hello hello

Hello from a Friday afternoon in rainy Madrid.

Why is it that the whole world doesn´t enjoy three day weekends?

The truth is I don´t have much to say. I have been feeling more and more like I live in the real world, despite the fact that I live abroad and have a rather interesting job (stereotype of the real world: interesting jobs don´t exist). I suppose it is the routine I have settled into in Parla. I am actually quite busy these days, as I have picked up one more English student (three hours a week with an adorable 17 year old political cousin, like 10 times removed. In other words, not at all related. For fun: my mom´s brother´s wife´s sister´s husband´s sister´s son). Also, it´s been about a month since I began logging in 4 hours a week at CEPA--Centro de Educacion para Personas Adultas. I am taking one of their Español para Extranjeros classes--and I love it. The center is run by the Madrid Ministry of Education, and there are over 40 centers in the community--all which offer a plethora of free classes for adults, from high school education to foreign languages to technology ed. Students don´t pay a dime. The one in Parla happens to be a few blocks away, and this large brick building on the corner of Calle Galilea also happens to be one of my favorite places in town. It probably has something to do with my excessive yet healthy nostalgia for being a student, but I can´t get enough of the atmosphere. The walls are covered with educational decor, bulletins announcing all sorts of opportunities, and loads of people, there to learn loads of different things. My teacher is from Getafe--a 55 year old man who is rather old fashioned and quite difficult to understand. Especially considering that beyond the language barrier he must cross with his students, he also faces an even wider cultural one. The majority of the 12 (give or take a few) are from Morocco. The others are from Romania, France, and Nigeria. They were all quite baffled when I showed up to the class.

This makes me think of this conversation I was having with a girl one night out at a bar (which makes me think of another strange bar conversation a friend was telling me about between she and a "Mod", which I will touch on later). She was talking about Parla´s chunga-ness (frequent topic of conversation when it is brought up that I live here). She asked if it was dangerous, and I told her that I actually felt quite safe here. This led to our discussion of the large Moroccan immigrant population here in Madrid (and I suppose all over Spain), and I think we had quite different points of view on the topic. She told me one thing that was borderline offensive, despite the fact that she probably meant for it to be a compliment: "Tu eres una extranjera. Ellos son inmigrantes"--You are a foreigner. They are immigrants. Sheesh.

I find this sentiment frequently surfacing in many of the people here in Madrid. It´s difficult to put your finger on...their strange manifestation of racism (although I suppose all forms of racism are strange in and of themselves..) In Spain, it´s as if it is born from a complicated iferiority complex towards the neighboring European countries. One of my private students once told me, during a conversation exercise about Madrid, that he would like very much to live in a neighborhood or town with people from many different cultural backgrounds, but really only if the people were from countries like France or Switzerland. I asked him why (my most frequent question during conversation excerises) and he told me because they have more in common, and could more easily relate. This doesn´t make sense to me...isn´t it all about enjoying each other´s differences?

Argh, this is a complicated subject that I have no present time for. Perhaps on Sunday..off to Ciudad Real this afternoon to visit Raquel´s pueblo for a few days. Have a good weekend, friends!