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DarKha Bilingual Hiking🥾: On Sunday, May 11, for our monthly bilingual hiking excursion we will explore the Roman Aqueduct along the Alboi river in Xàtiva! Meet at the academy (Sant Doménec, 32, Xàtiva, Valencia) at 10; wear good walking shoes, water and a desire to explore and practice your Spanish/English. You have to climb a little but it is not difficult. 🥾⛰️🤩 Les Arcadetes d'Alboi, Xàtiva, valencia, Spain

Summer is almost here — and it’s the perfect time to give your child a fun and enriching learning experience! 🎉 We're excited to invite children ages 3 to 12 to join our English Language Summer School at DarKha! Scientific Experiment with Colors: How do you make more colors? 📍 Location: Carrer Sant Domenec, 32, Xàtiva 🕘 Schedule: Monday to Friday, 9:00 AM – 1:00 PM At DarKha, your child will dive into the English language through play, creativity, and hands-on adventures! 🌈✂️🍪 Here's what we’ve got planned: 🗣️ English Conversation: Fun group chats and one-on-one time to build confidence and fluency in a relaxed, supportive space. 🎶 Vocabulary Games & Songs: From silly songs to fast-paced games, your child will learn new words while having a blast! 🎨 Creative Projects & Crafts: Think stories, art, and imagination — all in English! Perfect for little minds that love to express themselves. 👩‍🍳 Cooking Adventures: Mixing, measuring, tasting, and chatting — your child will cook up tasty treats while practicing English in real-life situations! 🧪 Science Experiments: Spark curiosity with hands-on experiments that inspire wonder — and teach English at the same time! Our mornings are packed with learning and fun, while leaving afternoons free for family time and summer fun. 🌴☀️ 📞 Reserve your child’s spot today — spaces are limited! Call or WhatsApp us: 📱 685 166 339 / 722 126 299 💻 [ www.DarKha.com ]( http://www.darkha.com ) Let’s make this summer unforgettable — full of laughter, learning, and new friendships! We can’t wait to welcome your child! 💛

It's like fish swimming in water — they don't even notice it. Take them out, plop them into new waters, and it’s traumatic. That's exactly what happens when you’re transplanted into the rhythms of a new culture. After six years in Spain, I still don’t think I’ll ever fully get used to Spain’s daily tempo. Darcie and Carly loving every minute of the Spanish traditions! Schedules are invisible — until they aren't. In California, our days are stitched together by unconscious patterns: coffee, work, lunch, dinner. You don't question it — until you live somewhere else. Let me give you some examples, broken down for your reading (and my emotional) convenience. Meal Times: A Tale of Two Worlds In California, breakfast is sacred: a sit-down meal before work at 7:00 or 8:00 a.m. — eggs, toast, bacon, pancakes, cereal, fruit, maybe a ham and cheese omelet if we’re feeling fancy. We love breakfast so much that some restaurants serve it all day, just in case an urgent pancake craving strikes at 3 p.m. In Spain, breakfast is...coffee. Maybe toast with tomato if you’re feeling extravagant because they gulp it down on the way to work. Because Americans had a real meal, we work steadily until noon, when it’s time for a quick lunch: sandwich, fruit, chips, a drink (never alcohol — that's for weekends or existential crises). Thirty minutes to an hour, and it’s back to business. Meanwhile, Spaniards enjoy almuerzo around 10 or 11 a.m. — a leisurely, often hearty meal, frequently accompanied by a beer or a glass of wine.  After lunch, Americans power through until 5:00 p.m., clock out, and settle down for dinner around 6:00 or 6:30. Comfort food, pajamas, Netflix — the usual evening ritual. Spain plays a different game. After almuerzo, Spaniards work until about 2:00 p.m., when — and I mean everything — shuts down. Shops, offices, bureaucratic buildings: all closed. Everyone heads home for la comida, a sit-down, multi-course meal that makes a brown-bag lunch look tragic. Depending on the job, people won’t return until 4:00 or even 5:00 p.m. So, while Americans are winding down and wondering if it’s too late for a erran run at 5:30, Spain is just getting started on Round Two. Shops reopen in the late afternoon and stay open until 9:00 p.m. — right about the time Californians are in bed. Since Spaniards have had their main meal mid-afternoon (plus a rest), they can work late. Naturally, dinner is pushed well into the night. Sitting down at 9:00 or 10:00 p.m. is normal. My American mind set still is somewhat shocked when I’m invited to dinner at 10:30 p.m. In Spain, that’s normal. And, the grand mystery: Why is Everything Closed? Need to run an errand at 2:00 p.m.? Sorry — shutters are down. Hungry for dinner at 6:00? Restaurants are still recovering from lunch. Need groceries on a Sunday? Good luck. At first, this drove me crazy. But slowly, Spain has taught me something different: with another culture comes another rhythm. I'm learning to enjoy the stillness in the middle of the day, to accept the gaps. And for that — even if I still can't find an open store when I need milk — I’ll forgive them.

