The Struggles of a Foreigner and a Spanish Thanksgiving

In school in the latter half of last week, I was with the infantiles. I read them "The Crazy Story," which threw together characters from many different stories, including Snow White, the Three Little Pigs, Little Red Riding Hood, and several others, including, strangely, Spiderman. But the kids loved the story, so that's what really counts. The teacher decided to mix it up, so rather than reading to them from a sort of book like I normally do, this time, I had individual characters on popsicle sticks. It was fun for the kids but when I had to wrangle multiple characters as well as hold the pages to read from, I'm sure I was a sight to behold. But the teacher loved it, and she told me she's going to do it more in the future...so that's good, I think?

In my after school lessons, I played Hesitation with my older students, also known as Concentration. Basically you say a little rhyme in the beginning and then you go back and forth, saying as many things from one category as you can without hesitating or repeating. So we did fruit, animals, sports, etc. The kids really enjoyed it, which made me happy, because this is another game from my childhood.

In my high school classes, I have a system now. I choose a topic and we talk for the first half hour, and then we play a game for the second half hour. I can't say enough about how much I enjoy the high school classes, especially because I go to the class after a straight hour of hollering at kids and trying to get them to calm down, so going to these classes and chatting and laughing for half an hour is a dream. For the "game" last week, I brought in a ball and we threw it from person to person, and whoever caught it had to answer a question asked by the person who threw it. The simplicity for my high school lessons really is a joy.

However, there was one dark spot in my perfect high school lessons last week. One of my classes has gotten really big. It's the one with the oldest students, who range from 16-26, and there were 15 students in attendance last week, including some new faces. These two guys, who I will henceforce refer to as "hooligans," showed up, and they were just incredibly disrespectful. They didn't even try to speak English, they told me fake names when I asked who they were, and they laughed and distracted the other students for the entire time they were there. So everyone who knows me knows that I don't have much of a temper, but I have to admit that this got under my skin. I mean, come on. They were 17 years old and they were behaving worse than the 9-year-olds that I the hour before. So about 15 minutes into the class, I told them that it seemed to me that they just wanted to laugh, and that's not what this class was about; rather, this was an English class, so if they didn't want to speak English, there's the door. And they actually left, which surprised me a bit but I couldn't help but feel relieved. (One of the other students in my class told me that she thinks they took it as me kicking them out, not telling them they "could" leave if they wanted. But that's fine with me.)

Of course, the hooligans didn't stop there. They lingered in the hallway, making noise and generally acting like idiots. But there's always a silver lining, and their behavior made me realize how much my other students value the class. The two hooligans kept opening the door, so my other students would get up every time to close it and shut them out, without ever actually speaking to them or engaging them in any way. I was pretty thrilled that my students actually cared enough not to engage them, because it would have been a lot more fun for them if they laughed and made jokes like the hooligans did. But the best part was when one of my students, a 16-year-old girl, got so fed up that she ran into the hallway and shouted at them, "We're actually trying to learn something. Maybe you should do the same!" And after that, they left us alone. Clare's class: 1. Hooligans: 0.

When Thursday rolled around, I was excited, because I was looking forward to the weekend. But on Friday, I had to go to Toledo again to get fingerprinted for my tarjeta de identidad extranjera (TIE), or my foreign identity card. Naturally, we couldn't do this in one appointment, but I digress. This ended up being very difficult, of course. Have I mentioned that everything in Spain is difficult?

So when I was in Toledo two weeks ago for the first step in the TIE process, I knew that I had to return for the fingerprints. The woman handling my paperwork said I would have to make an appointment for the fingerprinting once I received a letter from their office in the mail. I told her that I already had a second appointment, so should I keep it or cancel it and make another one when I got the letter? She looked up when it was, saw that it was two weeks away, and told me to keep the appointment. She assured me that I would receive the letter by then. But I bet you can guess what happened: the letter never came.

By Thursday, I still hadn't received the letter, and I wasn't sure what to do. Should I just go without the letter and hope for the best? Or should I cancel and wait for the letter? I asked a friend who had received her letter what it actually said, and she told me it basically served as proof that the person went to the first appointment. I thought to myself, Well, shouldn't they know that I was there two weeks ago, even if I don't have the letter? So I made the decision to go anyway, explain my plight, and hope for the best.

