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Si no podido asistir a nuestra noche de inmersión los viernes, ¡me temo que te lo estés faltando algo importante con tu crecimiento lingüístico! Pero no te preocupes, seguimos creciendo y compartiendo nuevas ideas, delicias culturales y mucha diversión. Aquí está las fechas para finales de marzo y abril: Nuestro Club de Lectura Bilingüe "Especial". Acabamos de comenzar un nuevo libro: El caballero de la armadura oxidada, de Robert Fisher. Continuaremos leyendo hasta el final del libro para el viernes 19 de abril, y lo discutiremos. Si quieres compartir una sugerencia para el próximo libro, ¡menciónalo! ¡Nuestras clases de inmersión para adultos están llenas de risas y aprendizaje! Al compartir nuestros talentos, no sólo aprendemos diferentes culturas, ¡sino también nuevas habilidades! Clase de Inmersión para Adultos para el viernes 29 de marzo, compartiremos juntos las Procesiones de Semana Santa. Nuestros amigos españoles se están preparando darnos una velada informativa y divertida. Clase de Inmersión de Idiomas para Adultos para el viernes 12 de abril ¡Tendremos una clase de bailar Salsa! ¡Trae a un@ amig@ si quieres y hagamos algunos movimientos! Nos encontraremos a las 19:00 horas en Carrer Corretgeria, 35, Xàtiva.

Visit the Free Little Library just outside DarKha Academy. We put out books and music to share. Please feel free to let a book and pick up a book.

“Those look great! I love fluffy biscuits!” I exclaimed as Betty unveiled her afternoon baking project. However, when I scuttled to the kitchen to get plates, I glimpsed a fleeting puzzled look cross her face. I grabbed the final items for the Bilingual Book Club meeting: tea, wine glasses, and my book when I heard Mike, who had just entered, exclaim, “Yes, some proper scones!” He also was commenting on Betty’s contribution to our gathering. I knew it was him because of his English accent. I’m American; we speak the same language, almost. The conversation between Mike and Betty continued: “And we have clotted cream! Couldn’t buy it in this country (Spain), so I learned how to make it!” “You are an angel straight from heaven!” sighed Mike, bliss radiating from his smile. “You got the jam, correct?” She motioned with a nod and a smile which said: “What do you take me for?!” Betty must have made some sort of English comfort food. Which, to me, was questionable…. how comforting could “clotted” cream be? Sounds like something that went bad. I kept the thought to myself. I’ve been living in Spain now for a couple of years and I expect to learn new things daily. However, I realized now that there are those with whom I share a language and who also live in Spain that are equally educating: the English! As Betty passed the “scones” around (which look like American biscuits…) for all to try, Mike went into lecturer mode and explained to all non English or New Zealand persons, such as us Spaniards, Americans, Argentinians, Dutch and French, exactly how to apply the clotted cream and the jam. Jam goes on first and then the cream. The lecture also included what NOT to do and that the consequence of doing such an act has apparently started civil wars. Never put the clotted cream on first and then the jam! Or was it the other way around? I sat next to Amparo from Valencia and Susana from Argentina. When the scones came to me, I sneakily observed Amparo and Susana to imitate their actions: the jam first or the cream first? I didn’t want problems! They were fidgeting with their napkins, obviously waiting for me to make the first move. “You, guys!” I whispered, “which goes first? The jam or the cream?!” “I don’t remember, you’re the who speaks English!” whispered Amparo back to me as if hers was a viable excuse. I rolled my eyes. Fortunately, as the tension built, a voice rose above the heated whispers: “So, Mike remind us again”, said Sara, the always cool, calm Dutch, “which goes on first? We don’t want to start another civil war!”

“I can’t wait to try all the food!” exclaimed Dylan excitedly as we entered the supermarket. My son and his family from California had just landed in Spain and they were ready for adventure! His musings through the prepared food isles brought back memories of when I had asked similar questions. He stopped in front of the Russian salad. “What’s this?” he asked, studying it through the packaging. “It’s the Spanish version of our potato salad except that they add tuna, peas, carrots and tomatoes and there is no mustard nor pickles” I explained. “No mustard! Interesting!” he replied as he put it in the cart. Next item in question: “What is this round yellow thing?» “A tortilla”. “That is NOT a tortilla, Mom, sorry; that is something with lots of eggs and potatoes!” “Dylan, I know Spanish is spoken here but; we are not in Mexico. Here, they make tortillas with eggs and potatoes, not ground corn flour.” “I like eggs and potatoes” he said as he added one to the cart. Brandie, his wife, quickly noticed the picture of an onion on the packaging and asked for a version without onions. Interesting, I thought, Californians have the same dispute as Spaniards; which is better, tortilla with or without onions. Personally, I think it is a silly argument since everything is better with onions. Keeping that to myself, I switched the tortilla to one without onions. Later during the visit, the Californians sat down to paella, eager to try the traditional dish. “I love it!” exclaimed Dylan, “I bet every family has their own secret recipe for this!” Xavi, the native Valenciano imparting his rich culture to my Californian family, joined in the conversation. He was a little more familiar with Californian thinking. “Dylan, we don’t change recipes in Spain; we follow them”. Surprised, Dylan inquired, “Really, but why?” For him, and for me also, it is quite a concept to not change a recipe. At a barbecue or a family gathering in the U.S., one joy is to try the different homemade versions of our traditional foods. Most everyone has a specialty dish with its secret recipe, such as potato salad, pizza, sushi, or barbecue sauce. When we sat down to bocadillos, Dylan, not understanding the menu, said: “I’ll have whatever Xavi has”. He was thrilled by the Spanish ham, cheese, egg, onions, and allioi combination served on a large baguette. The next day, Dylan greeted Xavi at lunchtime with a homemade bocadillo. Impressed, Xavi exclaimed: “This is even better than the restaurant!” “Of course,” smiled Dylan, “it’s my secret recipe.” Dylan, Brandie, Hero and Lily enjoying Montesa cuisine. Photo

