Adventures in Calamity Spanish

Prologue: I dedicate this blog to Alex S., good friend and blog queen, who is constantly reminding me that blogging is good for the health and very satisfying to a certain subset of attentive friends:-).

I apologize for the delay between posts. I'm still not quite sure what happened to the past month; an exhilirating/exhausting combination of work, play and travel seem to have conspired to make the time fly by without me realizing it. I'll use these next few entries to fill you in on the highlights.

One consistent aspect of my life in Madrid has become the inconsistency of learning Spanish. Ostensibly, I have plenty of opportunities to practice; I speak Spanish with my flatmates and with the teachers at school, and I am taking a 'Spanish for Foreigners' class two nights a week. I've had what I consider 'real' conversations in these situations (i.e. not just talking about the weather or what my plans are for the weekend). Despite these outlets, I basically have 'good' days and 'bad' days where language is concerned. I've been complimented on my speaking by a Madrileño one day and been told "I can't understand you" by a different native speaker the next. There are triumphs ("I totally just used that idiom correctly! I made someone laugh when I was joking around in Spanish!") and setbacks ("I can't believe I forgot how to conjugate that verb! Why can't I remember the word for 'sink'?"!). There is the recurring fear that I've plateaued in my ability and will never reach the level of fluency I desire.

I've noticed my Spanish competence varies greatly depending on the person/people with whom I'm interacting. There are some people with whom I am very comfortable and the words come easily and I don't get tripped up by minor mistakes, and the conversation just flows. Then there are others with whom, for whatever reason, I choke when I'm around. And self-consciousness is a kind of positive feedback loop--the more nervous you are, the more mistakes you make, the more mistakes you make, the more self-conscious you become, etc.

Also, sometimes it seems like my facility in one language changes in reverse proportion to the other. On my 'good' Spanish days, my English is lousy. I stumble over words and apply Spanish grammar rules ("Who can tell me what it means this word?"). I think about how I would express my thought in Spanish, and sometimes can't find the English equivalent (those moments are encouraging but also kind of freaky). On the other hand, after spending a day with Americans speaking English, it takes some time for me to get back into Spanish mode and I make careless mistakes there as well. It's like my brain can't handle both languages at once, and one prevails at the expense of the other.

These dynamics and variables are fascinating to think about, but frustrating to experience (much like my feelings towards the Spanish education system, but more about that later:-)). Que interesante. . .

School Daze Part II

I decided to divide this entry into two sections because I feel I am dealing with two separate, though interrelated, educational systems. The first is the bilingual program, and the second is public high school. In the first section, I tried to give you a sense of the bilingual program. But what has piqued my interest even more are the differences between how the high school itself runs here as compared high schools in the U.S. I am so interested, in fact, that I think I am changing my secondary project to focus on this comparative perspective instead of the role of religion in public education. The church/state relationship is still something that constitutes a 'difference' between the Spanish and US educational systems, but I would rather look at it as one comparative aspect instead of focusing on it exclusively.

Before I get into my little 'list' of differences that have stuck out to me so far, I want to present another 'list', this one containing some qualifying factors to what I have observed;

1) I am not expert in educational policy, teaching, or pedagogy. I didn't study these things as an undergrad, and I haven't yet studied them yet in grad school. I have also never taught in an American high school. My knowledge of the US system comes from my own experience as a student, my work as a college admissions counselor, some background reading, and conversations with people more familiar with the system and issues than myself. So at this point, my observations are based on limited experience and I may have impressions that are uninformed or misinformed. I hope to become better educated (no pun intended) as I go along.

2) My experience with public education in Madrid is limited to one specific school in one specific area. Alcorcón is a former industrial area that is now a bedroom community south of Madrid. It is developing rapidly as people are moving out of the city due to rising costs of living. My coordinator (who is also a teacher at the school) describes the socio-economic composition of the students as "working and middle class". Unlike many more urban schools, this school has not yet experienced a large influx of immigrants, and I'm sure this factor accounts for alot of variation between public schools in different areas. So, my experience is not reflective of all public schools in Madrid, and certainly not of all public schools in Spain.

3) I am not exposed to the "mainstream" school system because I am involved solely in the bilingual program. However, the structure of school (daily schedule, student-teacher interactions, the role of the teacher, classroom mores, student behavior, etc) seems to me to be essentially the same as in the non-bilingual section.

