How the turntables turn

Well! I’ve officially been in Spain and living on La Gomera for over one month (????!!!!!!!!!!), so it’s probably about time for me to write some posts about what the hell I’m actually doing here (teaching). When I was just an applicant stalking Fulbright blogs, I sometimes wondered why there was so little content about the actual teaching experience. I think I know why now—for starters, there’s a lot going on outside of work. So many side missions, cultural quirks, and thoughts about transition are also vying for space in my mind. I didn’t just start a new job—I started a new life (this sounds incredibly navel-gazey, but it’s true). Really, the Fulbright experience encompasses all spheres—professional, social, and private—and it’s unrealistic to expect one of those to outweigh the others. #MÁSqueunabeca

me thinking deep thoughts !!

Another challenge involved in blogging about teaching is that every day is entirely different. I had a nice and tidy mental summary of my first day all ready to roll, and then the sun set and rose again and I had a completely different experience. Finding a way to corral all of the unique experiences and emotions is really difficult. However, after a month on the job, I think my sample size of days is starting to inch toward “respectable”, so I’m going to give it a whirl. 

Here's a picture a fellow teacher took of me on my first full day in infantil classes. Not pictured: marker stains on my pants

In this post, I’ll start with the facts. I am assigned to teach English to infantil and primaria students at the only school in the Valle Gran Rey municipality. The school is small, but hosts students anywhere between the ages of 3 and ~16 years old, mostly from La Gomera but also from other islands and many different countries (Germany, Italy, Moldova, Venezuela, Cuba, etc) thanks to tourism. In Spain, children can basically start attending school straight out of the womb, but this of course depends on resources and availability. In this area, students officially start in infantil around age 3, move to primaria at age 6, and then to secundaria when they’re 12. After they finish four years in secundaria, they’re done with obligatory education, but the next step for many is bachillerato and then universidad. It’s a really interesting feeling to return to the beginning of the process after just crossing the finish line in my own education. I’m teaching ages 3 through 12 every week, and my youngest students are still a few years out from reading. I look at them and wonder if they’ll be pulling all-nighters to finish research papers in ~16 years. 

The school is charming, built around an open-air patio where all of the students have recreo (recess) together. A map of the islands is painted on the ground, and plants and student garden projects line the perimeter. The classrooms have big windows and balconies with a casual ocean view, and the walls are painted daffodil yellow. The students I teach begin class at 8:30 am and leave around 1:30 pm, with a ~45 minute break in the middle for lunch and recess. Factoring in my long bus rides, my days in elementary school were about twice as long. 

The hub of activity for teachers is, of course, la sala de profesores. I was told ahead of time that Spain takes teachers’ lounges seriously, and it’s true. Every teacher in the school must enter the room at least twice a day to sign in and out, but it’s also the only place in the building to get coffee, print, and store personal belongings and classroom materials. My favorite part is the community snack tin that always has an assortment of my new addiction: Gomeran cookies (more on these later). There are always people in the lounge, and it’s an unspoken cultural rule that anyone entering should always announce themselves with a greeting. Generally, when starting a new job, my approach is to be quiet as a mouse until I feel comfortable (former co-workers reading this will laugh), so this initially made me nervous. But I have to say, after spending an evening alone, it’s really nice to walk in the next day and receive a chorus of “buenos días!” 

The teachers at my school have been incredibly welcoming to me, and I feel very lucky to be a part of their cohort. I didn’t know this until recently, but small islands like La Gomera have a high teacher turnover rate because of A. isolated location and B. Spain’s requirements for tenured positions—at the end of every year, all teachers vying for a plaza fija (fixed position) must take the infamously difficult oposiciones (exams), and if they don’t do well, they’re sent to another school. I started at the school a week later than everyone else, so by the time I arrived, people knew each other and were relatively settled in. Little did I know, all but ~3 infantil and primaria teachers were also new to La Gomera! Many of them are Canarians in their mid-to-late twenties, and already have a group chat to announce plans for things like dinner and drinks. This dynamic is my saving grace—La Gomera does not have a university, so there are very, very few people my age around town. But because all of these teachers are new and looking to make friends just like I am, they’ll put up with my stuttering Spanish and pesky kid-sister vibes for the sake of companionship. I love them already. 

