AULA Day Four: Mucho Mejor

In the first five minutes of today’s fair I got a serious grad inquiry. Yee-haw. The rest of the day was steady, though there were not nearly as many people overall (gracias a Dios). “They” were right. Now that it is Saturday, the serious students have shown up, many with their parents. One in fact is a return from yesterday, this time bringing Dad to have a talk with me. I wow him pretty good. If this girl is not enrolled at my school Fall of 2006, I will publicly flagellate myself in the middle of Main Street.

After the fair I try for my mini-bar refills again. I take the Metro from the convention center to the next stop towards town. Here is where I was instructed there was the biggest super-market to be found, La Gran Via. I have one small victory to report. I found the mini-Kit-Kat, and yes, a bought a bag of them just to get one to put in the mini-bar. I could not leave empty handed. My eye was also drawn by some Guinness and potato chips. I shall now enjoy them and watch True Lies en espanol (I can never get the damn ~ to work over an “n”).

By the way: that reminds me, one of the reasons Spain is behind in English is that it has a very robust and protected dubbing industry. Nothing on TV, other that live international news (BBC, CNN, FOX) is in English. No chance to learn, or supplement learning, through subtitles.

AULA Day Three: 11-M

High schoolers once again. When will it end? When do the college students arrive? There is always hope for the weekend.


Cinco Minutos

The one outstanding feature of the day was the five minutes of silence for the victims of the terrorist bombing of the trains in Madrid one year ago today. Where we call our terrorist disaster 9-11, they call theirs 11-M (which sounds better in Spanish). I’m happy to say, the kids actually stopped smoking, shut up, and observed it respectfully. Rachael, an English girl at another neighboring booth, was here last year when the bombings occurred. She tells me they actually used one of the neighboring pavilions in the convention center to house and identify the bodies. And AULA WENT ON. More proof that this event is inhuman. Sheesh. Also, I did not realize until today that a station I used to go to Seville is the one that was heavily bombed. Mumbai, Beirut, and Madrid in one trip – it is officially a hat-trick.

And now for something completely different:
After the fair I took another trip downtown on the hotel shuttle. The reason being, I was in search of items with which to refill my mini-bar (no alcohol, just Coke, water, and snacks). I get these occasional bouts of uber-tightness from my mother. And, I just can’t stand getting screwed.

So, getting off the bus, I’m looking at the clock on my cell-phone, to see if I might actually have time to quickly hop into the Metro station where there are shops, buy my items, and then hop on the same bus back to the hotel after it circles around. Absorbed in my scheme as I am, looking at my phone, I walk into what I think is the Metro entrance, but is actually a very firm pane of glass. Ouch. I recover quickly enough that only a few amused Spaniards inside have a chance to get a look at the moron. I walk briskly on down the sidewalk. No way I’m going back in that entrance.

I’m ok, but my pride is wounded. I walk into a store on the street. None of my items. I buy a Twix to make myself feel better. Then I enter the Metro station by another entrance. No one snickers, but I can feel them looking, I just know it. I look in several more stores and vending machines. No luck. I do find a book in English. I go back up to the street for some walkabout. Several more stores, no items. Or, items, but the wrong size. No Mini-Kit-Kat? What? I’m now convinced there exists a store where hotels buy items for mini-bars that one can find nowhere else.

Humiliated and defeated, I’m in a very anti-social mood. I need some comfort. I see Burger King. I don’t even go inside. I go to the walk-up window. I return to the Metro area, eating as I go, to get a cab back to the hotel. I may be crushed and demoralized, but my stomach is full.

AULA Day Two: Senor de Los Anillos

Hordes of high schoolers. I am Frodo, trapped in Mordor by swarms of hideous Orcs (but even the Ors were able to communicate in the common tongue), and I have no Sam as boon companion. The loitering and smoking at the snack stand (Mt Doom) has already begun. Mordor is the size of an airbus hangar, yet there is already a visible miasma of smoke. The slopes of the mountain are strewn with the litter of Orc meals. Next to me the juggler (Nazgul) continues to draw in students to the British Council booth (Sauran’s Tower).


