my first published piece

http://www.educationupdate.com/archives/2005/Dec/html/metro-technologyinele.htm

so this link will connect you to my first published piece of writing. I've always wanted to write something about using technology in the classroom, so here it is: in Education Update. If I feel inspired, perhaps I will write something else.

Anyway, back in NY for 3 days. In many ways it's like I never left. Spending lots of time with Suko, seeing Jay and Kerith, and feeling a bit wound up. Madrid feels like a dream. Today, I completed a scrapbook with all the memoribilia that I took home from europe: concert tickets, maps, ID cards. It felt like writing the conclusion of the chapter.

I am still a bit jettlagged, so I haven't run or done all that much. Tomorrow I'll get off my ass and set some achieveable goals for the next 2 weeks.

thats it for now.

to the south, and then to NY

As the regional train to Grenanda sped through small towns and past kilometers of olive tress, I read my lonely planet guide and figured out that I needed to take the 33 bus to the center of town. When I got off the bus I followed the windy streets toward the hostal and my phone rang with an unidentified number. I plopped down my overstuffed backpack, looked over the sierra nevadas and flipped the phone open. It was a representative from an insurance company! He needed my consent for some insurance transaction that my grandmother is schemeing up. I spoke to him for about 2 minutes, hung up, picked up my bag and then found the hostal. Or did I, I walked in, put down my bag again, and sat down in a chair to check in. “This is the funky hostal” she said, “You’re looking for Oasis, right?” I was, indeed, looking for the Oasis, so she pointed me toward the other side of the town, “I guess they haven’t updated this edition either” she sighed, as she pointed toward my guide book.



I crossed town, stepped in dogshit, but eventually found my way past 10s of Islamic trinket vendors to the Oasis. I checked in with the friendly proprietoy, and after I put my backpack down in the 8 bed bunk room, I went down to the kitchen and made some mint tea and check my email. There were a coupla guys playing mandolin and hand drum. I was anti-social for the first few hours. That night, I went out for Grenada Tapas, which is nice because every time you order a drink, they ask you what you want to eat. In Madrid, sometimes you get some free nuts, but here it’s a bit more generous. I had a ham and cheese crepe, meatballs, croquettes and some jamon. I like food.

Later that night I remembered how funny it is to share a room with 7 others,. You learn little eccentric thoings about people, like the British guy yelling at his mother in his sleep, and the Belguin guy taking 35 minute showers. I slept well, however, and the next day took a long walk through the old city, getting lost in the windy streets of the Islamic quarter and taking a nap at the highpoint of the city that faces Alhambra. Then I woke up and finished reading A Confederacy of Dunces.

(Have you read it? It’s a fantastic comedy but is also filled with many tragic, complicated and annoyingly funny charaters. It’s about a 30 year old overeducated extremely critical oofish feloow who lives with his mother in new orleans . He is convinced that the world is wrong and gets into all sorts of trouble trying to save the world while trying to earn money to pay off a debt that his family owes. He works in a pants factory and as a hot dog vendor. It was written in the 60s by John Kennedy Toole, another tragic figure, who was clearly a brilliant writer. According to the intro written by Walker Percy, Toole killed himself shortly after he wrote this novel and it was rejected by publishers. Interestingl y, Toole’s mother convinced Percy to read the manuscript and it was eventually published in the early 80s and won a prize. I recommend it.)

Anyway, sorry for the tangent, I finished that book, returned to the hostal and met Gunnar, a nice Norwegian fellow who I ended up traveling with to Cordoba 2 days later.

The next day I went to Alhambra a fortress/garden/palace that housed many years of Islamic rulers in souther spain. I went there with Masago, a Finnish/Japanese fellow who spoke Spanish worse than I, (but we spoke it nonetheless) and we walked through the palace and then ate bread, cheese, salami and chocolate on the patio.




That night the hostal hosted a 3 course dinner, and I ate and then drank beer late into the night with a bunch of guys from the hostal. Next morening I woke up with a sore throat and went to Cordoba.

When I got back to Madrid, I went directly to Carolyn’s home and picked up Maria’s guitar (did I mentioan that I wrote 3 songs here in Spain, all in the course of 2 weeks. . . Inspiration struck at one little moment) I hurried over to Maria and Maria’s casa to celelbrate complianos feliz, for little Maria. Maria Jesus cooked amazing leg of lamb with a side dish of couscous and I did my best to try and tell the family (Maria’s mother sister and friend were all there as well) about my trip, but I felt inadequate in my ability to understand and express. They were amazing hosts while in spain. Letting me stay for 3 weeks, and then always providing warm meals and supportive words when I needed them.

