What Teaching Has Taught Me

I have now been an English assistant in a primary school for 6 weeks in Malaga on the south coast of Spain. With a fairly heavy schedule that involves teaching a total of about 450 children in a working week, it’s safe to say that I have dived head first into the enigmatic world of Spanish education. 

As can be expected, Spanish schools reflect relaxed Spanish culture. There is a large list of differences between their education and the memories I have from childhood in the UK. This includes the fact that it doesn’t seem to matter if the teacher is 10 minutes late, that lunchtime doesn’t come around until 2pm and there doesn’t seem to be any strict system for homework (or any punishments if half the class decide not to do it). However, the lenient schooling works to my advantage; a laid-back syllabus in the English lessons means that I can teach what I want in the way that I want to teach it.

No time for nervousness or lack of confidence, on my first day I was handed a piece of chalk and told to take a class of 10 year olds for 45 minutes. With 20 seconds to rack my brain for any piece of knowledge that might be interesting to them, I decided to talk about London. Big Ben, the London Eye, Tower Bridge (which fascinates 10 year olds because it opens and closes for boats) were all on the menu, and the kids loved it. I even suggested they do some written work on the subject, and 2 days later I was handed 30 projects to mark and a red pen.

Some of the many projects!

Since my first week, my patriotism has only grown stronger. We have now covered English food (“it’s very unhealthy”, commented one 8 year old), English schools, English uniforms and the Royal Family (which amusingly gets translated into Spanish; our Queen is now called Isabel, and her son is Carlos). The kids think I’m incredibly exotic, and I have even persuaded the younger ones that Harry Styles is my best friend.    

In terms of teaching as a career enhancer, I would argue that standing up in front of 30 children is a fantastic experience for creativity, quick thinking, managing relationships and public speaking. The phrase, ‘transferable skills’ is thrown around university campuses regularly, but teaching foreign children for 6 weeks, having to constantly adapt to their level of enthusiasm and ability has taught me a huge amount.

Hand me that piece of chalk and put me in front of 30 men in suits any day- at least they won’t ask why the cars don’t fall off the bridge when it opens for the boats!

Teaching the Royal Family in Spanish!

The Things the Spanish Got Right

Image: Spain-Holiday

I have recently made the big leap across the border from Bordeaux in France to the sunny south coast of Spain. My new home is Malaga, the touristy city that allows for beach days in February and continuous eating all day long. As a primary school teacher by day and an Erasmus partier by night, here are a few of my favourite things…

The Social Life. My experience after 3 weeks in the Spanish sun is that the most important thing to a Spaniard is to sit outside cafes drinking beer with friends all day long. “Una caña” is a small beer which, in Malaga, usually costs around 1 euro. In my short time, I have learned that at least one “caña” must be consumed every day. It’s time to wave goodbye to the vineyards of Bordeaux!

The Siesta. It seems to me that everything in Spain happens a few hours later than in the UK. Lunch is at 3pm, supper is at 10pm and night clubs shut at 7am. This has led to the ingenious invention by the Spanish of two shorter sleeps every day, rather than our preferred 8-hour nights. In Malaga, you would be hard pushed to find a shop or restaurant that is open between the hours of 3pm and 5pm. Take note, the siesta is taken seriously in Spain.

The Spanish Language. This is a comparison to France, in which I spent a lot of time being angered by incorrect English on billboards and the language battle with waiters when they replied to me in English (despite being in bourgeois Bordeaux). Even in the tourist town of Malaga, music is in Spanish, shops have Spanish names and the people always reply to me in their mother tongue. Perhaps the same wouldn’t be said for a small town 50 km away called Marbella…

The Spaniards. They may not see any need to apologise if they barge into you in the street, but I have never felt more welcome than I have this past month by the Malagueños. If you ask for directions, they’re happy to walk you to your destination and if you don’t know a word in Spanish, they wait patiently while you try to explain what you mean.

Malaga's Beach!

Pay For Your Time, Not Your Coffee

Take your pick!

A recent contribution I made to my company's blog about a concept café that has just opened in London... 

In London’s alternative centre, Shoreditch, a new café has just arrived with a new concept in tow. Your coffee and cakes are free, but you must pay 3p for every 60 seconds you spend there.