One of my coworkers from the high school took me with her, because she was going to Toledo anyway for a meeting, and she offered to accompany me to the extranjería office. Thank God she came with me, becasue I don't know what I would have done without her there to translate what was happening. When I went in the office to talk to the woman doing the fingerprinting, she told me that she couldn't do it without the letter. However, when we explained that we drove more than an hour to get there and that Quintanar is on the opposite end of the province, she decided to help us. She told us to go to the woman who worked in information, who could print a copy of my letter, and then we could do the fingerprints. So we go to talk to this woman, and she explains that the program in which they file the letters is down. She won't be able to help us until the system is back online. She tells us that we can come back in an hour and try again. I'm a patient person, so despite my disbelief at the absurdity of all of this, my coworker and I decided to have a coffee and a piece of cake at a nearby cafe before we returned to the office. When we came back, the system still wasn't functioning. The woman from information told us to come back at 1:30 in the afternoon, because the office closes at 2:00 (I'm not even going to point out how absurd that is, as well), and try one last time, or else I would have to come back another day. So we went to my coworker's meeting, hopeful that maybe the system would work when we returned a third time.

The meeting ran a little longer than we anticipated, and when I walked back into the office, it was almost 1:45. The woman from information was on the phone when I walked in, so I waited for her to finish before I started bothering her again. Meanwhile, just keep in mind that the clock is ticking. I was convinced that someone was going to throw me out if I was still there at 2:00. When the woman finished on the phone, she told me that the system was back online. Finally, something was going my way. So she pulls up my letter, prints it out, stamps it, and flips it back and forth and just appears to rustle it around several times (Meanwhile, the clock is still ticking.). As she's about to hand it to me, she realizes there's a mistake. The woman who was so kind to me two weeks earlier who entered my information into the system made an error, and my letter ended up being sent to a different person. This would explain why I never received it. So the woman from information rips up the wrong letter and goes back to the computer to make the corrections. When she finally finishes fixing it (not to blame her, of course; I'm very grateful that she figured out there was a mistake), I hurried into the fingerprinting office at 2:04, grateful that no one had kicked me out.

When the fingerprinting woman sees me, she says, "Oh, I can't help you. It's after 2:00." My coworker pleaded our case, explaining that it was the third time we were there that day, and we drove more than an hour, etc. But the woman says, "No, I mean I literally can't help you. The fingerprinting system usually goes offline at 2:00. But I will try." So she attempts to get into the system, but she's locked out, because it's after 2:00. So just to be clear, I finally have everything I need after going to that damn office 3 times in one day, and I can't actually do what I need to do because I was 4 minutes behind their schedule. To say that I wanted to scream would be an understatement. The waiting list to get an appointment for fingerprinting is weeks long, and my visa expires on December 14. I probably wouldn't even be able to get an appointment by then, and I have plans to travel out of the country over the Christmas break. What if I can't get back into Spain? I thought to myself, near tears. But as I said earlier, there's always a silver lining. The fingerprinting woman took pity on me and said I could come back on Monday, ask for her by name, and she would help me; I didn't need to make another appointment.

I just need this very brief moment to complain. I know how fortunate I am to be living in Spain, but for heaven's sake, I didn't realize how spoiled I was from living in the U.S. when it comes to bureaucracy. I got lucky that the woman didn't force me to make another appointment, and I'm very grateful for her help, but what if I didn't go to the office that day? What if I waited for the letter that would never come? Considering all the trouble they gave me, it's just incredibly frustrating. If I didn't go and badger them three times in one day, I easily could have been kicked out of the country when my visa expired, and yet everyone in that office treated me like I was being a nuisance. And furthermore, no one in the office speaks any language other than Spanish. They work in the damned foreigner's office, and the don't speak any foreign languages. I get it if they don't speak English, but what about French, or Italian, or Arabic, or Farsi, or one of the languages used by the hundreds of people who visit that office weekly? My friend Vicki was surprised when I relayed my sad story to her on Friday night. She told me, "They never would have been that helpful if you didn't have a native Spanish speaker with you to advocate for you." So my story was their version of being helpful. I can't get over how incompetent the entire system was.

I found myself back in Toledo yesterday. I took the bus roundtrip, which meant three and a half hours on the bus, to hand in the last of my paperwork (including the godforsaken letter) and get fingerprinted. In case you're wondering, the entire process took about 8 minutes. Totally well-worth the bus ride there and missing a day of school. Sigh. At least it's over, finally. Now I just have to wait 30 days and go back to Toledo for the final time to pick up my card. But my family and I are visiting Toledo when they come to Spain over the Christmas holiday, so I'm planning on going then. I think three special trips to Toledo just for this card were enough.

