toto, we’re not in marbella anymore

Adjusting to a new place can be hard. And, though the process has only just begun for me, I think that adjusting to Ciudad Real will definitely present some challenges, mainly because I can’t help but compare it to my stint in Marbella. So far, there have been a few things that have stood out as being distinctly different than my previous experience living in Spain. Not all of them are bad differences, but they’re certainly noticeable. Here are a few:

• They don’t speak Spanish here. I found out this little fact when one of the teachers at my school complimented me on my speaking. To my surprise, she didn’t say, “Hablas español muy bien,” instead I got, “Hablas castellano muy bien.” In my head, I gave her the ‘whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout Willis?’ face, but on the outside, I kindly thanked her and went on with our conversation. Of course, castellano and español are exactly the same thing, but since we’re in Castilla La-Mancha, I guess that’s what they prefer to call it here. Also there are some words they use here that I never heard in Andalucía. For instance, instead of saying ‘mira’ or ‘mira eso’ (look at this / check this out), they say ‘fijate’. The first time I had someone say it to me, I thought I was being asked to fix something. They also use ‘metalico’ instead of (or, in addition to) ‘efectivo’ to mean cash. I’m not sure if that one is specific to this region, but I’m pretty sure I’ve only heard it Ciudad Real.

• It’s flat – One of the first things I noticed when I was doing my initial explorations around Ciudad Real was how flat the landscape was. In Marbella / Málaga, I was situated between the sea and the mountains, so there were lots of hills and steep inclines. The good thing about this is that the flatness makes getting around on foot a lot easier and less tiring. However, it might not be best for keeping my buns and thighs tight – a nice side effect of my daily walking commute in Marbella.

• It’s super dry – Technically, Ciudad Real is in the middle of the desert. Unlike Eliza Doolittle’s song would suggest, there is very little rain in the plain in Spain. The reverse was true in Marbella. Proximity to the sea meant high humidity, and also a short lifetime for clothes to dry. But being a long-time resident of Atlanta, humidity is something I’m very accustomed to. Here, I’ve already seen the effect the dry climate can have on my hair, skin, and mucous membranes. That family-sized jar of shea butter I brought along probably won’t last me ‘til spring. And I frequently tote a little bottle of saline spray to keep my nasal passages from drying out and leaving me with achy sinuses. 

You got it wrong, boo.

Update: Though the atmosphere is generally dry, since I originally penned  this post, I've seen lots more rain. In fact, it's probably rained as many times here in the last month and a half, than it did my entire 6 months in Marbella. Sorry, 'Liza. I take it all back.

• The local vegetable is pork – Seriously, these people luuuuuv some pig meat! I’ve already had a few restaurant meals where pork was served for each course. In fact, on a recent tapas excursion with Pablo (Juana’s husband) and some of his friends, a plate of pig ears showed up on the table. I shared with the group that people in the South have an expression that we eat everything on the pig from ‘the rooter to the tooter’. It seems Pablo was already familiar with the concept, as the manchegos have a similar expression. I can say, however, that the quality of the pork here is amazing – I’ve had some cuts (particularly presa iberica) that were extremely tender, juicy, and flavorful without being overly porky (that’s a scientific term, ya know).

• Nobody takes the bus. Well, not nobody. But when I think back to Marbella, I recall how the bus was almost full every day with locals, seasonal residents, and tourists of all ages. I’ve only taken the bus twice in Ciudad Real, and the only other people on there were either very elderly or riding along with a small child. Plus, the buses seem to take these long, circuitous routes that makes them the least efficient mode of transportation for getting around town. 

•  It’s small. Like, really small – If I have my ‘marching on Selma’ strut on, I can pretty much get from one side of town to the other on foot in about 30-35 minutes. This would explain why hardly anyone takes the bus. 

• It’s cold. Like, really cold – My first couple of weeks here were actually unseasonably warm. In late October, temperatures reached highs of around 70 degrees Fahrenheit during the day, with lows in the 60s. However, since Halloween, all that has changed. Unlike Marbella where winter spelled more rain than true cold and lasted for all of about 45 days, I can already tell that, here, there will be winter. Cold as a witch’s tit winter. It’s already been down in the upper 30s a couple of nights. And I’ve already realized that my assortment of blazers which served me well in the south, won’t stand much of a chance against these temps. 

