Spanish summer camp? No, that's not a typo
By Leah Rubin-Cadrain

Graphic/Zak Shapiro

    This past summer fellow senior Andy Zwecker and I went to Spain to teach English at a summer camp called Buendía. The camp is situated between the towns of Buendía and Sacedón in the province of Cuenca, about an hour outside of Madrid. We corresponded with some of the administration via e-mail during the year, but apparently communication isn’t a strong point for Spaniards; even as we boarded the plane, we had no idea what was in store for us.

    Upon arriving on July 24, our boss, don Jesús (literally, Mr. Jesus), showed us where we’d be sleeping (right next door to the 14-year-old boys), and then took us to our classrooms. As it turned out, we had each been assigned to our own class of about 14 Spanish children, and had three weeks to fulfill the curriculum. The kids, who ranged in age from eight to fifteen, were divided into ten levels based on the results of an English test. I was assigned to Level 4, and Andy to Level 5. We had to plan each week in advance, prepare photocopies one day ahead, and submit lesson plans to be approved by the jefe de estudios (our teaching boss). As we listened to this job description, jet lagged and exhausted (our first flight over had been cancelled and we had spent a late night in a Manhattan hotel), and met the other teachers (all of whom were in their mid-20’s, and all had teaching degrees or plans to become professional educators), it seemed we were in way over our heads.

    After the first few tumultuous days were over, it started getting easier and we began to have a much better time. That was when we realized that it would be the summer of our lives. Mornings could drag—everyone was tired and the kids’ attention wandered—but when the classes ended in mid-afternoon, the real fun began. Special activities included a six-kilometer walk to the nearest town, Buendía; a one-night camping trip at a campsite seven kilometers away; the Casa de Terror, a haunted house where we got to scare all of the troublemakers in class; and the Olympics. This was a day-long event in which teams were assigned to 14 different countries to compete in sports (the United States won, thanks to a vocal American cheering section!).

    It was the kids, above all, who made the experience unforgettable. As Americans, we were instant heroes and objects of curiosity. Everyone was eager for our opinions on President George W. Bush, the death penalty (which is outlawed in Spain), the attacks of Sept. 11, and more importantly, the budding romances among the older campers. We still correspond with some of our students, and have promised that we will see them again in summers to come. We also spent a lot of time with our co-workers, including two Dayton University graduates from the U.S., a McGill University student, and two teachers from England. For leisure time we went hiking, dancing, and out on the town every chance we had. In the short time between the end of camp and our flight home, many of us spent a few memorable nights together in Madrid before we all scattered back over the globe.

    I urge anyone who’s up for an adventure and willing to work hard to follow in our illustrious footsteps and teach in Spain. The people are amazing, the culture is breathtaking, and the money is…decent. Besides rounding out our vocabulary of Spanish swears, both of us came home more confident in our capabilities and ourselves. As we boarded the plane back to America, despite the patriotism we felt toward our home country, we both knew that we would be leaving a piece of ourselves behind at Buendía.