2010

Big overarching entries are difficult to do, but some kind of year-in-review entry is in order in this thing, I think. I was contemplating doing this in the style of 12 Days of Christmas, but that's a lot of counting.

2010 started in Sevilla with the family during their Christmas trip last year to Andalucía. Highlights included wondering when exactly we start shoving 12 grapes in our mouths and the family´s sudden realization that grapes are not seedless.

My dad using his windbreaker's pockets well.

After the trip I returned to the daily grind in Málaga at the high school I was working at. I was having small conversation groups with the students who were going to take the Trinity exam, an international English test. Thankfully they all passed, as we spent a lot of time in those little rooms.

Around February, the traveling momentum picked up. In Semana Blanca, which is not a celebration of all things white, rather a week that Málaga province gets off in late February/early March to make up for the fact that our feria falls in August. In the past, this was the week that kids went skiing in the Sierra Nevada, but now just makes it seem like our province is lazier and racistier than other ones. Not true, we are equally as lazy and racist as others. Anywho, during Semana Blanca a group of us Americans ventured to AFRICA! Well, Morocco. Saying that a visit to Morocco is a visit to Africa is the Spanish equivalent of saying a visit to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico is a visit to Latin America. It's technically true, but doesn't feel that way. Our trip included me throwing up on the boat over, narrowly getting off the train in Marrakesh due to my shitty French, marveling at the markets in Marrakesh, a desert trip on a minibus through the Atlas mountains and later on camel out to a camp in the desert, a 14-hour highly educational return trip in which Eric nearly killed all in the back seat of the minibus, and similar shenanigans. It was awesome and highly photogenic.

Ait-Benhaddob oasis, Atlas mountains.

Rock the Casbah, Marrakesh.

Camel riding in the west Moroccan desert.

Semana Santa involved a similar trip with a similar group of kiddos to Portugal and has the distinction of being one of the funnest trips I have been on to date. We rented 2 cars in Málaga and cut across southern Spain and Portugal until arriving in Sagres, which is the name of one of my favorite beers and also, less importantly, the end of Europe and the closest you can get to the Americas on the continent. After an awesome beach day there we swung up to Lisbon and Sintra for a few days and then cut down back to Málaga through Évora, Mérida, and Sevilla. The trip highlighted the ease with which you could die when an Australian is driving, the awesomeness of beach soccer at the end of the world, and that a little fog and mist could mean you have a medieval Portuguese castle all to yourself.

Sagres, Portugal.

Albufeira, Portugal. We saw this in a magazine in
Faro and realized it was 20 minutes away.

Sintra castle, outside of Lisbon, was ours.

In April Joseca became an important person in my life and, as one of my 5 loyal readers, is getting a shout out. :)

Looking pensive in Istanbul.

In May, as my year in Málaga at the highschool finished, I went to Paris with a friend of mine from college for 5 days. It was an awesome trip and I got to spend some intense sight-seeing time there, as the first time I was in Paris it was a whirlwind 2 days.

Atop the Eiffel tower, it was a sweaty climb.

In June I tearfully left Málaga to go to Istanbul, Turkey, where I was a live-in English teacher to two adorable little girls, Mina and Melda, for 2 months. Turkey is an incredibly beautiful country. It is both extremely modern in Istanbul, think New York, yet can be very antiquated in the countryside. The family was wonderful and it was a great experience seeing the city and the south of the country during vacation, but was a little lonely, as you know my Turkish isn't flawless (haha) and I didn't make friends. For the summer, it was ideal, however.

Blue Mosque, Istanbul.

Boating in Southern Turkey.

Bodrum, Turkey.

Mina, 6, and Melda, 3. SO CUTE!

In August I went home for 6 weeks in Florida. It was great to catch up with the parents. We made a quick trip out to Colorado and New Mexico, where my parents are from, and then headed back to Málaga. This year I am working in an elementary school, which I love. Overall, 2010 was a great year. Try to top that, 2011!

Home base!

Stardate: Málaga, 4:30 a.m. 23 December 2010

Went out for Chinese and beer with Joseca and logged a 1.5 hour visit to slumberland. Caught taxi to the Málaga airport. Note that flying out of Málaga is 49023 better than flying out of Madrid. Taxi driver from Sao Paolo. 20-odd years in Málaga. No traffic. Had exact change for the driver. Upon arrival at the airport Northern European couple still dressed up as Mr. and Mrs. Claus who clearly just came straight from a party spotted. Feel good about the fact that I will not be flying hungover. Planes forecasted to be on time. Bag was exactly 23 kilos. Starbucks on the horizon. All things go.