•  There is a famine of beauty. Remember when I shared that the abundance of natural beauty was one of the most amazing things about Spain during my previous stint? Umm… yeah. Not quite the case here in Ciudad Real. Strangely enough, this is one of the few Spanish towns that I’ve been to that doesn’t have a casco antiguo – or historic quarter – with beautiful old buildings and charming cobblestone streets. Nope, Ciudad Real is surprisingly regular. Architecturally speaking, there isn’t much to look at. And since, as I mentioned, it’s in the middle of the desert, the surrounding landscape doesn’t immediately grab the eye. I don’t doubt that are some breathtaking views and scenes to see here, but for now, it looks like I’m gonna have to work a bit harder to find them.

From Wikipedia entry on Don Quixote, “La Mancha is a region of Spain, but mancha (Spanish word) means spot, mark, stain. Translators such as John Ormsby have declared La Mancha to be one of the most desertlike, unremarkable regions of Spain, the least romantic and fanciful place that one would imagine as the home of a courageous knight.”

• The stares. Dear god, the stares! Now, I’m used to being one of a relative few brown faces in a Spanish town. As such, I’m also used to getting the occasional stare from passersby on the street – it happened on several occasions in both Marbella and Málaga. Spanish people from other parts of the country are also known for openly staring at almost anyone – I’ve just chalked it up as a cultural difference. However, while staring was noticeable in Marbella and Málaga, I never felt it was excessive. It’s a totally different story here in Ciudad Real. During the roughly 20-minute walk from my flat to my school, I’m sure to receive no less than 10 blatant (like, stop in your tracks, squinch up your face, forget to chew your gum) stares from people I pass on the street, or even people passing by in cars. At first, I took it with the same bemused attitude that I did when I lived in Andalucía. But as the days have passed, the stares have kept coming. It’s a bit unnerving at times. Nothing makes you feel more like a stranger – or even like an unwelcome guest – than people looking at you strangely all day long. And I know it’s not just my own self-consciousness, as I’ve had some of my new friends comment on – and even apologize for – the excessive staring that they notice when they’re walking along with me. While I think it’s noble and sweet of my new friends to take some responsibility for what I perceive as the rudeness of their fellow countrymen, I know it’s not something that’s going to change anytime soon. Because Ciudad Real is such a small, largely homogenous town, I’m probably going to keep getting stared at, and I’m going to have to keep not taking it personally. I’ve taken to walking around with my headphones on to help insulate myself from that feeling of ‘otherness'. I realize that some of the stares are simply curiosity, some are even complimentary, but most are because many of the people here have never ever left their home town or region, so they’re not used to seeing different people, and some of those may not even like seeing different people. I was talking to a friend of Pablo’s recently – an over 30-year-old woman who is una manchega, born and raised in the area. We were talking about how much we both loved Barcelona. She ultimately revealed that her first time visiting the city (which is only about 3 or so hours away by train) was this past summer. I was completely shocked! How do you live in a country this small for all your life and never visit what is arguably its most popular city? Of course, I know similar people in my hometown of Macon and even people from Atlanta who’ve never travelled further than a neighboring state. But I think it surprises me even more here in Spain, given how easy and relatively affordable it is to travel from one region to another. Still, I knew well enough not to stare at her for it.

first week in ciudad real

Saturday - Touchdown

After a flight from Atlanta to Miami, a 2-hour layover, another flight to Madrid, then a 1-hour high speed train, I finally arrive in Ciudad Real around 11am. I check in to my hotel near the train station, then settle in to relax a bit from all the travelling. My plan is to take a nap for a couple of hours, then head out to explore, but jet lag and all the furious activity of the past week has me feeling beyond exhausted, and I don’t end up leaving the room until almost sunset. Even then, my only motivation for going outside is to pick up some in-room snacks from the nearby grocery store. Fortunately, the store is just on the other side of a really nice park – Parque del Pilar – so I stop for a spell to take in the scenery.

