Autumn in Alcala

I’ve been here two months now, and it just so happens that these two months are two of the most meteorologically tumultuous and unpredictable of the year. The locals like to joke that there are only two seasons in Madrid: summer and winter. They’re not completely accurate however; there is indeed something of a transition period, a little like a menopausal sister season suffering from hot and cold flashes and a mean temper.

Maybe it’s because I’ve never lived anywhere that gets especially cold, but I cannot read this weather. It does not matter how frequently I check the reports or step out on the porch to gauge the temperature. I imagine that once we get settled into the cold winter, it will be a bit more regular. For now, however, it seems that if I wear boots and a scarf and a coat I will sweat on the way to the bus stop, but if I wear my coat over a t-shirt and heels, I will freeze. It seems that after I peer out my window in the mornings and note the women wearing tights and light jackets, they all run back inside and change into down coats and leather boots by the time I get down to the ground floor, simply to trick me into dressing inappropriately for the day.

The first week that Craig and I were here, it was very cold, perhaps 7 c in the evenings. Suddenly, the cold vanished and I wore tank tops around town; every day, we tried to enjoy the sun in case it slipped into hibernation. Since then, the temperature has risen and dropped several times and every time I think we’re easing into the cold, I am not entirely right.

Today, I dressed in slacks and a turtleneck, threw on a scarf and coat on my way out of my apartment. I was too warm as I rushed through town, power-walking to work, but when my classes ended and I reemerged, the wind had kicked up and it was bitterly cold. I thought, ah ha! At last, I have learned to anticipate! I made my way to a student’s home for a private lesson, and as we sat at the desk deciphering a family tree in English, I heard the rain begin. It was extraordinarily loud on the roof and when we finally pulled aside the curtains to look out the window, sure enough, marble sized hail was bouncing off the Spanish tile roof of the apartment complex across the street. All I could think was that all the laundry I washed yesterday, all my pants, my bed sheets, and my socks, were hanging on the line outside my apartment to dry, and that I was about to have to walk home in THAT with no umbrella.

Soon the ice reduced to rain, and when our time was up my student lent me a paragua, or umbrella. The moment I walked outside, however, as if Mother Nature noticed I was now carrying an umbrella, the rain ceased. The hems of my only clean and dry slacks were now dragging through muddy puddles as I stepped, but the sky cleared to an innocent periwinkle and arranged a sweet sunset in the distance. Clearly, I’m being mocked.

Parque del Retiro

The parks here are mostly small, tucked in between apartment complexes or business, perhaps boasting a shoebox sized play area for children or a modest fountain. Most at least have trees and benches; picnicking or lounging in the shade is a favorite hobby of the Spanish when the weather is nice. Some parks are particularly beautiful or well-maintained, some are more frequented by residents than others. The novelty for us is not in the beauty of the parks however, but in the sheer numbers. They are everywhere.



There is one park to top them all, though: the renowned Parque del Retiro in Madrid. This reserved area is enormous; it would take many days to walk all the winding paths through the trees or note every statue or visit every tiny café. It is the epitome of a Spanish Sunday afternoon, with its sidewalk performers and vendors, fortune tellers, magicians, jugglers; stunning sculptures, fountains, impressive gardens, and the lake dotted with rowboats. There are crowds of people—families or couples or artists or photographers—perhaps reading in the grass beneath a tree, working to capture the beauty on film or canvas, or simply walking the pathways, snacking on sunflower seeds or sweet popcorn. This time of year, the children are bundled up in their hats and gloves, happily cruising in their strollers or running ahead of their parents.



In 1632 the park was created for the royal family; it was not opened to the public until 1868. It sparks quite a beautiful feeling to walk the same pathways that millions and millions have walked before. I can't wait to see it in Spring!

These Boots Were Made For Walking

And it sure is a good thing. These Uggs are undoubtedly the most reliable shoes I have ever owned. They have seen the Pacific Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico. They have seen the snow of Lake Tahoe and the Wisconsin Dells. They have kept my chilly feet warm driving or flying cross country. They have walked the streets of San Francisco, of Los Angeles, of San Diego. They comforted my aching feet as I trained for my marathon. They’ve served as snow boots, rain boots, house shoes, walking shoes, hiking boots, fashion accessories, and have been through as much airport security as I have. They’ve lived in the California and Alabama, visited Canada, and now trekked through parts of Spain.

I walk a lot here. I walk to the academy; I walk across town to the grocery store and haul back groceries. I walk to the bus stop and the train station and the locations where I teach private lessons. I walk to lunch and dinner and walk miles through Madrid acting as a tourist. This is a walking city; unfortunately the red tile sidewalks, cobblestone streets, and cracked pathways often inhibit smooth travel—chinks in the grout trap heels, sloping curbs turn ankles and trip walkers, uneven surfaces force you to watch the ground as you step. To make it to the pharmaceutical company I work at, I hike across a dirt field and through the aging industrial center. Some days I can wear my trusty boots. Other times, my beat-up feet are clad in fake leather Payless shoes that look more professional for work, or more chic for restaurants. I fully intended to buy new, comfortable shoes when I arrived here, but there are several circumstances that stand in the way.

In the meantime, I continue to nurse what I have deemed “The Giant Blister that Would Not Die,” shown here. This is actually a blister atop a blister atop a blister, atop a blister. It does not pain me as much as one might imagine. I suffer more from the deep, bone-nerve-tendon foot pain I have been prone to for the past two years or so.

Unfortunately for me my Uggs have recently begun to show wear. Yes, they are a bit stained and scuffed on the outside, but, more importantly, the wool on the inside has slowly rubbed off. The fabric below that has worn holes. There are holes beneath my heels that go straight through the wool and the fabric AND the soft leather straight down to the rubber sole.

It doesn’t worry me too much. We have come this far together, and it will be a long time before I ever let them go.

Work

I do apologize for the lack of updates. Although I planned on working in Spain, I failed to factor in how much of my time I would have to dedicate to the task!

I like my job very much. Craig and I are both employed by the British House, a private English language academy here in Alcalá de Henares, which offers classes to every age and every level of learner. Ours is the leading English school in the area and we teachers are subsequently contracted to a number of jobs. So, we may work at more than one location if requested. For example, I hold a certain amount of hours at the institution itself, but I also travel to a nearby pharmaceutical manufacturer to teach private lessons to its big-wig employees that require business English education and conversation practice. So, I teach advanced adults at the academy and intermediate to advanced adults at Bayer. Additionally, I work as a private tutor. Craig is currently balancing academy hours with travel to the Spanish branch of Johnson and Johnson!

The downside to this sort of schedule is that the day grows long very quickly. Some days, one might have a single class. The next day, the work day can extend from 10 am to 9:30 in the evening. We must be very flexible for our students, especially when so many people wish to study after work or on the weekend. We are currently working 6 days a week and it is exhausting.

On the other hand, it is a stimulating job; if I was not working as an English teacher I would know nothing about Spain. I teach directors of a large business, teenagers, university students, a pilot, business administrators, accountants, biologists, chemists, pharmacists, translators, fathers, manual laborers, school teachers…the variety makes teaching extraordinary work, as my most important daily task is to encourage my students to speak in foreign tongue. This means I learn their opinions on political issues; I learn their cultural and familial traditions; I learn expressions and social habits. I learn about Spanish laws and history and geography. I learn about people, which is the very mission I undertook when deciding to travel in the first place.