So, with all this in mind, here are some major differences I have encountered so far. I hope to explore each one in more depth, tease out what they reflect about the different educational philosophies and cultural influences at work;

1) Students do not switch classrooms throughout the day. They stay with the same group, in the same classroom, for every period--teachers come to them. It would be like having every class with your homeroom classmates, in your homeroom (sort of like elementary school in the U.S, except even then you physically move to different rooms a few times). This means that teachers do not have their own classrooms. Between bells, the teachers lounge is buzzing as everyone comes by to collect their materials, chat, and double check what room they're heading to next.

I always thought of the classroom as the domain of the teacher, where he/she can decorate as they like, put up their students' work, have a desk, have a "space" that is theirs. That really doesn't exist here--classrooms are the domain of the student. As a result, most rooms have little on the walls, because it is not used for just one subject. Personally, I think this results in cabin fever among the students, but also more familiarity (and annoyance with each other) because they're around the same people all day every day.

2) When talking about this difference with one of the teachers, I stumbled upon a related aspect of this sedentary system; there are no differentiated levels within subjects. In fact, I was told, it is prohibited by law for public schools to separate students by ability level. That means there is no such thing as "advanced biology" or "honors English" or the equivalent of AP classes. That also means there isn't remedial help for students who are struggling. Everyone is taught the same (national) curriculum in every subject.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, I guess it is a more "equal" system, but on the other hand, it encourages teachers to teach to the middle range of ability, which inevitably neglects the needs of both low and high achieving students. Perhaps this is also related to the fact that after 4 years of high school (age 12-16, there is no middle school), there is an optional 2 years called "Bachillerato" which prepares college-bound students for their entrance exams (sort of like the A-level system in Britain). These final two years, which are not mandatory, are, I suppose, where the high-achievers receive more advanced instruction, but it doesn't seem fair that there isn't really an option for everyone else.

3) The classroom dynamic between teachers and students is, in general, much less formal. For one thing, I wear jeans to work every day; there is no teacher dress code. Students call teachers by their first names, when they don't call them 'Profe'. Teachers routinely arrive to class 5 or 10 minutes late. I mentioned before how much I liked the informality of the professional environment (the relationships between faculty members), and I can see advantages to how it appears to apply to the student-teacher relationship as well. Student-teacher interactions seem much more human and warm.

However, one downside seems to be that students don't respect the teachers' authority as much. Of course, teachers have different temperaments, different styles, and varying degrees of control over their classes--I think that's to be expected anywhere. But in most of my classes, a good chunk of time and energy is spent telling people to be quiet and pay attention. Granted, the worst classes are those with 27 students--I know overcrowding is a problem in many public schools at home, and now I can really see how detrimental that is to the learning environment. Of course they're going to start talking when there are so many people and only one teacher who can't possibly include everyone in what's going on.

Still, I'm amazed at how much time is wasted during class. My school is considered a decent public school (my coordinator said it's somewhere in the middle relative to others in Madrid); it does not have the kind of problems with discipline or violence that I know exist elsewhere in the city. For instance, I know another TA in a really difficult school, who has experienced problems that make this blog entry seem very indulgent (physical violence, racism against students by teachers, you name it). Knowing how comparatively mild this school is, then, makes me think that there is some kind of difference other than crowded classrooms that makes it so difficult to hold students' attention.

I want to emphasize that these are not bad kids at all, they are sweet and intelligent and they have a range of personalities just like any group of people. Considering the problem other schools have, teachers consider being placed at this school a blessing (see point 5 for what I mean by ´placement´). It just seems like students aren´t socialized to classroom etiquette with the same emphasis as in American elementary schools. My coordinator said a few things about it (paraphrased below) to me that I would like to look into further;

a) "You will find, Talia, that Spanish children are alot less disciplined. They are very spoiled by their parents at home; children rule the household, so they bring the same sense of entitlement to school as well. You will find they are alot more rowdy than what you're used to." This seems like a huge generalization to me, but maybe there's something to it. . .

b) "Under Franco, Spain was a very strict society. Everything was regimented and disciplinarian. After Franco died, society went to the other extreme, and this generation of school children is a product of this backlash against authority." To me, this makes more intuitive sense. It's easy to forget that Spain is such a young democracy, really less than 30 years old. My friend Caitlin told me Spain is often referred to as "la tierra de no hablar" (roughly, "the land of not speaking"). You would never guess how recent Spain's dictatorial past is from talking to people because it rarely comes up in conversation, but when you scratch the surface there is actually alot about contemporary Spanish culture that is related to Franco.