Mt. Doom and environs

Actually, by the end, this day turned out to be much better for student interest. I got some very good hits. Now I just have to reel them in. Maybe these kids actually signed up for busses, rather than being herded onto them. They smoke more though, and that is muy mal. I also met a woman working in the commercial sector of the US embassy. She has agreed to help me plan trips in the future. Hell, she had no choice, I’m the only American here.


Sauron's Tower

After a short return to the hotel I take a shuttle into town. Finally, the real Madrid! I navigate the Metro to La Latina stop, where I meet Celene (French girl from neighboring booth) and a friend for a couple of drinks at a neighborhood cerveceria. The fun does not last long, as I must catch the return shuttle to the hotel and get some sleep before another long day. I doubt I’ll participate on this visit in any of the famous Madrileno all-night partying. Alas…

AULA: Spanish for hell.

I must be in hell, because:

1) This is a 5 day, 9 hours per day, event. I am at my booth alone. This is still day one.

2) Day one has mostly been a parade of annoying high schoolers, most not at all interested in what they are seeing here, because they were all bussed in by their escuela. They are just collecting brochures and checking each other out. I’ve been promised the serious grad students come later in the week.

3) A large proportion of these high school students smoke, with no concern to being indoors, around grown-ups, whatever. Probably because the grown-ups are just as into it. They all do this as they walk around, looking at different booths, ashing wherever, stubbing wherever, but they especially do it as they take breaks near the refreshment and snack carts. Wanna guess where one is? Yeah, next to my booth.

4) An incredibly small proportion of these students (almost nil) speak English. I just read that the Spanish are behind only the Italians in this aspect (the Arkansas and South Carolina of Europe, I suppose). Now, I speak enough Spanish to communicate anyways (I managed to argue with, and cuss out a cabbie this morning), but they can’t go to my university if they don’t speak any English, which makes me wonder why the hell I’m even here (no other US schools are). But what about my university's English as a Second Language (ESL) program, you ask? That brings me to…

5) The British Council. This Brit gov’t organization promotes both the study of English the language, and studying in England the place. They really have their stuff together. Their booth is next to mine (opposite snacks and smokers). They have a juggler, refreshments, finger-food, a large staff, etc. The British Council also offers a wide array of cheap English language programs, right here in Spain. Why go abroad for ESL at college prices? Anyway, our program assumes some knowledge. Most of these kids have none.

6) Past the British Council somewhere is another booth. I don’t see it, but I certainly hear it. They are playing the same promo reel, loudly, over and over and over… driving me INSANE!

7) The only thing that can save me from complete boredom/insanity, is watching the females who walk by, in their well-fitted European jeans. Then I must remind myself that many are probably underage. Hell. I’m in hell.

8) I can’t forget the guys though. I will say this – the mullet is alive and well in Spain, and mainstream. Not quite the same as ours. It is a short fan-like mullet, combined with even shorter (usually crew-cut) hair on top. I’ve heard it’s a soccer thing. We’ll call it the Euro-mullet.

Four more days. Four more days. I must get a book. Or three. I knew the Lord would punish me for the fun I had in Seville. I'm only laughing on the blog, believe me.

Madrid: Back to Work (work day 24)

I go to the fair venue, Feria de Madrid, to register and set up. Wow, it’s big. You could store airplanes in this venue. Many airplanes. There are also some la-ti-da set-ups from some of these schools. I might look a little funny in my little booth over there.

I go back to the hotel, hop on the computer and get some work done. I finally have my return tickets to the States booked. I wasn't able to schedule any more off-time in France, but eh, I'm rapidly growing sick of parts of Europe that are not Seville. I will however have two nights in NYC, where I have never been before. I also, in the whole package, set up my flights to Mumbai and Casablanca in April. Some of these will be on Virgin. Whoo-hoo! I hear Virgin's awesome! And, it was actually the cheapest option, so I can justify it.

