I am not a natural teacher. I'm pleased when my students come in late because it means there's less time that I have to teach for and I get annoyed with them when they come back from break actually on time. I find it nearly impossible to come up with a smooth transition between topics, can barely keep a group discussion going for more than a couple minutes and I am too sensitive to a group's collective bored sighs and blase looks. The one time I had to teach a pre-intermediate class (which was really beginner but called so to make them feel better for not being able to advance higher despite the years they've spent at that level) I almost had to choke back tears when a student interrupted me midsentence with a finger in my face "Excuse me!", then he turned to the class "Does anyone understand her?". There was a ghastly silence and blank faces stared back at me. He turned to me again, "We don't understand you, so you have to speak more slower and more clearer" in an accusatory tone, hate seething out of his eyeballs as if I had been sent there at 8:00 in the morning to ruin his day and was personally responsible for all his linguistic failings.
I specifically chose to teach adults, I wouldn't even consider children, and now I'm wondering if that may have been a mistake. The adult mind has a harder time learning a language, this is a fact, so inevitably in every class there is someone who demands to know 'WHY?!' the verb becomes pluralized when talking about the first person in the present tense, WHY?! it is necessary to drop the 'who' when making a reduced relative clause and HOW?! are you supposed to know when the word ends in -ence instead of -ance. Children just accept that your word is golden. They don't question you but on the occassion that they do "Because it just is" is an acceptable explanation. Tell that to a frustrated 40-something and they throw their hands up, they roll theirs eyes, they slump in their chairs and they say something in Spanish that I can tell would be mildly offensive if I knew what they were saying.
Needless to say, teaching adults is strange, especially when you're markedly younger than your students. There's a dichotomoy of how much respect I should expect from them and how much I should give them. For instance, I can't tell if they're trying to be respectful or if they just can't remember my name, but I find it uncomfortable when they call me 'teacher' and no matter how many times I ask them to call me Alex they don't. On the other hand there are some students who give me no respect and it's really awkward when they're talking over me and the rest of the class is straining to hear me.
Even more strange, I have some classes that once congregated, quickly descend back into childhood. An example:
"Teacher, may I go to the bathroom?"
"Yes, of course, you don't have to ask and please, don't call me teacher."
"Okay, I'll be right back."
"While we wait for Estevan to get back why don't we talk about what we did this past weekend."
(Sustainable chatter for about 8 minutes, then Estevan walks back in and another student asks)
"Estevan! You were gone for so long, did you go number 2?!"
(Class descends into raucous laughter, borderline hysteria)
"Yes I did! I went number 2! Teacher, do you know what number one and number two is?"
"Yes, we have the same sayings in English."
"I had to sit on the toilette for so long!"
(People start gasping for breath from laughing too hard) .
I get the sense that the people who worked a little too hard during highschool are the ones who throw fits and huff and puff their way through my English classes because they can't stand not knowing the ins and outs of something. While the students who took it a bit easier are today's jokesters, and they're just so much more fun to be in a room with for a couple of hours.
So even though I'm not the best teacher I probably don't give myself enough credit. The hours are rough and the planning takes forever and sometimes I feel uncomfortable, sometimes my feelings are hurt and sometimes I just couldn't be bothered but I care about keeping them interested and I care about their progress. If that's not good enough for them then I'll just make fun of them on my blog.
I think my favourite food holiday ever has to be the 29th of the month, Noquis Night. Here in BsAs they promote the celebration of food, specifically noquis (or gnocchi), on the 29th of every month. Every where you go in the city on the 29th you're bound to see signs up in the bars, restaurants and of course, the pasta fresca shops, advertising special meals and deals for noquis. The tradition follows that by the end of the month you were most likely pretty low on cash, so flour and potato (being the cheapest foods around) are combined to make a delicious meal you can't shake a stick at. Traditionally you're supposed to put your last 100 peso bill under the plate to make your money last as long as the meal, however I've only got about two pesos left to my name at the moment so I'll be skipping out on that part of custom. 
This photo does not do justice to the heavy sludge of traffic that is now a permanent fixture outside our balcony. I call it a sludge because it does not flow in the way that typical city traffic does. The cars behave more like sludge in that they inch painfully forward until gravity (or the blare of horns) finally forces the buildup to burst forward in a sudden and jerky plop... and then a red light again. The buildup resumes and the horns blare, the entire routine repeats every 3 minutes and all the while I go slightly more mad with every red light. These Portenos do not believe in a single "Hey you!" or "Get going!" honk. They prefer to communicate their dissatisfaction by leaning against the horn of their cars until their wrists hurt from pushing too hard and display no regret or concern for the people who live in the buildings around them, i.e. me.
