Aventuras in Spain

You never know how an evening will turn out. You can start off alone watching a movie, then all of a sudden, boom, things change. It happened a lot in Rota. Things simply evolved, right before your very eyes. If you lived in Rota long enough you soon learned that an evening wasn't complete without a visit to the outdoor movie theater. It was a popular place for teenagers, children, grannies, old aunties, for anyone just wanting something different to do rather than sit on their balcony or patio. It was always hot at night. Even with all the windows opened in your apartment, the heat never really dissipated. You might as well be out and about for it was difficult to sleep what with mosquitoes biting you just when you would be about to doze off, and the blaring of  "Baby, don't get hooked on me" emanating from nearby bars. The American sailors frequented these bars. You could see them strolling along, tossing their Vantage or Winston cigarette butts onto the dirt r...

From Monday to Friday I was busy teaching at the bilingual school in El Puerto de Santa Maria. When I wasn't teaching I was studying Spanish and practising new vocabulary and verb tenses with the two Spanish teachers I lived with. Week-ends were completely different for that's when I got out and about and mixed with other foreigners.  On Saturday afternoons I made my way to Rota, to hang out with the Americans who worked on the Naval Base. There were also people from Australia, Great Britain, New Zealand, and Scandinavia who were travelling the world, just drifting around. It was bit like meeting characters from James Michener's book,'The Drifters', and I felt intrigued as if my nose and ears were tingling with sensory pleasures. There was the smell of Brut after-shave, Head and Shoulders shampoo and Dial soap as well-showered faces greeted guests, ready to entertain and be entertained. I couldn't tell the difference in accents between the Australians and...

Connie, the headmistress of the bilingual school where I teach is a canny businesswoman. When you first enter the school you see large framed posters of Oxford and Cambridge universities on the wall. They give the impression that she has graduated from one of these establishments.  The oh, so wealthy Terrys and Osbornes who send their children to her school are quite impressed by the headmistress being a a posh English person with a fancy university degree. If only they knew! Connie doesn't have even an O level to her name. On top of that, she's not English. She's Welsh. Connie is absolutely brilliant at getting whatever she wants at a reduced price, or even for free. "It would be so lovely to have a piano.  I wonder how expensive it would be to buy one?" She announces one day with a wistful smile. "We could offer piano lessons to the students. The parents would jump at the chance."  Her eyes are twinkling as she calculates how much money she can ...

1972, El Puerto de Santa Maria. I have a lovely sharpened pencil and a notebook, and I can't wait for my first Spanish lesson. The doorbell of the apartment rings and I meet my very own personal private tutor for the first time. He's a bit older than me, and a little bit taller. He has a beard and also has very nice teeth. "Agudas. This word is an aguda". He talks loudly and writes a word in my notebook, then underlines it. "This next word is a llana." He underlines it too. He has a  flair for underlining words. I haven't a clue what he's talking about. It's something to do with accent marks and pronunciation. I ask him that question that native speakers of English always ask any time they find themselves in a situation requiring even just a rudimentary knowledge of a foreign language, "Do you speak English?" His eyes twinkle and he grins broadly as he replies, "Why? What difference does it make?" His English is cer...

It's September, 1972, and I've just arrived in El Puerto de Santa Maria to teach in a bilingual school. In the mornings I teach English to four year old Spanish children. In the afternoons I teach elementary subjects to children aged 5 to 9 who are native speakers of English. Here's the problem. I don't know any Spanish. I have heard of the expression, 'Adios amigo', but that's it for my knowledge of Spanish.  Even my students who are native speakers of English know more Spanish than me. Everyone knows more Spanish than me. And my four year old pupils speak up in indignation each time I mispronounce their names. I, in my ignorance, at times think they're the ones making mistakes. "Federico? Shouldn't it be Frederico?" I actually think his name is misspelled on the roster. "Senorita, mi nombre es FEDERICO!" He has his hands on his hips as he tells me off. Time to do something about this appalling lack of knowledge on my pa...