Classes are Brutal

I have just completed my third session of espanol, and it idn't pretty. Classes run for four hours a day, including a half hour break. It's a short walk from the place I'm staying to the classes, but little more than a quarter of the walk is on paved roads. The rest is through dirt paths and loosely defined "private" gardens. The notion of private property in terms of land is largely a foreign concept here. The many Spanish schools and few local farmers each have their parts of the area near the lake, but the boundaries, if there actually are any, are fluid at best. The classes are held in small shelters that consist of stilts to hold up the roof and an elevated platform that has enough room for two tables, one of which holds a chalkboard, and two chairs. My teacher dresses in traditional Guatemalan clothing and, as I learned today, actually speaks the local Mayan language at home.

During the break today, I took a short walk down to the lake. While I was there, I saw a local of 9 or 10 playing alone with his football. At least during the day, there isn't very much concern for the supervision of children. In the only way I knew how - yelling, "aqui" - I told him to pas the ball over. Without hesitation, he did so and I immediately took off with the ball. (just checking to see if you're paying attention) That kept up both amused for about twenty minutes before I returned to the dental appointment that some call a Spanish lesson.

In terms of studying, I have taken to the practice of studying until I'm just about ready to chuck my books at the wall and get the next bus back to the first world. Then I take a break. Having to memorize well over 100 vocabulary words a day, plus grammar, does little for the social life, and the freaks that I call housemates (more on that in a moment) are probably starting to think that I'm pretty standoffish. Either the studying will pay off and I'll end up coming out of here being able to berate Michael Moore in another language, or I'll end up returning to the US only to be institutionalized, spending my days muttering Spanglish to myself.

Anyway, the latest characters that I've meet are another New Yorker who has friends working for "that woman". While she's not on board, she did help to establish a local tree hugger group, and someone who hasn't gotten the memo that the 60s ended almost half a century ago. The former is a student in the afternoon but does not live at the school. The later is a student living in my building but studying in the morning. He's a Dutchman who wants to open some kooky retreat center in Valencia. He wants to focus on "internal vs. external" motivation and getting people to eat whatever rabbit food he decides to cook up.

Anyway, it's time for me to return to my studies, only hoping that I can maintain my sanity for another day. By the way, I don't foresee this being a problem, me being brilliant and stubborn and all, but just in case, if I come back wearing birkenstocks, can I have a few volunteers to take me out for an afternoon of electroshock?