I WOULD JUST LIKE TO COMMENT...

That it was supposed to snow yesterday and today. The school was expecting such horrible weather that they were discussing imminent school closure. Meanwhile, all of Europe is experiencing such a deadly "cold snap" that the weather is responsible for record lows and deaths from hypothermia in various countries, mostly in Eastern Europe.

AND THE FAMILY STILL HASN'T TURNED THE HEAT ON.

I awoke from my nap, fully clothed and freezing, under four blankets. It is viciously cold in the tundra today.

The weather in Fahrenheit. I assure you, it feels much colder when you look at the weather and it says "Feels like "-1."

At least (drum roll please!)....we are moving out on Sunday. Dana and I are taking the plunge and getting out while we still can retain our dignity, sanity, and 900 Euro a month rent. We are moving back to the hostel in Casco Viejo, where we will be each be saving 200 Euro. It will be a warmer environment in general, in terms of people and temperature.

We will be taking the Metro with another teacher who lives in that area, who leaves her car at a station and then drives to school.

The only downside is that we will no longer drive to school with the lovely family next door. We made cookies on Wednesday with the two girls. Naturally, converting an American recipe to Spanish measurements and using different ingredients turned out terribly wrong. The dough was soaked with butter for some reason, so we kept adding more flour, sugar, and vanilla. Eventually the cookies tasted ok, but they ended up turning rock solid the next day.

WE LOVE THEM!

They have just been so wonderful to us. They take us on trips with the family, have us over for dinner, talk about the education system. We're going to watch a movie at their house tomorrow night.

As for tonight, we have our last weekend in Bilbao, so we're probably going to go out. Tomorrow at 10:30 we head off to the gypsy market in Algorta with Dana's co-op, and on Sunday we visit the town of Plentzia.

WEEKEND YAY

"How was school today?" / "¿Qué tal al día?"

IT WAS GREAT! Thanks for asking.

Due to the aforementioned virus going around school, I got to substitute teach kindergarten today! I think I had the 3-5 year olds. They are probably the most adorable little children I've ever seen in my life. It is just a different world than teaching upper school. These kids hug you, hold your hand, and give you stickers after being acquainted for 20 minutes. They immediately accept your authority as a teacher, and love you for it. My own students still call me, "Miss uh..."

"Kelsey."

"Chelsea?"

"KEH-lsey."

"Miss Kelsey. I'm finished."

Then they hand me an empty page with a scribble on it.

"False."

There are two things that really struck me. 

1. The kids are allowed to use glitter, and they use TONS of it. It's the same in the art room. In my college classes, I was told to never let the kids use glitter. Number one rule, don't buy glitter! Don't even think about! It will be all over the floor and all over you. These are valid points. I track glitter through the hallways, along with smushed pink oil pastels and occasionally toilet paper (unrelated, though true). But here they are, five years old and pouring paste and glitter over every piece of paper they can get their hands on, loving every minute of it. It's great. I have to say, I'm a fan.

2. They have real playtime. Not fake playtime, in the States, where there are hovering mothers and teachers yelling, "Don't push, don't fight, don't color on the walls, etc." I took these kids to gym, which is this big room with all kinds of cushy shapes everywhere and a ladder on the wall and a coloring area, and a padded floor with a mirror. There's big balls and tubes to crawl through and steps and a big cushion thing to fall on. It's pretty cool. And they're just allowed to wreak havoc. Kids are climbing on ladders, on each other, wrestling, yelling, running. Totally hands off. Kids fall, they get back up, no big deal. They fight, they resolve it, whatever. That's the best part I think - how are kids supposed to learn conflict resolution if teachers and parents are constantly stepping in? The first time I pulled two boys apart and said, "Don't push," as I was trained to do, they looked at me with bewilderment, backed away slowly as they would from a lunatic, and then continued galavanting around the room. That's when I realized playtime is unrestricted, and I think it's good. They are that much calmer in class because of it.

I also had my 8th grade today, which went really well. I started off our lesson badly, I was being observed and I was nervous, and the kids were bored out of their minds sculpting the human figure with no direction. After we talked about superheroes, superpowers, and the sweet costumes they're going to design, they got really into it and were working really well. 

I had a lot of people, students and teachers, asking when we are leaving and I hate to say it, but in three and a half weeks! It's so soon. It doesn't help that we might have a snow day tomorrow and/or Friday. I won't get to start my lessons with 9th and 10th until next week, so I may not see them complete their projects.

This following statement is one I never thought I'd utter, but here I am:
I don't want a snow day!!!! I want to go to school.

