Swedish superstores, naked Brits, and fart jokes...welcome to the real Spain!

I think I have finally settled in. That's an incredible feeling, because for the first few weeks, I didn't feel comfortable here in Spain. Now I have a new apartment with supercool roommates in a pretty friendly part of town, and I feel much better about my situation. Let my Spanish life begin!

Saturday afternoon, my friend Biz and I went to a new IKEA on the outskirts of town. We rode the metro to the south end of the blue line, and then took the free shuttle bus to shopping paradise. I had never been in an IKEA before, but had heard other people sing its praises. I was pretty excited, especially because I was planning on buying a lot of things for my new room. However, it is a pretty stinking hard store to figure out. Especially because everything is neither in English nor Spanish, but Swedish. So me and Biz wandered around for about an hour trying to figure out how to buy sheets. Turns out, we were in the wrong section of IKEA, the "exposition" section (where apparently you look but don't buy), so by the time we found the sheets, I just wanted to leave. However, we finally figured out the store's layout, and then were able to find the things on my list. I bought pink and white curtains, a down pillow, a bottom sheet, and a duvet cover and pillowcase set. I bought the duvet cover to serve as my top sheet, because IKEA does not carry top sheets, therefore forcing me to improvise. I also bought a few towels, a rug, and some little cinnamon-scented tealights. So it turned out to be a successful trip after all. I am all color-coordinated now and slowly but surely making my new room my own.

Sunday night was La Noche en Blanco here in Madrid, one night a year where many different cultural events go on from 9pm till 7am. And once again, I wore the wrong shoes. Why do I keep doing that? Anyway, Biz and I went to Santiago Bernabeu stadium (where the super-famous Real Madrid soccer team plays) for the free tour. After standing in a line that wound around the entire stadium for almost two hours (we are both very stubborn) we finally got to go in. It was interesting to see in person what I had only ever seen on TV, but my mind was mostly occupied by the plight of my poor feet. And my camera's battery died, but luckily Biz had hers. I was slightly cheered by the fact that the tour was supposed to include entry into Real Madrid's locker room. However, upon entering said locker room, I was dismayed to discover a sign on the wall that informed us we were to see an "authentic replica" of Real Madrid's locker room. I should have known it was too good to be true. My fantasy of walking into the same room where the glorious David Beckham has strode around without his knickers on remains just that. A fantasy. Joaquin is throwing up now.

After a run-, er, hobble-through, of the trophy room, Biz and I left for her apartment to get me some more shoes. It was about 2:00am, and we had wrongly assumed that the metro would stay open late for the cultural-event-goers to use. Nope, it closed right at 1:30 like normal, so we were stuck in north Madrid without any means of transportation. Me more than Biz, because I couldn't even use my feet. The line for the night bus was starting to wrap around the stadium as well. So I took off my beautiful-but-evil Honduran gold heels, and walked back to Biz's place barefoot, an only slightly less painful adventure than if I had kept them on. I guess people were probably looking at me funny, but I didn't see them because I was keeping my eyes on the sidewalk to prevent myself from stepping on some stray hypodermic needle. Not that there is much drug parephenalia laying around in the open in Madrid, but one can never be too careful when it comes to HIV. Anyway, I crashed on Biz's couch that night, with my bloody, blistered feet hanging off the edge. Good memories.

Yesterday (Monday) was our last day of TEFL, in which we took our final exams. 45 minutes of Children's, 45 minutes of Business, and 90 eternal minutes of theory. So three hours of writing. We did get a break in the middle, but it certainly wasn't long enough. I was pretty irritated with the whole thing when I finally finished, especially since we had to write two essays in the theory part. There were several questions I left blank, such as "What is a collocation?" I think we did go over that in class, but I didn't think it was important enough to remember at the time. I still don't. Better yet, what is a relative pronoun or an appositive? Yeah, I have no clue. If a student ever asks me, I'll make them look it up.

Since there is no more TEFL to worry about, I have begun picking up a lot more English classes. I had three new students tonight, two six year-old boys together, and then a 10 year old boy. What a world of difference four years makes. The two six year olds would not stop moving for one nanosecond. Poor things had just gotten out of school, and then they were subjected to a hour of some weird foreign lady trying to make them sit still when all they wanted to do was burn off some energy. They were completely out of control, running around, yelling in rapid-fire Spanish, bouncing off each other, throwing things around...you know, as much general pandemonium as two little boys can create. At one point, the "better" of the two, Alejandro, sat on the other, Alvaro, and farted in his face. And then about 20 minutes of hysterical "pedo" comments ensued. I had to laugh through my gritted teeth. What can you do? I didn't lose my temper or leave early, and that's about all their moms could ask of me, for the first day anyway. I am going to be prepared for battle next week. Anybody got any ideas?

My second class was with a 10 year-old, also named Alejandro, and he was remarkably better-behaved. And really smart! The information I recieved listed him as "false beginner" and though I am not sure what that means, he is no beginner. He goes to a bilingual school, and it seems to me that he is getting close to fluent. His English is way better than my Spanish anyway. So I had him read a children's book to me to determine his reading level, and except for a few pronunciation errors, he had no problem. He's an only child and obviously his parents have done a wonderful job in providing for his education. Well, they are well-off and live in a fairly fancy apartment complex...rather, apartment compound. I was surprised the guards didn't frisk me upon entering. Anyway, the hour-and-a-half class flew by, with us talking about travel, Harry Potter, and showing each other some card tricks. All in all, he's a very cool kid, and I am looking forward to our class next week.

Well, that's about it for now. I have been playing Brad Paisley's song Ticks over and over again for the past hour because it is just so stinkin funny. And makes me feel at home. I have always said I couldn't wait to get out of the Deep South, but strangely enough, any little bit of the South that I brought with me or that I have found here is a precious commodity. Huh. I would never have guessed it, but just hearing the word "y'all" here is like listening to a symphony orchestra play Pachelbel's Canon in D. It makes my heart soar up into the clouds.