What I've Been Up To: An Update

It's been a  long time since my last post, and I'm sure some of you must have thought that I had fallen off the face of the earth.  The good news for you is that I have not fallen of the face of the earth, unless, of course, you were hoping that is what happened to me. In that case, I am sorry to disappoint you. Now that I know I have a couple of readers besides my parents, I will attempt to post more frequently. The key word here is attempt. Keeping up with my blog hasn't been at the top of my priority list.

After finishing my teaching at the end of May, several of my friends helped to prepare me for the upcoming Basque exam.  I was so nervous, specifically about the oral exam, that I wasn't sure I was going to pass, especially considering my previous performance. During the mid-term exam in January, I got so nervous during the oral exam that I almost completely forgot my name. This time, though, I remembered not only my name, but everything else I was supposed to know as well, and passed both the written and oral parts.  I know enough that I could probably hold my own in a conversation with a three-year-old.

Shortly after finishing the Basque exam and before heading back to the United States for a long vacation, I went with the choir to the town of Sodupe for a concert. However, this was not just an ordinary concert, this was a gathering of many of the choirs from Bizkaia, numbering close to 1,000 people. If you have ever been around choir people, imagine putting 1,000 of us in the same room. It was crazy, but incredibly fun.

Part of the crowd

After that, I packed my bags and headed to Seattle for my little brother's high school graduation, visit family and friends, and play tourist. What follows are some photos of how I have spent my vacation, because pictures are usually more entertaining than words.

This summer I:
watched my little brother graduate from high school,

Posing for a picture with my family after the ceremony

went to several Seattle Mariners baseball games

watched the 4th of July fireworks with my mom and my friends,

took a road trip to Spokane with my sister to visit more family,

Hiking Tubbs Hill with my sister, aunt, and uncle

Standing with my sister at the edge of the Columbia River

fed a giraffe,

fed an elephant.

1,087,000 Words

When it comes to taking pictures, I am definitely my mother's daughter.  Two years ago, my mom came to visit me when I was studying in Granada and we took a three-week trip through Spain, Germany, and Austria.  During this trip, I shot about 500 pictures; she shot approximately 2,000.  I couldn't believe that she could take so many pictures in such a short period of time, and gave her a bad time about it.  As it turns out, I have inherited the gene for taking massive amounts of pictures in a short period of time.  Over Semana Santa (Easter holidays), I spent 12 days traveling through Budapest and Prague, where I took an astonishing 1,087 photos.

It is commonly said that a picture is worth 1,000 words.  If that were entirely true, then this post should be 1,087,000 words long, assuming I can do math correctly.  Luckily for you all, I have never written that many words on a single topic in my entire life, and I don't plan on starting today.

Seeing as how free time is at a premium right now, instead of attempting to write down all of my adventures, which might actually bring me close to a total of 1,000,000 words, I am going to give a brief rundown of the trip followed by a few of my favorite pictures.

Total number of days: 12
Countries visited: 2 (Hungary and Czech Republic)
Cities visited: 3 (Budapest, Prague, Kutná Hora)
Hours spent on a bus :16 (Budapest to Prague and back)
Concerts attended: 3 (two in Prague and one in Budapest)
Dictionaries acquired: 3 (English-Czech, English-Hungarian, and English-Romanian)
Friends made: several
Relatives visited: 1

Chain Bridge and St. Stephen's Basilica, Budapest

St. Matthias Church, Budapest

The Astronomical Clock, Prague

Sunset behind Prague Castle

The Ossuary, Kutná Hora

What Does an American Look Like?

Most of you who read this blog (if there are any of you left) are most likely from the United States, and probably have a fairly good idea as to how to answer the above question.  Think about it for a second until you have a good mental picture of a typical American.  Do you have one? Good.

Does your picture look something like this?

If you answered yes, you think along the same lines as many of my students.  If you answered no, that's okay, you will have another chance in a little while.

A few weeks ago, I was doing a lesson on family relationships and I showed this picture to my class.  In case you have never met my family, the girl on the left is my sister and the boy on the right is my brother.  Having seen a couple of my family photos in previous classes, the students already knew who they were.  The first comment I heard after displaying this photo was, "Rita, your brother is SO American."  I was curious as to what makes makes someone look American, so I asked the student, "Why does he look American?"  The response given by several of the students was that he looked just like the people they see in the movies.  Apparently my brother is brother is the stereotypical American high school boy.  After hearing these responses, I asked if they thought my sister looked American.  Expecting an affirmative response, I was surprised when they told me that she did not look American and had a difficult time explaining why.

If your stereotypical American didn't match the picture of my brother, I am going to give you an opportunity to redeem yourself.  Do you still have your picture in mind? Good.

To further our discussion, I showed the following picture to the class.

 

Upon seeing this photo, the students became very animated and exclaimed, "Your dad is very American!"  Curious as to how their responses would differ from when asked about my brother, I asked the students what made him so American.  One of the students responded with, "The hat, the shirt, and WHITE SOCKS!"  Yes, my dad is wearing shorts and white socks, which, unfortunately for him, is not the latest fashion trend. Although somewhat common in areas such as the Pacific Northwest, this fashion trend has not caught on in Europe, and clearly marks you as an American.

 When I told this story to my brother, who, if you hadn't noticed, is also wearing shorts and white socks in the picture, he told me "I wear shorts and white socks, but at least their not as tall as Dad's.  Besides, everyone wears them."  My brother has successfully reinforced the (possibly accurate) stereotype of Americans and white socks with shorts.   I'm not sure that everyone wears them, but maybe it's just a thing that typical Americans do.  They say that all stereotypes begin with some grain of truth, and apparently this is no exception.

In a Nutshell

I would like to apologize for not writing in such a long time.  I thought I would let you know that I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Quite the contrary, I've been so busy with teaching, going to Basque class, and the choir that I haven't had time to sit down and write a post about all of the things that have happened in the past few months. Here is the story of the past few months in a nutshell.  I have had several choir concerts, and only had to "watermelon" a couple of songs.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with this term, "watermelon" is what you sing when you don't know the words to the song and have to fake it.  This term is also known in Spanish as "playback".  The reason for my "watermeloning" was that I was given some of the music they day of the concert and needed to sing it as best I could.  Needless to say, my sight reading has improved considerably since being here.

As for my Basque class, it is still difficult, but I am beginning to understand more and more each day.  I say simple phrases and can count to 100.  It's a good thing I know my numbers because some of the store clerks at the supermarket tell me how much I have to pay in Basque. I'm  still far from being the most adept at using the language in class, but I am learning quickly.

In December, I went back to the U.S. for Christmas to visit my family and friends.  I had a great time, especially having the opportunity to visit with some of my cousins who I haven't seen in a long time.  Due to severe snow storms, I almost didn't make it out of Europe, but, after many hours of delays, I made it home and had a wonderful time.

Teaching has proven to be as challenging as I thought it would be, but I am greatly enjoying it.  Sometimes I wonder if my students have learned anything because several of them keep asking them about my life in England or Canada.  Just yesterday, one of my students asked me (again) if I was from Canada.  Newsflash: I'm not English or Canadian.  Despite the difficulties, I love working here in the Basque Country and have submitted my application to return for next, and with any luck, the experience will be just as positive.

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