Tales from the Classroom

So in honor of my observation, today I will entertain you faithful readers with a story of my simultaneously delightful and disturbing students.

The 8th grade is undeniably entertaining, in particular. The students are at that great age where the boys are still scrawny and four feet tall but the girls look like teenagers. So the boys are incredibly obnoxious to make up for it.
Among my favorites is a boy whom we shall call J. In a harried moment when he was bugging me, ("MISS KELSEY! MISS KELSEY!") I said, "Dude. You need to calm down, I'll help you in a minute." His mouth dropped open and his eyes got all wide, "Did you just call me dude?" Naturally, he was thrilled and started bouncing up and down.
"Are you from California?"
"No, I'm from New Jersey."
"Do they say dude in New Jersey?"
"Yes."
"Is it because there are beaches in New Jersey?"
"Sure, why not."
"Cool, dude!"
Ever since then I have been referred to as "Miss Dude."

My students also have a hard time with English from time to time, which is also hilarious. I nearly had a heart attack though, when this same kid came up to me during clean up and was like, "Miss Kelsey, I need you to...um..." and he turned to his friend to ask how to say something.
"I need you to testicle..." I froze for a second, not equipped to deal with what might come out of his mouth next.
"I need you to testicle that I put this pencil and eraser away."
(Sigh.)
"J, do you mean testify? As in vouch?"
"Yes, I need you to testify that I put this pencil away, Miss P thinks I steal them."
"No problem, dude."
He and his friend were completely nonplussed, having no idea in the error of their words, thank god.
But it's amazing how they take one word and run with it for weeks. Apparently his super hero for the next project is going to be "Super Dude" in my honor.

I'm supposed to be writing supplemental "motivational dialogues" for the lessons that I taught today. It's nerve wracking being observed, I wasn't being myself and my students picked up on that. 8th grade was thrown by my supervisor being in the classroom.
Somehow a rumor got started that she was an inspector from the International Baccalaureate committee. The IB is a curriculum and certification program for international schools, that essentially makes them stronger and more competitive. Our school is planning on adapting it but first has to go through a certification-type process that involves people coming to evaluate the school and the students.
Since they were just sculpting models in plasticine for their figures, they were bored and hissing at me, "Miss Kelsey! Why would you give us this kind of project when the IB inspector is here?! Now we will never get the IB!! This is boring, she'll think we're stupid."
Thanks, guys, I only spent like six hours writing this lesson.
So I finally told them to cool it, she was there to grade me, not them. Bad idea. That strategy has worked for me in the past - telling students that they better behave because I'm getting graded too. Not with this group. They thought it was hilarious and start yelling,
"THANKS MISS KELSEY! YOU SURE ARE A GREAT TEACHER!"
"I AM LEARNING SO MUCH BY SCULPTING OVER HERE, MISS KELSEY!"
"GEE, MISS KELSEY, THIS ASSIGNMENT IS REALLY FUN."

Whoever said the kids don't get sarcasm because they're ESL clearly thinks his or her students really, really like him or her. And as much as the students can drive me up the wall, I love teaching. I love hearing "Hi, Miss Kelsey!" in the hallway. I love being able to commiserate with the other teachers here, who are incredibly supportive and interesting to talk to. And I'm not going to lie, I still feel super cool for having access to the teacher's lounge. Especially the coffee machine.

 Two down, two to go. Tomorrow I'm starting two new lessons with 7th and 8th. In 7th, we're going to make realistic food sculptures from clay and in 8th we're doing super heroes and villains in plasticine and plaster. Both are a bit crafty but hey, the food is going to make a great display, and I know the boys in my 8th grade are going to go nuts with the action figure thing. Plus, the 8th grade is the only grade that totally loves me, so they get the fun lessons for being cool.

9th is getting Expressionism because I hate them (not really) and because my co-op loves Expressionism. 10th grade is getting Conceptual art because they're the only ones that can handle it, I hope. I'll post some pictures from their (FINALLY) completed postcard project as soon as I can. In the meantime, here is them working on it!

And this is the paper we made with 8th grade. The glitter was not my idea, trust me.

8th grade boy.

8th grade girl. Isn't puberty great?

It's been a rough week, and as I said, we're being observed tomorrow so no big trip this weekend. Instead Friday night we went to Casco Viejo to finally reunite with Adorta (I've been spelling it wrong) and Ashu. We hung out for the hostel and then went out to a bar and a really cool nightclub. I'm irritated we've found it so late in the game. It's when things like that happen, and we go, "Oh! We have to come back!" and then realize we only have two more weekends left. Two months seemed like so much time about a month ago. Now all of a sudden, I'm halfway through my time here and it's not enough.

