Las Palabrotas

At first glance, Concha, my oral expression professor, was essentially terrifying.

We did a dictation the first day of class and I got a scolding because apparently I did not use the page margins appropriately. She has this precise diction and stern eyes that make her seem like she walked out of a Victorian novel. Already feeling like I’d been placed in an overly advanced class, I was more than a little intimidated.

After dictation, the class discussion somehow veers onto the topic of palabrotas. I wasn’t familiar with this word, but with context clues I was decently sure it meant bad words. But just as soon as I was convinced I was right, she starts talking about tacos! And how tacos is the name of the food in Mexico, but here it means the heel of a shoe, which is also called a tacón, but it also refers to palabrotas.

So now I’m back to being thoroughly confused.

Then she asks for examples.

Now I don’t have particularly colorful Spanish, but I know enough swear words that I figured I could confirm my theory based on what other people said.

No such luck.

About four people come up with words I’ve never heard before and then Concha looks directly at me and demands an example. No choice but just to go for it. I gather my courage and squeak, “…Carajo?”

And she whips her head back around and barks, “What did you just say?”

So I’m obviously having a heart attack because I just randomly called my scary new profe a part of the male anatomy in front of the whole class.

But laser vision can only melt you once anyway, so I go ahead and repeat myself.

“Ah, vale.” And, just like that, class continues.

I definitely scared years off my own life in the process, but I learned with crystal clear certainty that palabrotas does indeed mean bad words.

Get Lost

I promised I'd give myself two weeks. 14 whole days.

I would allow myself two guilt- and judgment-free weeks to adjust to the culture, new job and - most importantly - language barrier. After two full weeks, I thought, I should be reasonably in the swing of things. The mental snarl of switching back to Spanish after spending the last four years studying French should be more or less smoothed out. Congratulations, me! You're going to waltz through all the embarrassment and self-criticism and anxiety of this adjustment period unscathed!
Because I am, don't you know, a pro at living abroad. I mean, I moved to Africa fresh out of high school. At 18 I was living in a world where I had to learn how to draw water out of a well, fight off daily marriage proposals, snap at the end of handshakes, feed monkeys, and struggle through basic phrases in Ewe. This time I'm 5 years older, 4 years more educated and moving to a European country instead. ¡Que fácil!

JA JA JA HA HA HA.
(That's me laughing at myself in both languages.)

I am solidly proficient in Spanish. I have lived in a place with significant language barriers before. I am educated in a communication field. Even so, nothing quite prepares you for the exhaustion of getting used to functioning in a second language. I like to fancy myself something of a fearless adventurer, and yet the thought of crossing the street to buy a new printer cartridge suddenly became a veritable landmine of missing vocabulary words. I went to the bar and realized I didn't know a single local beer brand or the name of any mixed drinks in Spanish.
On top of which, being an au pair presents some unique challenges. There is no going home from work. You're never truly off duty. There's not the usual line between Katherine the 23-year-old who comes home at 5 a.m. on Sunday after a night out, and Katherine the childcare professional who picks Little up at school on Monday. There aren't many forms of employment in which you're guaranteed to run into your boss at 9 a.m. when you're drinking coffee in Mickey Mouse boxers.
I had passed the two week mark and it definitely didn't feel like I was over the (first) hill. Then something magical started to happen...

Yesterday, for the first time, I got that little thrill of butterflies for Oviedo.

I fall in love with places. It's the only accurate phrase for what happens. Just like in relationships with people, my relationships with places have highs and lows. I learn things from them and in some ways they are changed by me. It happened with Aflao and it happened with Marquette.
I tried to give myself 14 days, but it would seem it took 24 for that first little root to take hold in Oviedo.
I hadn't explored much before yesterday. I can't navigate worth a damn and getting myself lost seemed like the least appealing thing to do. Nonetheless, it's what I've spent the last two days doing.
It was like turning a key.


I discovered an incredibly charming city with hilly, cobbled streets and gorgeous old buildings and a 1700's cathedral as the perfect orientation point. It's full of little cafes and tapas bars and plazas with fountains that invite you to take an umbrella and a book and wander for an entire day.
Oviedo and I barely know each other, but I already know this is going to be love all over again.