The late afternoon air whipped my hair wildly, blocking and then revealing to me the vast plain tinted gold and rich pink. As the sun slid behind distant hills, the air not only whipped my body, but also my soul. The glory extended out of me into laughter, and it, too, was whipped away. «This is my Queendom», I told myself, pretending I was living hundreds of years ago in this very place. In my glee, I secretly searched for a silhouetted dragon flying out of the setting sun! I have felt the same in California, for example on a mountain top in the California Sierra Nevada Range; the sheer beauty and wildness of Yosemite is breathtaking. Darcie exploring the Chinchilla Castle in Valencia, Spain But this was different. This was Spain, and I had walk 30 kilometres along the Camino del Levante that day with the view of the Chinchilla castle up on a hill top teasing me the entire day. Tired as I was when I arrived in town, I couldn’t wait to hike up and explore it! Describing my love for Spain to my people back in California, I have said it's the mid day siesta, the many Caminos de Santiago crisscrossing the country. I listed Flamenco, picaetas, red wine and outdoor cafes lining the streets filled with friends and families connecting. I include the ornate ancient churches, monasteries and cathedrals shrouded in gargoyles and history, and the Quijote and that Spanish is a dominante language. When my people respond, they mention California wine and oranges and the Mediterranean climate, famous writers like Steinbeck and Steven King, the Pacific Coast Trail that goes from Mexico to Canada following the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It has churches and missions that the Spaniards built, and, that Los Angles has more Spanish speaking people living in it  than all the people in Madrid. Of course, the Californians are right, it is a beautiful, diverse place to live; I love it. But I have kept the real truth to myself, until now; what also really thrills me are the castles! And I will never giving up searching the mountain peaks for a dragon! My love for castles deepened as I spent 49 days walking the Camino del Levante from Valencia to Santiago de Compostela and then on to Finestera a few summers ago. People asked how I could walk so far. «From Castle to Castle, and church tower to church tower», I told them. And I am almost certain I saw the flash of a dragon tail disappear behind that castle en Chinchilla when the sun had just set!

Join us on Sunday, March 30,  for a fun and adventurous bilingual bike ride! 🌿🚲📍 Meeting point: DarKha Academy, Sant Domènec, 32 ⏰ Time: 10:00 AM 🧢 What to bring: Water, helmet, and your adventurous spirit!  We'll be exploring the scenic area around Mount Puig between Genovés and Xàtiva, enjoying the fresh air, great company, and bilingual conversation along the way.  All levels welcome! Let’s ride, chat, and immerse ourselves in language and nature. 🌍🌞 👉 RSVP now and join the ride! 🚴‍♀️

I woke with a start. Blinding rays of sunlight lit up the room like a divine spotlight, and I fumbled for my watch with a growing sense of dread. 7:19?! That couldn’t be right. I had explicitly told myself I would wake up with the first bell. Not an alarm. Not a phone. The bell. My trusty, uninvited, ever-reliable alarm clock—the bell tower of La Seu—had betrayed me. I had built my life around that bell. Its sonorous tolls echoed across Xàtiva every fifteen minutes, from a dignified 7:00 a.m. until a courteous 11:00 p.m. It marked time like an old-school conductor directing the town's daily symphony. It told you when to get up, when to make coffee, when to hustle to the market, when to panic because you were late to class—and, just as importantly, when it was a respectable hour to pour a glass of wine. But that morning… silence. The Campanario of the Seu in Xàtiva, Valencia. Not a ding. Not a dong. Not even a limp little ting. It was as if the entire town had fallen into a time void. I wandered through my morning preparations like a character in a post-apocalyptic film—tea in hand, eyes searching for my familiar routine, ears straining. Nothing. The silence was deafening. You don’t realize how much you depend on a thing until it disappears. In Spain, church bells are not quaint novelties. They are the beating heart of every town and village. They announce births, deaths, weddings, saints’ days, and whether you’ve been staring out the window too long and should probably get back to work. They are as Spanish as olive oil and unsolicited life advice from strangers. Back in my hometown of Bishop, California, we had a Noontime Whistle. One long, dramatic blare that let you know it was lunchtime—or that a Cold War air raid was imminent. Honestly, we all ignored it. It was more of a background character in the town’s narrative. But the bells of Xàtiva? They were the main character. Sometimes annoying, always punctual, and oddly comforting. I’ve cursed them during siesta. I’ve winced as they clanged during voice messages. And yet, now that they’ve gone mute, I feel unmoored. As if someone pulled the plug on reality and forgot to plug it back in. Something I once found invasive has revealed itself as deeply grounding. It wasn’t just ringing out the time—it was ringing out place, culture, belonging. The bells didn’t just tell me what to do; they told me I was here. In Spain. Living a life marked by tradition, rhythm, and beautifully unapologetic noise. Hopefully the bells will be back soon. I’m ready for them to start bossing me around again.