Regardless, Adorta was souped to play Kings again, here is everyone playing with some even stranger rules.

Lord only knows.

Saturday we wrote lessons and then went to a city called Vitoria, because it seemed like a good idea. Naturally, it was not. Our approach to sightseeing has been based on which city has the biggest Wikipedia page, and a tourist website in English. Vitoria had both, it seemed promising. So we hopped on a bus and 40 minutes later, the bus stops and we think it must be the first stop because there is no way this boring city is Vitoria! Alas, it was. Nothing to do there except go to El Corte Ingles, which is this massive department store that resembles Target and Macy's Spanish lovechild, on steroids.

Luckily we stumbled upon Vitoria's only claim to fame, Artium, a fabulous contemporary art museum, which had both the weirdest and the best exhibitions ever. There was a whole gallery of this Basque painter, José Luis Zumeta, that pretty much convinced me that painting is cool again, at least around here.

Gernika, part II

There was also a massive show by a Guatemalan artist named Regina José Galindo, and we happened to be there opening night. It was very unsettling but very well done. She's hard to explain, but her work is about the body, torture, abuse, exploitation, etc. Check it out if you have some time and a strong stomach: http://www.reginajosegalindo.com/es/index.htm

Sunday was more successful, though equally uneventful. After our disappointing adventure to Vitoria, we apprehensively boarded a train to Bermeo, another "Excellent tourist destination! Not to miss!" Except this one had actually been recommended to us by another teacher. The hour trip was through the absolute, middle of nowhere farmlands of the Basque country. At every stop, Dana and I would look at each other and say, "If this is Bermeo, I'm staying on the train."

TripAdvisor recommended sitting on the right hand of the train for some lovely views, which consisted of mostly chickens and weird shanty towns in the middle of farms.

Empty train = Bad omen.

Beautiful landscape, please don't be Bermeo!

There's the beach!! All the way in the back!!

Bermeo was actually pretty poppin', especially for a Sunday afternoon. And it was absolutely stunning. I think I was the calmest I've been this entire trip, standing on the Old Port and listening to the waves, not feeling the freezing wind on my numb face.

This miserable overcast happened about five minutes later.

That was about all there was to do there. The main tourist destination, a chapel and island called San Juan de Gaztelugatxe, was closed, of course. We went to a few bars, which were filled with old people. All of the old Basque men wear berets and it is just adorable. But we were the only dweebs under 55 going from bar to bar, having a glass of wine and pintxo at each. The pintxo lifestyle is challenging in that one pintxo is never enough food, and I never have a clue as to what is in them. My strategy is looking for anything not covered in bacon-ish ham that has been peeled off of the aforementioned leg on the counter. This usually means I get a tortilla (AGAIN) by pointing and saying, "Uno de este!" Otherwise, it's a Russian roulette that occasionally ends in with a liver sandwich. Today I ended up with a mussel somehow that was actually delicious and fish that was probably bacalao, also very satisfying. 

Then, the arctic climate reared its ugly head yet again. It actually began to hail, which was shocking considering we were told it didn't even snow here even though it was only zero degrees Celsius (only!). And we are talking vicious, icy pebbles of doom that persuaded all of the bars to close. 

Are you bored yet? We were. So we left, and stopped by our real Bilbao family's house to deliver some baked goods (their (grand)father passed last week). They are just so incredibly welcoming and wonderful, all of the time. We've made plans to make cookies, visit Gernika, and watch "Waiting for Superman," together, because Edurne is researching implementing standards in the Spanish public school system. Evidently, they have none, and she was full of questions regarding NCLB. I'll expound upon this subject later, because it's almost one here and I have 40% of my student teaching grade being determined tomorrow.

This is a lie, we actually only get internet connection in the doorway.

Adios!

I am still alive.

