Felices fiestas!

Here it is. My first stint on Spanish soil is coming to a close. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't itching to jump on that plane.

So far I've met some bloody fantastic people, I've started to really settle in at school and Gijón is feeling more familiar by the day. But Dorothy was right about home. For one thing, I feel as though my veins are currently flowing with bread, potatoes and ham... I've quite frankly forgotten what the colour green tastes like. And I've just about reached the end of the tether with the manners (or lack thereof) in Spain. Seriously, it is not acceptable to physically push someone out of the way in the street if you need to get by or to let go of a swinging door so that it knocks out the person behind you without a second glance or to stare at, gawk at and heckle young ladies as they walk by. Come on Spain. Seriously. I needed to get that off my chest.

On Saturday I went for a little hike in the hills with Tom from Aviles and a big group of his colleagues from school. I can't really have imagined a better way to spend my last Saturday in Gijón. We got on the coach at 9am and were dropped off somewhere in the outskirts of the city. We walked for a few hours and everyone mingled and mixed and chatted together, provideding me with the most Spanish conversation practice I've had so far. Eventually we reached a viewing point which allowed us to see out across the whole city. It was pretty spectacular. Bottles of cider and cava were cracked open and the first round of Christmas carols was kicked off, with the wind blowing around us and the city sprawled out below. Then we began the walk back down with the promise of a fantastic lunch making the perfect incentive.

Lunch did not disappoint. We started outside with copious bottles of cider and plates of absolutely yummy chorizo. We stood in groups with the men pouring the cider and handing out the glasses while everyone chatted and bonded. I already loved the social aspect of the Asturian cider but that scene definitely nailed it. Then we moved inside and were treated to a four course feast of traditional food from the region, all of which was spectacular. And as if we hadn't already been spoiled enough with local treats, at the end of the meal a group of 5 of the men and a few of the women formed something of a mini choir at the end of the table and started booming out folk songs and Christmas carols. Great food, drink on tap and spontaneous performance. I was pretty much in heaven. And then after lunch I went straight to Laura and Gemma's to get ready for our last night out on the taaaan!

The last couple of days in school absolutely flew by with me barely having a chance to warn the students that I wouldn't see them again until after Christmas. On Monday I had to take two consecutive classes on my own at very short notice which was pretty flippin' terrifying. I battled through, trying to fill as much of the time as possible talking about Christmas and to make it fun. Nothing seemed to float their boat though. I gave them a dramatic reading of 'Twas The Night Before Christmas, I sang Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer complete with jazz hands and I pranced about the room shouting lines from Elf. Nothing. You could practically see the tumble-weed rolling by and my already waning street credit plummeting ever lower. Hopefully over the Christmas holidays they'll forget how uncool I am.

And now I'm sat, all packed up, watching the minutes tick by and waiting until 11:40am tomorrow, when I will officially be on my way home. Huzzah.

Merry Christmas and felices fiestas!

X

The countdown begins...

In ten days time I'll be on a plane, winging my way back home. Let me tell you - I'm excited. 

In the meantime, Spain has provided a highly entertaining few weeks. At school I've been helping the students practice for their oral exams. Anyone who took a GCSE or A-level in a language will know the oral exam drill all too well and I have to admit they flipping annoy me. As far as I'm concerned, they're pretty much useless when it comes to developing fluency or any form of natural communication skills in the target language. To this day I can still remember by heart my in depth speech about the 2007 Ibero-American summit and its impact on international relations from my A-level exam. And yet I'm a stammering, mumbling wreck when it comes to ordering a coffee or buying a bus tickets. Anywho, one of the students was telling me all about his favourite holiday destinations. He was very enthusiastic, especially when it came to explaining why he loves Portugal and its beautiful beaches. Unfortunately the Spaniards have an issue when it comes to making the 'ee' sound. So his speech went something like this: "My favourite place in the world is Portugal because of all the beautiful bitches. I just love all the bitches in Portugal. When I go there, I visit the bitches every day". To my shame, I started to laugh. Then I started to cry with laughter. Then I started to nearly choke with crying with laughter. I'm still laughing about it now. Just call me Sian 'Professional' Green.

