Adam Frazier's
Barcelona & Celta experience
' While in Barcelona I attended a four week intensive ESL teacher certification course (CELTA) at The Lewis School of Languages, an excellent school run by a ginger haired Scottish woman and her friendly Spanish husband, Fran. I spent my eight hour days attending classes, planning lessons, and teaching my own English lessons to Spaniards, Russians, Argentines, Colombians and a Mongol. Seriously, the school and the CELTA course were absolutely superb, and I wouldn't have taken the course anywhere else. School is also where I met the people who would blur Barcelona's roughness into an unnoticable clack-clack.
The first day of CELTA finds the seven of us, plus Heather, a course tutor, crammed into a tiny white classroom. We quietly size each other up, fill out forms, and complete a Turkish language exercise (Merhaba!), not fully realizing that we will eventually spend countless hours working, studying, worrying, laughing, and just chilling out together. I couldn't have taken the course with a more interesting group of people. There's Joe, an eighteen year old British/Frenchman, who like anyone his age lives his life at one speed... full. We spent too many midnight hours stalking the streets of the Raval, a bustling yet shady section of Barcelona, together. I couldn't imagine teaching classes or living in a city like Barcelona at his age. Cannon, an inspiring idealist who bears an uncanny resemblance to a Palestinian suicide bomber. He lives a nomadic existence and pretty much models the ideals he espouses. Kristof, a soft spoken, extremely deep, Belgian poet. The cool exterior didn't fool me for long. His brash American like sense of humor kept me in stitches. Fran, a veteran Master's of Education teacher from Sheffield, Britian, whose broad range of life experiences I immensely enjoyed listening to. Denise, who very simply has a heart of gold and stoically endured me when I zoned out during lectures. And finally John, the senior citizen on the course (55 years old) and fascinating fellow American, whose lunchtime conversations helped me keep everything in perspective. He's now teaching in Thailand.
Initially planning my world tour, I chose Barcelona to take a CELTA course, enticed by tales of the gorg e ous women and the raucous nightlife. Little did I know or expect that in reality I would come to Barcelona and experience the family life. I have been loved and cared for and in return I have loved and cared for a group of friends. A scene from the movie "Lost in Translation" expresses my sentiment towards Barcelona. Scarlett Johannasen quietly speaks about never returning to Japan without the friend she has come to love. Likewise, I'll never return to this city because it won't be the same without the group of people who created my wild Barcelona experience.
Finally, it's midnight, chilly, and overcast as I stand on a back street of the Raval with Joe and a charming, brightly blonde Scottish tennis coach named Grant whose accent I sometimes have trouble understanding. We are honestly eating a meal to rival steak, shrimp, or caviar . . . a truly heavenly falafel from the hole-in-the-wall Pakistani restaurant around the corner. My taste buds creep towards nirvana as Joe smirkingly informs me that foil remains on the last bite I have greedily stuffed in my mouth. I visibly choke as I debate whether or not to swallow it and damn the consequences. I could probably eat it with all of the foil on it. Believe me friend, it's that good . . . or maybe it's just life at this exact moment. The simple orchestra of rain pitt-pattering on leaves plays a few feet overhead. On second thought, maybe Barcelona wasn't so bad after all. '
Adam Frazier, USA
