dinner, we had the good fortune of dining at O Cortiço, a lovely little restaurant tucked surreptitiously into a side alley off the main square of Viseu. Robert's travel Bible, the Lonely Planet guide, had led us to this eatery that specializes in various recipes of the surrounding region. Not exactly sure what to expect, we were grateful for the English descriptions following the Portugese. Their ambiguity might have been a means to keep the recipes a mystery or maybe it was just poor translating. Either way, the wording delighted us. For example, we might have sampled any of the following:
-Feijocas contodos à manera da criada do Sr Abade otherwise described as "Large French beans cooked like the aboot's maid"
-"Drunken rabbit 3 days in is lie"
-"Roasted duck rice, roasted like the old times"
-"Stew little pieces of veal in the earthern mug stewed like the farmer from Cavernãos"
And, my personal favorite, Bacalhau podre apodrecido na adega or "Rotten codfish in the wine cellar". I passed on that.
In the end Robert chose "Roast lamb, roasted like the mountain shepherd", and I scored another point in the ordering game with my choice, "Shrub rice with little pieces of veal". The half portion I asked for was still large enough for a family of four, arrived in a solid, well-used earthenware pot, and had a little dried twig rising from the center. As a self-proclaimed foodie, I always enjoy trying a new restaurant or cuisine or dish, and there's something exciting and satisfying in "discovering" a new flavour. I have no idea what unique spice or herb or cooking technique or "shrub" element produced the earthy, beautiful taste, but it was a-ma-zing! Add a sweet young waitress who was patient and helpful in spite of being scared to death about using her English, an opening cheese and ham plate with the first whole wheat bread I've had since arriving on this continent, and Robert´s lovely cooked cabbage that came with his meal, and I was thoroughly sated. And mellow enough to endure the "fire water" the waiter produced as a final exclamation mark to our experience. Bom Apetite!
Music that Needs No Translation
Several years ago I heard a piece on NPR about Mariza, a new fado singer from Portugal. The article was intriguing enough to prompt a little research, and a fascination with hearing it for myself someday was born. When we first decided to travel to Spain, my mind went immediately to the neighboring Portugal and its music. Fado is a uniquely Portugese musical form that involves traditional guitar, a distinct, round-bodied, 12-string Portugese guitar, and a soulful singer. And today, finally, I heard it for the first time in person. We took in an afternoon show at the Fado Center here in Coimbra, supposedly (at least according to some sources), the birthplace of fado. The rapid, intense stylings of the Portugese guitar left me breathless even before the vocalist began. I didn't need to understand Portugese to understand the longing. Apparently the first fado songs were meant for one specific purpose: wooing women. After just one fado experience, I can honestly say the Portugese women don't stand a chance of resistance.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Pictures of People
I like taking photographs. Susan might tell you that I love taking photographs and that she's kind enough to indulge me with my addiction. I use a Canon EOS Digital Rebel XT with a Tamron 28-200 Zoom and Polarizer Lens. I have a great time taking pictures of buildings, statues, monuments, cathedrals, hotels, windows, doors, man hole covers, street signs, posters, banners, the food we're about to eat, the sign that explains the artwork or building in the photo that I just took, the reflection of the plaza off of Susan's sunglasses, the distorted reflection of a building on the windows of another, Susan taking photos of something else, lines or cracks or bricks that make an artistic pattern, and occasionally people.
I don't usually like taking photos of people. Photos of people usually fall into two categories for me:
1. People who are posing for the photo.
2. A candid photo of people who aren't ready for me to take a photo of them.
Subcategories include:
1.A. People who blink, sneeze, or don't like their hair and need the shot retaken, please.
1.B. People who are posing for someone else but I'm going to get them looking away at an angle.
1.C. People who walk in front of, jump behind, or add bunny ears to people who are posing for me.
1.D. People who I assume agree when I ask them "May I take a photo of you?" in their language.
1.D.i. It needs to be mentioned that they are usually smiling or extremely quizzical because, roughly translated, I just asked them in Yoda-speak, "You may I photograph with gracious permission your?"
2.A. The candid photo is so candid that we call it a "hip shot". The camera is ready, flash off, and it´s at your hip and you take the photo praying to the Greek God, Kodak, that the people are actually in the frame.
2.A.i. The "hip shots" haven't been successful resulting in a number of bad photos of a wall, forcing me to just obviously take a candid photo of someone who may not want their photo taken.
2.A.i.a. It also needs to be mentioned here that words like "obvious" and "candid" don't like being used together, usually resulting in anger.
2.B. People who are dancing, singing, running, jumping, or moving. Sometimes I am able to capture the moment despite the movement but there are times where there is just a blur where their body once was.
2.C. I really need to study the proper MLA or APA form for outlining.
So, understanding that I usually don't like taking photographs of people, I have to admit that I've taken a lot of photos of people on this trip and I've really loved it. All of the amazing, heartwarming, delightful souls that I met and got to know at Pueblo Ingles were especially photogenic. Sitting very still during an important conversation with a person from another conversation allows for many photos of type 2. Of course, this was a great experience for all involved, so there were many type 1 photos as well. I was amazed to find that there were a large number of type 2.B. photographs that really captured wonderful moments during a party or a skit. But even with all of these successes, this was no momentous event in photographic history. Those people were people that I knew and they weren't surprised that I was pointing the camera at them.
Susan and I were in the beautiful, beautiful new cathedral, aptly named Catedral Nueva, in Salamanca, Spain. By new I mean 16th century. There are a lot of tourists around, Spanish and otherwise, observing and not observing the signs that clearly state "Quiet" and "No Flash Photography" in many languages and helpful symbols. All of these visitors move in unpredictable groups, swarming from one chapel to the next and reading the signs, lighting a candle, praying, and talking loudly and taking plenty of flash photography. There was one image of Jesus on the cross and I was so eager to get a photo (without a flash, thank you) and the lighting was breathtaking and I was patient and I had it framed perfectly but people just kept walking in front of me or in front of the sculpture. I prayed to God, "I'm just trying to get a photo of your church. Please move these people out of the way." Pause. And then I remembered that the people are the church and that I need to celebrate that fact and enjoy people more. This is God's church. Those are God's people. And I probably shouldn't get upset if I take a couple of shots of them. Especially if they're going to walk into the frame...