Stardate: Málaga, 6:30 a.m. 23 December 2010

Starbucks in Málaga located inside the terminal closed for repairs. Situation adapted to by getting an americano and an apple from other café. Feel mature for not throwing a temper tantrum for not being able to get a delicious coffee of the week and hot croissant. Wonder what kind of gene Americans have been implanted with that makes Starbucks exhibit similar addictive behaviors to crack cocaine. Ipod fully charged, movies and series downloaded. Impressed at Iberia employees English during safety demonstration. Plane takes off over the Mediterranean.



Stardate: Madrid, 9:30 a.m. 23 December 2010

Starbucks and croissant acquired during 3-hour layover in Madrid. Shopping perused. Mild headache sets in. Woman at information desk grimaced when I ask if there is a pharmacy or any place that sells ibuprofen. Wonder at her purpose in life since she works at the information desk and is not inclined to provide information. Quickly spot 3 other American girls that, are with 89 percent certainty, are auxiliares de conversación. Cultural invasion. Watch a few episodes of Community. Read grammar book. Board plane and sit in the back, window seat. Only spot on the aircraft that doesn´t smell like the toilet. Score. Seat back and tray table upright and locked. Blanket and luggage in place. Window shade up. Take off.


Stardate: Somewhere over the North Atlantic Ocean, near 1:00 p.m. Spanish time. 23 December 2010

Immediately fell into slumberland upon take off. Woke up in time for dining service. Lunch is pasta with a red bell pepper sauce that was ridiculously good for airplane food. Cup of coffee number 3 drank. Get up for restroom break number 1. Man next to me has every kind of consumer electronic device known to man.


Stardate: Approaching Eastern coast of the Americas, near 4:00 p.m. Spanish time. 23 December 2010

Estimated flight time 9.5 hours. After emerging from slumber in which neck was twisted in swan-like manner, turn on computer to start watching movies. Note that only 5 hours have passed and start to feel desperate. Relax by watching series until battery runs out. Ipod on. Napping again.


Stardate: Approaching Eastern coast of the Americas, near 6:30 p.m. Spanish time. 23 December 2010.

Coffee number 4 drank. Wonder why Señor FNAC next to me has not risen to utilize the restrooms in the whole flight. Contemplate resisting urge to use restroom until landing to not inconvenience him, then contemplate the idea of going through US customs with a full bladder. Ask Señor FNAC to let me out of my nook to go. When seated again, contemplate the idea that he may be a world record holder for the greatest ratio of cups to coffee served to trips to the bathroom on a transatlantic flight. Contemplate asking for autograph.


Stardate: Flying down Eastern coast of the Americas, near 8:00 p.m. Spanish time. 23 December 2010

Panic sets in. Time to get OFF the plane. Oh hey! They´re serving pizza! Coffee number 5.


Stardate: Miami, 3:30 p.m. Eastern Standard time. 23 December 2010

Landed in Miami. Hypothesize that if Crayola made a salmon-colored crayon, an apt name would be "Miami Pink." Passport and resident card reexamined, luggage rechecked, security repassed, Claire re-cansada. Find out that US phone still has 25 percent battery. Make mental note to stop turning around and staring when American English is overheard.


Stardate: Miami , 6:30 p.m. Eastern Standard time. 23 December 2010

Board regional jet for Jacksonville half hour late. Thankful that flight was routed through Madrid and Miami and not through northern Europe, where surely it would be half a week late. Sit next to a scruffy looking surf guy on return from Caribbean. Has fantastic tan but smells. Reconsider his income level when iPad is busted out. Struck with iEnvy. So tired that slumber was achieved whilst landing.


Stardate: Jacksonville, 8:00 p.m. Eastern Standard time. 23 December 2010

I SAW MY MOM AND DAD MY MOM AND DAD! YAYAYAY! Bag arrived. 1.5-hour car ride to Gainesville commenced. Taco Bell patronized.


Stardate: Gainesville, 9:30 p.m. Eastern Standard time. 23 December 2010

Arrive home! Christmas decorations up. Bath taken to de-swan neck. Consider taking up yoga. Beer drank. Reconsider taking up yoga. Pajamas donned. Fell asleep on couch until brother arrives at 11:00 from Pittsburgh.

