Flash forward to the flight to Lyon, Brendan and I booking it to the tram (which will take us into the city; think the MAX), scrambling out of the baggage area with our carry-ons like trophies, while everyone else swarms the carousel. We are the first to purchase our tram tickets, and when we see a train pull up on the tracks, we run full-speed to hop on. The epitome of proud, efficient Americans. Our lack of French had yet to hinder us, and we are far ahead of our compatriots from the flight, so we're feeling good. Really good. That is, until the ticket collector on the train asks for our tickets, takes a glance and says, "No, no, these are not tickets..." Ten minutes panting on the tram before we learned that it was not the tram, but, in fact, a high-speed expressway train headed straight to Paris. If I could, I would post a picture of what Brendan's face looked like at that moment, only to give you a visual demonstration of our mutual feeling of defeat. Luckily, this situation was easily remedied by the generous ticket collector, who found us seats, didn't charge us for train-fare, and walked us to rail that would take us back to Lyon. He was nothing short of a guardian angel. And a good reminder to always pay it forward.
Lyon was fantastic from there on out. It was so good to see Nich and spend five days hanging out, grabbing tuna and egg sandwiches on baguettes, walking around the city, drinking and playing in the cold weather. Nich is teaching English at a school in Lyon, essentially in the twin program of the one I'm doing in Spain. He took us to the enormous park that doubles as a zoo, where we watched the elephants dance, and the flamingos perch. I ate French food like it was going out of style (which it is definitely not). We had a late night fire where we overlooked the city lights and drank wine alongside Nich playing the accordion... I wish I could go back.
I brought Brendan back to Puente Geníl on New Year's and we had a week to spend before he was due back to Portland, back to real life. I was so sad to see him go, I thought I truly couldn't stay here for the next five months, in this temporary job, with new friends who I'd only known for three months, in this small pond of a town... I was pining to go home. After he left, it took me a week to pick up my sad bones, and make a game-changing decision to embrace where I'm at, while I'm here.
Since the new semester has started, I've been great. I now have a new class on the side that is an English exam prep course for high school students, and it's been invigorating. I choose our activities and and timetables, actually grade papers, and get to engage with the students on a more personal level. They are well prepared and at a higher level than my other students, they understand English, and are there because they want to be improve. And, on their off days, they are grab-assing, cocky high school seniors who are too cool to care, and the only way to make them pay attention is to humiliate them in front of their friends. This is all fine, because I am spending more time prepping for class and scheming how to get their attention, instead of thinking about home in my off time. I've keeping busy, and I'm grateful for it.
The rest of my month has been spent switching up my exercise, between the public pool, running, and illegal downloads of different workout tapes. My mom sent me a Christmas box, which has enabled me to take on American baking projects that involve brown sugar and vanilla extract, neither of which I could find before. I've spent quite a bit of time with Fina, who I might classify as my best friend/mother figure in Spain. Her boyfriend Juan has spent a couple weekends here and we've spent lots of time on the couch, watching scary American movies in Spanish, eating each others' kitchen experiments, and laughing through the obstacles of the language barrier. Fina and Juan both like to travel, so they are learning English in order to communicate on a more international level. They're going to Moscow in August, where they're going to ride the Trans-Siberian Railway to Peking. I have plans to rope them in to coming to the States, but they're playing pretty hard to get right now. Fina's got this notion that the US is the focal point of all that's wrong with the world and capitalism and blah blah... I try not to pay attention when she gets like this. I don't know where she gets these crazy, leftist ideas... she might as well wear a sign around her neck that says, I Will Love Portland, Oregon, and I Don't Even Know It.
I spent a couple of beautiful days on the beach in Cádiz, with friends from my flight disaster to Palma de Mallorca. This was in January, the Monday of the whole year. And I spent a weekend on the beach. Shoot me. Sophie, who lives in Cádiz, and I are taking a trip to Zaragoza and Bilbao in a couple of weeks. I'm so excited to go to Basque Country, I cannot wait.
As for other plans... I am trying to hop on board a ski trip that the school has planned for the end of March. We'll go to the Sierra Nevadas for four or five days and hit the slopes, professors and students alike. Sounds like a shit show, but I really hope I can go. Other than that, I am making a trip back to the States for two weeks! Call me crazy, I just can't go too much longer without a dose of the homeland. Portland, a weekend in Seattle... Hope to see you all there.
Farewell, January!