Congested, but alive.
I haven't updated because this blog has become a tool for procrastination. When I am supposed to be lesson planning, I am telling stories to an unseen (and potentially non-existent) audience via Blogger. This week I have had too much to do to procrastinate. Our student teaching supervisor arrived yesterday to observe us, so I need to have solid lesson plans typed up and ready to roll for Monday. Also I am starting four new lessons this week, all of which required many hours of obsessing, researching, and whining.
It also took us about two days to recuperate from Madrid, and we both are still sick with some kind of mutated cold that doesn't end. My ears will be ringing during class and I'm not sure if it's because my head has been congested for a week or because there are 27 adolescents yapping away in Spanish. When I am done my work for the day, I will fill you in on all of my entertaining student stories as well as my continued escapades in Spain. This weekend, we went to Casco Viejo, and will go to a city called Vitoria later today. Later because we got in around 7:30am this morning. According to Wikipedia, Vitoria is the capital of País Vasco, even though everyone thinks the capital is Bilbao. Tomorrow we are going to a port town called Bermeo, a tourist hotspot in the summer and most likely a ghost town now.
Now I should write this lesson I've been putting off all week so I can get out of the tundra! Hasta luego.

I know you only read this for the pictures, so here are some galletas. YUM.

MADRID

One thing is now clear to me - for those of you who thought I was in Spain, you have been duped. My most sincere apologies, but I have not been in Spain. Madrid is in Spain. Getxo is in the Basque country. Two very, very different things.
Due to the various technical difficulties that tend to befall us, Dana and I got on the 6pm bus to Madrid and arrived around 11pm. We stayed at Way Hostel, near the Tirso de Molina metro stop. First impression of Madrid - it's as if someone cleaned New York City with a toothbrush and re-routed the Metro system to make sense. Madrid is a very international city, we heard and met Americans and others from around the world all over the place. It also looked like it could've been plopped anywhere - it wasn't particularly Spanish.
Our first night Dana and I ventured out alone, ate some patatas bravas at a cafe, and then went to a few nightclubs. The thing here is to go out to a bar or cafe from about 11-1, a club from 2-5, and then an after hours club if you still have money or can still walk. We went to two small clubs in the Sol area, where they still only play American music. The following day we got a late start, and went on a free walking tour with a group from the hostel.

The Royal Theatre, made by Queen Isabel II who built it to piss off her gay husband or something, according to our tour guide.

A bad picture of the Royal Palace.

The front facade of the Royal Cathedral.

The back.

A building with 5 floors.

Plaza Mayor and the wildly popular homeless people dressed like strange animals.

Then we went to the Reina Sofia, a museum that covers 20th-21st century. If I could live in a museum, this one would be it. They had an excellent experimental and conceptual collection, as well as a beautiful Dalí exhibition, and of course, Picasso's "Guernica." I wasn't allowed to take a picture of the painting, but here are some of his sketches.

An unbroken version of "The Bridge Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even" by Marcel Duchamp!!

Oh hey, Man Ray.

I think one of my favorite parts about traveling is hosteling. You just meet so many interesting people. We ate breakfast with a guy who used to be Heidi Klum's kids' gym teacher at an NYC prep school, we ate lunch with a girl from Chile and LA, and a girl from Moscow who works at a hostel there and has the most ridiculous stories. We went out at night with people from Australia, Brazil, Canada, and New York, the latter of which knew someone I went to high school with.
Conversation:
Him: "You're from New Jersey? North or south?"
Me: "South, near Philly."
Him: "Oh, so in Cherry Hill."
Me: "Not in, but near. How did you know that?"
Him: "Are you from Mount Laurel?"
Me: "What?"
Him: "Did you go to Lenape?"
Me: "WHAT?"
Him: "I'm in a frat with (insert name here) at Johns Hopkins. He went to Lenape."
Me: "Didn't he run for class president one year?"
Him: "Yep."
This conversation happened in Madrid. Weird.
We went out Saturday night to a club called Kapital, which was cool but overpriced. I don't really like clubs in the first place, but this one played decent music and did this weird thing where there was a machine that blew cold air and fog at the dance floor from time to time. It was 20 Euro to get in, and 10 Euro for a drink after that, which was not happening.

Hence the pregame in the hostel.

Sunday was trying, considering we were running on two hours of sleep. We went to El Rastro, a flea market in the old part of town, which was cool but there are no pictures. Whipping out a camera would've been an open invitation for pick-pockets. We attempted to go to the Museo del Prado, which is the Madridian equivalent of the Metropolitan. But we had less than an hour, and a timed entrance ticket for two hours later for the Hermitage exhibit. Can you imagine attempting the Met in less than an hour? Me either. My resulting panic attack led to the decision to not even walk inside.

Instead we stopped by the Cervecería Alemana, which is apparently one of the (many) bars that Hemingway was known to frequent. According to the internet, this one was his favorite. I couldn't remember where he used to sit, so I just took a picture of the decor figuring you can imagine the rest. I sure tried, although it was hard with our judgemental mesero who gave us the more expensive English menu.