4) Students have to buy their own books. There isn't a "class set" that the teacher distributes at the beginning of the year. The books are ordered over the summer and then the students have to buy them at a specific place, like in in college in the States. And, like in college, sometimes the books are late in arriving, so nobody can buy them. Sometimes, they don't order enough and some kids have to wait until new ones come in. And sometimes, students are not exactly on the ball about getting their books--in this, the 4th week, some still haven´t picked up their books for various subjects. There are a few that just don't bring their materials to class, ever. And, relating to the issue mentioned above, the teachers don't seem to be able to enforce being prepared as a basic condition of being in their class. I´m sure indifference on the part of some students is a universal problem, though.

5) Public school teachers are civil servants. There apparently is a teacher's union, but it is very weak (in the U.S. it is one of the most powerful). New teachers have no choice in where they are placed in the city, and can be reassigned from year to year until they rack up enough seniority "points" to have more of a say over their placement. After 10 years or so, they earn a permanent placement at a school, which means they can stay there as long as they want. I hope I can identify other ways in which being a government employee effects the teachers and school system.

There are more differences, both obvious and subtle, but so far these have been the most striking. Besides, this entry has gone on long enough already. From now on, I'll try for a more even balance of curricular and extra-curricular experiences within these writings, but thanks for bearing with me up to this point. If you have any suggestions or thoughts on any of these topics, I'd love to hear them!

School Daze Part I

Ok, I think I am ready to talk. About school. I am of course referring to this mysterious 'job' I've had for the past 3 weeks but haven't talked about in any detail in this blog. You know, the reason I am in Madrid in the first place:-). The truth is, there has been so much to absorb that I haven't felt ready to sit down and write about it until now. And this is by no means comprehensive, but I hope to give a good overview.

First, the numbers; I have 16 classes per week in which I assist. 7 classes are "History and Geography", 7 are "Natural Sciences" and 2 are "Art". I work with 5 different teachers, 3 different grades (ages 11-14), and 7 different groups of student (I'll explain how classes are divided in Part II). Needless to say, it took some time for me wrap my head around who I was supposed to be with and when I was supposed to be there.

My role in the classes varies--with one history teacher, I basically prepare a lesson related to the current unit and teach that lesson during "my" periods. With the other history teacher, my main function is to work with the students on the Model UN program. With the science teachers, I act more as a traditional 'assistant', reading out loud from the book so the kids can hear a native speaker, and walking around and helping them with their assignments.

I work at a public high school within the "bilingual section", in which only 40% of the school participates. Most subjects in the bilingual program are taught in English (English, history, science, art), though they still have math, phys ed, and Castellano (Spanish) in Spanish. One major problem I see is that most of the students do not have a level of proficiency that matches the material, and as a result they are not learning the content as thoroughly. This obviously results in alot of frustration for all parties involved (teachers, students, myself. . .).

Many of these kids went to bilingual elementary schools, but you would never guess it. Others never attended a bilingual elementary school, and some are even repeating the grade. Before I started, I had the impression that the bilingual program was something akin to a magnet school, with some kind of selection process. Now, however, I am unclear as to how these students are chosen. It seems that their parents simply express their preference and they fill the bilingual spots on that basis. I have friends who work in more immigrant-heavy areas who tell me they have students who can barely speak Spanish, let alone English. I have asked teachers at my school, but they don't seem to know how it works either. This system seems unfair to two groups of students; a) those who do not have a sufficient level of English to thrive in a bilingual high school program and b) those who do have a sufficient grasp of the language but are unable to learn age-appropriate material because the majority of the class is not functional at that level.

I should mention that this system is relatively new to Spain (10 years or so), and I hope things will improve as the program develops. During orientation, a city government official told us that Spain is behind most other European countries in second language acquisition. The learning of foreign languages, specifically English, has only recently become a priority, while countries like Germany and France are well into developing programs for teaching a third language in the schools. I know next to nothing about bilingual schools in the U.S., but now I am certainly interested in how they do things--I would like to look into it more while I'm here. All that said, I love the faculty I work with and I am enjoying teaching despite the challenges and frustrations.

