I Can't Even Dance in English!

The title, however strange it may seem, is the perfect description of my sentiments these past couple of weeks as I have been acclimating myself to life in the Basque Country.  I am in a new country, with a new language, and, oh yes, a new job.  I have taken it upon myself to learn as much about the culture, the language, and about how to be a good teacher as I can while I am here, which means integrating myself into the local community.

If you have read my previous post, you will know that I have joined a choir here in Durango.  Little did I know that I would be singing with them during several informal concerts in local bars after just two weeks of rehearsal.  I was unaware of these concerts until the day before they were to occur, when I was invited to tag along by one of the other members.  I arrived at the meeting place, where I was given a book of approximately 20 songs that the choir had previously worked on.  I had thought that I was only going to listen, but, as it turns out, I was supposed to sing.  Thus, my sight-reading greatly improved in a very short amount of time.  For those of you who don’t know, sight-reading is when you are given a piece of music that you have not seen before and are expected to sing it, which has never been one of my strengths.  It didn’t help matters that I was sight-reading handwritten music, with text in several foreign languages.  I had a great time that day, and the choir continues to be one of the highlights of my week.

I was told that a local café would be offering traditional Basque dance classes for beginners once a week and I decided that those classes would be an excellent way for me to learn more about the culture.  I was forewarned that the classes would be conducted entirely in Basque, but that didn’t deter me like it would a normal person.  I went to the class, figuring that at least I could follow the steps even if I had no idea what the instructor was saying.  As it turns out, that was a mistake.  I should have taken into account my dancing ability (or lack thereof) before deciding to enter into a world where I could no longer differentiate my left from my right.  My dancing has always provided great entertainment for any spectators.  Unfortunately for me, the instructor spent most of the class talking, instead of dancing, so I was left without a clue as to what to do.  When I was talking to a friend about this experience I said, “I don’t know what I was thinking, taking a dance class in Basque.  I can’t even dance in English”. That was the end of my adventures in dance class.

I was finally able to secure a place in a beginner level Basque class at the official language school of Durango.  When I entered, the class had already been together for a couple of weeks, so I had to start by playing catch-up.  I am learning quickly, although I still have trouble remembering all of the words that get thrown at us on a daily basis.  I have gotten to the point where I can understand a few basic sentences and I can pick out a couple of words from a complicated paragraph. I also know how to tell my left from my right, which would be a big help if I were still taking dance classes.

For the most part, the classes I am teaching are going fairly well.  I have a couple of classes that were complete disasters, and some that couldn’t have gone better.  I like all of my groups, although each one presents its own challenge.  Some are very energetic and eager to learn, while others could care less about what I have to say. Most of the students seem to enjoy having the ability to practice their English with a native speaker, although many of them still think I’m from England.  Nearly every day, someone asks me something about life in England, and I have to tell them that I am an American, from Seattle, which is a word they can never understand until I write it on the board.  Whenever my students see me around the city, they always stop to say hello or to chat for a while in English which always makes my day.

San Fausto Jaiak

The fiestas of San Fausto were celebrated during the week of October 9-17 in Durango.  It is a time for gathering and celebration, and the streets are filled with people.  As I had only been here a couple of weeks when they were going on, I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, and I'm still not entirely sure.  All I know is that there were many cultural activities and people in traditional dress, and that I enjoyed myself immensely during the fiestas, as they were the first real fiestas that I had experienced.  In the mornings, the had what I call, "The Running of the Bulls, Durango Style", where they allowed a bull to run through the city streets and people tried to avoid it.  My roommates asked if I was going to run, and I told them, "I am adventurous, not stupid," and stayed safely in the bleachers that they had set up for the occasion.

Several days later, they let loose another type of creature in the streets, the gigantes and the cabezudos.
Gigantes : Giants, approximately about 12 feet tall, who walk around the streets and dance.
Cabezudos : Normal-sized people with over-sized heads who walk around the streets and hit unsuspecting bystanders, usually children, with blocks of foam.  Very fun to watch

  The actual day of San Fausto, October 13th, was my favorite.  I was able to experience many aspects of Basque life that I had not already experienced, such as listening to the txalaparta and watching the dantzari dantza, traditional Basque dances.