Here I was mentally pretending to be Lady Brett Ashley.

I bet Hemingway got the Spanish menu.

Our trip was so exhausting I was actually relieved to return to the tundra, and excited to go back to school on Monday. But that was yesterday, today a nasty virus has manifested in the form of a sore throat and congestion. And my American medicine (Thanks, Mom!) isn't really helping against this Spanish virus, that was probably picked up from the excessive sharing at hostel. Although everyone at school is sick too, so perhaps Spain should declare a national sick day. There is truly nothing worse than dealing with students covered in yellow paint when you can't breathe out of your nose.
Except for of course, small Spanish children. My least favorite part about my living situation is dealing with the children. I could care less whether or not the Maria's like us at this point (they don't - it's become very clear), but I do care about the kids. I'm sure they weren't asked if they wanted two Americans moving into their playroom. The problem is that a) I have a lot of work to do and b) the kids are brats. I have no desire to hang out with these children, especially when I have three lesson plans to write or when I could be on Skype.

Jueves, not huevos.

I'm not sure how it came to be Thursday already. Time was passing so slowly that first weekend...suddenly we've been in the Basque country for two weeks! Let me figure out where the time went.
Monday: School, nap, lesson planning.
Tuesday: More school. Tuesdays I have no classes, because Pauline teaches art history and technical drawing in Spanish. If I taught art history in Spanish, the only mediums used would be pencils and ballpoint pens, because those are the only words I know.
I took a leisurely lunch on the Lower School schedule so I could eat with Dana, and she took me out for recess, which I had yet to encounter. Recess for the Upper School as far as I can tell consists of gossiping, smoking, and competitive slouching. Recess for the Lower School is the opposite. Tons of screaming children, throwing balls, climbing on the ping pong table, climbing on each other, name calling and jump rope rhymes in Spanish, etc. Spanish culture lends itself to the "hands-off" approach in terms of children's play time. Teachers only get involved if tears do. So we bravely circumambulated the playground as I waved to my humiliated 8th graders in gym class. Unknowingly tempting fate, I asked Dana if she has gotten hit by a ball yet. Not even five minutes later I was clocked in the head by a ball. The mortified third grader apologized while I laughed myself to the point where my 8th graders refused to acknowledge me in the hallway all day.
Wednesday: Ah, yes. Wednesday. After two long days of all work, no play, Dana and I traversed to our old stomping grounds in Casco Viajo, to visit Ashu and Edarto at Ganbara. Our first stop, as always, was a bar, where I mistakenly ordered a pintxo with a massive slice of liver. I forgot what foie was, I thought it was some kind of cheese for a moment. Then several churros and another bar later, we hit the hostel and watched a bit of the Bilbao-Mallorca football match. Bilbao won, don't worry. Edarto wasn't there but Ashu was, and Kyle and a guy named Dan from Australia.

Enjoyable though uneventful, save for some YouTube videos about aliens.

 Dana and I left around 11:45, knowing that the last Metro leaves at midnight. Or so we thought. We get to the Metro stop and find huge metal gates blocking the entryway. We walk to another Metro stop, also gated. At this point, it is a bit past midnight and raining in Bilbao. We have to wake up in approximately 7 hours. So we call Ashu and ask him to look up the bus schedule, and naturally the buses do not run past midnight either.
Bilbao is not New York. Bilbao is not even Philadelphia. You would think that with the siesta would be enough to keep them running past 10:30 at night, but evidently, it is not. I'm beginning to think Basque nightlife consists of watching TV whilst polishing off an entire sleeve of Principe cookies.
At a loss, we wait for a taxi at the designated "taxi" portion of the curb, because here one does not hail a cab. As cabs dropped people off, I would knock on the window, and they would drive away anyway. I think the cab hails you. We were heavily considering paying for bed at the hostel when miraculously a bus appeared out of nowhere. I managed to ask the driver where he was going, in Spanish that roughly translates to, "Where is you are going?" We deciphered that he was going to Bidezabel, which happens to be our Metro stop. I have no idea how this happened but I no longer care.
Thursday: In other news, young Maria doesn't like us. Tonight she neglected to feed us, which is fine because we went to the supermercado today anyway.

Food?

What food?

Cheese?

What cheese?

That's the one benefit of living in the tundra. The radiator becomes a hunk of frozen metal. The cheese is somehow staying chilly until tomorrow when it can live in the fridge in the teacher's lounge.
Tonight, sleep. Tomorrow, Madrid!!!