Tortilla

As I mentioned in a previous entry, I have thus far distinguished myself as the least culinarily apt person in my apartment. So when the chance presented itself to make inroads into that stereotype, I jumped at it. My friend Alex, who studied abroad in Spain before coming back on a Fulbright grant, knows how to make tortilla, and we decided to make a night of it. I suggested my place because a) my piso has a huge kitchen and b) I hoped my flatmates would 'catch me' in the act of cooking in a legitimate way (i.e. something more elaborate than boiling water or assembling a sandwich). Devious, I know.

A quick note about tortilla. It is not the same tortilla we are familiar with in the U.S. I only knew tortilla as a Mexican and Latin American food, simply a type of flour-based bread used mainly as a wrap. But in Spain, tortilla española is translated to "Spanish omelette"; a thick pie made of potato and egg. To me, it has the consistency of a quiche more than that of an omelette (pictures are coming, you'll see what I mean). Anyway, tortilla de patata (potato) is only the most basic kind--tortilla can contain cheese, meat, vegetables, etc. Tortilla francesa (French omellete) is what we think of as an omelette in the U.S. This is a useful distinction to know, as many tapas bars and restaurants offer both. Now, I love tortilla. It is one of the few authentic Spanish dishes I can enjoy as a vegetarian.

On the night in question, my friends Alex, Caitlin, and I, decided to make the basic tortilla, which requires eggs, potatos, onions, salt, and oil. Lots of oil, actually. We had a great time getting everything together, mixing the ingredients, cooking on the stove. Since my flatmates are always so generous with their food, we bought enough ingredients to make two tortillas so I could offer one to the apartment.




Our first attempt, however, did not turn out exactly as planned. We miscalculated the potato to egg ratio, and when it came time to flip the tortilla (the most difficult part), it did not hold together properly and we ended up with a bit of an oily mess more or less 'resembling' a tortilla. Of course, my flatmates who had been in and out of the kitchen periodically and had been observing our progress, saw this first attempt sitting unpleasantly on the kitchen table. There were some polite, mumbled comments of "oh. . .is that how it's supposed to look?". This, of course, only made me more determined to nail our second try.


Luckily, the second time was a charm. We used double the number of eggs for a similar amount of potatoes, and when it came to flip it (an honor bestowed upon me), it held together perfectly. Even better, it tasted like. . .tortilla! It was genuinely really good. In fact, the first one we made tasted fine too, a bit oily but certainly edible. The second one, though, was a triumph. We left it on the kitchen table with a note saying "soy para todos" (I am for everyone). And I am pleased to say that by the next night, there was only one slice left.








I know this is sort of a frivolous entry, but to me, it's the little things that form the texture of experience as much as the big ones. I'm sure when I look back on the year, I'll remember the teaching and the students and all the 'serious' aspects of adjusting to a new culture and language, but I'll also remember my fumbling attempts at making tortilla with my friends.

My next entry, finally, will deal directly with my first few weeks of school. I have so many thoughts and observations; my experience so far has even made me consider changing the focus of my secondary project from the role of religion in public education to a more comparative survey of the differences between Spanish high schools and those in the States (public schools). Vamos a ver (we'll see).:-).

A Night in White

On September 22, Madrid hosted its second annual "Night in White", a city-wide, all night art festival. In Spanish, it's called La Noche en Blanco, and Paris, Riga, Rome, and Brussels have their own Night during the fall as well. Theoretically, it's an awesome idea; open all the museums for free, hold art exhibitions and performances (acting, dancing, concerts, experimental art) in traditional and non-traditional venues (outdoors and indoors), and have simultaneous events going on all over the city until the wee hours of the morning (also, all free). Madrid is a great place for it, as it is a city of night owls to begin with. But ay, there's the rub; the ubiquity of the night life was a double-edged sword. There was overwhelming participation, but poor logistical support for the kind of numbers involved.

But first, the highlight. I didn't get started until about 11:00, as my flat had a big going away dinner for one of our flatmates (one of the girls I'd become closest to, the one who invited me to Toledo). And by big, I mean in all dimensions; lots of people, lots of food, lots of time:-). Afterwards, I met up with some friends at Gran Via, one of the main arteries of the city. Most of the performances had already ended, so I didn't get to see most of what looked interesting to me in the hundred-page program that was distributed all over the city. The program itself was overwhelming. So much to see and do, with everything scheduled against about 20 other things. They had to divide the city into zones in order to fit everything on maps. Finally, I saw a capsule for an "aerial ballet" that began at 11:45, so my friends Alex and Jen and I raced to the metro in the hopes of making it. We were worried we wouldn't be able to find it, but it is kind of hard to miss people flopping around 4 meters (about 13 feet) above the ground on flexible poles. So we did make the last 20 minutes, and it was pretty damn amazing.