Stardate: Gainesville , 11:30 p.m. Eastern Standard time. 23 December 2010

Hay is hit. All is right in the world.

Winter, water, and wine

Winter has hit Málaga like a ton of bricks. And this year, like last year, it has been raining. A lot.

The rain has a habit of wrecking everything. When you go everywhere on foot, bus, or motorcycle, rain means you stay home. With the heater on. And pajamas. Watching the Office.

But to compensate for chilly weather, Málaga puts up Christmas lights.

Lots.
Of.
Beautiful.
Lights.

Calle Larios at night.

Plaza de la Constitución.

Pointsettas, Plaza de la Constitución.

That orange was moments earlier used as a soccer ball.

Another great thing about Christmas time: the scent of roasting chestnuts. I don't have a photo of this, because it's a scent. And also because I have not taken a photo of the chestnutman (note for non-native speakers: chestnutman not a real word. The correct term for this person is "vendor of happiness and provider of warm hands.")

Yet another great thing about Christmas: the fact that any present I buy here for the family is automatically cooler and more thoughtful because I brought it from Spain. I'm going to take a leap of faith and guess that my parents do not read my blog, based on the fact that my mom asked me what, exactly, a blog was when I emailed them a link. Therefore, I can post what I got them.

Mom and dad, if you see this, this is not your gift.
It's a stand-in gift. I got you both ponies.

I got them two bottles of good wine here that were fairly pricey. Living in a wine-producing country has benefits. If I spend 2.50 euros or up on a bottle of wine in the Mercadona (the grocery store which single-handedly nourishes me), it better be a gift, a birthday, or payday. To ascertain the true value of these bottles of wine, I used the following formula.

I define the following variables:

TWV = true wine value
COW = cost of these bottles of wine
PA = price adjustment for being bought at Hipercor, figured at 0.85, as it should cost that much.
CFDTF = coolness factor due to foreignness (calculated at 1.5)

TWV =(COW*PA) CFDTF

Solving for TWV, that wine is approximately 15 times better than the wine I normally get, and nearly 21,321 better than the imported wine we get from Spain in the States, give or take.

I'm usually pretty bad at gift giving (Bath and Bodyworks, anyone?) but this year I put a lot more thought into it, and this year I'm much more excited about giving people their gifts than receiving them. Seeing their faces, hopefully making my mother tear up, as I have another gift for her that is awesome. (Won't put on here on the off chance she is internet stalking me.)

Thursday I head back to the US and A to spend the holidays there. My parents, my brother, perhaps the baby of my dad's post-doc student will be born, Mexican food. So much to look forward to.

"Muy, muy mal hecho": Part one in an occasional series of observations on Spanish public schools

Let's go back in time for a moment to an internet sensation I'm sure we all remember. Circa 2003-2004 a disgruntled computer programmer from the Midwest named Maddox created a very simple website in which he vented his frustrations at the world and proclaimed his manliness to all of internetdom. One of his principle schticks was making fun of children's artwork. Apparently this has spawned its own website. 

For example, on this piece of art, drawn by John, age 8, Maddox wrote: "Ding Ding! Here comes the shit-mobile. I've never seen a fire truck that needed to be shaved. I would rather be burned to death than be saved by this hairy piece of shit."
 

Maddox gave it an F.

Now, I think he had some sort of point. It's a very American thing to coddle your kids and to think that everything they do is absolutely incredible and proof of their genius. The self-esteem philosophy that schools, councilors, daycares, and any table of mothers at a Starbucks espouse states clearly that you cannot, under penalty of your kid feeling like a failure and dropping out of school and ending up as an addict on the streets, criticize their work.

There is a limit. Not everything your kid does is exceptional. You may think it's awesome that they drew a firetruck, so creative, but statistically little John (no relation to L'il Jon) up there is not going to grow up to be the next Picasso. Praising everything a child does condones the idea that they always do incredible things. It breeds mediocrity, and future Arizona State Sun Devils.

But it's understandable that a child does not really have the motor skills to color masterpieces. Or to write perfect cursive. Or to cut a razor sharp line with a pair of safety scissors. Therefore, understandably, most people's reactions to Maddox's website are negative. Why would you make fun of a kid like that? Who would do such a thing?

Who would do such a  thing? The entire staff of the Spanish public school system would. No problem whatsoever in absolutely reaming these kids. Seriously, none.