So I've been taking more pictures of people than on any other trip. All types of people, all categories of photos. Old men on a park bench. Children on merry-go-rounds. Bachelorette parties posing for someone else in the plaza. Musicians, families, store employees and people looking in the windows of shops. Older women are especially photogenic because they pause to have conversations together in meaningful clusters and their clothes are more culturally interesting, in my opinion. People in bus depots, people at bus stops, people looking out the windows of busses, and people that the busses pass when I'm on the bus have been particularly successful.
I love taking photos of people I didn't know it until I traveled to Spain and Portugal. Not that I'm going to stop taking photographs of buildings and parks and flowers and trees and scenery out the window of the bus and other inanimate objects. But I love taking photos of people!
I don't usually like taking photos of people. Photos of people usually fall into two categories for me:
1. People who are posing for the photo.
2. A candid photo of people who aren't ready for me to take a photo of them.
Subcategories include:
1.A. People who blink, sneeze, or don't like their hair and need the shot retaken, please.
1.B. People who are posing for someone else but I'm going to get them looking away at an angle.
1.C. People who walk in front of, jump behind, or add bunny ears to people who are posing for me.
1.D. People who I assume agree when I ask them "May I take a photo of you?" in their language.
1.D.i. It needs to be mentioned that they are usually smiling or extremely quizzical because, roughly translated, I just asked them in Yoda-speak, "You may I photograph with gracious permission your?"
2.A. The candid photo is so candid that we call it a "hip shot". The camera is ready, flash off, and it´s at your hip and you take the photo praying to the Greek God, Kodak, that the people are actually in the frame.
2.A.i. The "hip shots" haven't been successful resulting in a number of bad photos of a wall, forcing me to just obviously take a candid photo of someone who may not want their photo taken.
2.A.i.a. It also needs to be mentioned here that words like "obvious" and "candid" don't like being used together, usually resulting in anger.
2.B. People who are dancing, singing, running, jumping, or moving. Sometimes I am able to capture the moment despite the movement but there are times where there is just a blur where their body once was.
2.C. I really need to study the proper MLA or APA form for outlining.
So, understanding that I usually don't like taking photographs of people, I have to admit that I've taken a lot of photos of people on this trip and I've really loved it. All of the amazing, heartwarming, delightful souls that I met and got to know at Pueblo Ingles were especially photogenic. Sitting very still during an important conversation with a person from another conversation allows for many photos of type 2. Of course, this was a great experience for all involved, so there were many type 1 photos as well. I was amazed to find that there were a large number of type 2.B. photographs that really captured wonderful moments during a party or a skit. But even with all of these successes, this was no momentous event in photographic history. Those people were people that I knew and they weren't surprised that I was pointing the camera at them.
Susan and I were in the beautiful, beautiful new cathedral, aptly named Catedral Nueva, in Salamanca, Spain. By new I mean 16th century. There are a lot of tourists around, Spanish and otherwise, observing and not observing the signs that clearly state "Quiet" and "No Flash Photography" in many languages and helpful symbols. All of these visitors move in unpredictable groups, swarming from one chapel to the next and reading the signs, lighting a candle, praying, and talking loudly and taking plenty of flash photography. There was one image of Jesus on the cross and I was so eager to get a photo (without a flash, thank you) and the lighting was breathtaking and I was patient and I had it framed perfectly but people just kept walking in front of me or in front of the sculpture. I prayed to God, "I'm just trying to get a photo of your church. Please move these people out of the way." Pause. And then I remembered that the people are the church and that I need to celebrate that fact and enjoy people more. This is God's church. Those are God's people. And I probably shouldn't get upset if I take a couple of shots of them. Especially if they're going to walk into the frame...
So I've been taking more pictures of people than on any other trip. All types of people, all categories of photos. Old men on a park bench. Children on merry-go-rounds. Bachelorette parties posing for someone else in the plaza. Musicians, families, store employees and people looking in the windows of shops. Older women are especially photogenic because they pause to have conversations together in meaningful clusters and their clothes are more culturally interesting, in my opinion. People in bus depots, people at bus stops, people looking out the windows of busses, and people that the busses pass when I'm on the bus have been particularly successful.
I love taking photos of people I didn't know it until I traveled to Spain and Portugal. Not that I'm going to stop taking photographs of buildings and parks and flowers and trees and scenery out the window of the bus and other inanimate objects. But I love taking photos of people!
Friday, June 24, 2011
What I´ve Learned So Far . . . Part I
Holes in shoes only get bigger; when leaving on vacation, leave the hole-y shoes at home.
When faced with hole-y shoes on vacation, dental floss and a sewing kit may seem like the perfect solution. You´re still better off leaving the shoes at home.
Spain has more forms of ¨ham¨ than you can ever imagine; eating your body weight in Spanish ham is not advisable, no matter how delicious they seem at the time.
Spanish ham is not prosciutto; do not make the mistake of making this comparison in front of a Spanish person.
As long as I´m on the subject of pork, if you ever have the opportunity to eat suckling pig, abandon Weight Watchers points for the day and try the skin.
Do not be alarmed when the pet pig of the village rubs against your legs like a cat.
Foreign accents are both charming and sexy.
¨De de de de . . . like dis¨ is a far more interesting way of saying ¨etcetera¨.
Beatles songs sung in Spanish accents will never fail to make me smile.
When experiencing trouble accessing soap from the newly-filled, hanging, plastic-yet-still-prone-to-shattering soap dispenser, don´t pull too hard.
Thanksgiving is more than just a holiday. Express your gratitude to those who have positively impacted your life.
Tears are therapeutic.
Spanish men are as charming as they say. So are Spanish women.
Watching confidence grow is one of the most rewarding parts of being a teacher and/or a friend.
55 minute power walks don´t completely offset multiple desserts.
English has a LOT of phrasal verbs.
In Spain, even men who claim not to cook can give you a detailed recipe for paella.
Flamenco is to Spanish people what Cheeseheads are to Wisconsinites (or Dorothy is to Kansans).
Even if it´s summer and your researching spouse tells you the temperature will be in the 90s most of the time, take a summer sweater.
My husband can do a pretty impressive imitation of Will Ferrell imitating George W.
Differences in age, nationality, language, and gender can make relationships more interesting, not less possible.
You can skip the small talk and go right to deeper, more significant topics.
Good-bye is still a sad word.
The view from the room at the top of the stairs is worth the climb with the backpack.
Beauty, Magic, and Wonder abound.