Ziferblat is a new café to hit the streets of London and has already been praised by Time Out as one of the best cafes to open in 2014. The popular chain hails from Russia where they have opened more than 10 branches in the last 2 years to an incredibly positive response. The café’s name, ‘Zierblat’ means ‘clock face’ in Russian (Zifferblatt in German) and the idea is simple; pick up an alarm clock on your way in and clock out as you leave.

The owner, Ivan Mitin hopes to make a community from the café, with customers having access to the kitchen to prepare their own food and helping themselves to the professional coffee machine as well as a plethora of snacks. The café even provides its coffee-drinkers with a piano, where visitors are encouraged to show off their musical skills. The communal feeling seems to be a success too, with customers lining up to do their washing up and even that of others despite no obligation to do so.

Ziferblat has sparked criticism from some consumers who don’t favour the idea of being guarded by a watchful timer sat on the table in front of them. Although perhaps making your own coffee is a slight disadvantage of the coffee shop, for £1.80 an hour it is arguably fantastic value.

For those who feel guilty about buying just one coffee and nursing it for two hours while they get on with their work, Ziferblat might be the perfect café to be your new local.

☞Ziferblat Facebook

☞Ziferblat Twitter

☞Ziferblat Website

Find the original article on Com by AVM's website here.

Internet Interaction - Year Abroad #3

Next up on Inter:Mission: a bit of an experiment...

After almost 2 months on my year abroad, I decided that I would stop leaving my love life up to the Gods, and I would take matters into my own hands. No more waiting for Jean-Pierre to step around the corner in his stripy shirt and beret and take my breath away, it was time to get proactive. After thinking through my options briefly, and overhearing a conversation between colleagues, my mind was made up; online dating.

I think attempting online dating is the perfect example of something that has captured my year abroad spirit. I can’t imagine that I would create any such profile in the UK, predominantly through fear of cyber-running into someone that I know, but when in France my self-judgement seems to go a bit hazy. I can always say that I did it for an article anyway… Justification out of the way, a bit of research led me to the most popular French online dating website, ‘adopteunmec.com’ or as we could translate, ‘adopt a guy’.

As the title suggests, the website is heavily focused on girls having all the power. While men pay 30euros for the privilege of a picture of themselves and a couple of descriptive sentences, girls get the service free of charge. Not only do men have to pay, but in order to send a girl an email, the girl has to ‘accept their charm’ before one word can be exchanged. I like the sound of this already, no creepy 50 year olds asking you if, ‘you have ever been with an older man’ (apparently that happens). The site continues to amuse with  sections such as ‘sales’ where you can find the ‘best’ guys easily under categories such as ‘geek chic’ and ‘sporty’. My favourite aspect has to be the option to, ‘add to cart’ when you find a man you’d like to chat to, so it is basically just like being on Asos.com (more justification you see). The attention to detail on the site really makes the whole experience quite agreeable, although perhaps more so if you’re a girl…

Without a care in the world, I set up a profile indicating my Erasmus status and a photo chosen by Slovak (read my previous article to find out more about him). It was worryingly easy, within 5 minutes my photo had been approved and I was starting to feel a sense of that phrase Miley has us all arguing over, ‘female empowerment’. Flicking through images of 21-26 year old men within 50 kilometres of Bordeaux, I couldn’t quite escape the feeling that I was being horrendously shallow, but perhaps that’s the point of girl power.

After a necessary cull of many of the ‘charms’ and an addition of a second photo, the seemingly more normal guys began to surface. A few ‘bonjour, ca va?’ messages later and I already have a date night set up with a guy whose profile picture has him holding a puppy. Assuming that it will be a disaster, I really have very little faith, I’ve asked Slovak to ring me an hour into the date to ensure I’m safe. No doubt I will be back at my laptop keyboard shortly writing about how disastrous the whole thing was… I do hope he brings the puppy though. 

Dangerous Domestics - Year Abroad #2

My second column for Inter:Mission, this time I decided to talk about moving in with strangers...

When you make the decision that you want to live with other people (rather than in a studio flat) on your year abroad, you put your hand into a lucky-dip of unknown personalities. You may create future friendships that are to last, or you could find yourself slap bang in the middle of disaster. When you decide, as I did, to live in an Erasmus flat where the people change every few months, you are multiplying that risk by 10 and adding a pinch of communication trouble into the melting pot too.