After we left the extranjería office, having been utterly defeated, my coworker took me to an overlook of the city before we returned to Quintanar. She used to live in Toledo, and she told me this was one of her favorite places. The day overall had been a bit of a bust, but at least we ended it on a high note. I had been to a scenic overlook of Toledo the first time I was there, but this was a different view of the city, and I liked it just as much.

The view of Toledo

Saturday was very quiet for me. I had started watching Game of Thrones a few days prior, so I watched several episodes of that over the course of the day. I also recently bought a coloring book of mermaids, so I listened to Adele's new album, 25, while I colored. Then I watched Hercules on Disney Channel before I went to bed. Boy, I do live an exciting life, don't I?

But Sunday was a big day for us. My friends and I had made plans to celebrate Thanksgiving, since Vicki and I are both Americans, and also because Morgan's boyfriend, Tyrone, was visiting for several days. We couldn't celebrate on Thursday because in Spain, the biggest meal of the day is at lunch around 2:30, and we all have school on Thursday, so there wouldn't be enough time to prepare. Morgan and Tyone had never celebrated Thanksgiving, of course, being from London, so I think we were all excited about it. I know Vicki and I were. We had gone grocery shopping together on Friday evening to get the fixings for green bean casserole and cupcakes. Vicki's fiance, Luis Felipe, had convinced his parents to let us have Thanksgiving at their house, so his mom was making mashed potatoes, and Luis Felipe was going to buy a roast chicken (because they don't really eat turkey in Spain).

So Vicki and I went over early to start our preparation, and because we didn't want to be in the way of Luis Felipe's mom, Felipa, when she was cooking. We made the cupcakes first, all the while jamming out to what I think has become Vicki's new favorite song: "It's Thanksgiving" by Nicole Westbrook. If you are familiar with Rebecca Black's "Friday," I think that might actually be of a higher quality than the tune by Ms. Westbrook.

Mixing up the cupcakes

Cupcakes in the oven!

When Morgan came and we started the green bean casserole, we listened to "It's Thanksgiving" again, which I was totally thrilled about, of course. And then we listened to it again when Tyrone came later, so that we could all share in the joy that is "It's Thanksgiving." That song was definitely something to be thankful for.

Me, Vicki, and Morgan modeling our aprons

Me, Vicki, Felipa, and Morgan: the Thanksgiving cooks!

When we finished baking the cupcakes and preparing the green bean casserole, Morgan and I went back to her apartment to get Tyrone, because the time was coming to actually eat. But first, we wanted to decorate the cupcakes. It had been Luis Felipe's parents' 52nd wedding anniversary earlier in the week, so we wanted to surprise them with cupcakes that were decorated with the number 52 and little hearts, among other more creative decorations.

Morgan, Vicki, me, and Tyrone: professional cupcake decorators

The prettiest cupcakes!

When the time finally came to dig into our Thanksgiving meal, I found that it was really a feast. In addition to the chicken, potatoes, green beans, and cupcakes for dessert, we also had salad, fried peppers, cheese, olives, bread, salmon bites, cole slaw, and of course, ham. Would it be a complete Spanish meal without ham?

Luis Felipe carving ham from the cured pig leg

The Thanksgiving feast!

I particularly enjoyed this Thanksgiving feast, mostly because it was so different from my usual Thanksgiving. Of course the ham made me laugh, but I was happy that a traditional American holiday was Spain-ified, rather than the other way around, because so many things in Spain have been Americanized. Not necessarily in Quintanar, of course, but even Toledo has an "American" grocery store.

Probaby my favorite moment of the day was when Felipa was making the salad and she asked Morgan and me what we liked in our salads. We both said we liked basically everything, so she told us, "Oh, so you two are hijos de pobre." Hijos de pobre means "poor children." Felipa explained that is a Spanish phrase for someone who is not a picky eater, because poor children will eat whatever you put in front of them so they don't starve. She went on to explain that Vicki, who is a vegetarian, is an "hijo de rico," or a rich person's child. We all had a good laugh about that.

When we finally finished eating, Morgan and I warmed ourselves by the fire, and I tried my first chestnut that had been roasted on an open fire. I really liked it, although the experience did get the Christmas song stuck in my head for awhile. But it replaced the wonderful "It's Thanksgiving," so it was probably for the best.

Enjoying the warm fire

It surely was a strange Thanksgiving, and we might have celebrated on the wrong day, but it was a great one, spent with friends and family and good food. And that's what Thanksgiving is really all about anyway.