As a kid, I loved the holiday traditions. One was going up to the mountains to look for the perfect Christmas tree. My mom always stayed home to cook the meal and I loved crunching through the snow with the smell of dinner in the air as we approached the house. Beautiful times! Another American Christmas tradition is fruit cake. As a child, I, however, thought it suspicious: the fruit looked like plastic, it was packed with walnuts, which I didn’t like, and was so dense and dark a normal person couldn’t bite through it. But I said nothing when it was passed around the table; I calmly slipped it under the table to the dog. My mom would give the cakes to everyone and I truly thought there was something wrong with me because all the «friends» seemed simply delighted! It wasn’t until I got caught feeding it to the dog and the family rallied in my defense: its popularity was a fraud. We all fed it to the dog, secretly. I was part of a silent vast majority. According to a PBS article by Elson Trindad in 2015, the once-noble fruitcake has been long ridiculed in literature and popular culture from Charles Dickens to Johnny Carson. I assume it’s revered because its eternal shelf life would ensure survival of the troops in the long, cold winters. Close to my little town in California, there is an even smaller town called Independence. Maybe out of boredom, someone thought up having a Fruitcake Festival; it now gets national attention! To gain entry, festival goers bring a fruit cake or egg-nog. The judges then evaluate the cakes and announce a king. From the same article, I read: The rituals begin with «The entrance of the Fruitcake King, who presides over the event, (and) the introduction of the Archival Fruitcake -- a now-10-year-old fruitcake amended each year with brandy and powdered sugar and sealed inside a Cold War-era Civil Defence barrel stored in a cool basement during the rest of the year. The Fruitcake King selects a willing attendee to eat a piece of it to formally kick-off the festival. Fruitcake: consume at your own risk!!! Fruitcake is not only a food type, it is also an expression. We call someone who may lack in judgment, missing a screw etc. a «fruitcake». The current king has reigned the past 10 years and at first he felt it a great honor. Then, he realized that nobody was challenging him and if he didn't take drastic action, it might immortalize him as the Great Fruitcake King of all Time. But there is hope for this regal individual. Just this year, during our family gathering, my mom clasped her hands, looked up dreamily and sighed: I would love to become the first Fruitcake Queen. We all met silent eyes, even the dog. We camouflaged our flash of horror as we smiled encouragingly at my mom!

Join us during the holiday season while we have fun and practice our Spanish!

One of my favorite times of the day is the morning, especially school day mornings. I open up the academy, sweep up the sidewalks, and enjoy the crisp and invigorating air. Summer no longer dominates the temperatures, and there is an excited buzz in the air. Students give kisses, hear goodbyes and hellos simultaneously as they leave parents and turn to friends when entering school. The rattling of book bags rolling along cobble stone mixes with adult conversations and shouting kids. Students greet me, some showing off their English skills in front of their friends. Parents wave and smile at me as they hurry to their responsibilities. It’s a beautiful scene; it makes me think of a happy Disney film. I have a sense of heart connection to the town people. Life is good. With this quaint scene in mind, I reflect on my school days as a child. I always took a big orange school bus to school. Yes, just like the ones you have seen in the movies! To this day, whenever I smell diesel, I am back on a big orange school bus. In my rural town, most kids took the bus. We said our goodbyes at home and parents would get in their cars and drive off to their responsibilities from home. Never would the entire school-body mingle in front before the school doors opened. As a kid in school, I played sports: running and skiing. Every school had their football, tennis, swimming, running, chess, maths, and spelling teams. We had classes from 8:00 to 3:00 with a 40 minute break for lunch between 12:00 to 12:40. At 3:00 you could go home, but few did. That’s when, for most of us, the day started: team practice, band practice, drama rehearsal, cheer leader practice, Yearbook meeting. We would get home between 5 and 6, have dinner, do homework and then go to bed at 9. At 6:30 we would have to get up to catch that big orange school bus again in the morning. Because sports and clubs were so important in our town, the weekends were equally important. The entire town would show up at the football games on Saturday night to support the home team, cheer with the cheerleaders, and stomp their feet to the band. In the mingling band music, shouting fans, laughing little brothers and sisters, parents would get caught up on the gossip, students, on trends. There is a sense of belonging even if the other team won; we knew we would beat them next time! Life was good. As I reflect now, maybe the two cultures have much in common. And, life is good!