 

The txalaparta, a traditional Basque instrument

 

Becoming a Basque Choir Girl

and Other Accomplishments

What is one of the first things people do when they move to a foreign country after they have found housing? Normal people would answer that they would open a bank account or find the nearest grocery store. What is one of the first things I did? I joined a choir. I went to the tourism office about a week ago to see if there were any choirs in the area that could use another member until the end of may. The woman gave me the names of three different groups, one had just a phone number, and the other had an email address. I decided to email first, because my written Spanish is better than my spoken. It turns out that the choir I emailed, the Orféon Durangués, is a very well-known group in the area. They quickly responded to my request for information and said that they were excited for me to join them as soon as possible.

On Tuesday, I went to my first rehearsal, where the director gave me a brief audition before the others arrived, mainly just to tell me which part I was going to sing. For those of you who know me pretty well, you know that I don't particularly like singing by myself in front of other people, so this experience was a bit nerve-wracking. Not to mention that it was conducted entirely in Spanish. It was a fairly simple process, the director told me to sing a song, any song, and he would determine where I should be placed. Unfortunately my nerves took control and I couldn't come up with anything, not even a Disney song. Between the two of us, we were able to find one and he told me I would be singing soprano. I knew this was a mixed group, of both age and experience, but I didn't realize how mixed it was until the other members arrived. The earliest arrivals were men and women who seemed to be about 70 years old. The two women that first approached me were beyond excited that there was a new person in the choir. When they found out that I was a foreigner, their excitement grew and they went to tell the others who I was. They began the rehearsal with sectionals. For those of you who don't know, this is when the choir separates into the individual voice parts and move to different rooms to practice. The soprano section had a difficult time paying attention because each time a new person entered the room where we were practicing, several of the women would attempt to introduce me at the same time. It was complete chaos. If you can imagine 12 small, grandmotherly-type women and a couple of 20-somethings who quite possibly had never met an American before, loudly talking about me and to me while another was constantly introducing me as "Rita, like Rita Hayworth", while the section leader was trying to keep us focused, that was the scene. All I know about Rita Hayworth is that she was famous for something, so I hope that was a complement. Basque people and choir people have a lot in common. From what I have seen so far, both are very welcoming and helpful, and they quickly adopt you into their family. I am very happy that this is the group that I decided to join.

Another, perhaps astonishing, accomplishment is that I managed to make it to the school where I will be teaching on the first try (after being shown once) without getting lost. I have now met all of the English teachers, as well as teachers from several other departments. The problem is that I have met so many people, almost all of whom have very Basque names, that I can't remember them. They have all been very instrumental in my attempting to accomplish all of the things I need to do. I now have a conversation partner, Idoia, who used to teach at my school and wanted to practice her English. In exchange, she is going to begin to teach me Basque. I have attempted to enroll in several Basque classes, but there is never enough people who have level zero to form a class, so this is a good alternative.

I did also manage to establish a bank account on my own. Idoia was going to help me, but we ran into a few problems. The first time we went to the bank, I had asked her if it were necessary to bring my passport for identification. She told me that just knowing my number would be sufficient. While this is true for Spanish nationals, it is not true for foreigners. Sadly, the account could not be opened that day. We agreed to meet on Thursday afternoon, because that was the only afternoon in which the bank was open, as the banks here are only open Monday - Friday until 2:00pm. Unfortunately for us, the bank had other plans. Despite the sign on the door saying that it was open, it was, in fact, closed. Knowing that I had to open the account as soon as possible, I decided to go yesterday morning on my own. Opening the account was easy, describing that I lived in "the other Washington" was not.

Other things I have managed to accomplish in the past couple of weeks include: making a grilled cheese sandwich that was neither burned nor undercooked, finding two grocery stores near my apartment and buying mandarin oranges, buying a cell phone, and taking a day trip to San Sebastián/Donostia.

Durango upside down

The view from Playa de la Concha, San Sebastián/Donostia at sunset

The Arrival

If you are reading this, you have probably been waiting in anticipation for my first post from Spain. Some of you may have expected me to post when I arrived nearly a week ago, but sketchy internet and a severe case of jet lag had me wait until now. Since you are anxious for some news, I will tell you what I have learned during my first week in the Basque Country.

Firstly, and probably most importantly, I have decided that I will never fly stand-by for a long-distance, international flight. The good part of this experience was that it was the reason behind many of the stories you are going to read, unfortunately, that is also the bad. I am going to start from where the story gets very interesting.

