Puente Geníl is small, with a population of about 35,000, full of people who are warm and welcoming. The town is situated on a slope of sorts, and the bottom of the hill is referred to as 'barrio bajo,' or the old neighborhood, and on top is 'barrio arriba,' the more recently developed part of Puente Geníl--new money, if you will. My house is situated in between the two neighborhoods. I'm renting the bottom half of a house owned and occupied by a fellow teacher at my school. Verna is a very nice man, accommodating and helpful, but words constantly speed through his lips, making him intimidating to talk to. He and I have aptly stumbled through conversations without any major obstacles. No contract was involved when I moved in; I may not have a rental agreement, per se, but I do have a handy little receipt of payment scribbled, unsigned, on a post-it note. Verna has come to my door bearing extra blankets and heaters, which are rendered unneccesary given the 80 degree weather, but the efforts are greatly appreciated.
None of the small tasks I've accomplished, such as acquisition of a bank account or phone calls made inquiring about potential apartments, would have been so easy without the help of Marú, my coordinator and generous hostess for the first week I was here. Her kids, Clara and Jesús, were there to collect me when I disembarked the train from Madrid. (Sidenote: I originally missed my stop, as I waited to verify for certain that I was in the right place. In the 65 seconds it took to gather my bags, the doors to the train closed and we were off again. You could imagine that this was a very chaotic time for me, emotionally. Fortunately, when I got to Málaga, assuming I would have to find shelter for the night, the train staff put me on the next train headed back to Puente Geníl, fo' free. Much appreciated.) Clara is a fellow teacher (of English) at Manuel Reina, and she was a wonderful sight to see after my debacle. Clara is beautiful, seriously stunning, both inside and out. I cannot describe how wonderful she has been since I've arrived--she translates for me, is patient with my Spanish, smiles and laughs at my less-than-humorous remarks, and understands the hindering nature of culture shock. What a blessing she has been.
Marú, Manuel, Clara and Jesús make up the most wonderful family I could have hoped to meet. Marú is the bilingual director at school and the sweetest woman on earth. Naturally maternal, such a comfort to be around. When I'm tired of talking, she lets my brain rest, in peace and quiet, while giving me tasks in the kitchen to assist with the next meal. She is also a fabulous cook. There was not one thing that came out of her kitchen that I did not eat. She has inspired me to cook well for myself, and gave me some necessary advice and counsel before I moved in to my place. I have found a lot of solace and therapy in my kitchen, all alone in my old, grand apartment.
Manuel (nickname Manolo) is an architect, and somewhat of a big wig around Puente Geníl. He knows everyone, or everyone knows him, as he has built a lot of the recent structures around town. He's very critical of Puente Geníl, and Spain on the whole, both involved and resentful of politics at local and national levels. He always makes jokes that I have trouble understanding, but his laugh is infectious, and Marú and Clara do their best to translate. He has great presence. (For those who know him, he reminds me of Norm Bensky. Such a good man.) I like to think that him and I created a bond initially because we both spill all over ourselves during meals. This surprises him every day, anew. Sometimes he'll apply a makeshift bib, trying to avoid the inevitable, but it proves useless time and time again. I love him. He has this bird, Crispín, who talks and whistles and imitates him perfectly. Crispín has an affinity for mimicking the phone ringing, followed by Manolo answering "Diga," as well as whistling old songs. I took a good look at this bird, curious about its alarmingly dead-on impression of Manolo, and I notice that the thing looks slow, almost ancient. Manolo says he's 46 years old! His father brought Crispín back from Africa when he was just a child. I was stunned. The thing is still kickin'. He even bobs his head up and down, dances around like a spring chicken.
Jesús is a student of architecture in Sevilla. I have yet to spend too much time with him, but he is a really nice guy and clearly really smart. He's 26, the baby of the family. He comes home on weekends here and there, as he has a car, and it's always nice to see him. Everyone has astounded me with their general goodness. They have really made me feel at home. I still go over to eat lunch with them, to share pastries with Manolo, and say hello to Crispín and their two gorgeous dogs, who don't care how clumsily I speak Spanish.
School is interesting--I only work twelve hours a week. I get paid 700 euros a month, about the equivalent of 1000 dollars. I'm working in a high school, which encompasses a wider range of ages, as I'm working with 12 to 15 year-olds, primarily. I rotate between math, social science, and music classes. The school is bilingual, meaning, ideally, 30% of all the curriculum is taught in English. Only one of the teachers who I've worked with speaks a fair amount of English, hence why I am here. I'm supposed to create English activities and lesson plans that supplement what the kids are already learning in Spanish. I've only delved into the material a little bit, but I think it will be fun. Brushing up on my math--thank God, I've got a handle on foundational stuff. Rather, thank Mr. Allen. I knew the hell that was seventh- and eighth-grade math would pay off someday.
In reference to the disaster I'm experiencing mentally, I am unsettled by my new life; it's full of free time, lots of it spent to myself, and I'm worried about the size of Puente, probably unjustly worried what it will offer in the next nine months. It's been almost five years since I've lived in a town this size, and I forgot all about the feeling of whispers, of gossip swirling around you. At this point in the game, I would really like to lean on Brendan, on my friends back home, and my family. Instead, I am forced to reach out to people I barely know, and find strength in myself. Homesickness is taking a toll. Clara has been introducing me to her friends, who I am getting to know and like. There are two other auxiliars, or language assistants, who are both American, and they have been great support. I may feel alone, but I am not. It's not an easy thing to accept. I just want to fast-forward to December, to that time when the ice has melted, when things feel familiar at last. I'm still looking for the short cut that will get me there.