Last Thursday I turned 22. It pains me to see that in writing. 22 is an adult age. So to mark the occasion we went to a jazz gig at a local bar to have a few drinks and maybe grab a bite to eat. Sounds mature, eh? Jean and I started the night with a Baileys and some 90s pop in her flat then we headed out to meet the others. Sadly, when we arrived it was already jam packed with people so after a few beers and a very cramped 10 minutes of jazz-filled-fun, we had to abandon the bar in search of roomier climes. We went to grab some tapas and had a bottle of table cider and then we found a bar with a Native American theme, which we just couldn't resist. At this point, all hopes of a mature, adult celebration were abandoned and instead, we found ourselves downing tequila shots, imitating pigeons, playing the ugliest-photo-you-can-manage game and playing ring of fire. Sensible fun is great, but every once in a while silly fun is fantastic too. And, hey, if you can't get a little squiffy and silly on your birthday, when can you! I was totally overwhelmed with the birthday love that flooded in from across the sea - cards, presents, lovely messages and TWO birthday videos. Thank you all, you lovely people. So, another year older but no wiser.

The next day I caught a bus to Navia to visit the ever wonderful Miss Essex Nel. On Saturday night we went out in Ribadeo and had some flipping amazing pulpo (octopus) and spoke lots of Spanish. In fact, it may well have been the most Spanish I've spoken in a concentrated period of time since arriving. It hurt my head but it felt good to actually get some practice in, seeing as that's sorta why I'm here and all. On Sunday we went for a romantic stroll along the river and to the beach, went for a coffee and then back to Alex's flat where we watched the Gavin and Stacey Christmas special and mince pies (at which point the home-sickness reached an all time high). 

I reluctantly waved goodbye on Sunday evening but we were safe in the knowledge that in a mere four sleeps we'd be reunited and on our way to a mini-break in Salamanca with Jean. I dare say Salamanca is one of my absolute favourite cities ever. It has a perfect balance of atmosphere, history, culture and night-life all packed into a city that's small enough to travel entirely by foot but big enough to provide you with plenty to do for a long weekend. We arrived at our hostel on Thursday evening and went straight out to get a taste of the city and make plans. Over the three days, we managed to do everything on our list - the Roman bridge, the cathedral towers, the casa de las conchas, the art deco museum, the civil war museum, a gin exhibition and a visit to a convent to name the main events. Add to these a couple of excellent nights out on the town, coffee breaks, chocolate and churros and a friendly Cuban waiter called Orlando and you have yourself a recipe for a winning weekend away. I would highly recommend Salamanca to anyone who has the inclination to go. I reckon my favourite thing about the city is the Plaza Mayor, which  is truly stunning and always buzzing with life and atmosphere.

It was hard to leave on Sunday, I'll tell you that for true. But I suppose that's the sign of an weekend incredibly well spent! 

And so another week of classes begins. Last week it was confirmed that I can definitely start giving drama classes as of 2013, which is very exciting indeed. So on Wednesday I'm meeting with the lady in charge of extra-curricular activity at the school to discuss plans. Based on my school experiences to date, I am currently crossing every bone in my body that, for just one hour of the day, I can manage to present myself as a mature, responsible and capable human being. If you have a spare couple of fingers to cross, I'd much appreciate it. 

Hasta luego!

X

Sunday again?!

Well I never, every time I turn around it's Sunday again! Time is bloody flying. Aside from an all day street party, a world-renowned film festival, a trip to Avilés and my seemingly relentless ability to cause awkward situations in the classroom, it's been a relatively quiet week and a half.

The street party type thing (known as an 'espicha' in Spain which I can only assume roughly translates as 'flipping massive booze up') took place last Friday. It was organised by the Chemistry faculty (again, what is it with the party animal scientists in Spain?!) and was held in the car park of the football stadium in Oviedo. We jumped on a bus in the early afternoon and arrived in Oviedo about an hour later. Beers in hand, we made our way towards the football stadium, following the streams of people heading in the same direction and the sound of booming music coming from somewhere just around the corner. Everybody was laden with plastic bags full of cartons of sangria, bottles of cider and massive plastic containers filled with calimocho - the coke and red wine mix. The real professionals even had bags of ice and plastic cups to boot. When we rounded the corner, we were greeted by the sight of hoards of people all stood around in groups drinking and dancing to the thumping beat. We found a spot, made a base camp of coats and bags and proceeded to get stuck in. It was great fun and we met more than a few hilarious characters. At one stage, many calimochos later, we were talking to a particularly sozzled guy who cut the conversation short because he realised he was going to be late for his exam. An exam that he had to pass to avoid being kicked out of university. He slurred a drunken farewell and we high-fived him for good luck and off he trotted. Classic Spain. Many hours of dancing, wandering, socialising, cider-drinking and attempted Spanish-speaking later, we got on the bus back home. It was a good day. 