Once the ballet was over, we headed back to the metro with the idea of regrouping in a more central location (the performance took place a bit north of the city center). The metro, however, was unbelievably crowded. We literally had to push our way onto the next train, and even then we 'lost' Alex. She didn't make it onto the train through the throng of people. It was quite cinematic; Alex, her hands up against the glass, trying to tell us something and us, watching helplessly as the train pulled away. . .Luckily, we weren't in the kind of dire, dramatic situation you would expect this sort of scene to represent in a movie, and I was kind of bemused by the whole thing.

The term "packed like sardines" never felt more applicable to a situation than to the condition of the train we were on. I didn't need to hold onto anything to brace myself against the jerky movements of the car--when it moved, my body didn't because it was crammed so tightly between other people. And then, the train stopped in the middle of a tunnel. . .I wasn't panicked, but I was a bit worried that people would start fainting or throwing up or fighting if we didn't start moving again soon. And, as I later found out, this is exactly what happened on some of the many other metro trains that experienced stoppages throughout the night. Our train starting moving after about 7 minutes, but we had friends who were stuck for half an hour in a similarly packed train, and some very unpleasant things happened in that hot, cramped space.

The handling (or mishandling) of the metro was one of the major complaints that popped up in the newspapers the next day. People were equally as unhappy with the enormous lines for everything; it was hard to take advantage of any museums or art installations when the lines to get in were hours' long. I was lucky in that the performance I saw didn't have limited seating; most events did. Some people I knew spent the night walking around and not actually seeing or doing anything related to La Noche En Blanco due to the long waits and tight scheduling.

Once we reunited with Alex (we just waited at our destination station for the next train we knew she would be on), the three of us had a notion of heading to a 'twister art' exhibit in my neighborhood, but as we walked down the street, the thickness of the crowd enveloped us. At this point, it was about 2:30 in the morning, and the streets were so strewn with litter it looked like we were walking through a dumpster. There were still people of all stripes out; older couples, some families, tourists. For the most part, though, it was people our age, which was perfectly fine, but there was little programming left (despite La Noche's publicity as an all-nighter) and the party atmosphere was starting to turn into a drunk, hazy boredom.

The strangest part was the sheer number of people. I had this feeling of detachment as I walked down the street, similar to how I felt at the Beltane Fire Festival in Edinburgh (that's another story); darkness, but enough dim light to see all the activity, sounds of bottles breaking and yelling and so many people people people. I didn't feel we were in danger or anything, but it was surreal. The street we were on had a slight downhill tilt, so we were able to see how far the mass stretched; I'd never seen anything like it. And this was just in my little corner of the city. It's hard to describe this feeling, where you cease to be aware of your physical person and feel as though you're observing humanity from some kind of omnicient perspective--right in the middle of it, but not feeling like part of it. I felt like a character out of some existential novel:-).

We finally did find our destination, a 'hands on' art installation that had disintegrated into a disappointing mess of fingerpaint in a similarly disheveled storefront. I think we saw it as a symbol of what remained of La Noche festivities. We decided to call it a night and headed back to my place, where my friends caught a cab home.

Overall, La Noche had mixed reviews from the citizens of Madrid. Everyone seems to agree that this kind of thing is worth doing, but that it must be done more efficiently, taking into account the scale and planning accordingly. I think the level of artistic coordination involved was an achievement in itself, and there was alot about Madrid's Night that was impressive. Also, it's only the second year, so I guess there are still some kinks to work out. I would be really interested to see what the Night In White looks like in the other cities. Maybe one day I'll find out. . .:-).

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Flamenco

As I sat down to write this latest update, I realized that there were a few things I wanted to talk about in depth that would probably be best served as separate entries (that way it won't be cold by the end:-)) So here goes with the first of a 4 part series detailing the past two weeks. . .