"Está muy mal hecho! Muy mal! Quién eligiría este color?"
"Has saltado la linea! No se colorea así. Hazlo otra vez!"
"Eso qué es? Ni puedo leerlo. Ni una palabra. Escríbelo bien, anda."

(In front of the whole class, holding up the offending document for all to see, look of desperation.) "Mira lo que ha hecho Javi. Mira. Se colorea así? No. Para nada. Lo ha hecho muy, muy mal."

The kids, however, seem to be totally fine with it. Nobody cries. Nobody tells their mom that the teacher hates their drawing of their dog. They stare earnestly at the teacher for a while and then erase it and do it again, while I pick my jaw up off the floor and think about how many parent-teacher conferences would be required if that were to happen in the US.

For me, I find it hard to yell at them. Twelve years of self-esteem focused public school will do that to ya. Plus the kids are adorable. So cute. And they say funny things. And they think I'm cool (I hope). Thus, I have a hard time getting mad at them when they misbehave. It's like yelling at a room full of puppies. Loud, messy, hysterical puppies.

So last week, in a class of second graders, we were working on some form of coloring/writing worksheet when one of the kids was just scribbling all over the page. This kid, and there are a few in every class, just screws around the whole time. So I, annoyed, grabbed his page and started to yell.

"Eso es lo que he explicado? No. Yo pensaba que ésta es una clase de segundo. Estoy en infantíl? Me he equivocado?"

Suddenly, I realized what I did. I just called this kid out. I gave him back his paper and have spent the last week praising things he does right. Oops. Probably should find the balance between the two extremes. Don´t praise everything, but certainly don´t put on my seño face and scream away. So this entry is for you, Pablo from 2ºA. Color away.

Sí Sí Madriiiid

Spain had a few days of holiday last week (I know, I know, so unlike them), which, due to the fact that I have a 3-day workweek, meant that I had 11 days off in the beginning of December. (Everyone now interested in applying for the grant can do so here.)

I went up to Madrid for a few days to see my friend Jackie, who taught here in Málaga province last year. The city was all dressed up for the holidays.

City dressed up, not us. I take no responsibility for
the actions of my new bangs.

We also went to the San Miguel mercado, an indoor market where they have some really good food. We edged close to an oyster stand, glasses of wine firmly in hand, and peeked at the rocky shells in the window.

"I've never had oysters."
 "Me neither."
"I saw it on the TV once, you have to like, slurp it down. Like tequila. Slurp it or cut it up, I don't remember which. I think it was on No Reservations. He was in France or something. Maybe Thailand actually."
"Well that guy isn´t slurping. I think he's doing it wrong."
"Does he have a knife? Do they give you a fork and knife? Maybe it wasn't oysters, maybe it was something else I saw on TV."
"Totally has a knife."
"Should we try them?"
"They're not too expensive. You wanna do it?"
"I will if you will."
"Ok, let's do it."

At this point I noticed that two of the varieties on offer were Fine Claire and Especial Claire, obviously divine intervention (and a photo op!). So we saddled up and ordered two medium oysters. The portly man behind the desk whipped out a hack saw and pecked two of the shells open, put them on an oh-so-classy plastic plate, and slid them our way.

"Aren't these supposed to come with lemon?"
"Those people have sauce, do we get sauce? That looks kinda like a chimichurri."
"It's Madrid, that probably costs extra. I'm not getting it."
"That guy is not slurping. He's chopping his up."
"Totally wrong dude, I'm pretty sure this was on Bourdain, you slurp."
"Should we ask?"
"Definitely no."
"Well he gave us forks. Let's just chop it and if it doesn't work then just slurp it."

Plastic fork and knife in hand, we went at the thing, which resembled a tongue on a rock. I think the guy behind the counter was staring at this point.

"Are these still alive? Mine just moved."
"Mine RECOILED. These are still very much alive. Chop! Chop!"

The first bit tasted like eating the sea. Very salty, like mussels but with no lemon or bay leaf or steam or anything. Just concentrated, distilled ocean. Jackie, who is not a big fan of seafood, promptly checked it off her list-o-stuff-to-do and got back to the vino.

"That...was slimy. I'm going to slurp the rest."

One big chug of wine later, we each finished the oyster. For me it wasn't too bad, because I love seafood, but not something I would go out of my way to get. More importantly, however, I now have eaten one more species of animal, which I think moves me up a slot on the food chain.

Sea-flavored tongues.

