Category Archives: spain

English Camps for Kids Who Speak No English

Hey guys, how’s it going? You may be wondering if I’ve dropped off the map and the truth is, yeah, I kind of have. But no worries, I’m back from “teaching English” for a week at an English camp located in the province of León. It was my first time in León, and I loved it—apart from the bitterly cold mornings! León is a beautiful province, and its capital city is home to a strikingly beautiful cathedral.

I love Gothic cathedrals for one reason: L-I-G-H-T.

At this campamento de inglés, the children are expected to speak in English with their native camp counselors (monitores in Spanish). It sounds good, right? Send your kid to a camp, where he/she will learn English from native speakers! Awesome, yeah?

Yeah, about that. The problem starts when the children’s level of English is so low that they cannot convey basic desires in English. If a child does not know the word for milk, how can he/she be expected to speak only in English, to follow commands in English, to understand a native English speaker? You got me.

This camp wasn’t about teaching English really. There were no classrooms or lessons or exams. It was just meant to be a camp in English. That’s it. But I came away having spoken more Spanish than English.

And that’s the irony of English camps in Spain.

Have you ever taught at an English camp in Spain? What was your experience?

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Zamora, Holy Week, and the Beauty of Silence

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Only the thunder of drums and trumpets break the profound silence that invades Castilla y León every spring during Holy Week, the most sacred week in Christendom. This region, along with others, becomes a gathering place where the faithful can experience the passion and resurrection of Christ, as well as enjoy the cultural and gastronomic delights each has to offer. To succinctly describe Holy Week in Zamora is to take on an impossible task, but one could start with three words: passion, ardor, and—yes— …

Silence

Parades are not known for being silent. They are cacophonous affairs, rife with clashing cymbals, the blasts of trumpets, and the cheers of the bystanders.

Not here, not these procesiones (processions).

During the day, yes, the silence is indeed broken—by music, and choirs, Gregorian chants, even funeral marches compose an extraordinary soundtrack for the most splendid of processions—but soon night falls, and silence once again reigns. Here, silence is a symbol of religious devotion and austerity.

Photo from All Posters

La Procesión del Silencio

The Procession of Silence. Even the name inspires awe. Keeping silent is not customary; keeping silent is not easy.

Kneeling in the cathedral atrium, surrounding the image of Cristo de las Injurias, the brothers wait for their oath. The mayor says a short prayer, and the bishop goes on to take the brothers’ oaths, saying:

“Hermanos de la Cofradía del Santísimo Cristo de las Injurias, ¿juráis guardar silencio durante todo el recorrido de esta santa procesión?”

The brothers swear this oath together, vowing to keep silent for the entire route. Some walk barefoot throughout the cobblestoned city streets, but all maintain silence. They march together—slowly, solemnly, dolefully through the streets of Zamora, a town which at times seems to have been transformed into the13th-century, back to a time where Spain did not yet exist. The first documented reference to the celebration of Holy Week goes back to this century, when Zamora’s monasteries and convents organized processions around their cloisters and streets. It was meant to teach the common people, in a powerful way, about the passion, death, and eventual resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Throughout the centuries, Zamora’s Holy Week has maintained its sobriety and solemnity. (In other regions, the festival has been transformed into a rather glamorous affair.) But like Catholicism in Spain, Holy Week is full of contrasts: noise and silence, day and night, joy and sobriety … but this does not take away from the beauty and drama of Holy Week in Zamora.

Still, for many, the most moving experience of the whole week is the singing of Miserere mei Deus. After a two-hour-long procession through the streets of the casco histórico, the street lights are turned off and the only light comes from the red candles the penitents carry. And then the choir begins to sing, the words ringing out into the cold night:

Miserere mei Deus, secundum magnam, misericordiam tuam …

Miserere mei Deus

For an enchanting contrast to other Holy Week celebrations, make your way to Zamora for a singular look at the power Catholic traditions still hold in an increasingly secular country.