I love my husband, and I´m blessed to have him as a life partner and friend.
When faced with hole-y shoes on vacation, dental floss and a sewing kit may seem like the perfect solution. You´re still better off leaving the shoes at home.
Spain has more forms of ¨ham¨ than you can ever imagine; eating your body weight in Spanish ham is not advisable, no matter how delicious they seem at the time.
Spanish ham is not prosciutto; do not make the mistake of making this comparison in front of a Spanish person.
As long as I´m on the subject of pork, if you ever have the opportunity to eat suckling pig, abandon Weight Watchers points for the day and try the skin.
Do not be alarmed when the pet pig of the village rubs against your legs like a cat.
Foreign accents are both charming and sexy.
¨De de de de . . . like dis¨ is a far more interesting way of saying ¨etcetera¨.
Beatles songs sung in Spanish accents will never fail to make me smile.
When experiencing trouble accessing soap from the newly-filled, hanging, plastic-yet-still-prone-to-shattering soap dispenser, don´t pull too hard.
Thanksgiving is more than just a holiday. Express your gratitude to those who have positively impacted your life.
Tears are therapeutic.
Spanish men are as charming as they say. So are Spanish women.
Watching confidence grow is one of the most rewarding parts of being a teacher and/or a friend.
55 minute power walks don´t completely offset multiple desserts.
English has a LOT of phrasal verbs.
In Spain, even men who claim not to cook can give you a detailed recipe for paella.
Flamenco is to Spanish people what Cheeseheads are to Wisconsinites (or Dorothy is to Kansans).
Even if it´s summer and your researching spouse tells you the temperature will be in the 90s most of the time, take a summer sweater.
My husband can do a pretty impressive imitation of Will Ferrell imitating George W.
Differences in age, nationality, language, and gender can make relationships more interesting, not less possible.
You can skip the small talk and go right to deeper, more significant topics.
Good-bye is still a sad word.
The view from the room at the top of the stairs is worth the climb with the backpack.
Beauty, Magic, and Wonder abound.
I love my husband, and I´m blessed to have him as a life partner and friend.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Listening
Our days and nights at Pueblo Ingles are filled with conversations with people from all over the world, not only with the Spaniards who are striving to improve their English. I´ve befriended some amazing people, hailing from Spain, Italy, New Zealand, Australia, England, Canada, and different parts of the United States. While I feel richer for listening people from all over the world, I´m also listening to the natural world, filled with the sounds and speech of nature.
During the early morning hours, when that blinding orange sun is launching itself from behind the mountains into the sky, Susan and I have enjoyed cool walks into the town of La Alberca, twisting around the cobblestone streets to make a loop, and returning to the villa on the paved road. There is a path that begins behind the main hotel but I´ve found route to be a little irritating to my sinuses with the pollen and dust. When we did venture that way one time with the whole Pueblo Ingles group, we were accompanied by a quiet golden retriever. I think that he was listening to us, intrigued by the strange English discussions that we were having.
Along the paved road to town we´ve encountered more wildlife than I would have expected. With a rooster, a cat, a dog, and a donkey, it´s become the Spanish version of Die Bremen Stadtmusikanten! Off in the distance, far beyond the woods, a rooster crowed at the morning sunshine. It´s so distant that I really had to listen intentionally to make sure that I wasn´t imagining things. Behind a rugged stone wall and barbed wire fence there was a friendly palamino. Beneath the shade of olive trees a herd of young sheep bleated and shook the bells that were around their necks. Meanwhile, a black guard dog barked ferociously at us, thankfully from behind a strong fence. Two pink pigs snorted away as flies dove and buzzed all around. A donkey brayed his back-and-forth high and low notes. Various birds, completely invisible in the foliage chirped, called, and sang their sweet songs. A white cat with a black face meowed at me and jumped down from the stone wall and disappeared into the undergrowth.
During the afternoon hours, we strolled around the cobbled streets of La Alberca, admiring the beautiful historical stucco and stonework houses. Quaint villagers walked slowly to and from the shops, seemingly content with natural sounds all around them. Swallows circled overhead and chirped at us from their nests in the rafters. A tabby disappeared behind the construction site. A couple of dogs walked around the streets, eyeing us curiously. One of them barked at us timidly and then ducked into the house for protection. The other one was a hilarious German Shepherd puppy that ran full tilt at us, yipping, and then veered off to the side! Eventually, he tired out and sat on the doorstep of a house, panting heavily.
The iconic black pig of La Alberca wandered through the town sniffling and snuffling audibly at the tourists and townsfolk, expecting handouts. He rarely came away disappointed becuase the villagers were happy to feed him. The people of La Alberca had notably erected a statue of a pig just outside of the cathedral and the legend was that if a married couple touched the statue together, they would soon be expecting a baby! Every street and alley of the town had butcher shops featuring the incredibly fresh Iberian ham.
During the evening hours, the continuous cacophonous croaking could be heard from the frogs in the marshland near the main gate of the villa. A lizard scrambled over the rocks near our home for the week, hopefully eating some of the annoying houseflies and fruitflies. The wildlife in and around La Alberca certainly is abundant and we have been fortunate to be able to witness some of in our first week in Spain. While the sights and experiences will remain with me for many years to come, I also have to say that the sounds of La Alberca will be another valuable memento! These natural sounds have created a peculiar chorus and it´s that unique music I will continue to hear well into the future!
During the early morning hours, when that blinding orange sun is launching itself from behind the mountains into the sky, Susan and I have enjoyed cool walks into the town of La Alberca, twisting around the cobblestone streets to make a loop, and returning to the villa on the paved road. There is a path that begins behind the main hotel but I´ve found route to be a little irritating to my sinuses with the pollen and dust. When we did venture that way one time with the whole Pueblo Ingles group, we were accompanied by a quiet golden retriever. I think that he was listening to us, intrigued by the strange English discussions that we were having.
Along the paved road to town we´ve encountered more wildlife than I would have expected. With a rooster, a cat, a dog, and a donkey, it´s become the Spanish version of Die Bremen Stadtmusikanten! Off in the distance, far beyond the woods, a rooster crowed at the morning sunshine. It´s so distant that I really had to listen intentionally to make sure that I wasn´t imagining things. Behind a rugged stone wall and barbed wire fence there was a friendly palamino. Beneath the shade of olive trees a herd of young sheep bleated and shook the bells that were around their necks. Meanwhile, a black guard dog barked ferociously at us, thankfully from behind a strong fence. Two pink pigs snorted away as flies dove and buzzed all around. A donkey brayed his back-and-forth high and low notes. Various birds, completely invisible in the foliage chirped, called, and sang their sweet songs. A white cat with a black face meowed at me and jumped down from the stone wall and disappeared into the undergrowth.