Peña San Dídac, Xativa, Valencia, Spain 🌄 DarKha Bilingual Hiking Adventure! 🥾🌿Join us for our next Bilingual Hike on Sunday, April 13 at 10:00 AM! We’ll be meeting at DarKha Academy (Carrer Sant Domènec, 32) and heading out on a fun and scenic walk to la Peña San Dídac.Practice English and Spanish while enjoying nature, making new friends, and soaking up some fresh spring air. 🌸☀️Open to all ages and levels — bring your water, comfy shoes, and your love for language and the outdoors! 📍 Meeting Point: DarKha Academy 🕙 Time: 10:00 AM 📅 Date: Sunday, April 13 Let’s hike, chat, and connect! 🗣️💬🌍

Xàtiva, Valencia, Spain 🌍✨  DarKha Academy Bilingual Club Excursion to the SEU ! 🏛️🔔📚  Join us this Sunday, April 27 at 11:00 AM  in front of the Academy (c/ Sant  Domènec, 32) for a fun bilingual adventure! We’ll visit the Temple, explore the Museum, and climb the Bell Tower for amazing views! 🙌🏼  🎟️ Entrance: 3€ per person. Come learn, explore, and practice languages with the coolest club in town! 💬🤩

Join us on a Bilingual Bike Ride around Xàtiva and Genovès, Valencia, Spain 🚴‍♀️  Bilingual Bike Ride with the DarKha Immersion Club!  🚴‍♂️  Join us on Sunday, March 30,  for a fun and adventurous bilingual bike ride! 🌿🚲📍 Meeting point: DarKha Academy, Sant Domènec, 32 ⏰ Time: 10:00 AM 🧢 What to bring: Water, helmet, and your adventurous spirit!  We'll be exploring the scenic area around Mount Puig between Genovés and Xàtiva, enjoying the fresh air, great company, and bilingual conversation along the way.  All levels welcome! Let’s ride, chat, and immerse ourselves in language and nature. 🌍🌞 👉 RSVP now and join the ride! 🚴‍♀️

“I don’t like the horchata in Spain as much as the horchata in Mexico,” stated John, a Mexican American from Arizona. “That’s because it’s not horchata in Mexico, it’s not made of chufa,” I replied with a tone of authority. Darcie in la Albufera where chufa grows I had recently discovered the beautiful chufa fields, stretching out bright green against the deep blue Mediterranean sky. I thought they were rice fields and when I mentioned it; I was quickly corrected. Thus, I learned about chufa and my first encounter with horchata. Chufa seeds, better known as Tiger Nuts in English At the time, I didn’t realize it was a first encounter. I recognised the name of the drink and, of course, I thought it would be the same as in California or Mexico. But this horchata was oddly different. I had never tasted that flavour before, anywhere. I began to investigate. Chufa doesn’t grow in Mexico. So, what was that drink that they called horchata? It was sweet, whitish and milky, icy cold and delicious, but milder. I turned to Google to find the truth: “Some people in the United States may be familiar with horchata as a Mexican drink, as was I, but the Spanish version is extremely different from the Mexican version. Mexican horchata is rice-based rather than chufa-based.” Stated Keith Howerton in an article he had written for the Herb Society of America Blog. I now considered myself somewhat of an authority on the subject, and therefore defended the homely little chufa tuber against the American misconception. “Even though it’s not made of chufa, it’s still Horchata!” John shot back at me, defending himself from my newly found authority. “If it’s not chufa, it’s not horchata,” I pressed my point. “It’s like making a pie out of pears and calling it an apple pie because it looks the same!” He reminded me he was a Mexican American and retorted: “It’s my cult, I should know”. “Right, of course…” I said supportively as I saw he felt his culture was being questioned. I looked down humbly to avoid any further offence as I muttered to myself, “if it isn’t chufa, it isn’t horchata!” Fortunately, he didn’t hear me, and the conflict passed. Later that evening, I had another thought; maybe John did have a point. Like the article said, the Mexicans have a unique version of horchata, but perhaps it could all be horchata? What do you think?