Gearing Up for Holy Week—Let’s Eat

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You don’t often hear about Zamora, even within Spain. But Zamora has a lot to offer. Zamora is full of rolling plains, plains that appear quite arid, but they are rich in substance. A land of wine and cheese. A land with a rich gastronomy, kind people, and traditions that run deep. A lot of these traditions are—not surprisingly— related to food. And if they don’t center around food, food certainly plays a starring role. There is no wedding without a banquet, baptism without a four-hour lunch, or festival without the typical food and drink (and merriment!). Thus is Spain; thus is Zamora.

Zamora’s garlic festival is real! No need to eat it right then and there, though.

Many signs make me aware of Semana Santa, Holy Week, imminent approach: beautiful pink flowers on trees, increasing temperatures, children playing in the parks, sunlight that lasts until almost 8 p.m. … I could go on.

But wait—do you hear it, those drums beating far off in the distance? That’s the sound of Semana Santa approaching. In much of Spain, Holy Week is an occasion for solemn (and at times joyful) processions, cofradías, candlelit silent streets, family, and—yes—food, especially sweets.

[Source]

So, in Zamora, it’s time to think about aceitadas, the typical Semana Santa sweet along with sugared almonds (almendras garrapiñadas). My mother-in-law surely has hers made already, just waiting to be dunked into milk, tea, or coffee.

[Source]

Want to make your own? My suegra’s recipe is top secret, but here’s a good one nonetheless:

Get Your Aceitada On!

Translated and adapted from Cocido de Sopa:

Ingredients

8 oz. (~240 mL) of olive oil
4 ¹/₄cups (500 g) all-purpose flour
1 cup + 2 tbsp. (220 g) granulated sugar
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
2 eggs
20 drops of anise essence or 3 tbsp. of ground anise
1 egg for egg wash

Method

In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sugar, and cinnamon (also anise if you are using ground). Add the olive oil, egg, and anise if using the essence. The dough will be a bit grainy, so you need to knead it to form a compact ball. Let it sit in the refrigerator for a couple of hours or overnight. After sitting, there may be a bit of excess oil. Let the excess drain off in a colander if necessary.

Preheat oven to 320°F (160°C). Prepare a baking sheet with oven-safe wax paper. Form balls with the dough of approximately 2 inches (5 centimeters) diameter. Place them on the baking sheet, leaving about 1.5 inches between each of the balls. Beat the egg in a small bowl, and brush it on the dough balls.

Place the baking sheet in the oven and bake for 25–30 minutes or until browned on the outside. Take them out, wait 2 minutes, and place the aceitadas on a baking rack to cool.

What are the typical Semana Santa treats where you live in Spain? If you don’t live in Spain, which would you like to try?

Lo Sabe, No Lo Sabe

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Our new(-ish) favorite game show is called Lo Sabe, No Lo Sabe. If you speak even a little bit of Spanish, you’ll know that this translates roughly to He/She Knows, He/She Doesn’t Know. It’s one of those rare instances in which the Spanish version is shorter and more concise.

This show began on July 30, 2012, and is broadcasted on the Spanish television channel Cuatro (Four) and hosted by Juanra (short for Juan Ramón) Bonet. Juanra (Twitter) is hilarious and makes the show as funny and entertaining as possible. The show is an adaptation of the original Israeli game show Smart Face.

How does the show work?

Juanra and his crew walk around the city looking for their next victim—okay, contestant—from among the passers-by. The contestant who agrees to participate is presented with a question, but they are not allowed to answer the questions for themselves. They must find someone to answer the question for them.

But—here’s the catch!—the person isn’t always supposed to actually know the answer to the question. Let’s refer to the show’s title: Lo Sabe, No Lo Sabe. Sometimes the selected answerer should know; sometimes he or she should not know. You will often hear contestants asking Juanra, “Tiene que saberlo/no saberlo, ¿no?”