The Comunidad de Madrid (the local government) sponsored a series of flamenco shows (called "Cumbre Flamenca") in a metro station in mid-September. Yes, you read right. They built a 3000 person covered theater in the middle of the station. And it was free to all comers. We did stand in line for two and a half hours to get in, but it was worth it. I went to the last night, which was sort of what the previous nights were leading up to. The two performers are apparently flamenco superstars, and getting them to perform, let alone together, was a big coup for the Comunidad. The man, "Pansequito" (né José Cortés Jiménez) sang--I always associated flamenco with dancing (you know, the castanets and scarves and twirling skirts), I didn't realize it is a form and style of music as well. I mean, I had a vague idea of what flamenco music was, but hadn't given much thought to the singing aspect. Anyway, Pansequito sang in a style that, to me, sounded at times like a muezzin's call to prayer; very nasal, alot of vibration and elongation of words. This is probably getting repetitive, but flamenco did originate in southern Spain, where Moorish influence is the strongest, so the image it evoked in me is probably not coincidental; Flamenco incorporates Arab, Spanish, and Gypsy motifs. The songs were also slower, more simple (just a voice, a guitar, and some clapping), and more raw sounding than what my concept of flamenco was before the concert.

The other singer was a woman named Aurora Vargas. According to the program, she played Carmen opposite Plácido Domingo, and is known for her mastery of both singing and dancing. Initially, she sang--it was very dramatic and expressive and intense (I think she's a bit of a diva, but she certainly has the talent and years of experience to back up her attitude). Like with Pansequito, the songs sounded more like laments and exhortations and story-songs (I couldn't understand a word, though) than the fast-pace rhythms I associated with flamenco. I'll admit, I was a little disappointed when I thought I wasn't going to see any dancing, but then during her second to last song she jumped up with a flourish and started spinning and stomping and waving her scarf (no castanets). It was incredibly sensual and suggestive and aggressive, all about the power of the woman. It was whatever the opposite of machismo is, if there's a word for that. . .

I should also mention the other artists in the performance; a guitarist who acccompanied both singers (amazing), and two men billed as "palmas" (palms) whose sole purpose was to clap. Not to say it's an easy job--their movements were highly stylized, with very precise, fluid motions that brought the palms together for an almost muted clapping sound as they kept time with the guitar, and small steps forwards and backwards following the beat.


We were assured by other Spaniards we knew that this performance was the real deal, "pure" flamenco and not just a show for tourists. I have no basis for comparison, but the combination of the unconventional location, the fact that it was free to the public, and the artistry involved made it a really incredible communal and individual experience. Clap clap clap.

And now, allow me to rewind a couple hours to when we were waiting in line. Originally, there were four of us (all grantees). One friend arrived early and was almost at the front of the line. When I arrived with two others, we cut in through the gate to stand with her (which I hate doing). The people behind us didn't seem to mind. As the evening went on, however, more Fulbrighters kept coming and cutting into the line (people we didn't expect but were happy to see). Spaniards are not as much of a line-abiding people as Americans, so we certainly weren't the only group line-jumping liberally, but the scale became kind of ridiculous and I felt bad, so at one point I turned around to the group behind us and said, in Spanish, that I was sorry for all the cutting and that we didn't know there would be this many people, thank you for your patience, etc. The woman was laughing, and said "yes, I think all the Americans in Madrid are right here, no?" Then she asked, "Do you all have grants?". Yes, I said. "Fulbright?" She asked. Um. . .yes, in fact. "Oh my gosh! I had an intercambio with a Fulbright girl last year!". Now, an "intercambio" is an exchange between people who speak two different languages, where they meet for conversations and help each other improve their language skills. People find intercambio partners online, or often through international networking groups. So this woman had had a great intercambio experience last year with a (now) former Fulbrighter.

But is gets weirder. She asked us if we knew "Erica", her intercambio buddy. My friend, Alex, who was standing next to me, asked "You don't mean Erica X, do you?". "Oh my gosh! Yes!". Turns out, Alex knows Erica because she replaced her as the Fulbright Teaching Assistant at her school this year. Alex and Erica had been in email contact for months, and Erica had even mentioned this friend she had made through an intercambio. This friend was Henar, a lawyer and native Madrileño, and the woman standing right behind us line for flamenco. We spent a few minutes with bilingual exclamations of "no way" "amazing" "what are the odds?" etc. We exchanged email addresses, and a took a picture of Alex with Henar to send to Erica, and this past Friday we all met up for drinks and tapas in the city.

So that was my first encounter with flamenco, one of the most common images associated with Spain (along Don Quixote, paella, and bullfighting). Next, what happens when a city already known for its nightlife stages an an all-night festival? Find out in Part II. . .

p.s. The pictures included in this post do not do the set-up or the music justice, but it was the best I could do. I did record some short videos of the concert in action, but they were too big to upload here :-).

