teaching English – D Travels 'Round

Decompression numero dos

Man, leaving new friends is a bitch.

The second time I had bid farewell (“see you soon”) in three weeks to a group of amazing and beautiful people who became my family in the blink of an eye was no easier than the departure two weeks earlier.

First, it was Valdelavilla. And now, Monfrague. Two completely different programs, two completely different locations. Two completely and breathtakingly different groups of people.

Back to Anglo “reality”

Decompressing is a tough activity following the six days I spent immersed in English … in a way I never thought possible … with people I never expected to fall so deeply in love with.

I found myself craving Vadelavilla. The people. The way my heart smiled during my time there.

Opening my ears

“Hi,” I began. “My name is D. I am originally from just outside of Washington, DC. In my former life, I was a publicist. Now, I am traveling and writing about it. If I could be any animal, I would be … a bird.”

I sat down.
After introductions, Dade explained the program: early wake up call for breakfast, followed by four one-on-ones with Anglos, then lunch, then siesta, then more one-on-ones and group activities, then performances, then dinner, then optional drinks at the bar.

What did I get myself into?

The only English-speaking town in Spain

Tucked into the Soria region of Spain is a little mountain village is Valdelavilla — a place completely isolated from the rest of the world, where Spaniards trek to learn English through intensive language immersion programs. It’s the only place in Spain where English is the first language.

Other than people participating in the program and the few staff on hand to take care of the property, there is nothing.

There are no stores. There is no cell phone service. The restaurant is located in an old villa. The bar has no stools and doubles as the “internet cafe.” So does the bench outside reception. And, the wifi is about as speedy as an old-school dial-up connection. The more people pow-wowing online at Valdelavilla, the slower it goes.

Despite these things, I fell in love with the town at first sight.

The first Valdelavilla friends

Anthony and I were sitting next to each other on the bus. I really wanted nothing more than to just turn on my music, watch the Spanish countryside pass by and eventually close my eyes and sleep.

But, that wasn’t going to happen.

We needed to sit next to one of the Spanish-speaking people and converse with them in English.

I grudgingly surrendered the seat next to Anthony and surveyed the bus for a seat next to someone who did not speak English as their native langugage.

Most of the seats were taken, save one or two.

One empty seat was next to a girl with a head full of massive curls and a smile that spread across her entire face. She looked friendly. And likely easy to talk to.

I walked up to her, sitting alone in the window seat (damn).

“This seat taken?” I asked her, having a “Forrest Gump” moment and vividly recalling the poor boy in his youth trying to sit next to someone on the bus only to be turned down.