During the afternoon hours, we strolled around the cobbled streets of La Alberca, admiring the beautiful historical stucco and stonework houses. Quaint villagers walked slowly to and from the shops, seemingly content with natural sounds all around them. Swallows circled overhead and chirped at us from their nests in the rafters. A tabby disappeared behind the construction site. A couple of dogs walked around the streets, eyeing us curiously. One of them barked at us timidly and then ducked into the house for protection. The other one was a hilarious German Shepherd puppy that ran full tilt at us, yipping, and then veered off to the side! Eventually, he tired out and sat on the doorstep of a house, panting heavily.
The iconic black pig of La Alberca wandered through the town sniffling and snuffling audibly at the tourists and townsfolk, expecting handouts. He rarely came away disappointed becuase the villagers were happy to feed him. The people of La Alberca had notably erected a statue of a pig just outside of the cathedral and the legend was that if a married couple touched the statue together, they would soon be expecting a baby! Every street and alley of the town had butcher shops featuring the incredibly fresh Iberian ham.
During the evening hours, the continuous cacophonous croaking could be heard from the frogs in the marshland near the main gate of the villa. A lizard scrambled over the rocks near our home for the week, hopefully eating some of the annoying houseflies and fruitflies. The wildlife in and around La Alberca certainly is abundant and we have been fortunate to be able to witness some of in our first week in Spain. While the sights and experiences will remain with me for many years to come, I also have to say that the sounds of La Alberca will be another valuable memento! These natural sounds have created a peculiar chorus and it´s that unique music I will continue to hear well into the future!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
International Dance Party
After dinner on Monday night, the assembled contingent of Americans, Brits, Aussies, Kiwis, and Spaniards came together to party all night long. What a joyous event! I commented to a few of the people as we were dancing the night away how amazing it was to be partying with people from all over the world. Life affords us only a few opportunities like this one and we always need to be appreciative of them. Thank you, God!
My friend Chad and I once talked about an article that he had read in the newspaper. It was a critique of a particular band´s performance in a concert. His thought was, ¨Writing about music is like dancing about architecture!¨ His point was valid - why do people feel compelled to use one method of media to describe another? The music speaks for itself. It doesn´t need anyone writing about it in order to encapsulate the moment. The fact that he compared it to using dance to express buildings was a humorous comparison.
Following on this, I have to apologize for using words to describe dance. Maybe it´s not the best method of conveying what was happening during that night. Now that we've returned to Milwaukee I can post these photos. Will photographs do justice to the different nationalties gathered, the different cultures expressed in the music, and the different styles of dance? I can only hope that you can feel it after reading these words and seeing these photos...
My friend Chad and I once talked about an article that he had read in the newspaper. It was a critique of a particular band´s performance in a concert. His thought was, ¨Writing about music is like dancing about architecture!¨ His point was valid - why do people feel compelled to use one method of media to describe another? The music speaks for itself. It doesn´t need anyone writing about it in order to encapsulate the moment. The fact that he compared it to using dance to express buildings was a humorous comparison.
Following on this, I have to apologize for using words to describe dance. Maybe it´s not the best method of conveying what was happening during that night. Now that we've returned to Milwaukee I can post these photos. Will photographs do justice to the different nationalties gathered, the different cultures expressed in the music, and the different styles of dance? I can only hope that you can feel it after reading these words and seeing these photos...
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Witch's Brew
One of the traditions at Pueblo Ingles is the Queimada, a peculiar concoction of alcohol and incantation. At 7pm on Monday night, we were invited to the grassy area next to the main lodge where the Program Director, Jason, and the Master of Ceremonies, Amelia, had set up a table and all of the necessary ingredients. They explained that throughout all of the different weeks of Pueblo Ingles over the years, people have been presenting the Queimada (kay-madda) to all of the different participants. All of the groups seemed to enjoy it and it made for the perfect opportunity to blend Spanish and English in an elaborate ceremony.
With great care, Amelia mixed the punch of Galician aguardente (a brandy from northern Spain) with sugar, cinnamon, orange peel, and coffee beans. With all of alcohol that was in the bowl, she lit the brew on fire and it burned with a blue flame as she lifted it and poured it back again with a ladle. Amelia and Jason explained how well everyone enjoyed the tradition but that we would need to invoke some witches to chant over the ¨cauldron¨. Immediately, Laura, Montse, and Jill came out dressed in capes and witches hats, reciting the special words in Galician, Spanish, and English. It was a rather drawn out and rude spell but it gave the drink the time to mix and meld. Amelia and Jason put out the fire and then they served the strong, sweet concoction.
The party continued with each country singing a song from their country and having a few laughs at their own expense. The American contingent sang ¨You Are My Sunshine¨ before the other countries had their chance. The revelry continued long into the night with a lot of drinks and jokes in the bar and out on the patio.
P.S. It´s worth mentioning the story of actually writing this article for the blog. It´s my lost-in-translation moment. I was sitting here at the little table in the bar area of the main lodge of our La Alberca resort and I turned to Ricardo to ask him how to spell Queimada. I didn´t know the word very well and I´m sure that I mangled the pronounciation in merely asking the question. He was happy to oblige but being a vibrant 22-year-old, he didn´t quite hear what I was asking. He asked me to clarify. So I asked him again. This time he got a look of shock on his face but being young, he was understanding that this American guy would want to learn some Spanish and he kindly obliged, carefully spelling it out with English letters. So I typed it carefully, told the story, and saved the blog post so you all could read it. A few hours later, I found that I had some time to edit the story. I Googled the words that he told me so that I could confirm the ingredients included in the recipe... but was rather surprised that every result that came up from the search was full of vulgar references and impolite phrases!!! What words did I post??? The Program Manager, Jason, clarified the situation while almost falling down in laughter. Ricardo spelled out Que Mierda instead of Queimada, effectively teaching me ¨What The Fuck!¨ instead of the specific name of the alcoholic drink. It got a lot of laughs when we explained the whole situation to the rest of the Spaniards and Anglos. Everyone was quite amused with the fact that I had not only used this phrase as the main subject of my blog story but that I would also go ahead and Google the words...
