Dross (DRAHSS) waste or foreign matter, impurity. Etc.
I can hear the plates clinking at the Mesoncito, across the street. It’s 11:30 PM and I just crawled into bed after one of the longest days I’ve ever had teaching.
I rolled out of bed at 5:55 this morning. I contemplated setting my alarm for 5:45, but the idea of waking up before 6 AM was just so depressing. I compromised on 5:55, still close to 6 AM but practical as far as my time allocation went ( making fruit salad, coffee, and getting ready). What bothers me about my fruit breakfast, which includes kiwi, pear, apple, orange, and banana, is that I can’t prepare it ahead of time the night before because I hate when fruit gets a little brown. The taste isn’t too different, but it’s not as aesthetically pleasing. Silly? Moving on.
We arrived at the park by the school at 6:50 in the morning, the bags under my eyes are almost permanent after an entire week of bad sleep. It’s one thing to feel tired and another thing to actually look haggard. The field trip was organized for the first and second year students which are 12-14 year old students. Will and I were each assigned a bus of students, the 43 students in mine might have seemed intimidating had I not been in a state of zombie induced indifference. We drove 2 1/2 hours to the Sierra Nevada mountains in Granada. The students started yelling and cheering upon sight of the snow topped mountains. Neither Will or I had any idea what we were actually going to do in the Sierra Nevada, so when we made it up to the CAR training center (Arguably the best sports training facility in Europe for athletes) we were pleasantly surprised. I had a surreal moment when we were watching their introductory video in the dark auditorium and I had to monitor the talking and make sure everyone was paying attention. I never would have thought I would have gone to the ‘dark’ side.
After we toured around the facility, our two tour guides Rafa y Frito took us to the slopes where we went sledding. The students were so cute and in such good spirits. That is, until snow ball war 2009 broke out. Spending part of the day with ice bits down my shirt was not ideal, but going sledding with the kids and teaching them how to say things in English was really fun and entertaining.
My favorite part of this field trip was being able to communicate with the kids in Spanish. My first field trip to Cordoba with them was a little more frustrating because my Spanish wasn’t very strong when I first got here. Now I was talking with the the teachers (who only speak Spanish) and all of the students freely. One point for me.
After sledding we took the students to the ice rink, which ended with several wounds and bad falls. After that, the trip took an interesting turn. My angelic, sweet, 12 year olds turned into hellions about 5 minutes into our return drive home. Rafa, Javy & Jorge were all asking me how to say bad words in English, and somehow I got pulled into the mess when they thought it would be funny to ask me if I play “penis” which sounded just like “tenis” (Spanish word, different pronunciation than tennis). Clever, clever. Shortly thereafter, a few of the students threw up because of motion sickness (the road was so windy, I was actually car sick as well)--so you can imagine how awesome the bus smelled. The other teacher on the bus with me was about as manic as the bus driver who was now shouting “mierda” into his microphone, pissed off at all the students. The teacher just held his head in his hands. Thus, I was left to make sure they were all staying in their seats so as not to warrant another stage 5 freak out from the disgruntled, sociopath, bus driver. Jorge turned into a tattle tale and kept wanting me to get kids in trouble. I also found myself explaining why the peace sign not shown palm forwards is basically the same thing as the middle finger in the United Kingdom. I told them that in the United States it wasn’t anything but the peace sign. After that, I caught sweet tiny Jorge flipping one of the girl students off who then proceeded snap “Tu eres ugly,” and then say “Soy beautiful. Tu eres ugly. Pero, I beautiful.” Which is funny and I guess typical of 12 year olds. Spanglish. It just made me laugh listening to them name calling, cracking up about “penis” (which they have no hope of properly pronouncing) and calling their math teacher Juan Ignacio a “yeti” --kids are the same everywhere. 12 year old boys are always going to be perverse, and 12 year old girls are always going to be sassy. By the time we pulled back into the park in Posadas at 9 PM, I was ready to run home and/or jump through the window to get home faster. Kids are EXHAUSTING. I told Rafa, who had built a faux sword that I later had to confiscate, that he just needs to behave because I didn’t have the energy left. He’s allegedly the most difficult student in first year--but he and I sat together there and back and had a blast together all day. He’s really sweet but just really loud and always making jokes (at the bus driver’s expense) but he was really good for me, which I appreciated.
I never thought I would be able to handle kids from 12-17 with ease. I always thought if hell froze over and I decided to become a teacher, I would teach little tiny kids. I’m honestly surprised at the lack of anxiety I feel dealing with them. Sometimes I swear the teachers look like they are going to turn blue in the face, cry, or just leave the room. I guess I never take their indifference or attitude personally, they are just being teenagers. My main goal is to keep them interested and feeling that they are learning things of value. However, after being on a bus of 43 students for 6 hours in a day--I’m more than a little tuckered out and I’ll probably recover my hearing at some point tomorrow :)
Buenas noches.
PS: My mom called me when we were on our way home from Granada and told me she is actually going to be able to come out for Semana Santa! Estoy contenta.
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