Now I’m back in a public transportationless NY. Haven’t had any moments to really reflect on the return from my little 2 2/12 month dream. It’s nice to see family and Suko.

next day in Seville

This morning, I ate churros and chocolate for breakfast. Churros and chocolate is a typical Spanish treat. You get a cup of hot (riding the line between pudding and liquid) chocolate and this greasy fried dough, or donut sticks. You dip the donut into the chocolate, then tip the donut back a little bit so that the chocolate runs down the interior of the donut, then pop it in your mouth. This morntng, I had a fresh fresh fresh churrro that was thick and circular. It was better than the ones that I ate in Madrid. Sadly, I couldn’t savor the yummyness because I had to make the train by 11:30. It was necessary to see the cathedral and the Arenal before I left.

I hurried to the cathedral and, again, it was closed. However, I spotted a fellow walk in one of the side entrances, so I scurried over there, looked both ways, and felt like batman as I jumped through the thick brown mat covering the door on the side entrance. The cathedral was impressive and blah balh blha, here’s a picture. Interestingly, the priests were praying and singing in this old Gregorian style, and the organ played too. IT was nice because there were very few people were there.

Next, I walked across the plaza to the Arenal, a palace/garden/special place that has many layers of significant history. Clearly much of it was constructed during Islamic rule because you could see it in the architecture. I’m sure there’s mountains of history here, but I didn’t have the time to get deeply into it.

Now I’m on the train to Grenada. On Thursday, I will go to Alhambra,an Islamic fortress from the 9th century. People say it’s amazing. I hope it doesn’t rain.

Closed

Seville is another ancient multiculturally signifncant city much farther south, but here I seemed to forget that Sunday is a holy day, and that sights would be closed. So even when the Ponely Planet says “free on Sundays” be sure to get out early. After a morning of 1, unsuccessfully searching out wifi hotspots, so I could check email and post the Toledo blog entry, 2, unsuccessfully looking for a gym, so I could shake that body, and 3 successfully stumbling accross an art sale outside the museo de belles artes, I met Jereon at 2:30 at the plaza San Pedro. We walked past the nativity scene market to the cathedral, which is “free on Sundays” but also closes early during the holiday season. Oh well, and guess what, it’s always closed on Mondays!

Alcazar, same thing.
Finally we walked through the tropical parque de Luisa Sofia toward the Plaza de Espana, which is magnificent indeed. The shadows we large and crisp, so I bought some corn nuts, and we took photographs for an hour.





By that time, I was tired, so we walked back to the movie theatre to see what was playing. When you come to spain and want to see a movie in English, look for the letters VOSE (which stands for voice original subtitle espanol). Those letters were not on the poster for la vida secreta de las palabras “the secret life of words.” Not a good movie to see in a foreign language that you don’t speak or understand fluently. It’s all dialogue and takes place almost entirely on a platform in the middle of the ocean. However, it’s always good to practice listening, (and get in a little nap too!).

Now we were hungry, and we wanted to try the Restaurant Enrique . . . . because lonely planet described it as hearty traditional andelucian and advised trying the lamb stuffed with cheese and pine nuts with honey sauce. However when we got there. . . . closed! My day was like an old commercial for ATT with the tag line, “you should have called first”. Little do they know that one of the most difficult things to do in a foreign language is talk on the phone!

We found an irish pub, ordered hamburgers and coca cola (diet in my case), and stared at the projection TV as Barcelona’s star right forward, Ronaldino, singlehandedly beat the entire team Sevillian futbol team.

I was tired, came back to the quaint, and a little dirty, Hostal Zahrina, and went to bed.

Stuck in Toledo, lose a turn

In the board game Monopoly, the worst card to pick reads, “go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200.” In the MAD board game (Alfred E Newman) the equivalent states, “you’re stuck in a bus station in Toledo Ohio, lose one turn.” Since my early experiences playing that game, Toledo has always seemed to be the butt of some joke. However, if you come to Spain, you learn that Toledo is also the name of a historically significant medieval city! Everyone MUST go!

On Thursday, immaculate conception day (no school), at 11:00, I met Landon and Ingeborg at the Atocha station, with the intention to spend the day in Toledo. We originally thought we would take the bus, because it costs 4 euros less than a train, but we had all been out late the night before, we were already at the train station, and we agreed that a train ride would be easier on our slightly “less than settled” stomachs. There was a 12:20 train. We stood in the long queue to buy train tickets, but alas, when we got to the counter, we noticed the sign flashing “completo” aka sold out. We could have bought tickets for the 1:30, but that just seemed too late, so we decided to go to the bus station. We headed for the subway.