Snapshot from a typical Wednesday night spent poolside with my coworkers

Next up: my classroom experience!

hiking ALONE!! (SO EPIC) (NOT CLICKBAIT)

Friday, September 21st was my first day off after a wild and wonderful beginning to my teaching year. I intended to spend it creating a plan of attack to clear the last few ((painful)) bureaucratic hurdles of moving to Spain, since nearly everything important closes at 1 or 2 pm every week day, and I'm in school four out of five possible days to go. First, I went to the photo shop on the other side of town, where it's not only possible to make photocopies, but also to buy postcards, shop for clothing, have t-shirts printed, and surf the internet for 0.50€/10 minutes. The role it plays in the valley is sort of like how in rural US high schools, the English teacher is also the drama teacher, cross country coach, assistant track coach, and senior class advisor, among other things (Alana Cunningham of Fort Frye High School lore was all of this for me!!). 

Here you can see an example of the vast distances I must cross to do important things

After making an obscene number of passport photocopies, I hoofed it up the hill to the Ayuntamiento to retrieve a form, then stopped by the bank to pay for the processing of a different form. Since I'm the first and only Fulbrighter on my island, I'm kind of flying blind through these steps, which are undoubtedly subtly different from those my friends are taking on the other islands and on the mainland. The poor Commission team has been working nonstop to update our online guide with instructions, but they only have as much information as they can extract from the individual offices if and when they get people on the phone. Multiply the relaxed no pasa nada Spanish attitude by island time and you get ........... very little done!

I finished all of my errands much earlier than expected, so after buying some kiwis, plums, and a papaya from my favorite fruterías, I returned home and ate a big lunch. As the afternoon rolled on, I started to realize I had nothing to do and a whole empty weekend ahead of me. For normal people, this is a treat. For people who operate like Border Collies, this is anxiety-inducing. Lately, I've been trying to acknowledge but disregard my discomfort with free time by following the impulses I get to do things. So, when I looked up the valley and saw the marine layer breaking up to reveal blue sky, I decided it would be a nice time to go for a walk. 

Behind me...

And in front of me!

The very nice French photographer staying in the AirBnB room of our house had told me the day before that he had a great walk up to El Guro, which is the next village up the valley, tucked back into a cliff. He also mentioned visiting a nice little waterfall, and that in total the hike was about 1 hour each way. Perfect! I'd burn a couple of hours and then it would be dinner time, and I would bridge the gap between activities with more activity. I put on my old pair of running shoes and set out for a nice stroll. 

On the dirt footpath running up the valley, I passed multiple farms growing so many interesting things. I saw trees loaded with mangoes, avocados, and oranges, and saw a few vines growing what I think is maracuya (passionfruit).

Look closely and you can see everything I've ever wanted

After a while, I saw a staircase cut into the cliff on my right, and decided to take it. Much to my surprise, at the top was La Ermita de los Reyes, built in ~1515 and strategically hidden in the landscape so that pirates would not spot it from the sea. It was locked tight, but the outside was beautiful enough that I didn't mind at all.



I descended the stairs and decided to continue up the valley just a bit more to check out El Guro. It was siesta time on a Friday, so everything was very quiet. I had actually forgotten about the waterfall until I came across a sign that said "SALTO DE AGUA", and immediately hopped on the trail. The signs made it seem like it was pretty close! I started listening for rushing (fresh) water, which was going to be a sight for sore eyes after settling down in a place where it never rains.

El Guro from the beginning of the trail--already much greener!

