Acclimating: Imitation Suitcase, Gerunds, and Medieval City Vistas
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Hold on...this...isn't my suitcase! My heart did a leap. My execution getting from Jersey City to Barcelona was flawless, so I thought. Of the small share of silly and absurd mis-maneuvers I own while traveling, this one is situated toward the tippy-top. After breezing through the customs checkpoint and entering the frenetic baggage claim area, I located the numbered station where passengers' luggage was belched onto a conveyor belt and took a merry-go-round ride until plucked by their weary owners. My flight was late coming in, nearly an hour, and I knew the person retrieving me had been waiting for longer. I made haste, locating my first black leather bag and then the second bulky navy suitcase laying next to it while simultaneously digging for my vibrating phone buried deep in my back pocket. I rushed off. Julia, one of my new colleagues at Sant Ignazi, and I met each other in the pick-up area. After excitedly introducing each other, we took a short ride to Sarria where Sant Ignazi's gorgeous campus lied nestled on the side of mountain. After some instructions from Monolita, a legendary nun and caretaker of Casa d"Exercisis where I was staying, I retired to my modest bedroom. But before laying my head down for an inaugural siesta I decided to unpack a little. That was when I realized I was carrying another (undoubtedly disgruntled and fuming hot) traveler's belongings...Brilliant.
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An hour later I was in possession of my bag, fortunately not crossing paths with the Italiano whose commute from London I probably seriously upset. A few hours later I was strolling along the Ramblas, pinching myself. The time spent preparing and anticipating for this intercambio (Spanish for "exchange"), the faint whims of angst and nervousness in the few weeks leading up to my departure on October 4th were exhausting. As crazy as my little mishap was, it no longer mattered. I took a breathe and left it behind. There was jamon to be sampled at La Boqueria.
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My first three days teaching at Sant Ignazi were some of the most challenging I have had in my young career. I was harboring a swirl of emotions not to mention I was also battling six hours-worth of jet-lag. From the outset I wanted control, specifically control of my students. Reflecting now I am realizing how ridiculous this desire was! Many of my new students spoke a mixture of Spanish, a language I know some but not much of, and Catalan, which I know next to none. The majority of my students taking European Adventure (a course on the European Union, 14 to 15 year olds) and lower level English classes (16 year old students) were utter chaos, similar to a Buffalo Bills tailgate. Several classes number upwards of 30 or more. Generously, half of them were half listening most of the time. Those that were trying to listen, could not hear. Those that were not listening, were poking or shouting, sharing an animated conversation or a screaming match, imagining they were Messi with a deflated soccer ball or Hulk Hogan putting one of their friends in a silencer head-lock until his face turned a tinge of indigo and he gasped "tio!" Loco.
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By Wednesday, thoughts of wanting to quite actually crossed my mind. That surprised me. So much that I became inspired to do some much needed reflection. I decided to keep a separate journal over my three months abroad but had not opened the digital document until straits became dire. I wish had looked to it days earlier. Almost immediately it was clear God had been missing from my experience. Or rather, I was missing how God was collaborating with me through mystery and love and joy and grace and gratitude and forgiveness and redemption and hope found in my daily concrete experiences. This collaboration, God's accompaniment and working with me, was happening without me noticing! Writing in my journal is the tool for making myself aware of that collaboration, very similar to how my students use their journals to examine their thoughts and hearts in class.
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I realized almost immediately the problem once I started writing in my journal: relationships. If I have no relationship with my students, how can the students trust me? Without some sort of human connection between us, why would they listen to me when I instruct them to "shush?" The next day I entered the classroom differently: noticing and trusting God. Many handshakes and compliments and questions and one on one conversations off to the side turned my, our, entire first week around. I also won their attention with Minecraft! My alumnos taking the course on the European Union were charged with their first project: modeling or diagramming E.U. countries' Parliament buildings. The project are now complete. Check them out here!
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My English language classes were equally challenging at first. One fast talking student asked me what a "gerund" was...I thought she was speaking Catalan. I had to Google "reported speech" numerous times before lessons. Most of the content is topical, grammar based with little speaking. I anticipate that changing a little next week. Aside from the efforts of my third grade English teacher, Mrs. Joan Bieter, it is safe to say I never learned grammar. Rather I acquired English through osmosis, through speaking and reading and writing over and over again. This is not to say that knowing what levers to pull for shifting tenses is not important, but what I gift this opportunity is for both students and myself! Rather than feeling helpless, as I did in the first half of the week, reflection leads me to turn my feelings upside down and recognize how valuable I am can be to my students who rarely share regular conversations with a native speaker. Again, I am encouraged to engage my students, to build relationships!
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After a long week, some fun outside the limits of Sarria was required. One of the exciting and immersive things to do when exploring an historically old city is to get lost in its tangles of streets. The narrow cobbled ways branching off from the Ramblas, Barcelona's main thoroughfare for tourists, are painted with bodegas (in Spain this refers to a wine cellar), pubs, cafes, pastry shops, tiny stores selling chic cloths, street performers, peddlers and pick-pocketers (watch out!). The flow of visiting people somehow carried me to Barcelona Cathedral, a shadowy space built with all the strangeness of Gothic style architecture. While the 28 side chapels, Bishop's Chair, carefully carved choir, and soaring Roman arches were impressive, the surrounding bird's eye view from the terrace atop the Cathedral's roof was truly breathtaking. Of the different feelings that washed over me as I looked to the east at the Mediterranean and contemplated the emotional week that was, gratitude was most pronounced. A perfect ending to the beginning of another adventure
La Boqueria, Barcelona's Famous Market
(And U.F.O)
Facade of Barcelona Cathedral.
Sign Made by Sant Ignasi's Climate Conscious Students
The View From My Classroom
(Very Purty)
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