20 minutes later we arrived and faced an even longer queue. However, when we asked at the information booth, the fellow directed us to the short line, and we quickly bought tickets for the 1:00 bus, hopped on and settled in for the ride. About half way through, Inge asked if she could go to the front. . . she wasn’t feeling well. She went. As we pulled into the bus station, Inge leapt from the bus. As Landon and I stepped off, poor Inge was stooped over, losing her lunch in the next bus berth. Welcome to the Toledo bus station!

After 15 minutes and 2 litres of cold water, Inge felt better, but expressed concern about returning to Madrid by bus. We decided to find the train station immediately and buy return tickets to Madrid. So instead of heading into the city centre, we walked around the city wall, over the Rio Tajo, to find the train station. Though it was a beautiful station filled with Islamic arches, again, after waiting in line, the flashing sign for the 3 trains in the early evening read again “completo.” OY, after all that walking and waiting, we would still have to take the bus home!

We walked back over the Rio Tajo and around the city wall again, and back to the bus station. Finally we secured tickets for the 6:30 bus, and we all said a little prayer for Inge.

Now it was 2:30. We hiked up the side of the city (it’s very hilly) and wound our way through the curvy streets to the cathedral, and what do ya know? another long line to buy tickets! However, we soon discovered that you could skip the line and go to a little holding pen where tourists who are too cheap to pay can look for free. I would have paid, but I didn’t want to wait in another line. Then we walked around the pheriphery of the catherdral which is massive and amazing and all sorts of other descriptive adjectives,



and then headed toward the Jewish quarter. Toledo is notable because of it’s importance in the Iberian penisula. First it was a roman city, then an Islamic city, then a Christian city, but there was a time, just before the inquisition, in the15th century when all different religions flourished and lived and studied together harmoniously. Oh joyous diversity!

Anyway, It was about 4:00, and Inge wanted some food so we stopped before we hit the Jewish quarter and we went to lunch. Landon and I split warm pisto (which is ground peppers, onions and tomatoes) and the typical tortilla Espanola. Inge had the congejo, (rabbit that Carolyn meant to order the other night!) they charged extra for bread.

It was 5:00, we had 1 1/2 hours left. We headed past the numerous sword dealers and dulce peddlers, into the narrow crowded streets of the Jewish quarter. We followed the signs to the 2 remaining synagogues, and stopped at the one that the lonely planet claims “should not be missed.” Honestly, I didn’t agree. Sure there was some Hebrew lettering and a few interesting windows, but mostly it’s a museum that tells the story of the sefardic Jews ancient history in Spain. I was talking with my intercambio friend Paco who explained to me that when Spanish people think of jews, they think of them as ancienct biblical people that lived long ago, not a current culture that thrives in other parts of the world. This museum certainly seemed to jibe with his observation. It was all ancient history. Supposedly, the other synangogue is not a museum, I didn’t get too see it though.





So it was approaching 6, and we needed to be back at the bus station before 6:30. On the way to the city gates, we passed San Juan de los Reyes, a franciscian monastery and church that looked massive and interesting from the outside. . . however it was closing, and even though we tried walking in through the exit, they wouldn’t let us in.

We hurried back to the bus station and found our seats just in time. Inge sat in the front, and we all arrived back in Madrid, safely, without sickness, at 7:30. I met Maria Jesus and Maria for dinner at 9:30 on the calle Cava Baja, a curvy little street in la Latina, filled with yummy restaurants. We had couscous, seared tuna over apple sauce and chicken racions with caramelized onions and corn mousse. Very nice. Then we walked toward the Palacio Real and they took me to the orient café for a coffee and dessert.

I was home by midnight, and I started packing.

Carolyn!

Carolyn is a rock in Madrid, she speaks like a native, (and will quickly and proudly tell you that people mistake her for a Spaniard all the time) lives centrally in Malasana, and knows where to find the best churros and chocolate in town. And oh, how she’s helped me! Carolyn was the person who pushed me to start a reflection journal and reminded me to associate learned words with stories. Carolyn taught me the word for meatballs and women’s underwear (albondigas and bragas) and she has told me all her thoughts about her new boy, and I’ve told her about my thoughts about relationships back home. She lives with a bunch of folks, and she yells at them to clean up. She has her own bathroom in her apartment, but oddly, though it does have a bidet and a shower, it doesn’t have a toilet.

Last night we went to a chinese food restaurant, and she ordered crab (congrejo) instead of rabbit (conejo). . . oh well, we're not all perfect all the time.