Toledo

As I mentioned in my previous entry, two of my flatmates invited me to join them for a day trip to Toledo, only a 30 minute high-speed train ride south of Madrid. We took the first train out in the morning and the last one back at night. We spent the day covering as much of the city as possible. It's a really beautiful place that has many buildings that have been conserved or maintained in their original form from the Golden Age of Toledo (approx 8th-15th century). Madrid is also full of interesting and varied architecture, but Toledo, with it's narrow, winding streets, spectacular vistas, and blend of Christian and Muslim architecture, has a very different feel--the history is something palpable. We were so impressed with just the train station, we joked that we would just stay there all day (the train station is obviously not that old--built 1920--but was built in the same style as the city).


























Toledo is known for many things. For centuries, it was (and still is) a center for steel and weapons manufacture. Thus, every souvenir shop proudly displayed its knives, swords, and armor. A bit disconcerting, to be honest:-). Toledo is also, apparently, a top producer of Marzapan. A few stores had huge Marzipan replicas of the main Cathedral.

Toledo is also a city that historically enjoyed a coexistence of Christian, Muslim, and Jewish cultures. This period of religious tolerance (" la conviviencia") began when Toledo was under Islamic rule and lasted until the expulsion of the Muslims and Jews during the Inquisition (1492, the same year Columbus 'discovered' America for Spain). You can see these influences everywhere, in the architecture, the folk art, and even in the Cathedrals (more on that later). There is still a "Jewish quarter" in Toledo that contains two synagogues, both of which were converted into churches (the synagogues have names like Santa Maria la Blanca:-)). One was later refurbished to resemble the original synagogue, and is now a museum of the history of Toledo's Jews. It was nteresting to see how colorful and lively the Sephardic (Mediteranean and North African Jews) culture was portrayed--a big contrast to the more austere and solemn Ashkenazi (Eastern European Jews) culture. Walking through this museum highlighted how similar Sephardic and Moorish culture really was (is?).




























One of the main tourist attractions in Toledo is the Cathedral, and the word that comes to mind to describe the Cathedral is random. To begin with, it is a huge structure, with small capillas (chapels) dedicated to saints encircling the main altars. I say random not only because of the mix of mediums (sculpture, painting, fresco, wood carvings, gold), but the mix of symbolism and styles. Some areas appeared positively pagan; dragons, unicorns and other mythological imagery intertwined with biblical figures. Some areas appeared, at least to me, to resemble a mosque more than a church due to the use of blue at the apex of the dome and the reliance on patterns. The choir area where the ceiling-high organ resided had a continuous wood carving stretching across every chair depicting the battle of Granada when the Spanish reconquered the city from the Moors (that has admittedly religious undertones, but it felt very temporal for a church). The main altar is an elaborate, floor to ceiling depiction of events from the New Testament in the Gothic style (according to the guidebook:-)). Finally, the church also had a small collection of El Greco paintings and an exhibit of bishop's robes through the ages, and on top of everything there was a military wedding going on in one of the chapels, in the midst of all the tourists and loudspeaker announcements warning us not to take pictures using a flash.































As we walked around the vast Cathedral, my friend commented that she always feels conflicted visiting Cathedrals like this because of their ostentatiousness. She doesn't consider herself a religious person, but she sees hypocrisy in emphasizing gold and grandeur when Christianity preaches humility and depicts Christ as living in poverty. With all the time and effort and expensive materials that went into these towering monuments, she wondered how many people in Toledo were starving as the Cathedral was being built. It's one thing to visit these places as a tourist and be in awe of the sheer magnitude and artistry involved, it is another to think about them from this kind of perspective. As someone who is very interested in how cultures express their religiosity, I was surprised to realize that I had never given much thought to the inherent tension between showing devotion in materialistic ways and being humble before one's god. I know this isn't a new concept/issue by any means, but the way my friend phrased it really struck me, and I couldn't stop thinking about it the rest of the day.

There are also two Mosques ("mesquitas") in Toledo, but unfortunately they were closed to visitors by the time we reached them. We had a dinner on one of the side streets, saw a bit more of the city (one of the main plazas, the military academy, more marzipan...), and walked back to the train station at sunset. Ben, one of the three friends I traveled with, was the official photographer and took some amazing pictures around Toledo with a very high quality-camera--they are too big to upload onto this blog, but if anyone is interested I'd be happy to send you the highlights:-).


Stay tuned to for tales of not-teaching, flamenco in the subway, and a night in white. . .