[Source]

Usually, it goes a little something like this: if the person should know the question, it’s more difficult. If the person should not know, it’s easier. Obviously, the easiness/difficulty of the questions increase as the quantity of money to be won gets greater.

This question (source), for example, is worth €100 and is quite easy for any educated Spaniard. So she just has to find someone who knows it.

Once the contestant has reached €1000, he/she has the option to plantarse, leave with the money and go on his/her merry way. However, the contestant may also continue to win either €3000 or €6000, depending on whether Juanra is wearing the red tie (or red scarf if it’s cold). The contestant then chooses whether they want a Lo Sabe or a No Lo Sabe question. If they choose lo sabe, it’s usually quite difficult, and if they choose no lo sabe, it’s much easier.

How do they choose whom to ask?

Well, how would you choose? Do stereotypes always hold true? Sometimes they do; sometimes they don’t. Sometimes you ask a young person a question that most young people aren’t likely to know, and they know it. Sometimes an elderly person surprises you with his/her knowledge of popular culture. It just depends.

Mario and I like to guess who we might ask based on the question. For example, last night, in a quest to win €6000, a man choose no lo sabe, confident in the “ignorance” of people, which is generally a good bet. The question was: “Which famous extraterrestrial in the movies said, ‘Phone home’?” Even I know this, and I haven’t seen the movie (released before I was born, okay?). And so this guy goes and asks a man who seems to be about late 50s, early 60s! I was astounded at this, because I would have asked someone who seemed to be about 18 years old, a person not as likely to have seen the film!

Luckily, this guy still had his emergency call. So he ended up winning and taking home the €6000. But sheesh. (See it here.)

I Couldn’t Win

I couldn’t win this, at least not in Spain. A lot of times the questions are, naturally, based on Spanish popular culture, children’s songs, celebrities from Mario’s childhood and earlier, and I have no idea what they are talking about. Sometimes they are more general, but not always. I suppose I could end up winning by accident, but I’m not as sure. I need a US-centric version to be sure!

Have you seen this show?

Third Culture

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In our guest room a flag hangs from the wall above the bed. No, not a yellow and red flag; this one is red, white, and blue. You know—the stars and stripes. My dad bought Mario this flag to remind him where he should (eventually) settle down. My dad would like it very much if we moved back to the US, preferably yesterday. It has a prominent place in our home, this flag. Why?

Vacationing in Sevilla

We live in Spain. We carry out the day-to-day of our lives, of our life, in Spain. We speak in Spanish and eat Spanish food. Yes, we do all this, all this Spanish stuff. We are Spanish.

But though we reside in Spain, we dream about living in the States too. We speak in English and watch American TV shows and movies. I make brownies and cookies and other American dishes. So we are also American.

In reality, he is Spanish. Born and raised in the heart of Castilla y León, with family roots that go back centuries, Mario is as Spanish as they come. Zamorano, really. His dark hair and eyes betray him. His telltale accent, his pronunciation of the z and c in the true castellano accent, his love for lentejas and cocido and jamón and tortilla, his concern for his parents never to worry unnecessarily … he is Spanish.

He is Spanish, and I am American. I speak English with the typical accent of many modern Americans, an accent that is almost impossible to pinpoint. I don’t worry about my parents worrying. I like basketball much more than football (soccer), and I don’t really enjoy eating a big meal at two o’clock in the afternoon. It still surprises me when children are out past 9 p.m., especially on weeknights.

Though we feel as Spanish and American as they come, we also love each other and each other’s culture too. So together we make our own culture, a third culture: a Spanish-American culture. We make stupid jokes: “Sweetie foot” (because pie means foot in Spanish) or “Estoy espalda” (literally “I am [a] back”). We eat tortilla for dinner and chocolate-chip cookies for dessert. We watch the Simpsons in Spanish.

We also compromise, just like any other couple, bicultural or not. We decide on the best way to clean the house. We let each other get away with things. We do things that don’t seem logical to us at times, but we do it because it’s important to the other person. I may or may not vacuum an insane amount of times per week.