Ricardo thinks that this is the best Lost-In-Translation story of the week and perhaps the whole year. Anything to make our friends laugh a little, right?
With great care, Amelia mixed the punch of Galician aguardente (a brandy from northern Spain) with sugar, cinnamon, orange peel, and coffee beans. With all of alcohol that was in the bowl, she lit the brew on fire and it burned with a blue flame as she lifted it and poured it back again with a ladle. Amelia and Jason explained how well everyone enjoyed the tradition but that we would need to invoke some witches to chant over the ¨cauldron¨. Immediately, Laura, Montse, and Jill came out dressed in capes and witches hats, reciting the special words in Galician, Spanish, and English. It was a rather drawn out and rude spell but it gave the drink the time to mix and meld. Amelia and Jason put out the fire and then they served the strong, sweet concoction.
The party continued with each country singing a song from their country and having a few laughs at their own expense. The American contingent sang ¨You Are My Sunshine¨ before the other countries had their chance. The revelry continued long into the night with a lot of drinks and jokes in the bar and out on the patio.
P.S. It´s worth mentioning the story of actually writing this article for the blog. It´s my lost-in-translation moment. I was sitting here at the little table in the bar area of the main lodge of our La Alberca resort and I turned to Ricardo to ask him how to spell Queimada. I didn´t know the word very well and I´m sure that I mangled the pronounciation in merely asking the question. He was happy to oblige but being a vibrant 22-year-old, he didn´t quite hear what I was asking. He asked me to clarify. So I asked him again. This time he got a look of shock on his face but being young, he was understanding that this American guy would want to learn some Spanish and he kindly obliged, carefully spelling it out with English letters. So I typed it carefully, told the story, and saved the blog post so you all could read it. A few hours later, I found that I had some time to edit the story. I Googled the words that he told me so that I could confirm the ingredients included in the recipe... but was rather surprised that every result that came up from the search was full of vulgar references and impolite phrases!!! What words did I post??? The Program Manager, Jason, clarified the situation while almost falling down in laughter. Ricardo spelled out Que Mierda instead of Queimada, effectively teaching me ¨What The Fuck!¨ instead of the specific name of the alcoholic drink. It got a lot of laughs when we explained the whole situation to the rest of the Spaniards and Anglos. Everyone was quite amused with the fact that I had not only used this phrase as the main subject of my blog story but that I would also go ahead and Google the words...
Ricardo thinks that this is the best Lost-In-Translation story of the week and perhaps the whole year. Anything to make our friends laugh a little, right?
No Habla Español
Working for Pueblo Inglés is such an amazing experience. There are seventeen Spaniards and one Italian who are innudated with English 24/7. It´s hard to constantly work on their English skills and not attempt to learn some Español in return but we´ve been asked to keep the education focused on their benefit. After one day, I had some great one-to-one conversations with Alberto M., Ricardo, and Giuseppe, as well as great conversations with everyone over meals and at the bar. Javier H., a professor who will be moving to Pittsburgh in July, is a science fiction and Star Wars fan. Elena is a mother of a twenty-month-old son. Rafael is the soft-spoken man who shares our villa. Allyson is a Cubs fan from Wichita. Cemile is half British, half Turkish who lives in Paris. Ricardo and Eduardo taught Susan and me a complicated Spanish card game called ¨Mus¨ (pronounced moose!). Jason is the program director from Vancouver who is still mourning the loss of his team in the Stanley Cup...
The comparisons between my experiences at Pueblo Inglés and my memories of Camp Webb are limitless. I look forward to sitting with a new collection of friends in the dining hall at each meal. The activities are clearly scheduled throughout the morning and afternoon, and they´re signaled by the ringing of the bells in the main hall. All around, we´re surrounded by magnificent scenes of nature, rambling pathways punctuated by trees, lampposts, open spaces, and well-placed benches. Little birds chirp from nearby foliage and the occasional hawk circles overhead. Everyone is friendly and outgoing but rarely awake until later in in the day. The kitchen staff is astounding and creative and sometimes we´re not really sure what´s in a particular dish. Skits, songs, conversations, presentations, and small talk is all filled with personality and laughter.
I have to do double takes every once in a while. I´m in Spain. But you wouldn´t know it because everyone and everything at our part of the resort is in English!
The comparisons between my experiences at Pueblo Inglés and my memories of Camp Webb are limitless. I look forward to sitting with a new collection of friends in the dining hall at each meal. The activities are clearly scheduled throughout the morning and afternoon, and they´re signaled by the ringing of the bells in the main hall. All around, we´re surrounded by magnificent scenes of nature, rambling pathways punctuated by trees, lampposts, open spaces, and well-placed benches. Little birds chirp from nearby foliage and the occasional hawk circles overhead. Everyone is friendly and outgoing but rarely awake until later in in the day. The kitchen staff is astounding and creative and sometimes we´re not really sure what´s in a particular dish. Skits, songs, conversations, presentations, and small talk is all filled with personality and laughter.
I have to do double takes every once in a while. I´m in Spain. But you wouldn´t know it because everyone and everything at our part of the resort is in English!
Saturday, June 18, 2011
The Best Part of Waking Up
I´m not much of a morning person. Just ask Robert. He emerges from bed happily chattering while I´m more likely to quietly brood through the first 60+ minutes of my day and wait for my personality to awaken. Since beginning Weight Watchers though, I´ve willingly, or semi-willingly anyway, thrown off the covers earlier and earlier each day to accomplish my work-out, knowing full well that, for me at least, the likelihood of exercise decreases as the day progresses. Still, I´ve never understood those Folgers coffee commercials with the woman who silently slips down the stairs while the rest of the family sleeps so she can savor her coffee and the sunrise. Until today.
Today we set the alarm early for a brisk morning walk to offset last night´s amazing lemon mousse before the schedules of the day began. We planned on a trek to the nearest village, but ten minutes in, a road sign clarified that we were heading the opposite direction we had intended. Yet I could never say we went the wrong way. Because we passed a babbling brook, a field of dill, two horses that sauntered over to the fence and eyed us expectantly and with a friendly neigh. Then there was the ferocious guard dog who barked furiously, clearly suspecting we were there to steal his herd. City slickers that we are, we couldn´t come to agreement about the species of the herd. Robert claims they were shorn sheep while I maintain they were goats. Nevertheless, they bleated/baa´d their greetings. And beyond all these roadside landmarks there were gloriously green trees and then meadows that skirted the indigo mountains. A sky held both a blinding morning sun and a nearly full moon. And a peace not even the occasional passing car could spoil.