After sitting, and attempting to sleep, in several airports in several different countries, I was finally in Madrid. I was extremely exhausted, seeing as how I had been traveling and not sleeping for significantly more hours than I can count to in Basque, which added to the general stress of moving to a new country. Even considering my mental state at the time, I figured that I had been to Madrid enough times to get myself to the bus station and catch the bus to Bilbao so as to spend as little time there as possible. If you have ever heard me talk about my previous experiences in Madrid, you know that there is always some kind of fiasco and that I have a great dislike for the city. This visit was no exception. I decided to spend the money on a taxi to the bus station in order to avoid having to take the metro (subway) with all of my luggage by myself. Getting to the bus station was no problem. Unfortunately, it was the wrong bus station. Who would have thought that the buses to Bilbao didn't leave from the main station like the buses to many other major cities? The lady at the ticket counter told me to take the metro seven stops to one of the other bus stations in the city. After trying so hard to avoid the metro, I was not at all pleased, and I had only one hour to catch the bus. Being as tired as I was, it didn't even occur to me to take another taxi. I headed towards the metro, and ended up taking the wrong elevator so I still had to take an escalator down to the metro level. Normally this would be no problem, but I was carrying four suitcases which totaled approximately 130 pounds and wearing a sweater and nice pants, which leads me to another thing I learned. I will never travel wearing nice cloths again.

It terms of getting you places in a relatively timely fashion, the Madrid metro is an excellent mode of public transportation. Unfortunately, it is a rather old system with sporadic elevators and few escalators. It was about 75 degrees and very humid that day and I had to navigate these stations by myself with all 130 pounds of luggage. I caught the train, waited the seven stops, and managed to escape without losing anything. The only obstacle left between me and and the bus station was the escalator going up. Just as I arrived at the escalator another train let off the majority of its passengers who all needed to go up as well. I decided to wait for them to pass so that I wouldn't completely obscure the pathway. One woman noticed me standing there and stopped to ask if I needed help, and being so tired I could hardly put together a coherent sentence, I gladly took her up on her offer. She got me to the top of the escalator and I made it to the bus stop completely soaked with sweat.

I made it safely to Bilbao and was so tired that all I wanted to do was sleep, but I was so overly tired that I couldn't fall asleep and decided to start looking for apartments. I found one that seemed like a good fit in Durango, the city right across the river from where I will be teaching. I emailed them and they agreed to show me the apartment. I liked the apartment, and the people seemed nice, so I decided that it would be a good place to live. This was on Friday. Because I had paid the hostel until Monday, I decided to stay there and explore Bilbao a little. I didn't end up doing much exploring because I was still recovering from the trip. It poured both Thursday and Friday, which also didn't give me much incentive to wander around. Not wanting to face the local transportation system with all of my luggage at once, I made two trips from Bilbao to Durango, one on Saturday and the other on Sunday.

The third thing I learned was that I need to be more observant. I found out today that there is no oven in the apartment. To me, ovens and stoves generally go together, so I figured that when I saw the oven, there was a stove as well. It is fairly common here that apartments don't have ovens, but it is something I had taken for granted. Other than that, I am loving it here. The city is beautiful and full of things to do, if you know where to look

Explanations

Euskadi : The Basque word which signifies the Spanish autonomous community of the Basque Country.

I have been thinking about and attempting to plan my return to Spain since last December, and the time has finally arrived. In less than three weeks, I will be leaving to work as a language and culture assistant in a secondary school in Iurreta, a town of approximately 3,800 inhabitants in the Basque Country of Spain. Although I have never visited this part of the country, I have wanted to for a long time. This will be different from my previous experiences because I will no longer be a traditional student; I will instead be the teacher. Also unlike my previous experiences, where I was only navigating between two languages (Spanish and English) on a daily basis, I have the challenge of an additional language, the Basque language, Euskara. Seeing as how I only know about eight words of Euskara, life in the Basque country could prove slightly difficult at first.

If you have ever listened to me tell stories of my travels, you will know that I have a terrible sense of direction and spend a good amount of time getting myself lost. This blog will contain the stories of my undertaking of what might be the most difficult thing I have ever attempted, teaching English in a foreign country. I'm sure this experience will provide me with many opportunities to get lost, both physically and linguistically. I hope you enjoy the stories of my teaching and traveling adventures.