The rain in Spain!

Full disclosure - it barely rains in Spain. Also, Spain is called España to those of us that speak Mexican. I am nearly fluent in Mexican, but my Spanish is coming along a bit more slowly. It's like this. Imagine if you were to learn English in the mountains of Kentucky (or some other "redneck" headquarters) and then tried to converse in London. Technically you are both speaking English, but of a very different variety. This has been my experience so far.

Starting from the top. We arrived here on the 23 of September 2010. It was a Wednesday. We stayed in a very overpriced hostel/hotel and did our "training". The training was actually very informative and inspiring, leading most of us to believe that we were going to make a difference. On October first we started at our school. It's called Fernando de los Rios and it's in Getafe, Spain. This is basically a suburb south of Madrid, but since they have their own team in La Liga (Premier Spanish football league) they get to be their own city.

Time to backtrack. We spent the majority of out time during to first two weeks here trying to find a piso (flat, apartment). Since the wifi at our hostel was garbage we went down to the Reina Sofia modern art museum to use their free wifi. See the problem with trying to find an apartment in Spain is that you inevitably end up dealing with Spanish people. After calling about 30 prospective landlords we were able to arrange 3 viewings. Yes, only 3. You would think that a landlord would be excited to show their apartment and get it rented out. Wrong. To most of them it seemed like to much work to actually go show the place. Well we finally found one and moved in. It had two balconies and was pretty awesome... to me. Katie felt differently. Apparently it smelled. It did smell. I can't describe what it smelled like, but it didn't smell really good, it smelled a bit foul. Anyway, after one night there Katie decided that she could no longer live there. I called the landlord and bribed here with 200 euros to get out of the contract. She was not happy, but agreed. We went to another hostel and redoubled our efforts. Ironically we found our current apartment on ebay from a guy named Juan. Sounds Spanish right? Again, wrong. It's actually spelled Whan and he is from South Korea, but lives in Spain and makes documentaries about Spanish Culture which are aired on tv in Korea. Pretty cool guy. It's more expensive than we wanted to pay, but it's really cool even though it doesn't have an oven and the microwave is broken. We use the stove. Exclusively.

Our first need of course was internet. After copious research I called a "Jazztel" to come install it for us. We then found out that we can't get internet until we have a bank account. We can't get a bank account until we get our NIE number (residency card), and for that we have to wait for the government. It the states you have a some understanding of the hassle of bureaucracy. Come here to get the full picture. Luckily for us we finally found a bank that would allow us to set up an account with only our passport numbers. Yay! Also, the director of our school, Paco, has a friend at the government building that gives out the NIE numbers. He made a call and we skipped the line, getting in and out in 10 min. Most people sit there for at least four hours.

Anyway, Jazztel. I was finally able to contact them, but every time they would call me back to confirm the installation they would just hang up on me. Pinches pendejos! I attribute this to my speaking Mexican in place of Spanish. When I answered the phone they just assumed they had the wrong number and say they would call back later. Finally Katie answered and made the guy promise that he wouldn't hang up on me. He didn't. But they still weren't going to be able to come for at least 2 weeks. No self respecting American 20 something can go without internet for more than about 3 minutes, so we had to find a temporary solution. Luckily that solution was living above us. Our elderly neighbors had wifi becuase their grandson had been living with them until recently (this is normal here), so for 20 euro a month they would give us the password, but only after telling us their life story. This also is not rare. I know from selling roofs to similar folk in Lincoln. They just need someone to talk to! I barely understood most of their story, but Katie was very adept at throwing in some "aye's" and "porque's" and "que triste's". My big mistake was commenting on how lovely the rest of their family seemed judging from the pictures strewn about the place. At this, the woman started crying and told us that two of here sons were dead! One in a scooter accident (this is now completely understandable, they drive like maniacs here) and the other from some disease. The woman was just balling which made her Spanish even less comprehensible than before, but we finally walked out with the password.

Alright. That's all for now. I know you're intrigued, but my ADD prevents me from writing in segments larger than 45 minutes. I will try to post more later this week.

Luke