When I first moved into my 4 bedroom, ‘this’ll do’ apartment in Bordeaux, the first person I met was a lovely Austrian girl studying French in the city. We immediately hit it off, chatting about lots of things we had in common and about how beautiful Bordeaux was. Perfect, at least I’ll have one friend. Not so, she soon informed me that she was in her last week, and she didn’t fail to add that the other guy, a Slovakian, was an interesting personality.

She was right, the Slovakian guy was an interesting personality. Although rather charming, especially if you’re into the Russian/eastern European accent, I soon discovered that he was affording his travels through blogging. ‘How interesting, I like to blog too. What do you blog about?’ He has 100 webpages apparently, and one of the most prominent money-makers focuses on a lovely group of 5 English boys called One Direction. Ah. The second eyebrow was raised when I asked his age and he responded that it is a, ‘secret that even my ex-girlfriend doesn’t know’. Of course I headed straight to Facebook, (I’m slowly discovering that an obsession with Facebook stalking is a decidedly English attribute) and after much searching of birthday posts and graduation years, the most I could deduce is that he’s older than 33. He still won’t tell me.

The next to enter my flat of eclectic eccentricities was a French girl who couldn’t understand a word of French that either Mr Slovak or I said. Although I am well aware that my French is not perfect, it is at least comprehensible. Whether I was confused, insulted or mildly irritated, her bedtime of 8pm on the second evening told me everything I needed to know about the longevity of our friendship (or lack thereof). Even Slovak said he didn’t fancy her, and that’s saying something.

Despite the mystery of an Erasmus flat, I truly believe that my year abroad is designed for experiences like this and I love it. When else will I get the opportunity to learn about different cultures so intensely and be able to shout Britain’s praises to others? ‘The Olympics was just such a huge success, you see’. Also, my room has a lock. That helps.

You can find the original article on Inter:Mission Bristol here.

A Disastrous Date - Year Abroad #1

I have started a fortnightly column on the fantastic website Inter:MIssion Bristol where I'm going to bare my soul and talk about some of the embarrassing things that happen on year abroads. My first piece is all about a date that went disastrously wrong...

Image: bizeminervois

After 1 month in the wilderness, I decided that it was just about time to dive head-first into finding my Jean-Pierre. By that, I mean the stereotypical year abroad boyfriend; floppy hair, sickeningly romantic but not quite interesting enough for it to last the long distance after you leave. I should point out here, for interest, that we were advised to invest in such boyfriends by Bristol; apparently it will be ‘wonderful for our language skills’. Perhaps invest is not the right word.

Upon making my decision, there were many things to be considered. Should I fancy someone at the office? Should I take to one of my roommates? Should I join an online dating website? Alas, I apparently decided the best option was to meet a man at 3am in a promising location…in the street. I should definitely mention at this point that I wasn’t actually drunk, nor he, but I accept that it’s not the most romantic of scenarios. Well, anyway, it gets worse.

After agreeing to go on a date with this boy, we exchanged numbers and each headed our own way. After multiple triple texts, a Facebook add and a doubling up of those excessive texts as Facebook chats, it began to dawn on me that the street might not have been the best place to meet someone. ‘Don’t be so judgemental’ I told myself, ‘he might not be that bad’. He was that bad.

Our date night was set, we were to meet on the steps of the beautiful Bordeaux Grand Theatre. As I left my flat, allowing myself the perfect time to be between 5 and 10 minutes late, I heard my phone ring. Apparently he was 15 minutes early; he just wanted to let me know. Not too strange, but not normal date night etiquette I would suggest.

After meeting and having the mandatory awkward not-sure-which-side-to-kiss-first hello that so often happens in France, we headed off in a direction that I assumed was to find a bar. Not so. He thought it was appropriate to take me to his hotel room, he’d bought a bottle of wine apparently. After seeing the sheer panic on my face, we agreed to change his plans and head for an Irish pub, in a public location, where there are other people.

If I hadn’t had enough blinkingly obvious deal-breakers already, now came the explosive bomb that finally blasted away my naivety. ‘So what do you do for a living?’ I asked politely, ‘Oh, I sell sex toys’ he responded casually. I was momentarily amused to find out that apparently the word for ‘sex toys’ is the same in French, but then realisation dawned on me; this embarrassingly keen, wildly inappropriate vibrator vendor was not going to be my Jean-Pierre. Time to make my excuses and leave.

