London, Heathrow-->Bristol Airport--Bath, England
So my plane has landed in the British Isles. I am in the land of people who drive on the wrong side of the road, the wrong side of the car. The place where everyone is way too polite, where they use “lifts” instead of “elevators,” drink 12 cups of tea a day, and say “whilst” instead of “while.”
I heard once that London had the most languages spoken within the city than other city. I don't know if that is true, but as I sit here in the airport, I can definitely see that. So far, I have heard Spanish, French, English, German, several different Indian languages, one that could be Dutch or something similar, one that has to be something Scandinavian, plus others that I can’t quite identify. I’ve been trying to determine what language the people behind me are using, but I have no idea; I could be a lot of things. I wish I spoke 2 or 3 other languages, but I don't. I guess I’ll have to content myself with my school French, and my Costa Rican Spanish. I’m not that great at either language, but I love that my Spanish has improved during my stay in Barcelona. My Spanish is still pretty rusty, and wasn’t that great to begin with (an A in Span 105 only means so much—there’s a pretty big difference between the classroom and the actual world!) But I did buy La Sombra de Viento (The Shadow of the Wind) a very large Spanish bestseller. I don't know what I was thinking—I guess that it would motivate me to keep in touch with my Spanish while I am in England and later America?
I know that I am supposed to have culture shock. And I did, in fact, have culture shock. I just had culture shock a month ago, when my plane landed in Barcelona.
I have kind of a unique situation here because even though I’ve just arrived in England, I’ve been on the continent for over a month now. I’ve just arrived from the beautiful, magnificent city of Barcelona. I loved it so much—I don't actually know how to write about it, because I know that no matter what I say, I cannot completely convey the city’s charm, its splendor, its brilliance. It was a perfect meld of the old and the new, a city with a vibrant life that never goes to bed, where stores close around 9, dinner is taken at 10, social drinking until 1 or so and then the party starts, lasting until 6 or 7 AM (so I’ve been told, I never managed that late!). I love walking, and I learned to appreciate it even more in Barcelona—I only took the metro three or four times in my entire stay. I taught myself rudimentary google maps to calculate my milage—some days, I’d walk as much as ten miles! Basically….I loved it. Good bye Spain. I’ll be coming back someday…
As a sophomore, I toyed with the idea of going into the education department, and I ultimately decided not to. But I love children, and I love education and teaching and reading and all of the above. Last May, frustrated with an ordinary routine, I realized I needed to actually do something. I needed adventure, I needed independence. I dedicated many hours of google searches, calculations and currency conversions, and several long, detailed emails before I found Costa Rica.
I lived in San José, its bustling, loud, and over-excited capitol city, working with this volunteer program called Maximo Nivel as a teacher’s aide twice a week, and the leading teacher the other three days a week. It was at a school/orpahanage for kids from infancy to 13 years old. It was eye-opening. It was utterly amazing and utterly horrible at the same time. I formed so many connections with the children and I cried when I left. There’s your culture shock for you.
But I loved it—my work, the children, the country, its people, my host family, my new friends. It was just so wonderfully amazing—I still have friends from all over the globe because of this program!
I heard of a certification program there, called TEFL or Teaching English as a Foreign Language to non-native speakers. Within days of arrival in CR, I knew that’s what I wanted to do. Others did the program so that they could travel cheaply, lay on exotic beaches, etc. And that was part of it for me. But I really did the program because I was interested in the work. And I quickly found out that the work was so rewarding that I knew this is what I wanted to do. So the first chance I got, I found a month-long program in Barcelona to get my own certification.
I love the idea of living on my own. It doesn’t scare me like it does to most people. I cant wait until I graduate and I can move out of the DC metro area—until I can move out of the country, hopefully. I love culture—I just love to learn about different cultural practices and foods and languages and customs. So many little things are different when you move to another country—things you wouldn’t even realize. For example, a staple ingredient like peanut butter (or mantequilla de cacahuete) is an exotic food in Barcelona, a jar fetching about 5 or 6 USD. In Costa Rica, it is perfectly allowable to drive through a red light if no one is coming, and stop signs are put there merely for decoration.
Britain will be different still. Sure, they speak English (sort of…) but there are so many different things about this country already, and it’s been four days. For example, my program manager has been trying to teach me Cockney slang. I now know that if someone is “cream crackered” they are very tired (it rhymes with “knackered”) or of someone compliments your “whistle and toot” they like your outfit (or your “suit”). Its all very exciting and I can’t wait to immerse myself more—and I can’t wait to get started on learning Briticisms in the historic city of Bath.
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