So it's been 2 and a bit weeks of semi-immersion. I opted not to stay with a family; right now i value my own space more than anything. Besides everything is in Spanish, my lessons, my meals, my shopping...everything. At times it's bloody difficult, and you crave to hear and talk in English. At other times it's a stumbling, hesitant, bad accented, wrong tensed, verbal joy. My lessons are generally 8am to 1pm, with different activities in the evening or afternoon. The last day of the working week is supposed to be where the students cook some food from their own country. Last week we had Cornish pasties (England - me), shakshouka (Israeli), Crepes with banana and chocolate (France), Potato salad, oaty peanut butter chocolate biscuit things and sangria (all the USA). We should of had hot dogs too, but the guy drank so much during the day that he was incapable of talking, never mind cooking by dinner time. It was a good experience shopping for ingredients, discovering how different some things are here and then cooking them by candlelight...
I tried a couple of times to turn on the oven, failed and asked Juan, the director at the school. I swear i hadn't had the gas on that long, but maybe my judgement was a bit off...i may have had a drink or three. Maybe Juan's judgement was off too...he may have had a drink or five. There was a lighted match, a little poof, and then an almighty bang. I got hit in the chest by a wall of pressure, Juan got hit in the head by the same thing. He did unfortunately have his head very near the oven at the time. The wave continued, knocked out the filament in the light bulb, and blew a load of rusty metal pieces all over the kitchen. You could say the meal went with a bang.
I don't want to leave this place...