Just call us the Spanish-American Institute of Couples.

No, Gracias—Spanish Foods I Dislike

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Guys, I’m pretty obsessed with Spanish cuisine. Nothing gets my goat more than when guiris come here and declare the food to be bland. Oh no you didn’t, I want to shout at them while doing a dramatic z with my pointer finger. Insulting Spanish food is like insulting my suegra: I’m having none of it.

There are so many delicious things here, and they are not all terrible for you (another stupid myth!):

lentejas (lentil stew, a.k.a. the bomb)

cocido (healthy if you stay away from the tocino, a.k.a. fat)

patatas a la importancia (eat this today if you know what’s good for you)

And of course my favorites: cheese, wine (remind me to tell you my favorite wines from Toro later!), chorizo, and salchichón! My in-laws make the last two, and if you haven’t had them … well, you haven’t had good chorizo or salchichón! It’s just the facts.

Buuuuut, let’s be real, there are some foods I don’t like. Yeah. It’s true. It’s true, and I said it. Not all Spanish food is to my liking. What are these foods, you ask? Why, let me tell you.

Pulpo. Nope, I don’t like octopus and don’t tell me that I should, because the chewy texture just skeeves me out.

Morro, oreja, callos. Not into organ meat, and I’m even less into eating pig’s snout. Oreja is really chewy and just thinking about it can give me the heebie jeebies. (I hope all Spaniards reading this are learning some new “words” today.)

Torreznos. What are they? They’re pieces of pig fat cut into strips and fried. Yum? Add to this varied fritanga, because it is way too fatty for my liking. Eating probably takes five days off my life.

Flan. Not into that jiggling mess of a dessert.

Aceitadas. Sadly, this is a typical dessert in Zamora, my favorite city in Spain, but I just don’t dig anise.

[Source]
Aguardiente. Not a food, but this liquor sets my insides on fire and tastes vile.

Which foods do you dislike in Spain? And if you say salchichón, I may cry. Tears of happiness. Because there’s more for me!

The Foreigner at the Table

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I’ve eaten many a meal with Mario’s family. His friends, too. But it wasn’t until recently that his cousin pointed out to me that, well, I eat funny. No, no, my chewing habits are just fine, thanks. But what’s up with your hand?

Think long and hard about what you do with your hands while you eat. Inspired by this post about Spaniards’ eating habits, I came up with my own list of the way Spaniards find us guiris weird at the dinner table:

You eat with your left hand on your lap.
You cut your meat and then switch the fork to the other hand. And then you put your left hand back on your lap. Why do we do this? I did a little research, and it seems there are two styles to eating, “American” and “Continental” style. Forbes calls our style of eating the “Switch and Switch” style. Apparently, the Continental Style came about from wanting to be unthreatening at the dinner table. You know, if you put your hand in your lap, it could be because you have some sort of weapon hidden there.
You don’t eat fruit after meals. A very common practice in Spain, this one. In some families, fruit is the dessert, although there’s no way this would fly with Mario’s family. We have a theory that the goloso gene is there, but it’s diluted for every generation. Mario’s grandmother used to put sugar on her salad. Yeah, you read that right. Mario’s dad cannot pass up dessert for anything. Mario is goloso, but not nearly as much. Maybe our kids won’t even like dessert? That’s yet to be seen. But fruit? Always. It can be as simple as apple (make sure you peel it!). It can be a fruit salad (macedonia), strawberries with milk (a lite alternative to strawberries and cream), or even compota de manzana, but fruit is essential.
You eat things really hot or really cold. This could be just a family thing, and I tend to think it is because my husband’s aunt likes her food steaming hot. But what is with these people and lukewarm soups? My father-in-law somehow even manages to enjoy room-temperature coffee, and I just can’t. Nope. However, keep in mind I grew up with a father who refused to eat things that weren’t nearly boiling hot. This same man put his chocolate candy bars and Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies into the freezer.
You don’t use bread para empujar. I do love bread. Yes, yes, I do-ooooo. But before I came to Spain I never used it to push food onto my fork. But gosh, does this make sense. Salad eating is so much easier now. Thanks, Spain!
You don’t watch TV while you eat. When I was growing up, watching TV while eating was not the thing to do. It was usually a sign that you had nothing to say and that you were bored with the company. Now, Mario’s family won’t have it on if there are guests at the house, but with just the family? You bet. It’s usually The Simpsons on Antena 3, followed by the news. Such cheerful mealtimes we have with all the doom and gloom.