And the beauty and the aura and the energy made me think that even without the exercise or the Folgers, I would awake early for this. Perhaps Spain has made a morning person of me.
Today we set the alarm early for a brisk morning walk to offset last night´s amazing lemon mousse before the schedules of the day began. We planned on a trek to the nearest village, but ten minutes in, a road sign clarified that we were heading the opposite direction we had intended. Yet I could never say we went the wrong way. Because we passed a babbling brook, a field of dill, two horses that sauntered over to the fence and eyed us expectantly and with a friendly neigh. Then there was the ferocious guard dog who barked furiously, clearly suspecting we were there to steal his herd. City slickers that we are, we couldn´t come to agreement about the species of the herd. Robert claims they were shorn sheep while I maintain they were goats. Nevertheless, they bleated/baa´d their greetings. And beyond all these roadside landmarks there were gloriously green trees and then meadows that skirted the indigo mountains. A sky held both a blinding morning sun and a nearly full moon. And a peace not even the occasional passing car could spoil.
And the beauty and the aura and the energy made me think that even without the exercise or the Folgers, I would awake early for this. Perhaps Spain has made a morning person of me.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Fresh
Strawberries. Finland will forever be associated, in my mind at least, with strawberries. Not the American, available-by-January, mammoth monstrosities bred for durability to survive the long truck ride to the grocery store strawberries. Small, succulent, juicy, pungent, best-strawberries-I´ve-ever-eaten strawberries. We bought them in the market in Helsinki from a handsome youngish Finn in a striped scarf. He seemed a bit bewildered by my enthusiasm. But he´d probably never eaten American strawberries.
Then we had lunch in a little cafe. I opted for the more traditional Finnish lunch, so Robert chose the pork in some sort of sauce. I thought for sure I´d win Round One of the ordering competition, but I was wrong. We knew the sauce was a tomato sauce, but I couldn´t put my finger on the other ingredients, the elusive combination that made it sublime. So I asked. And after the cooks came back from their smoke break, they gave up the list: tomatoes, garlic, chicken stock, rosemary. Nothing to account for that flavor. ¨But,¨ the waitress stressed for the third time, ¨the tomatoes are fresh.¨
I buy organic. I shop the Farmer´s markets. And yet somehow fresh tastes different--dare I say better--in Finland. We prayed in some beautiful churches. We strolled through cobbled streets. We bought gaudy 3 euro umbrellas to shield us from the sprinkles. But tonight, when I´m finally ensconsed in our Madrid hotel and able to succumb to a jet-lagged slumber, I´ll dream of the strawberries.
Then we had lunch in a little cafe. I opted for the more traditional Finnish lunch, so Robert chose the pork in some sort of sauce. I thought for sure I´d win Round One of the ordering competition, but I was wrong. We knew the sauce was a tomato sauce, but I couldn´t put my finger on the other ingredients, the elusive combination that made it sublime. So I asked. And after the cooks came back from their smoke break, they gave up the list: tomatoes, garlic, chicken stock, rosemary. Nothing to account for that flavor. ¨But,¨ the waitress stressed for the third time, ¨the tomatoes are fresh.¨
I buy organic. I shop the Farmer´s markets. And yet somehow fresh tastes different--dare I say better--in Finland. We prayed in some beautiful churches. We strolled through cobbled streets. We bought gaudy 3 euro umbrellas to shield us from the sprinkles. But tonight, when I´m finally ensconsed in our Madrid hotel and able to succumb to a jet-lagged slumber, I´ll dream of the strawberries.
A Cloudy Day in Helsinki
The flight from Chicago to Helsinki was smooth and uneventful. Unfortunately, Susan and I weren´t able to keep our seat assignments and ended up sitting a few rows apart. I sat next to Lief, a atheist mechanical engineer with strong beliefs in extra-terrestrial life and the benefits of racial profiling. I was able to steer the conversation to geometry and computers but there were times when I just needed to get some sleep. Lief really wanted to talk, so I got so little sleep on the long, long flight. Susan didn´t get much sleep either because her seat was close to the only operational bathroom.
Upon arriving in the Helsinki Vantaa airport, we quickly realized two facts. 1. There was little in the airport to preoccupy our time for the eight-hour layover. 2. Finnish words seem to have a lot of extra vowels and consonants! We found the number 615 bus from the airport into the Tikkurila railway station at the center of the city where we could walk around to all of the major sights. Sadly, as the bus rolled its half-hour route into the city, we watched the slight rain grow into a steady rain shower. Here we were, with a handful of hours in Helsinki for the first time and we were going to get drenched! With some advice from a local, we ducked into a Everything´s A Euro shop and bought some brightly-colored children´s umbrellas.
The clouds above matched our sleepy stupor as we shambled through the streets of the city. Now with some protection from the raindrops, we investigated the stark white Lutheran Cathedral (Tuomiokirkko) and ornately decorated Uspenski Russian Orthodox Cathedral. Two delightful young tourist guides in rain ponchos answered our questions about the the layout of the streets and where would find some good seafood for lunch. The harbor had a colorful farmer´s market with fruit and vegetables, wooden crafts, tablecloths, and mink furs. We bought some delicious fruit at the market and then marched through the city down Korkeavuorenkatu street to find the Juuri cafe. This was recommended by our Lonely Planet Helsinki book, and it offered some a Finnish spin on tapas (nicknamed ¨Suomi tapas¨ or ¨sapas¨)! Unfortunately, the sapas were only available for supper, so we ordered two daily specials and sat down amidst the crowd at a simple wooden table. Susan had a fish dish with a light cream sauce and baked potatoes and I had a smoked pork dish with a delectible fresh tomato sauce and some sort of bulgur as a side. It was just so nice to sit and relax for while, all the while a light chatter of the Finnish language buzzing around us.
By 2pm it was time to make our way back to the airport to catch our flight to Madrid. We were bolstered by the lunch but we were so ready for this leg to be over so that we could fall into our beds at the hotel in Madrid. We caught the bus back through the neighborhoods of colorful apartments, went through the security check again, and dozed in comfortable chairs at gate 24 until our 5pm plane boarded. Susan and were grateful for our time together in Helsinki but maybe more so to be able to sit together on the flight and snoozzzzzzzz...
