My first week at school was as close to normal as could be expected given the current climate. There have been some notable changes that I hope will continue even after this virus is under control: Besides everyone wearing masks, there is hand sanitizer everywhere, and the bathrooms are fully equipped with toilet paper, soap, and paper towels. You might be reading this and thinking “Uh, there WASN’T those essential items before?!” and you would be correct. What a difference easily available toilet paper makes.

For the most part, I’ve been impressed with my students’ handling of these new measures. From my observations in this first week, they’ve been pretty good about wearing (and not touching) their masks, and they use the hand sanitizer in the classrooms regularly. That being said, within 24 hours, three students came to the teachers’ lounge requesting that we phone their parents because they were sick. We have now entered the phase of “Is this just a regular cold/flu due to the change of weather, or is it Coronavirus?”, aka literal hell. All of the rooms are very cold, because we have to keep all the windows and doors open to provide air circulation. The bright side of all this chaos is the joking that comes from my fellow staff members; it’s impossible not to laugh, when one person coughs and ten people whip their heads around to stare in horror.

My school had about 200 new students join this year, so I have several groups of new 12 and 13 year olds, along with many of my old students from last year. Class sizes are supposed to be limited to twenty students, but there is at least one class that goes over that limit. I have another class with only eight students, with some of the sweetest kids that I had last year, so that’s an ideal situation. I introduced myself to my classes, and showed them pictures of my home in New Hampshire, my family, and friends. I got many of the same questions that I got last year like “Do you like Trump?”, “Do you have a boyfriend?”, and “What is your favorite Spanish food?” but there were some new questions as well such as “Who is your favorite sibling?” and “Which do you like more, Spain or USA?” The reactions from my students to learning that I am the youngest of seven children was my favorite part of the whole week: There were many audible gasps, hands clutching the head, and one boy even muttered “Jesus Christ”, under his breath. Another cheeky boy in the front row, wearing a sweatshirt that said USA on it, said “Wow, international family!”

This past week was not just eventful because of my first week teaching in Covid times; I also had the joy of experiencing more Spanish bureaucracy. To give the shortest and easiest explanation, I am living here on a student visa and am given a foreign residency card, known as a TIE, that is valid for the duration of my ‘program.’ This TIE expires at the end of June, and needs to be renewed every year for as long as I want to continue living here. When I first arrived in Madrid, I had an appointment to take my fingerprints, and within about a month or two, received my TIE, making my legal status ‘official.’ The catch of living here on a student visa? You have to get your fingerprints re-taken every single year in order to renew and stay legal. And, because of Covid, the immigration offices have been completely backed up with appointments, so it was essentially the Hunger Games trying to get an appointment. I miraculously got one for Friday morning at 10:30, and arrived with all of my paperwork at 9:30.

Going to the immigration offices in Aluche is one of the most anxiety inducing journeys. You don’t need directions because as soon as you step off the metro you need only to follow the general air of sadness and broken dreams. The building used to be a prison, and everything about it still screams that. Lines of people wait outside in the dry Spanish heat, some with umbrellas, others using their folders of paperwork to block out the sun, while policía pace back and forth, sometimes shouting at you, or pointing at where you should be standing. Not pleasant.

I was seen by one of the administrators just after 10:00. She flipped through my paperwork, and then informed me that my empadronamiento (proof of residence), needed to be updated with today’s date. To this very moment, I still have no idea why she demanded this, because empadronamientos only need to be updated every two years. Her co-worker/translator told me that I needed to go to a ‘white building near the metro’ to get this paperwork updated with the current date, and come back, before 2:00. This kind of scenario is every person’s nightmare when they go to Aluche.

I walked back to the metro, and walked around and around, looking for a white building, and looking up ‘city halls’ on my maps, with no luck. My friend found an office that sounded hopeful, but it was a 20 minute walk away. As I started to walk there, I passed the lawyer that had been standing on the street passing out business cards. I had absentmindedly grabbed one as I walked past the first time. I stopped, turned around, and walked back to him. “Hola, necesito ayuda, por favor”, I said. I showed him my paperwork and what I was asked to do, explaining that I was told to go to a ‘white building.’ The very nice (and cute), man asked me if I spoke English, then proceeded to make a phone call, explaining to someone on the other line that a girl from the United States needed help because of something that Aluche was demanding (typical). He found the correct building that I needed to go to: It was a white building, and it was near the metro, but not within sight of the metro. I thanked him profusely, told him he was an amazing lawyer and a lifesaver, and ran off.

When I arrived at my destination, I was asked if I had an appointment. I showed my paperwork and tried to explain that I didn’t have one but was told to come here on the same day. The man kept telling me “You need an appointment.” I then experienced one of those rare moments in which being a woman has its advantages, as I can only imagine that my face was on the verge of bursting into hysterics; it must have freaked him out because he excused himself, and came back a couple minutes later with a “This is a favor for you…” I could’ve cried right there and I think he knew it because he looked very uncomfortable. I got my empadronamiento updated with that day’s date, and was back on my way to Aluche, passing the lawyer and thanking him again.

By this hour, there was a very long line, but I blew past it, walked right up to the policía, explained that I had just been there but had had to leave, and was allowed to bypass the line. More waiting in the heat, and finally I was back inside the offices, only this time I had a different administrator attending to me, a young, cute, guy, not a bitchy older woman who seeks to ruin the days of every person who comes through her office. This man adorably asked if I spoke Spanish, and barely looked at my updated empadronamiento, confirming to me that I just had the horrible luck of getting stuck with the wrong person. I left Aluche at 1:00.

Spanish bureaucracy is one of the biggest things that could be improved upon in this great country, but I doubt it will happen in my lifetime. If I’m fortunate enough, I’ll one day be able to get long-term residency, and not have to go through this mundane process every 10 months. Until then, I’ll just keep writing about each bizarre scenario; and maybe hire a lawyer next time. Hey, I have his business card!