Once back at the room, I spend the rest of the evening scouring the Internets for apartments, and contacting potential landlords and agents for showings.

Sunday – Parks and Recreation

Up early to take a stroll and have a look around town. Since almost all of Spain takes Sundays off, there aren’t many people out and about, but, with map in hand, I manage to find one of the schools I’ll be teaching at this year (IES Torreon del Alcázar). As I meander about, I keep my eyes peeled for ‘se alquila’ (for rent) signs, and, after meeting one owner for a viewing, I stumble onto Parque Gasset – a big park located in the center of the city. I stroll around for a bit, enjoying the unseasonably warm October weather.

IES Torreon del Alazar

On my way back to the hotel, I cross yet another park. “How lucky!” I think to myself, “I’ve landed in a town with no shortage of places to sit, think, and daydream.”

Later that night, while I'm relaxing in the hotel, I'm startled by loud noises right outside the window. Turns out there's a fireworks display going on for some reason. I amuse myself with the idea that the display is Ciudad Real's way of saying, 'Welcome, Kisha!'

Monday – Whirlwind Tour

I only booked the hotel through Wednesday night, so I’ve got to get on the ball with finding an apartment. The lady at the front desk got wind of my apartment hunt, and first thing in the morning, I head a few streets over to have a look at an apartment she has for rent. It’s nice and new, but way bigger than what I need (2 bedrooms / 3 baths), but very reasonably priced (yet more than I want to pay on my own). I briefly ponder if I could find a roommate to share with me after moving in, but quickly decide it’s not worth the risk of being stuck paying all of the rent by myself. 

I have appointments with 2 different real estate agents later this morning. The first shows me 3 flats, each in a different part of town. By the time we’re done, I feel like we’ve walked around almost the entire city. The apartments are very nice, but they’re all about 50 euros over my maximum budget for a non-shared flat. I meet the second agent who shows me 2 loft-style flats in the same building. They’re within my budget, but each is missing an oven. With my penchant for cooking, I can’t imagine living without one, but I’m also aware that if I’m paying rent and utilities on my own, an oven may literally be a luxury I can’t afford. Electricity in Spain is expensive, and the last time I rented a place, I paid one all-inclusive price for rent and utilities, so I really have no idea how expensive, but it’s a serious concern for me. 

After the viewings, I head in the direction of the hotel, and cop a squat on a bench outside of an H&M near Plaza Mayor to rest from all the pavement-pounding and mull over my housing options. Moments later, a brown-skinned guy (one of maybe 3 other brown folks I’ve seen so far), passes by, doubles back, and introduces himself. He tells me he thought I was a store mannequin until he saw me move. He introduces himself as Eduardo. I learn that he’s originally from Cuba and has been living in a nearby town for a few years. He invites me to ‘tomar algo’ at a tapas bar on the plaza. Eduardo is quite the talker, so I mostly listen and relish in the fact that, unlike Marbella, the tapas bars in Ciudad Real adhere to one of my favorite Spanish traditions of, ‘buy a beverage, get a free tapa’. 

Eduardo, the chatty Cuban

One of the bars in La Mata - Ciudad Real's club / bar district

Eduardo and I hop to another couple of places for a proper meal and another round of beverages. In the process, I get a sneak preview of the local bar district. One place actually plays some fairly decent house tracks in their rotation. At another, I hear some pretty good salsa and bachata. I’m pleased that I’ll have some options for dancing in the future. By the time Eduardo and I say goodbye, it’s almost 10pm. I thank him for his generous hospitality, and head back to my room to get ready for an early start tomorrow.