Apart from Christmas markets, we had a daily visit to Starbucks. Yes. I went. There are no Starbucks yet in Málaga, and it is caramel hot chocolate season. Not to be missed. My old man bar does not have fleur de sel hot chocolate. Cultural immersion can really only go so far.

And we took a day trip to Segovia, famous for the Roman aqueduct, a smattering of really old cathedrals, and the castle that Walt Disney copied.

Roman aqueduct in Segovia, circa 1st century. It has no cement or binding
between the rocks. They cut the rocks that well. Sure don't build stuff like they used to.

View of the back of the Alcázar of Segovia.

Crazy what you can do with silhouette and iron work on a cloudy day.

 After a day of walking around, we were struck by a severe case of monument fever (see also: Louvre face, Rome syndrome). This is the characteristic illness that befalls tourists visiting really old important cities, usually in Western Europe.  There is a limit on the number of really old religious and arty things that you can see in a day before your brain starts to resemble that oyster we downed back in Madrid.

Nothing better to shake that feeling than some really loud indie rock music!

Fast forward to Saturday. We saw Lori Meyers, a group from Granada, Spain.

Lori Meyers!

This was the second time I've seen them. They played last year in Málaga for free at a festival. The stage was at the foot of Málaga's castle (much more impressive than Segovia's, in my opinion) and the audience extended up a grassy hill and into a rose garden. The crowd was fairly big, and people were pretty into it. It was good.

In Madrid, the concert was just like that one in Málaga. Except it was in a club that resembled an airplane hanger, there were about 3 times the number of people, there was a bar, and everyone paid lots to get in there. This crowd, they were into it.

What you can't see/hear/smell is the other
1,432,543,984 people behind me enjoying the show.

It was one of the best shows I've seen in a while and if you are interested in some rock en español I suggest you check them out.

Now I'm back to the daily grind.Yep, workin' away. At the old salt mines. Oh, and by daily grind I mean singing jingle bells and tying shoe laces. Then on the 23rd I head back to the States for Christmas with the family.

Finally, a bit of vacation time!

Makes the heart grow fonder

Any time American auxiliares here in Spain gather in groups of 3 or more, there are a few inevitable topics of conversation:

Cultural Ambassador: totally going on my resume.

•  The Spanish education system in general, more specifically, funny/ridiculous things that happened in their schools that week.

• Where to find cheap beers, mojitos, free tapas that come with beers, beers on discount on Wednesdays, beers that come with free shots, etc.

Never before have I cared so much about saving 10 cents on 20 cL of beer.

However, I would have to guess that the number one topic of conversation, at least in my "I should probably be tipping the scales at 200 pounds based on how much I eat" opinion, would be:

• Foods that we miss from home.

Our mom´s food, our grandmother´s special whatever dish that she makes on your birthday, Chipotle, ranch dressing, tacos, peanut butter, macaroni and cheese, breakfast burritos, pad thai, the option to add bacon to most items on the menu, cheddar cheese, barbecue ribs, etc. etc. etc.

They say that the last place to look for an immigrant´s assimilation into society is in the kitchen cupboard. Food from home is much more than just food, it´s a way to keep your family close at hand. Being gone makes the heart grow fonder of things from home, and I start to crave things that I never gave much thought to before. I figure that it´s not so much that I have an urgent need for ranch dressing, but rather a need for something familiar, something from the family, and cooking things from home




This week in particular has been dedicated to eating. There was Thanksgiving dinner, which like last year included me stuffing a turkey of this size...

Photo shamelessly stolen from friend Sarah´s incredible blog loveandpaella.com.

into an oven of this size...

That´s it on the right.

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays because it´s all about eating, friends, family, and falling asleep absolutely stuffed. Celebrating Thanksgiving out of the country seems even more special to me because it´s a chance to make and share what my family has for Thanksgiving. I love to cook Thanksgiving dinner because after 20 years of watching my mom make the dinner, including 20 years of instruction of how to make the gravy (seriously, it´s probably the easiest part of the dinner, no special instruction required mom), I can recreate it and share it with other people. Doing that makes me feel like I´m at home with my family, instead of far away, attempting to defy the laws of physics by cooking a 5-kilo bird in our glorified toaster. Thanksgiving is absolutely when I miss my family the most, but cooking dinner makes me feel like I´m at home.


