Most of my students do not understand the concepts of “personal questions” and “maintaining a private life.” My world is their oyster; my foreign ways are strange and wonderful, and my life is a fantastic enigma. Hence, I get asked odd, intrusive, but usually innocent questions, mainly to do with my love life.
Because none of the teachers are native English speakers, I have suddenly become an Authority of the English Language and Explainer of All American Culture. I have had to elucidate the health care crisis, why people have guns, and apologize on behalf of my government for spying on Spain.
I could feel his gaze on my shoulder as we traveled down the red line going toward Fondo: I had gotten on at Espanya and he came through the doors at Catalunya.
While hanging out with my batxillerat kids, we had a great “lost in translation” moment.
While tutoring Marina, an uncommonly bright 8-year-old with a shockingly good English level and a wicked sense of humor…
How could such large cities not have a center? It was like being permanently estranged, indefinitely marginalized from the hub. Yet even the little pobles out in rural Catalonia had a center; even these isolated towns had centralized activity. Perhaps this is why Americans always end up in Europe to find themselves.
Tibidabo is the Disneyland of Barcelona–simply put, it’s the happiest place in the city.