Tuesday – Test Run

Up early to head to my second school – the only one I’ve heard from so far – IES Hernan Perez de Pulgar. I’ve been communicating with my coordinator, Teresa, for the past few weeks. Even though I don’t officially start working until tomorrow, I plan to stop by and meet her and the other English profes. I check online for which bus I need to take (#7), and head to the bus station, about a 12-minute walk from the hotel. Apparently the info on the website I looked at was wrong. After 15 minutes of more looking for the non-existent #7 bus, I finally find a bus that drops me near the school. The English profes are all excited to meet me. Just like at my last school, they are a little surprised that I’m not a guy (apparently both my name and my email address led them to believe that, though not sure why), but ultimately they’re happy, because they’re an all-girl band. One of the profes, Juana, offers to let me stay at her home with her husband and 2 boys if I don’t find anything before my stay at the hotel is up. I’m completely floored and thankful for her generous offer. We exchange info, and she invites me over to meet the family and have dinner with them the next evening. I say my goodbyes, then head off to do more apartment hunting for the rest of the day.

Wednesday - Take it Easy

It’s my first official day of school. I don’t have a set schedule for classes yet. Teresa explains that we’ll just take it easy this week. I go to a couple of classes where I introduce myself to the students and have them do the same. Teresa finally gets in contact with someone at my other school. I learn that I won’t be teaching students there. Instead, I’ll be working with teachers from other schools in the area, helping them improve their English for classroom purposes. Should be interesting, to say the least. Teresa also shares the disheartening news that I might not get a paycheck until December. I ask her to repeat herself a couple of times to be sure I’ve heard her correctly. I have. 

After class, I have 3 more apartments to see. I’m weary of the search, and I’d hoped to have a solid contender by now, but all I have is a bunch of ‘maybes’. The last apartment I look at, however, seems promising. It’s tiny, but is centrally located, and in a good area. It also lacks an oven, but I’ve resigned myself to living without one. It’s 10 euro over my budget, but the small size of the place means my utilities will likely be very low. I decide to sleep on it.

Juana picks me up from the hotel for dinner later that evening. I meet her 2 sons – Danny, 12 and Diego, 10 – and her husband Pablo. They all lived in the US for several years a while back, so they speak English almost as well as I do – the boys even speak with American accents. Pablo used to run the auxiliar program when they lived in the Maryland / DC area – a fortunate coincidence. Their friend Pedro joins us for dinner, and we enjoy a good meal, wine, and lively conversation before they deposit me back at the hotel.

Tonight's menu: Burgers! The boys have dubbed the spinach-chicken burger on the left, the E.T. burger

Pablo, Danny, Diego, and Pedro

This family loves to travel - Fridge magnets from all the places they've visited

Thursday – What a Feeling

I carpool with Juana to work. When I open the door to her car, Donna Summer’s ‘What a Feeling’ is playing on the radio. I sing along to the chorus, and mention to Juana that I think this a good sign. We both had long, tiring days the day before. She agrees. It’s going to be a good day. I get through my one class for the day, and hang out for a while in the teacher’s lounge. Today is checkout day at the hotel. I’m seriously considering taking the tiny piso I saw yesterday, but want to make sure it’s the right decision. I poll 3 of the other English profes. They look at the pics, ask me questions about the location, the amenities, the price, the amount of sunlight it gets. After sharing all the details, they all agree that it’s a great find for the super-low price. After getting some more help reviewing the rental contract, I contact the agent and tell them I’ll take it. I meet them later that afternoon, sign papers, pay the deposit, and get my keys. What a feeling! I’ll stay at Juana’s for the next couple of days, and move in on Saturday. I enjoy another pleasant evening with Juana’s family. Her boys are a couple of wunderkinds. Diego has his own YouTube channel where he does gaming reviews and performs magic tricks. Danny is a pre-adolescent techie, and he even recommends an app for me to download to make free VOIP calls back to the US. They both play the piano, and after dinner, I catch up on some work while listening to them practice for the evening.

Friday - Free Time

My day off! While the rest of the house heads off for the day, I stay behind to do some more work, and try to resolve my phone situation. Months ago, I’d installed a hack to turn my supposedly non-global phone into a global device, but it had started malfunctioning before the last time I left Spain. Danny and Diego’s tortugas keep me company while I find a fix. 

The little tortuga practices his yoga poses

After that, I pop out to put some saldo on my prepaid phone plan, then stop by Acuario, the tapas bar Eduardo had shown me earlier in the week, for a quick caña and a snack. 