Along similar lines, this week I went to a party thrown by wonderful friends Jiri and Katerina. They are from the Czech republic, and Kat made a dinner of smazeny syr, or fried cheese eaten with cranberry jam, and gulasch, a meat stew served over dumplings. It was incredible, and moved the Czech Republic up about 5 slots on my list of places to visit this year.


To round out this week of eating, last night I made New Mexican enchiladas. New Mexican enchiladas, which my dad has founded a religion upon, are made from red chile sauce

Made from NM red chile powder, mailed to me by my dad.

corn tortillas, and cheese. You put a corn tortilla, chile, cheese, corn tortilla, chile, cheese... until you have a stack, kind of like pancakes. True heroes then add a fried egg on top. The result is both delicious and exxxxxxtra spicy. Joseca, who dared to try it, was a champion and ate the entire enchilada, a feat rarely accomplished by non-New Mexicans. Impressive.

Thanksgiving, smazeny syr, NM enchiladas, this week was a week of food and, by extension, of family.

The cutest thing I´ve seen in a while

A week or two ago I won tickets to a concert in a concert series called "El duende del Albéniz" (roughly meaning magic in the Albéniz, which is a theater in Málaga). It´s a series of concerts that mix flamenco and jazz.

Cine Albéniz, Málaga.

The first show I went to was with Jose Carlos, who also happened to win 2 tickets. It was Arcángel, a flamenco cantaor from Huelva, singing and Miguel Ángel Cortés on guitar. It was breathtaking, one of the best pure flamenco music performances I´ve seen in a long time. If you´re interested in flamenco music check them out.

Arcángel.

The concert I went to tonight with Laura was Tomasito and his group, and was much more rock/blues influenced with a backbone of flamenco. He and his band were jumping and playing and tocando palmas (clapping out flamenco rhythm) and drinking beer and shouting and dancing and he wore bright green flamenco boots and a red scarf and was running up and down the aisle. By the end the audience was pulsing with the beat.

Tomasito, a flamenco version of Mick Jagger.

Towards the end of the show, as Laura and I moved our way up from our original seats in the back towards the front, I looked to my left at the couple sitting next to us. The old lady and the old man were singing along to every song and tocando palmas in perfect contratiempo (one person claps on beat, the other on the off beat) with one another.

It was absolutely adorable.

Giving this a whirl

Hello, my name is Claire, and I have a bad memory.

There, I said it. But when I say bad memory, I mean like, horrible.

Car keys, birthdays, where I left my hairbrush (hint: it´s usually in the kitchen where I leave it when I make coffee), turning electronics off, phone numbers, things I need to get at the grocery store, important tidbits of conversation, for Christ´s sake people´s names. It gets embarrassing, people think I´m mean or slow, I´m actually just really forgetful.

Thus, my reason for attempting this new blogging thing. The truth is I like blogs, other people´s blogs. They are interesting, they provide witty commentary and observations, and, perhaps most of all, the people who create them are not going to be 90 years old and have no idea what they did when they were in their 20´s.

(I´m in a rocking chair. I´m watching Matlock. I´m wondering what the hell I did when I was in my 20´s. My grandkids are not interested because I have no photos to show them of when I was young and did cool things. Not what I want.)

So I am going to make a very valiant effort to keep a blog, keep it updated, keep it orderly, and add some photos.

What I cannot do is go back and make a million entries for the things I´ve already done. This is, due to circumstances, going to be mostly a travel blog. Those circumstances being that I currently live in Málaga, Spain, in my second year of a teaching English abroad gig I got out of college. So I´ll boil it down and recap the past few years.

I was born in New Hampshire, moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico, moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, spent 6 months on sabbatical in Melbourne, Australia, went back to Pittsburgh and finished high school, moved to Tucson for University, studied journalism and Latin American studies, my parents moved to Gainesville, Florida, and when I graduated I had a job teaching English as an auxiliar de conversación (more on my "job" later...) and am entering my second year here in Málaga, in Andalucía. This summer I was in Istanbul, Turkey, as an English teacher for a family there, and next year, hmmm. Not quite there yet.

I like traveling, cooking and eating good food and then having someone else wash the dishes, playing soccer, and reading. I am learning Spanish and French, have been taking flamenco dance lessons for a few years, and work in an elementary school in Benalmádena Pueblo. That, and I am now a blogger.

So this entry, my first entry in my blog, I dedicate to you, 90-year-old Claire. I hope you remember the good times.

Morocco, 2010. This was one of those good times you ought to remember