My Favorite Teacher

It’s autumn 2009. There is a slight chill in the air, and we are walking up my favorite street in Salamanca. It is a long climb, this street, one that leads to the cathedral, which reigns atop the hill like a mighty king. I huff and puff as Mario talks. I love the way he talks: his rolled Rs, his throaty jotas. But when he utters an unfamiliar word, I stop him. I’m 22, going on my second year in Spain, the world is at my feet, but I still have so much to learn—from him, from Spain, from everyone and everything. And so we’ve become accustomed to this: him speaking, me interrupting, him explaining, and then returning to the topic at hand. Listening to him was much more than just getting to know (and love) him; I was learning about Spanish and Spain at the same time.

Kaley Mario Salamanca

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