Teaching Spanish in Czechia: My Very First Class Ever

It was 2011. I was walking toward a 13th-grade classroom—the final year of studies—at an international school in Ostrava. I remember feeling excited and nervous, wondering if I should speak with a Spanish accent or just be myself. I thought, “Just keep it clear. Don’t mess with the whole spectrum of Latin American accents and words,” which vary so much from country to country.

It wasn’t my first year at the school. I had started my journey in the Czech Republic in 2010, working as a teacher assistant at a primary school—in a different building, surrounded by little kids. This time, I was about to face older students. Some of them were already adults. (Fun fact: the Czech system has 9 years of basic education, then 4 years of secondary school.)

To make things even more interesting, these students had never had a Spanish lesson with a native speaker—not even a Latin American teacher. A Peruvian in Ostrava? No way!

I walked in. The girls sat at the front, boys in the back. I think there were around 10 to 15 students. Back then I was 30-ish, so the age gap wasn’t that big—but I had a different culture, background, and mindset. I didn’t know what to expect.

Surprisingly, they welcomed this outsider—with smiles. Some were skeptical, but it’s a lesson I still remember. The room was quiet. They were waiting for me to speak. Their curious eyes and follow-up questions made me feel both exotic and important. 😄

I also have to say their previous Czech teacher had done a great job. The class communicated in Spanish, and some students even had a Spanish accent. That’s something I admire in Czech learners: their ear for Spanish is impressive. Their accent isn’t strong, and they use the language naturally.

So, I began with a vocabulary review. Remember when I said I wouldn’t use Peruvian words? Well... that plan quickly failed! While talking about clothes, I casually said “chompa.” A student asked, “Profesora Robles, qué es ‘chompa’?” Oops! In Peru, that’s “sweater” (suéter/jersey). A few minutes later, I did it again.

Then came grammar. In Spain, there's a clear difference between past perfect and past simple—ayer salí vs. ayer he salido. In my hometown, we mix them, and it’s totally fine. But how could I explain this on my first day?

I gave a quick, improvised answer: “Spanish speakers, like Czechs, use the language freely. Even we don’t always follow every rule.” I don’t know if it was clear, but they didn’t ask again. I think they were just amused by the cultural exchange happening right in their classroom.

Over the year, I developed a bond with that class. They were smart, fun, and respectful. I don’t usually have regrets, but I wish I had asked them to stay in touch. I was still a conservative teacher back then. In Lima, at my private school, teachers were strict—we were called by our surnames. I never bonded with them, which is sad.

Now, I’m more open. I’m not Mrs. Robles anymore. I’m just Margarita. I still speak as a Peruvian—I don’t pretend to be Spanish—but I’ve learned to compromise. My students are more likely to visit Spain than Peru, so yes, I teach suéter, not chompa.

To my Grade 13 students—and all my students—thank you for teaching me. If you're thinking about moving to a completely different country, don’t hesitate. It’s a learning journey. Not easy. But definitely worth it.

Tell me in the comments which country you would like to relocate to. I’ll be happy to support you! See you next Saturday for a new post.