You don’t drink coffee after your meal. Okay, this is not the most universal of all my rules, but it still counts. Coffee is very often drunk after the meal. My Spanish family drinks it right in the glass, which I found odd at first, but they soon adapted to bringing me a nice mug. Mario has decided to mess this rule up for me by not drinking coffee at all and preferring tea. He’s a strange one.
You don’t take a nap afterwards. There is nothing better than eating un buen cocido followed by a half-hour nap. I’m much more of a bed-napping person, but many of my in-laws do it quite well on the couch. My mother- and father-in-law have mastered the eyes-half-shut television-watching position.

So what do you think, are Spaniards weird? Or are we?

Are You Proud of Where You’re From?

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I’m from Indiana. And before you start assuming that we’re all bunch of corn-fed, down-home hicks, let me just tell you’re wrong. Flat-out wrong. I’m proud to be a Hoosier. We’re number in basketball. We’re damn nice people. And we know how to react when it snows.

Growing up, everybody wanted to get “out” of Indiana, to travel far away for college, to leave behind what we saw as boring, as nothing, as not worth knowing. Growing up, we were naïve. Far too good we had it, back in my hometown, with teachers who cared, basketball games on Friday nights, and after-school jobs at the local ice cream shop. We grew up in a slice of americana, if you will. Not everyone shares my experience, but a lot of us do. It was a blessed, innocent time in our lives.

So we left. We spread out. Some of us stayed home, some of us left for college around the country, some of us dreamed of leaving but couldn’t. Some of us studied abroad; some of us never came back. But those of us who left have a unique perspective. We know what it’s like to be the foreigner, the different one. We know how it is to defend one’s country, one’s state. Because of this, many of us become (absurdly?) prouder of our home, of our families, of our way of life.

I’m proud to be from Indiana.

In Spain, I’m the American. I’m the one people question when something absurd has happened with our government, when there is a shooting for the umpteenth time, when there is a snowstorm … I represent the States for many of my husband’s family members. It’s a bit like being an ambassador, except the pay is kind of crappy and you don’t get invited to any VIP parties.

There are bad things about the US. But living abroad teaches me to remember the good, to hold it close and cherish it. There are small things I love: smiles on the street, free refills, basketball, tailgating, skyscrapers, tator tots (what?), music. There are the big things: resilience, entrepreneurship, Title IX, universities, the first amendment, natural beauty, diversity, generosity.

I’m proud to be from the US.

In Spain, my adopted home is Zamora. Zamora is beautiful, quiet, full of Romanesque treasures. It’s situated on the Duero River, which is the heart of the city.

Ha sido y es la memoria, la fuerza a veces incontrolada de sus avenidas que todo lo arrasa, los juegos, las aventuras, los amores… la barca y el barquero.
De él llega la niebla, pero también el aliento, esa luz especial relacionada con la vida y el movimiento, que en diálogo con la estática urbe da forma a ese tiempo interno, elíptico de la ciudad, y el aire para respirar y las aves, y los colores.
Él fue la energía que movió el comercio y la industria harinera y a través de él llegan las estaciones, las noticias o las historias ya desarrolladas porque el Duero en Zamora es ya Don.

Zamora, according to Henry IV, was (and is!) a “most noble and most loyal city.”