I spend the rest of the evening relaxing and watching a movie at Juana’s.

Saturday - Moving Day

In the morning, Juana and I head out to the mercaillo, an open-air market that happens right across the street from their house every Saturday. We purchase some fruits and veg for later, while Juana explains some of the items I don’t know. 

Berenjenas - prepared in the regional style

We stroll around the market, and I enjoy the sights and sounds of bustling crowds, and the barking vendors calling out from their stalls. Once back from the market, Pablo and Pedro help me move my luggage to my new place. I spend a few hours starting to get settled, and head to the nearby Walmart-like retail outlet, LeClerc, to pick up some immediate essentials. 

Later that afternoon, I head back to Juana’s for lunch. Pablo has prepared a seafood paella and a homemade ali-oli sauce. I bring a couple of bottles of wine. We feast on the back patio, enjoying the sunshine, talking, laughing and passing the time until late in the afternoon. 

Hard to believe it’s only been a week since I arrived. But in present company, I’m already starting to feel at home. 

class is in session

My first day of class was Monday, January 13. I awoke as excited as I used to be on the first day of school when I was a kid. I had even laid out my clothes the night before, choosing just the right combination of items that I hoped conveyed the message, 'I'm cool, but I'm here to work, too'.

Like most first days, it was a bit of a blur. I arrived and met the school's bilingual coordinator, Mila, who, for all intents and purposes is in charge of me. She was extremely excited to see me and I could tell that she was more than a little bit relieved that I was older than the previous two auxiliaries that had been at the school before. The one from the previous year, she told me, was a guy named Curtis from New Orleans. Apparently he was nice enough, but according to Mila, he was more interested in vacationing than actually teaching or putting in work in class. Plus, many of the students and teachers found his English very difficult to understand. I assured Mila that even many Americans found New Orleanian English difficult to understand. The most recent auxiliar, whom I was replacing, had returned to America after only 2 days in town. She had written Mila an email after only 1 day in class explaining that she was very depressed and needed to return to New York immediately to see her therapist. Because of this, the school had been without an English assistant for pretty much the whole school year. It was clear that the bar for performance had been set pretty low, so I figured I wouldn't have to try too hard to make a good impression here.

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finding my place

It’s funny how things work out. Hardly ever like you expect them to, but almost always like you need them to. Well, I suppose that’s how my Spanish apartment search worked out. Before arriving, I’d pretty much put all my eggs in one basket. When I heard from Tonisha while I was back in the States, I was like, ‘Great! This is gonna be the best situation. Living with someone in the same program, who speaks English, and whose name is Tonisha… so she must be cool (yeah, ridiculous. I know).’ But, after I arrived, it seemed like her communication got worse and worse. I was starting to get the feeling that she was no longer interested, and that I should come up with some alternatives. So, I hit the interwebs and started looking for other roommates and rooms for rent. Not an easy task, given the on/off again nature of the wifi in my room. But, despite the difficulty, I managed to come up with a list of about 10 suitable places. I narrowed that list down to a ‘top 4’, and started making calls and sending emails.


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first impressions

As of last night, my official assessment of San Pedro was, “I effin’ hate this place.” But, honestly, I think I just got so spoiled by the grand elegance of Seville that I couldn’t appreciate it. It’s definitely small, and it seems to be just a little bit ‘hood. Plus, the street system is like a big pile of tangled spaghetti. Hardly any street runs in a straight line, and a street will change names without warning, so it’s ridiculously easy to get lost or turned around, even with a map.

if it weren't for the friendly name on this building, i would never have found my room again.

Also – I think my assessment was severely tainted by a piece of graffiti that I saw on my walk. Scrawled on a wall in the middle of an empty plaza were the words, ‘No Moros’, along with a faded red swastika. Needless to say, it made me very uneasy and equally pissed off. Even on the other side of the world, the ugly spectre of racism cannot be escaped. I tried to put the image out of my mind, but it stayed with me (subconsciously) for the rest of the day, ‘cause I remained in kind of a bad mood. I’m already sensitive and aware of how conspicuous I am walking around such a small town; I really could have done without that.

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