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.