Still haven't made it to downtown Madrid.

Sevilla Bachanalia (the rest of vacation)

So. Yes, last night was fun. En route to Calle Betis (American bars, Spanish guys looking to hook up with American girls or fight American guys) I made friends with a couple of northerners. They convinced me to try a different venue: Plaza de Alfalfa. Yes, like the bean and the Little Rascal. People in this plaza hang out on the street and drink alcohol they have brought with them, occasionally going into an actual bar. We are offered drugs (don’t accept) and shots (do accept) then go to a pirate themed club called Dubloon, or something like that. The girls I’m with somehow berate the doorman into letting us in for free, bypassing a line two blocks long. Not sure how long we were there. Late.


My cell, sink and door

DAY THREE

Morning: breakfast, then Internet café. Hours and hours of online life. I actually manage to catch up on my work e-mail, for now. Halle-f’n-luyah. Afterwards I go to a local Irish pub and meet a couple of cool girls, Nancy and Melanie, Greek and Welsh respectively. We are supposed to meet tonight to go out. Let you know how it works out.

Next I go back to the hostel. Read. Drink more Stoli.

So I meet the girls back at the Irish pub. One of the bartenders and another American guy join us. We next go to a Scottish bar. Yes, there are such things. Our bartender friend decides to start ordering rounds of Jager. It all goes downhill from there. I eventually get separated from my little posse and end up wandering back to my hostel alone. No idea what time it was.

DAY FOUR

I spend a few hours feeling bad about how much I drank the previous night, then begin again. I finally make it down to Calle Betis, and another Irish pub. Here I meet another two Americans, Seth and Jesse. These two are actually my age and live in Seville, teaching English. Seth also used to be a bouncer, so we have tons of great stories to compare. We hop to another bar, Long Island, and have pizza delivered while playing darts. Jesse takes off and the boys wander down to another place back on Calle Betis, Mia Soul, I believe. Seth and I talk and drink for hours. We talk so much that we forget to keep hitting on the French girls next to us, and they leave. Then Seth almost gets us into a fight with some US military guys. We could have taken them (Navy, ha), but I smoothed things over. We do a shot of tequila, and we’re all friends. The bar closes. We try to talk our way into a private club party, but it doesn’t work. We part ways and head home.


Cathedral again

DAY FIVE

Starting to feel a little touched in the head. I’ve been traveling for a month now. At present, the only constant in my life is e-mail and a crappy hostel room. I’ve met some cool people here in Seville, but I still can’t help feeling a bit lonely. They have so far all been “single-serving friends”, a la Fight Club. Hang out for a day, then never see them again. God forbid, am I homesick? I find myself actually looking forward to working again. Whoa. I am definitely touched.

I shower, check e-mail, and pig out at Tex-Mex, a bar-restaurant (guess what kind) just off the cathedral. Now I’m writing this, drinking Guinness, and watching Spanish League football.

Continuing, I finally get around to buying some presents for people. If you get one, you better act elated. I finish my Stoli, then go out one last time. I meet some English girls and defend them from the advances of more military guys. They appreciate it, but not enough, if you know what I mean. Bed.

DAY SIX

La Duena of this little hostel bangs on the door, waking me, telling me to leave or pay another day. I leave. I check e-mail one last time, eat a burger, then get on the train. At the Madrid station I once again catch the hotel shuttle and check into my home for the next week. I spend all evening watching TV.

Observations:
The one worth remembering is this: I have never visited a city with a higher concentration of beautiful young women, ever (Jaco, Costa Rica doesn’t count - those were hookers). Ironically, a good half of these are not Spanish. That non-half is mostly American, plus others from all over. Someone is doing a great job of recruiting all the beautiful people for language programs overseas. Or maybe it’s just Seville. Either way, it actually pisses me off when I think about it too much. Dammit.


Last one I saw, at the train station


In case you are wondering, yes, I left a lot out.