You can find the original article on Inter:Mission Bristol here.

If only...

'20 Things 20-Year-Olds Don't Get' - A Response

I recently read the most fantastic article by Jason Nazar on Forbes about young people and their attitude to business. The no-nonsense style of the article was a change from the molly-coddled, spoon-fed and watered-down approach of treating young people in the 21^st century, especially by career professionals (Huffington Post recently argued, rather mockingly, that always being told we are special is ultimately making us unhappy). While I wouldn’t personally like to work under Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, Nazar’s example of the most valuable boss, being told off for my future mistakes before I make them could be useful. Business is not about Miss Honey telling us what to do and giving us a big cuddle if we don’t succeed, it’s about pro-activity and initiative. I imagine it’s also about having a thick skin too.

Nazar talks about the emergence of social media in the business world and its longevity, or lack thereof. Although many would be offended at his suggestion that ‘social media is not a career’, his point is clear. Social Media is unreliable and may disappear as quickly as it arrived. Reports suggest that Twitter has already reached the top of its graph and is now on the decline and even Instagram feels the need to introduce advertising to prevent social media mortality being a reality. As Nazar states, Social Media is a tool for marketing that should be adapted to other business, rather than be the business itself. Social Media is simple, it is isolated and above all, it is unreliable. Business may not be reliable either, but it involves interaction with people and the formation of business relationships that can’t be acquired from posting on a Facebook page a few times a day.

Would we ask to go home if this happened?
Image: WeBlogCartoons

His comment, ‘Stop hiding behind your computer. Business gets done on the phone and in person.  It should be your first instinct’ is of particular relevance to my generation. We don’t pick up the phone anymore and many don’t even bother with email. In order to contact the Graduate Recruiters for the Big 4, it seems as though my comrades simply head to the Facebook page and add a comment to the long list of obvious and unnecessary questions before them. The way I see it, hiding behind our computers is making us anonymous, uninteresting and ridding us of all initiative. Asking questions has its time and place, but working something out for yourself is invaluable.

While I don’t agree with everything Nazar says, such as his rejection of tweet reading, the overall essence of his article appears to be a comment on laziness. Lack of networking, hiding behind social media and sending blanket emails; it is all easy. Picking up the phone, meeting business professionals and taking responsibility for our own mistakes may be tough, but it is rewarding. The Co-Founder of Docstoc has certainly persuaded me of one thing, there’s a lot more to business than sitting in front of a computer.

I urge you to read the original article, ’20 Things20-Year-Olds Don’t Get’ on Forbes.

Living With Strangers

So as part of my attempts to slip seamlessly into the French way of life on my year abroad, I opted to live with French (or at least ‘non-English’) people as part of a, ‘colocation’. I have now lived with 3 different French people, an Austrian girl and a Slovakian fondly known as the, ‘Slovak’ and I have learnt quite a lot about living with people you don’t know much about…

It’s what English people do. The wonderfully useful thing about living with people from different cultures is that you can be as strange as you want to be, and simply blame it on your culture. Want to eat supper at 5pm? ‘It’s normal at home’. Want to take a shower for half an hour? ‘What, you don’t do that in your country?!’

Unfortunate awkwardness. I had the amusing, yet rather frightening situation of a flatmate wanting to be more than just friends. Discovering that I could lock my bedroom door was certainly a delightful relief but I was a little nervous about the atmosphere in the flat afterwards. Luckily, it all turned out fine as he soon met a Brazilian girl who was far more exotic and the off-putting glances stopped.

Flatshare fridge- good idea or bad idea?

Meal times. As a group of four who didn’t know each other very well, we tended to be fairly antisocial when it came to food. Although there is nothing wrong with an episode of badly streamed Masterchef providing the only entertainment of the meal, the problem lies in the cooking. Lack of communication often finds four people wanting to use the oven at the same time. And we only have 2 baking trays.

Communication barriers. A group of people who all speak different languages is a wonderful experience as a mixture of Frenglish and Franglais can provide for many amusing moments. My mentioning that decoration in the loo would be nice subsequently led to Slovak investing in an enormous One Direction poster. Also, many a laugh can be had upon hearing a Frenchman utter the word, 'beach'.