Boy, was I wrong!! I hightailed it up that trail like a bloodhound on a scent, especially once the vegetation got a little more lush. Around every bend I expected to see the cascade, and was wrong each time. Time was passing slowly as it does when I'm totally alone, and 10 minutes of walking felt like an hour. The trail markers started to wane, especially once it became clear that the trail was actually just a mostly dry creek bed. I was freaked out about getting lost for a while until I realized that following the creek bed HAD to get me to the waterfall at some point. So I went on.

It was clear that this was a fairly well-trafficked path, with detours cleared around deep water and a couple of ropes and ladders engineered to help with tricky passes. But (probably since it's the low season) I only passed 7 people total (not counting three goats), all in groups heading back to civilization. It was quiet, with very little bug or bird noise, and it was dark, with deep palm shade making me forget the late afternoon sun still beating on the cliffs above me. I checked Google Maps a couple of times to see if I could tell how close I was, but after a while I lost service and then had to force myself not to feel like a forlorn subtropical Gretel.

There were a couple of times I came upon micro-waterfalls and sat down to rest, wondering if this could be what the signs were referring to. But they didn't seem spectacular enough to warrant a walk of this distance, so I went on each time (curiosity, meet cat).

After what felt like 4 hours of walking by myself (I have lost all concept of time so I have no clue if this is accurate), I sat down and weighed my options. Lacking constant positive reinforcement from trail markers, I was losing courage and steam, and was getting nervous about nightfall. It was only about 5 pm, but getting nervous about nightfall felt like the thing to do. I was seriously contemplating turning back and trying again some other day, but then remembered that mama didn't raise no bitc--... uh nvm you get the picture. So I GOT UP, put on a BRAVE FACE, walked 3 MORE MINUTES and what do ya know: there was the waterfall!!!!!!!!

As one German tourist put it on his travel blog, "it's no Victoria Falls", but it was beautiful and enchanting and worth the walk. Though it confounded my camera, the best part was the golden clifftop looming in the background. Amidst the cacti and sun, it's so nice to know that fresh water is coursing down from the mountains and jumping off a cliff somewhere nearby.

The walk back was much more enjoyable with a goal obtained and a familiar path to take. I filled the silence with the closest thing I know to birdsong--Lorde's 2017 album Melodrama--and enjoyed the ride. I did happen to get a few life birds along the way despite not bringing binoculars like a total fool. My favorite was the bouncing Gray Wagtail.

Photo by Thomas Varto Nielsen of African Bird Club

My multiple mid-hike crises paid off when I moved back into view of the ocean just in time for the sunset. As I descended into the valley via the winding street of La Calera, I stopped to buy some jamón flavored ruffles to carb up after the big game. I had, after all, walked 10 miles that day!

Mightily pleased with myself, I settled down for the evening feeling my favorite feeling: much more grounded! I Am Here!

pure & good

I want to start this post by acknowledging how incredibly privileged I am to be living in my little island bubble, roughly 3500 miles away from troubled US soil. This (and my status as the only American in town) affords me a distance and remove from the relentless bad news, and dulls the ache we feel when somehow, once again, things get even worse. I will never forget being in Panamá for the 2016 election. Though it was incredibly strange and disorienting to watch a national disaster happen from the outside, my cohort and I were so lucky to be able to grieve together and then move forward, distracted and sheltered by our host country 20° to the south. My host dad, Irvin De La Rosa, greeted me that night with a big hug, and told me I would always have a home in Panamá. Meanwhile, people who were on Bowdoin's campus that week told me the dining halls were silent and the atmosphere was funereal, and that I was lucky to miss it. I imagine things have been somewhat similar this week, as survivors and allies on campus grapple with the baffling decision of one of their (female) senators. I feel for everyone currently hurting in the United States, and wish I could bring you all here to find peace.