"Trust me," I almost pleaded with my student, "don’t pronounce the W in the word answer." In English you have to learn a word’s meaning, spelling, and pronunciation—three separate skills. Then came the million-dollar question: "Then why do you have to write it with a W if you don’t pronounce it?" she asked. I’ve been a teacher for a long time, and I still don’t know how to answer that question. Most of my teaching career has been in my home country, working with people who are immersed in English daily. They hear the correct pronunciation all around them, accept my explanations, and move on. For the past four years, however, I’ve been teaching English here in Algemesí and Xàtiva. During this time, I’ve noticed something fascinating: Spanish learners of English develop a remarkably uniform pronunciation dialect. I could never figure out why—until I did. And when I correct them, I sometimes sense a sort of skepticism, despite being a native speaker! Here’s my theory From the moment we start learning a language—even before birth—we assume that all languages function the same way. Take English, for example. Because it’s not a phonetic language, American students have weekly spelling tests—twenty words, every Friday. This continues for years, sometimes even into college. I grew up assuming all children worldwide endured this same process. So, imagine my surprise when I discovered that Spaniards don’t have weekly spelling tests. Why? Because in Spanish, what you see is what you say. There are even accent marks to help with pronunciation. In English, however, you have to learn a word’s meaning, spelling, and pronunciation—three separate skills. Now, this is where it gets interesting. Since Spanish spelling and reading are phonetic, Spanish learners naturally apply the same logic to English. They read a word and assume it should be pronounced exactly as written. It makes perfect sense—just not in English. I often remind my students, "Reading is not your friend." When they learn words by listening first, their pronunciation is great. But the moment they see the word written down, their pronunciation worsens. It dawned on me: Spanish learners trust what they see. Americans, on the other hand, would never trust written English. We’ve been trained not to! We grow up memorizing each new word from infancy, knowing that spelling often betrays pronunciation. Spaniards, however, have no reason to doubt their letters. The Spanish writing system has always been loyal to its readers. So, my advice to all aspiring English speakers: do not believe what you see! Even though it goes against everything you've ever learned, trust me on this.

"¡Yo amo la paella!" exclaimed my little sister as we enjoyed a sunny afternoon in Alcúdia de Crespins. The warm air, the company, and the Spanish food had clearly inspired her to bust out her rudimentary Spanish. Darcie and Vangie enjoying there time together in Spain My Spanish friends, Quique and Belén, smiled quietly. They knew what she meant; both spoke English and had mentally translated her statement word for word: "I love paella". Quique, always the jokester, couldn't resist. "That’s great! Are you going to marry it?" he quipped, chuckling at his own humor. Vangie, of course, looked puzzled. She had been diligently studying Spanish on Duolingo during the long plane ride from California. "What’s so funny? It was a perfect statement!" she insisted. Belén jumped in to clarify, sensing Vangie’s confusion. "We don’t say it that way in Spanish. You don’t 'love' a thing; you can love people—your mom, dad, children, boyfriend—but not food. You can say 'I love you, Mom' and give her a kiss, but not paella! In Spanish, things please us; they don’t love us back. We say 'La paella me encanta,' which means 'Paella is really pleasing to me.' Does that make sense?" "Okay," replied Vangie, though her tone suggested she wasn’t quite convinced. I could tell she found the logic unnecessarily complicated. I didn’t push the issue; after all, learning a new language means learning a new way to see the world, and I didn't want to go down that rabbit hole. Instead, I seized the moment to clarify something that had been nagging me for a while. "So, what’s the difference between 'amar' and 'querer'? I don’t hear 'amar' much in Spain, but I remember people using it in Mexico." "Yeah, and it’s what Duolingo teaches!" Vangie chimed in, as if to defend her relationship with paella. "And 'querer' means 'to want,' right?" "Querer also means 'to love,'" I said, determined to back up my point. "Te quiero means 'I love you.'" Quique, still amused, replied, "We don’t really use 'amar' here. It sounds archaic to us. We use 'querer' to express love." Vangie, horrified, shot back, "That's awful! You WANT people? You don’t love them?" Belén, ever the peacemaker, soothed her. "It means both, Vangie. It depends on the context." Vangie looked unconvinced but decided to let it slide. Later that evening, as we walked past a pastry shop, she stopped in her tracks and sighed dreamily. "La tarta de chocolate me encanta," she said, perfectly nailing the Spanish phrase. Then, with a cheeky grin, she whispered to me, "But between you and me… I still love paella."