Este es un club de lectura "especial" porque es bilingüe. Los miembros hablan en el idioma que menos domina, ya sea español o inglés. Se crea un ambiente de aprendizaje de gran apoyo. Nos reunimos dos veces al mes para discutir nuestro libro, hacer preguntas de gramática y vocabulario y practicar nuestros idiomas.

The year was 2016, and I was on the plane returning from Spain. I had just finished my first Camino, el Camino de la Plata, from Sevilla to Santiago de Compostela. I remember the man sitting next to me on the plane asked quietly if I was okay. My eyes were red from crying. It was hard for me to leave el Camino, to leave Spain. ‘I’m fine’ I smiled in reply, lying through my tears. When I returned to California and resumed teaching English and Spanish, translating for the courts, playing violin in my string duo, and being with my family and my little farm, I knew the winds of change had blown. A few years later, I accepted a teaching position in Algemesí and was thrilled! I was to make the leap to live in Spain, possibly permanently. As I look back on those days, I’m glad I didn’t realize the difficulties that those winds would push me through, nor the absolute adventure they would take me on! Just to mention a few, while teaching in Cervantes, I bought an ancient house in Xativa which, on the deed, stated clearly: a house in ruins. I created and started a business in my unfamiliar country: an English, Spanish and Valencian Academy. I got a Spain driver’s license, which I thought would be easy since I had been driving for years in the US! I learned how to breathe deeper when dealing with and manoeuvring through Spanish bureaucracy. I went through COVID with my family far away. And we have to mention going through the classic reform-an-old-house experience which took a couple years. Good grief! What was I thinking!! Now, sitting in my newly rebuilt home, I have mixed emotions: relief, joy, remaining stress, and gratitude. Was it worth it? Of course! I am the only one in California that has an Academy and home with a gothic arch in the inner patio, and a reconstructed well that is said to have a dragon living in it. Nobody in California can use their Spanish driver’s license to go out and explore castles or go to the beach in Valencia for the afternoon. Do I prefer Valencia to California? Heck no! I love and have both now! California, with its innovation, extreme beauty and diversity, is a place I am proud and honoured to be from. Would I ever do this again? No, thank you! Please, winds of change, I shall stay put!

Dejé de disculparme por ello con mis alumnos cuando me di cuenta de que, por eso, todos hemos tenido que sufrir. Es una prueba cultural, un rito de iniciación que une a todos los estudiantes de inglés, jóvenes y mayores, nativos y no nativos. ¡Es el proceso irracional de aprender a deletrear y leer en inglés! Encontré esta imagen que muestra el nivel de lectura de varios idiomas después de un año de instrucción. El inglés es el primer idioma en el gráfico; El español es el séptimo. ¿Por qué la barra roja es tan baja para los estudiantes de inglés y tan alta para los estudiantes de español? ¿Son los estudiantes de inglés menos inteligentes? ¿O es que los profesores son malos? ¿Por qué todos los demás idiomas superan al inglés? Tal vez una mejor pregunta sería: ¿podría ser que el sistema real de ortografía sea ininteligible y malo? De hecho, según John Katt, profesor de inglés, ese es exactamente el problema. Buenas noticias, ¿verdad? ¡No eres tu! Es el sistema el que es irracional. Ahora, en lugar de regañar a sus hijos o quizás preguntarse si les falta el “gen inteligente”, puede darles un respiro. ¡Son normales! ¡Es el inglés lo que falta! Déjame dar algunos ejemplos: Pronunciar "respuesta" sin la "w"; junto con "escribir", "arrugar" y "equivocado". No hay sonido "w", ¡pero tienes que escribirlo! Pronunciar "respuesta" sin la "w"; junto con "escribir", "arrugar" y "equivocado". No hay sonido "w", ¡pero tienes que escribirlo! Luego tenemos “en vivo” y “en vivo”. Se escriben exactamente igual pero se pronuncian diferente; el primero significa “vivir”, el otro “vivo/a”. “Leer” y “leer”; de nuevo, se escribe igual, pero se pronuncia diferente. El primero es “leo”, el segundo “leyó”. Y hay “read” y “red” (uno es “leyó” el otro “rojo”), pero se pronuncian exactamente igual. “Ocho” (no digas la “g”, la “i”, ni la “h”) y “ate” (pronuncia la “a” como y una “e”, pero no digas la “e” al final) se pronuncian exactamente igual. La primera palabra es “ocho” la segunda, “comió”. Para ayudar a los estudiantes de inglés no nativos a sentirse mejor, nosotros, los hablantes nativos, tuvimos que comenzar rigurosos programas de ortografía con pruebas todos los viernes (lo que hizo que los viernes fueran agridulces...) desde los cinco años hasta que ingresamos a la universidad. E, incluso después de toda esa rigurosa práctica de ortografía, lo primero que hice en la universidad fue aprender a revisar la ortografía en los nuevos procesadores de texto. ¡Un invento increíble que me alertó de las palabras mal escritas y las corrigió! Fue enviado por Dios; ¡Nosotros los comunicadores ingleses no estamos solos!