The best I can do for now is to convert my moments of peace into words and pictures. I've had predictable fluctuations in emotion thus far, though I've experienced far more ups than downs. I've only had a few days where I've felt forlorn/frustrated/truly lonesome, which has surprised me given my penchant for emotional volatility. There have even been several moments where things have just clicked, and I feel more and more that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. I think my first click came one night a couple of weeks ago as I was eating dinner on the roof of the house where I'm staying. I had made it up the stairs with my meal just in time to catch the sunset, and was thoroughly enjoying my food in the gloaming. Scanning the horizon, a faint shape caught my eye and made me sit up straight. At first I thought I was seeing clouds, but I quickly realized that I was actually seeing a another island across the pond!! I confirmed my suspicion using the helpful little directional pointer on Google Maps. Sure enough, I was looking at El Hierro, roughly 40 miles away! It's the smallest of the 7 major islands, and current home to my Fulbright friend Sadie.

Though I'd been on La Gomera for about 2 weeks at that point, it was the first time I'd seen another island from Valle Gran Rey. I suddenly felt so grounded and somehow less alone. Staring at El Hierro, I picked up one of the smooth basalt stones used to weight down the couch cover and held it in my lap, still hot to the touch from a day of absorbing solar radiation. The breeze was gentle and nightfall was slow. I felt so happy.

Since that night, El Hierro has made an appearance on the horizon a few more times, but almost exclusively at sundown and only when the air is very clear. Once, I was even lucky enough to see La Palma, which lies 40 miles to the north. My host Tanja has told me that occasionally you can even see the roads and lights on El Hierro. I look forward to it!

Other major good moments have come--unsurprisingly--when I've been in the ocean. When I arrived on La Gomera, I wasn't really in any hurry to get to the beach. There were too many things to attend to and not enough time. Plus, the main beach in town didn't seem to have any fun waves due to its semi-sheltered location. But when I finally went at the end of a hot and busy day, I was hooked.

On my first visit, I was a little apprehensive as I always am when wading into the ocean for the first time in a while. Though I've studied it for years now and have lived within close proximity for the last 4 years of my life, it always takes me a few minutes to relax and trust a new setting. I have to get to know how the floor feels under my feet, identify the wave patterns, and adjust to the temperature. I'd never been swimming atop black sand before, and it's definitely a little unsettling to look down and just see a dark void! Luckily, the water is typically quite clear, so I can always see my feet moving beneath me.

Now that my number of visits has reached double digits, the water greets me like an old friend. I've even started to drop my embarrassing dependence on plugging my nose when going underwater! There is no feeling like the first dive under a wave; nothing like popping up, refreshed, to see the horizon stretching out in front of me. Barring the occasional smooth stone wedged in the sand, the floor is even beneath my feet, and the slope is gentle. When the tide is low, pale striped fish swim around my legs. My students have told me there are large mantas, but I try not to worry about that!

Turns out the waves vary greatly at this beach. Some days, they're no more than slight changes in sea surface height that timidly break and retreat. Other days, sets roll in so tall and fast that all the kids scream with excitement. There's also some interesting resonance going on that I haven't seen before: waves roll in and break, but then pull back with such force that they often crash into the incoming line as reformed waves. It's not really an undertow (as I said, this beach is too sheltered for crazy rip currents, etc), but instead probably has to do with the slope of the beach and the tide. It's especially fun to stand at the node where the inbound and outbound waves meet.

After jumping waves, floating around, and attempting a few handstands during the lulls, I like to haul out and air dry on the warm black sand. Most of the conversations taking place at the beach are in German, so I zone out as the foreign words mix with the sound of the waves. The energy of the water hums inside me, and I still feel the push and pull despite my position on the sand. I can never fall asleep in public places, but I do reach the outskirts of consciousness occasionally, letting my thoughts trail off as my brain zooms out.

I always leave the beach feeling relaxed and renewed, dotted with a few more freckles (yes, I wear sunscreen!!!!!!). I often wonder if I'll ever be able to part from the ocean after this. For now, I'll just enjoy my lucky moment.