I’m proud to be an adopted zamorana. And I know many of my husband’s family are proud to be from Zamora.

As proud as I am to be an American, I don’t see that pride from Spaniards about their country. Oh sure, get them talking about their food or their region or their local traditions … they’ll talk your ear off? But Spain in general. You might just hear crickets!

I’m not criticizing. At all. It’s a phenomenon I think that many of we foreigners have noticed. There’s not point in blind patriotism, but the lack of it altogether sometimes bewilders me.

Do you notice more local/regional pride in your part of Spain? Do you have an adopted region?

I Refuse to Say Trousers—Or Why American English Is the Best

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I sometimes feel like the creature in the old Dr. Seuss book Green Eggs and Ham. I will not say trousers, I will not say trainers. I will not say them in a house, I will not say them to a mouse. I will not say them here or there, I will not say them anywhere. I can be stubborn when I put my mind to it, which is basically all the time.

Okay, this is not true. I do try to refer to both American English and British English for a few reasons (reasons I have deemed good ones, as I like to congratulate myself on my decisions):

American English is in all the movies. There are British movies and television shows, don’t get me wrong. For example, the glorious show known as Downton Abbey. (Do not call it Downtown. It’s quite far from downtown, actually.) But the vast majority are produced by none other than Hollywood. Now, Spaniards don’t really see this as a problem in either way because almost all movies and television shows are dubbed, and people have told me on many an occasion that they don’t like “reading” while watching movies. I get it. But someday, perhaps you’ll like to watch television shows in English to improve your skills! We Americans have got ya covered. Come to the Dark Side!

American businesses are in Spain, and I do believe there are more of them than British ones. I realize that there’s the proximity issue for Spaniards. You are indeed much closer to them than to us. But there are a lot more of us, and we’re invading your schools, teaching English with our American accents, and the kids might just benefit from it. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

The Rubber Issue. You might actually go to the US one day, and you don’t want to be caught asking for a rubber. It’s okay to learn the word rubber; I just think it’s better to realize that in the States, you’d be asking for a condom. Yeah, not exactly the word you want to bust out in the middle of ~~maths~~ math class.

There is no reason to think American English is less “pure” than British English. Okay, I hate this one. First of all, languages are in constant flux and no language or accent is better than any other. I admit to having my preferences (yes to British and Irish, no to deep-South accents), but still, it would be more than snooty to assume I speak a “purer” language than another person, based purely on snobbery. For example, Britons tend to hate the verb form “gotten,” considering it an Americanism. Oh, I beg to disagree, sir. According to multiple sources, the word is of British origin and its usage dates back to the fourth century. How’s that for ancient, British folk? Oh yeah, and it was used by none other than Mr. William Shakespeare himself, so shove it!

American English is closer to the phonetic spelling. We all know English is notoriously difficult due to its nonsensical spelling. (Thank goodness for the gloriousness of the phonetic Spanish language!) Well, the Americans at least realiZe that the word realize sounds like it has a z in it! Realise, pshhhh … no. Also, theater makes more sense than theatre. Come on. It just does.

Americans love British accents. We aren’t snooty about our language, realizing that we got it from across the pond, and we love them for it! Thank you, Britain! We also wish to give our thanks for their seriously sexy accents, which—if we didn’t speak English with an American accent—we wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate! Swoon!

So, come on, tell me: should I start referring to flashlights as torches or what?

“English” Words Spaniards Use

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It’s natural that languages adapt words. English wouldn’t be what it is without the myriad of words we’ve borrowed from other languages, most notably French. English has become a very influential language, especially in the areas of technology. It makes a lot of sense to use words like “smartphone,” “Internet,” “click,” and many more. These words have the same meaning in Spanish as in English. However, during my years in Spain I’ve come to realize there are several which have very different denotations in Spanish than in English. Obviously, I love them and need to share them with you. Here are some of my favorites.

Zapping. Nothing to do with shocking anyone with rays of electricity. Nope, this is your basic channel surfing. In Spain as well as in the US, men are especially gifted at this practice.