Upon arriving in the Helsinki Vantaa airport, we quickly realized two facts. 1. There was little in the airport to preoccupy our time for the eight-hour layover. 2. Finnish words seem to have a lot of extra vowels and consonants! We found the number 615 bus from the airport into the Tikkurila railway station at the center of the city where we could walk around to all of the major sights. Sadly, as the bus rolled its half-hour route into the city, we watched the slight rain grow into a steady rain shower. Here we were, with a handful of hours in Helsinki for the first time and we were going to get drenched! With some advice from a local, we ducked into a Everything´s A Euro shop and bought some brightly-colored children´s umbrellas.
The clouds above matched our sleepy stupor as we shambled through the streets of the city. Now with some protection from the raindrops, we investigated the stark white Lutheran Cathedral (Tuomiokirkko) and ornately decorated Uspenski Russian Orthodox Cathedral. Two delightful young tourist guides in rain ponchos answered our questions about the the layout of the streets and where would find some good seafood for lunch. The harbor had a colorful farmer´s market with fruit and vegetables, wooden crafts, tablecloths, and mink furs. We bought some delicious fruit at the market and then marched through the city down Korkeavuorenkatu street to find the Juuri cafe. This was recommended by our Lonely Planet Helsinki book, and it offered some a Finnish spin on tapas (nicknamed ¨Suomi tapas¨ or ¨sapas¨)! Unfortunately, the sapas were only available for supper, so we ordered two daily specials and sat down amidst the crowd at a simple wooden table. Susan had a fish dish with a light cream sauce and baked potatoes and I had a smoked pork dish with a delectible fresh tomato sauce and some sort of bulgur as a side. It was just so nice to sit and relax for while, all the while a light chatter of the Finnish language buzzing around us.
By 2pm it was time to make our way back to the airport to catch our flight to Madrid. We were bolstered by the lunch but we were so ready for this leg to be over so that we could fall into our beds at the hotel in Madrid. We caught the bus back through the neighborhoods of colorful apartments, went through the security check again, and dozed in comfortable chairs at gate 24 until our 5pm plane boarded. Susan and were grateful for our time together in Helsinki but maybe more so to be able to sit together on the flight and snoozzzzzzzz...
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Packing Up
Originally, I thought we would be experiencing extremely hot Hot HOT weather like we did in on our honeymoon in Morocco. Temps there soared well above 120 degrees Fahrenheit. (I remember it getting to 140 in Meknes, but Susan says I'm exaggerating.) It was a baking heat, the kind where you look around twice just to make sure that you're not in an over with a tray of gingerbread. We constantly drank liters of water and sweat all of the bad stuff out of our pores that I still, to this day, consider myself fully detoxified. But looking up the average temperatures and the extended forecasts for all of the major cities that we will be visiting, Susan and I both found that it will be more reasonable. Most places are listed from the high 70's to the mid 90's. No baking ovens, hopefully.
But as Susan and I started packing at midnight last night (I know, I know...) we really needed to take this into account. Shorts or pants? Jackets? Umbrellas? Which shoes will be comfortable walking shoes and which shoes will allow me to blend in better. (Susan has a proven theory that you can tell which nationality a person is by looking at their shoes. We've played the game many a time at airports.) There are a lot of questions that I need to have the answers to in order to prepare for the weather.
Because we're only taking backpacks on this trip, we have to consider the weight, the volume, the practicality, and the fashion of each item.
But as Susan and I started packing at midnight last night (I know, I know...) we really needed to take this into account. Shorts or pants? Jackets? Umbrellas? Which shoes will be comfortable walking shoes and which shoes will allow me to blend in better. (Susan has a proven theory that you can tell which nationality a person is by looking at their shoes. We've played the game many a time at airports.) There are a lot of questions that I need to have the answers to in order to prepare for the weather.
Because we're only taking backpacks on this trip, we have to consider the weight, the volume, the practicality, and the fashion of each item.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
School's Out For Summer!
We can finally start looking forward to the vacation. For so long, we were concentrating on the end of the school year routine, finishing projects, correcting papers and tests, completing report cards, filling out spreadsheets, talking to principals and specialists, writing recommendations for a student teacher, contacting parents, discussing curriculum and schedule changes for the fall, and planning for the impact of government cuts to funding, faculty, and equipment. And all the while teaching students that are frenzied with warmer weather, increased hormones, feelings of seniority and superiority, and impending vacation!
But today is Saturday and there are no classes on Monday. School is out. In all honesty, this is the time of year when I ponder putting aside the agrarian notion of a school year that lasts from August to June and adopting a year-round school year with staggered breaks. I really think that the state of education would benefit from it. But not this year. I'll set that thought aside for now - we're on summer vacation!!!
Okay. Three days is not a lot of time to prepare for three-and-a-half weeks overseas. In that time frame, we have a wedding reception, Gourmet Club, Pentecost, and a graduation and confirmation party. Oh yeah, and we both need to get our Wisconsin teaching licenses renewed and we're going to join the Snap Fitness gym because we had email Groupon deal. Tick tick tick. The clock is ticking and there is not as much time as I'd like to get all of that (and packing!) done. But I think that I'll use two different strategies here. 1. Make lists. 2. Take pride in the things that have been accomplished. Breathe in. Breathe out. It will all get done, we will have a safe trip, and it will all work out! Because if I get hung up on the details and not enjoy the time that I'm spending on this vacation, the vacation will pass all too quickly and then the doors will open and we'll be using those three dreaded words once again. (Shhhhh - back to school - shhhhh.)
But today is Saturday and there are no classes on Monday. School is out. In all honesty, this is the time of year when I ponder putting aside the agrarian notion of a school year that lasts from August to June and adopting a year-round school year with staggered breaks. I really think that the state of education would benefit from it. But not this year. I'll set that thought aside for now - we're on summer vacation!!!
Okay. Three days is not a lot of time to prepare for three-and-a-half weeks overseas. In that time frame, we have a wedding reception, Gourmet Club, Pentecost, and a graduation and confirmation party. Oh yeah, and we both need to get our Wisconsin teaching licenses renewed and we're going to join the Snap Fitness gym because we had email Groupon deal. Tick tick tick. The clock is ticking and there is not as much time as I'd like to get all of that (and packing!) done. But I think that I'll use two different strategies here. 1. Make lists. 2. Take pride in the things that have been accomplished. Breathe in. Breathe out. It will all get done, we will have a safe trip, and it will all work out! Because if I get hung up on the details and not enjoy the time that I'm spending on this vacation, the vacation will pass all too quickly and then the doors will open and we'll be using those three dreaded words once again. (Shhhhh - back to school - shhhhh.)
