To be, first one must arrive. - Ancient Andalite Proverb

I arrived in Spain after the usual airplane experience of excessive tiredness, shock at the price of airport food, and waiting 2.5 hours before the plane takes off. On the plane I watched movies dubbed in Spanish to prepare my anglicized mind. Dodgeball and Ratatouille were relatively easy to understand. I could sometimes make out the Karate Kid (with the son of Will Smith, who could stand to learn something about stage presence by watching the Fresh Prince), and Casablanca was simply too difficult, but this might have been because they tried to create the old-movie ambiance by having badly mastered audio.

My plane landed without incident and I heroically retrieved my luggage despite the rude positioning of others waiting for theirs. For the first time I was surrounded by Spanish voices. This feeling was unlike being surrounded by English voices. I made my way through customs in five minutes and strolled out into the airport vestibule. There were many signs with the names that weren’t mine. Jesús, the principal at the school where I’ll work, recognized me, and I more or less recognized him, even though neither of us had signs. This was because we had sent pictures of ourselves by email. The sign holders must have worried as they drove “Jorge,” or “Tom” that their passenger was only an imposter who knew how to read and how to lie. This was not something that Jesús or I had to fear as we left the airport on the autopista.

We talked pedagogy while he drove and I tried to decide how far apart my knees were most comfortable. His English was quite good, except that he called his ankle a knee. This is an understandable sort of mistake. He said my Spanish was good, but this is just a thing of the politeness. I have a long way to go in my Spanish.

Jorge drove me into the small town of Almorox, onto a dirt road that led to the place where I would stay. It was a single-level, ranch-style home. During the day, the door is left open, and heavy hanging chains demarcate inside and outside. My host family was very amiable. Pablo, the father, speaks very few words of English, and is friendly in a gruff way. The three children, Santiago, Susana, and Pablo (Pablito) all speak more English, which smoothes things out. There is also Eva, the girlfriend of Santiago, and Sarah, a tenth-grader from Canada (I think it’s her name. The Spanish family calls her Sierra, but I’m pretty sure she said her name was Sarah.).

Jesús was excited to play tennis and invited me to play the same day that I arrived. I had forgotten tennis shoes and had to borrow some rather dirty ones from my host family. At first it was just me and Jesús but more players showed up gradually. I was probably tied for worst with a couple other players. Jesús and a younger Jesús were the best. Before long I had formed a blister on my hand, but kept playing. Soon enough it burst and the debilitating pain debilitated me. I watched for a while more, talking with simple sentences to whoever else was sitting out at the time.

I eventually walked home, turning down an offer from Jesús for a ride. Of course, I immediately became lost, having only been passively driven through the town, and not making any special note of how the outside of my house looked. I walked quite lost for about half hour, while the sky sprinkled rain and flirted with a more serious downpour. Eventually I asked someone if they knew where a Pablo lived. I was sent around the corner, where I found an older, short man on a site strewn with metal and barking dogs who was also named Pablo. This Pablo was friendly enough, though I understood little of what he said, and the understanding seemed to be mutual. But Pablo asked an eighteen-year old named Daniel that we were lucky to meet if he knew of a house with a Pablo who had three children. Daniel was able to pick it out based on the names of the children, and he walked me to the house. Fortunately, I was back in time for dinner at 10:30 pm. I ate a delicious meal of salad, soup, and tortilla (the tortilla is an egg and potato dish, basically like frittata with mucho potato). After that, I went to bed and slept for thirteen hours.