[Source]

Footing. Meaning: to go jogging, to go for a run, as Spain’s former prime minister is showing us in the above picture.
Panty. (Also known as pantimedias.) My mother-in-law asked me if I needed one of these for a wedding. I was rather surprised to hear the question, as I associate panty with panties—you know, underwear. Nope, un panty is just a pair of pantyhose that also cover you up to the waist. You know, the normal kind, or at least what I considered to be normal. Medias, the word I use, can also mean the kind that only go up to your thighs, so be forewarned, ladies.
Body. Similar to the panty, un body covers even higher up.
Top. A top is an article of clothing for women that has no sleeves or straps, but I’m pretty unsure on this. If you go into any Mango store, you’ll see a section for tops. Maybe my readers can help clarify if this is true!
Jersey. When I learned Spanish in high school, I learned to say “sweater’” as suéter, a term obviously derived from English. I was very surprised when I came to Spain and learned that the term here is jersey. For me, jersey is the shirt athletes wear, whether it be in basketball, soccer, or football.

Smoking. This is so funny to me. We do indeed have a smoking jacket, also called “black tie,” so it makes sense that Spaniards call this un smoking, which is alternately spelled un esmoquin.
Parking. This is close to the original English meaning, but you’d have to add “lot” for it to make any sense. “A parking” without “lot” is meaningless to me. After all, it could be a “parking space” or a “parking spot” just as easily.

[Source]

Crack. A crack has nothing to do with with our definition of “a slight opening, as between boards in a floor or a wall.” Nope, crack in Spain Spanish usually means a really great athlete. For example, Rafa Nadal or Lionel Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo. Personally, I’ll go with my favorite, Victor Oladipo.
Heavy. This has nothing to do with weight. No, a heavy in Spain is a word derived from the music genre of heavy metal. Un heavy listens to heavy-metal music, and lots of it. Some “tips” for being heavy, according to this website, include wearing one’s hair long, wearing spiked bracelets, and saying things like, “Mi rollo es rock.”
Freaky. Usually spelled friki, it means freak. Yes, it is very close to the English “freak,” but I love that in English this word would be an adjective, whereas here it’s turned into a noun. In 2012, the Royal Spanish Academy which is responsible for regulating the use of the Spanish language, added the word to its latest dictionary edition. If you understand Spanish, I recommend checking out the Wikipedia entry for this term, as it delves into the different levels of “frikismo,” among other things.

Kaley…& Más

Category Archives: spain

English Camps for Kids Who Speak No English

Have you ever taught at an English camp in Spain? What was your experience?

Zamora, Holy Week, and the Beauty of Silence

Silence

La Procesión del Silencio

For an enchanting contrast to other Holy Week celebrations, make your way to Zamora for a singular look at the power Catholic traditions still hold in an increasingly secular country.

Gearing Up for Holy Week—Let’s Eat

Get Your Aceitada On!

What are the typical Semana Santa treats where you live in Spain? If you don’t live in Spain, which would you like to try?

Lo Sabe, No Lo Sabe

How does the show work?

How do they choose whom to ask?

I Couldn’t Win

Have you seen this show?

Third Culture

Just call us the Spanish-American Institute of Couples.

No, Gracias—Spanish Foods I Dislike

Which foods do you dislike in Spain? And if you say salchichón, I may cry. Tears of happiness. Because there’s more for me!

The Foreigner at the Table

So what do you think, are Spaniards weird? Or are we?

Are You Proud of Where You’re From?

Do you notice more local/regional pride in your part of Spain? Do you have an adopted region?

I Refuse to Say Trousers—Or Why American English Is the Best

So, come on, tell me: should I start referring to flashlights as torches or what?

“English” Words Spaniards Use

What other “English” words have you seen being used here in Spain or in other countries?

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June 2013
M	T	W	T	F	S	S
« May
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28	29	30