Monday, June 6, 2011
Finland First
So we secured the positions with Pueblo Ingles in December and in January we began to search for airfare deals. We poured over the different websites that allowed us to compare varied options of airlines, dates, and layovers. And then we found a great deal - Finnair had a significantly reduced price compared to all of the other ticket options.
The caveat was that we would have layovers in Helsinki. Oh. Allow me to correct my typing. I should have written "LAYOVERS in Helsinki." On the way there, Chicago - Helsinki - Madrid, we have an Eight And A Half Hour Layover. On the way home, Madrid - Helsinki - Chicago, we have a TWENTY THREE HOUR LAYOVER!!! We discussed the options and weighed the costs and ended up purchasing these Finnair flights for three reasons: 1. The savings was quite significant. 2. Twenty-three hours is enough time to actually leave the airport and see the city! 3. We've never been to Finland before. Why not sample it so we have a feeling if we'd like to come back another day?
An interesting note: According to our learned friend, Gust Olson, the Finnish folk prefer to pronounce all of their words with the accent on the first syllable. So Helsinki is not pronounced as Americans pronounce it, HelSINKI but as the Finnish say, HELsinki. Did we change it so that it's name made it more appealing to tourists? I'm withholding judgement until we arrive but I'm hoping to get out of the airport and explore a little bit. Being stuck in the airport, unable to go anywhere, would definitely make it feel like PURgatory.
The caveat was that we would have layovers in Helsinki. Oh. Allow me to correct my typing. I should have written "LAYOVERS in Helsinki." On the way there, Chicago - Helsinki - Madrid, we have an Eight And A Half Hour Layover. On the way home, Madrid - Helsinki - Chicago, we have a TWENTY THREE HOUR LAYOVER!!! We discussed the options and weighed the costs and ended up purchasing these Finnair flights for three reasons: 1. The savings was quite significant. 2. Twenty-three hours is enough time to actually leave the airport and see the city! 3. We've never been to Finland before. Why not sample it so we have a feeling if we'd like to come back another day?
An interesting note: According to our learned friend, Gust Olson, the Finnish folk prefer to pronounce all of their words with the accent on the first syllable. So Helsinki is not pronounced as Americans pronounce it, HelSINKI but as the Finnish say, HELsinki. Did we change it so that it's name made it more appealing to tourists? I'm withholding judgement until we arrive but I'm hoping to get out of the airport and explore a little bit. Being stuck in the airport, unable to go anywhere, would definitely make it feel like PURgatory.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Couch Surfing
In case I haven't filled your ear with my excitement over Couch Surfing, here are the nuts and bolts. There is an amazing web service called Couch Surfing that allows users to travel the world and crash on someone's couch. Rather than paying for a hotel room with no culture and no personality, you could actually spend a few nights in the hospitality of person who lives in the city that you're traveling through. You could thank them by bringing them a small gift from your hometown, taking them out for a meal, or reimbursing them for gas if they drive you somewhere or for helping you wash your laundry. And this person would share their city and their music and their culture with you!
Here is our account on Couch Surfing. Would you like to stay with locals for free when you travel?
Okay. I admit that there is a big step to take in being able to trust someone that you're just meeting online but besides the basic background check, Couch Surfers are able to rate one another based upon their experiences together. So, similar to eBay, there's a chance to read feedback before you blissfully decide to spend a night in someone's home or welcome them to yours. We decided to host a bit before our travels to make sure that the system worked and to build up a little Couch Surfing cred.
Here is our account on Couch Surfing. Would you like to stay with locals for free when you travel?
Okay. I admit that there is a big step to take in being able to trust someone that you're just meeting online but besides the basic background check, Couch Surfers are able to rate one another based upon their experiences together. So, similar to eBay, there's a chance to read feedback before you blissfully decide to spend a night in someone's home or welcome them to yours. We decided to host a bit before our travels to make sure that the system worked and to build up a little Couch Surfing cred.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Newspaper Clippings
This trip begins with my Mom. As some mothers like to do, my Mom cuts sections out of the newspaper and saves them for us in a bag until we get together. There will be articles on cooking, dieting, music, books, movies, travel, teaching, and the ubiquitous cartoon. Susan and I are assured that every time we visit Mom, she will give us some clippings that we'll be extremely grateful to read. This trip to Spain and Portugal is a perfect example. A few years ago, one of the articles that she gave to me caught my eye. It was about voluntourism - the term that combined travel opportunities with volunteering time and talents - and it had details on a few intriguing agencies. I don't have the article anymore but I was most interested in working for Pueblo Ingles, spending a week at a 4-star villa in Spain, and teaching business professionals in an English-language camp. In return for our commitment, we would get room and board and a chance to make friends around the world. Influential newspaper article. Susan-and-Robert kind of experience. Wonderfully thoughtful Mom.
In 2010, Susan and I revisited the idea of applying to Pueblo Ingles as a married couple. We would both have to work but we would have an almost identical experience and be able to backpack around Spain and Portugal after our obligation to Pueblo Ingles was fulfilled. A few forms to fill out and a few pages of rules and regulations to scrutinize. On December 30th, they offered us positions at their villa in La Alberca, Spain! So from July 17th to July 24th, we will be talking non-stop in English to Spaniards, introducing ourselves, telling stories, sharing jokes, singing songs, acting in skits, showing off in talent shows, talking on the telephone, and chatting over dinner. In many ways, it's a lot like camp
In 2010, Susan and I revisited the idea of applying to Pueblo Ingles as a married couple. We would both have to work but we would have an almost identical experience and be able to backpack around Spain and Portugal after our obligation to Pueblo Ingles was fulfilled. A few forms to fill out and a few pages of rules and regulations to scrutinize. On December 30th, they offered us positions at their villa in La Alberca, Spain! So from July 17th to July 24th, we will be talking non-stop in English to Spaniards, introducing ourselves, telling stories, sharing jokes, singing songs, acting in skits, showing off in talent shows, talking on the telephone, and chatting over dinner. In many ways, it's a lot like camp
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