Over and over and over again, I keep learning that the best things come from getting lost. The more willing you are to lose, the more opportunities you have to find something unexpected. So lose the thread of a conversation. Lose your way. Lose sleep. Lose your pride. Lose the limitations.

Suddenly the Michigan girl who was incapable of navigating, wouldn't eat a bite of seafood and couldn't dance a step of bachata... is nowhere to be found.

Welcome to Oviedo

Before I dive in, a quick explanation of what I'm doing here and why.
I debated long and hard about whether or not to blog about this experience. For the sake of both the family's privacy and my own, I had decided against it. But 25 days into my time, I've caught myself composing posts in my head one too many times and finally gave in. I'm a bit afraid that if I don't give myself this outlet I'll end up channeling it all into overly sentimental, obnoxiously long Facebook statuses.
And nobody wants that.

In March, a break-up left me without post-graduation plans.
I'm headed to grad school in August 2016 to finish my education as a speech-language pathologist, but I had always planned on giving myself a gap year after college. I've been sold on the wisdom of this concept for a long time, based on my experience with my first gap year in Ghana post-high school.
Wanderlust has always defined me.
Maybe it's because I'm sleeping in a baby carrier in my first passport picture. Maybe it's because I spent the first three years of my life as an Army brat in Germany. Maybe it's inherited from a mom with a formidable sense of adventure and a dad who always preached the power of giving yourself options.

So needless to say, within weeks I had purchased two international plane tickets and found employment as an au pair in Spain. The end of that relationship was really only the beginning of a yearlong adventure that should span at least 9 countries, not including my home country.

I flipped my tassel in May and headed to Bermuda for two weeks with three of my best friends - a trip that fortunately was not documented on the internet. The month of July found me in Ghana, doing some serious restructuring of Students of Success Foundation - a trip that was documented in From Ghana With Love, at least as much as the shoddy internet would allow. I came home in time to welcome my amazing niece into the world before leaving for a week in London with Karina, my partner in... well, international scholarship charities.

On October 1st, I moved to Oviedo, Asturias in northwest Spain to be an au pair.

I chose to be an au pair because it is a exciting way to live abroad while using my speech therapy background. An au pair is more than a live-in nanny; we focus on language and culture exchange with our kids. Teaching the girls English is a unique way to practice a wide variety of my new clinical skills.
I chose a Spanish-speaking country because I had studied it for about six years in middle and high school. I took a break in college to minor in French, and wanted to come back to it before pursuing bilingual certification as part of my master's degree.
I chose Spain specifically because I wanted the chance to explore Europe and see as many of my friends on this side of the ocean as possible.

Oviedo is a town of about 200,000 and the regional capital of Asturias. It's situated about an hour inland from the Atlantic and has a mild, coastal climate. Since I'm here on a student visa, I'm taking a Spanish oral expression class at Universidad de Oviedo - founded in 1608 (only some 200 years older than my last university).

My household includes 7 people aside from myself:
B, P, Oldest, Middle, Little, Erika, and Toro.
B is a stay-at-home mom (for the moment) and has studied English for many years. P works in Barcelona during the week and can only come home on weekends. Oldest is 14 and loves surfing, movies and photography. Middle is 12 and loves all sports and has a wicked sense of humor. Little is almost 8, and the family member I spend the most time with. She is hilarious, bright and rarely complains.
I've won the au pair lottery in terms of my girls.
Erika is Colombiana and we've quickly becomes friends, even with language and culture barriers and a 15 year age difference. Toro is a German shepherd/Golden retriever mix, and the only bilingual dog I know.

And so it begins! We'll see what the days bring until March 28th, when I get on a plane for Casablanca! My hope is to see as much of Spain as possible in between class and work, make it to southern France, visit my former exchange sister in Zurich, and spent Christmas in Denmark, New Year's in Germany and - after the Spain visa clock runs out - Easter in Morocco. (That's for the benefit of those of you who were counting the 9 countries earlier. Yes, Mom, I mean you.)