We've also been getting our culture on at the Gijón film festival. The festival was running all week, with various venues across the city and countless films on offer all for the low low price of 3.50 a go. Sadly we weren't able to immerse ourselves in the world of independent film quite as much as I would have liked due to clashing timetables and inconvenient bus schedules but we did what we could. On Tuesday we saw a program of short films with offerings from every corner of the globe. They were all pretty fantastic and we left the cinema with a lot to talk about and mull over, feeling decidedly cultivated. Then on Thursday, we went to see the second round of shorts but the experience was slightly different. The running theme seemed to be cliff-hangers and ambiguity, which aren't things I cope with very well because my imagination goes flippin' mad. Then there was this: http://vimeo.com/19175852 to which I can't add much further comment. As we left the cinema we saw one of the directors stood wearing a beret and thick-rimmed glasses and a leather satchel leaning against a wall (and not doing anything at all to dispel the 'arty person' stereotype). It was an opportunity I couldn't resist. I led in with a "Hi...! um... your film... was... I mean, like, it was... um... like, we were just wondering about... I mean, what was the message... overall... do you think? Umm... yeah"  Star of the stage in the making? I think not. But we managed to recover from my shambles of an intro and ended up having a good little chat with him. After a quick wine break, we returned to the cinema to watch a feature length French animated musical called 'Lea magasin des suicides' about a little town so overwhelmed by depression that the most lucrative business is a shop offering different methods of suicide - satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. Despite the morbid premise, it was highly entertaining. We rounded off our film festival experience with a final program of shorts on Friday night, this time all Spanish-made. I learnt a few things, but mainly that Westerns is not a strong genre for the Spanish. Not strong at all.

School's been just fine. I've had a few awkward moments (though none even coming close to Rosie And Jim Gate, you'll be disappointed to hear). In an English lesson with the 4th year class I ended up adamantly insisting that, as a matter of fact, we certainly do refer to the weather as being 'soft'. This came about after a particularly nervous girl was berated rather severely and at length in front of the entire class for using 'soft' instead of 'mild' in her little speech about different climates. Suddenly I was inundated with flashbacks of feeling totally humiliated at school thanks to certain teachers and their intense love of the sound of their own voices. Before I knew it I was arguing a strong case for the flexibility of weather-related adjectives. The teacher gave me a strange glare and looked set to argue but eventually moved on, leaving the girl in peace. Clearly this isn't something I plan to make a habit of and in the long term it's probably not ideal that an entire class of Spanish students may now journey to London and comment on the 'softness' of the weather. But small victories are few and far between in the constant battle of the classroom.

The week was nicely rounded off by a night of mad dancing to Motown mash-ups and 80's power ballads in the basement of an Amsterdam inspired bar. And then the next day Jean and I treated ourselves to a four course lunch of typical Asturian cuisine before heading off on a trip to nearby Avilés to have a little wander round and visit Tom, a fellow Durham student who lives there. People in Gijón don't tend to speak very highly of Avilés for some reason but I think it's got quite a lot of charm. There's a lovely range of architecture and all the cafes and bars are very stylish and unique. Here's a little gem we found on a wall:

'In this house you will be able to eat, drink and enjoy yourself until your body and soul can take no more'

It's been a darned good week. And it's Monday again tomorrow. So here's to another week like the last!

X

Oh Spain...

Hello there.

I'm currently sat at home on a Wednesday morning when I should be at school because it's a 'huelga general' today, which means the whole country has gone on strike and everything grinds to a halt. Yesterday I read a poster plastered across the side of a building that read  'paramos todo para ganar el futuro'. This roughly translates at 'we're stopping everything to win the future'. So the logic is that having a day where the entire country comes to a standstill (even hospitals are running a 'limited service') is somehow an investment in its future and will help it recover from the pretty dire economic situation it's currently in. Oh Spain. There's still freedom of choice, of course... there'll still be the odd cafe open or the most conscientious of teachers turning up to class. But I get the feeling that the general attitude is 'well, if they're not working today, neither am I'. In that sense, it somewhat loses its sting as a politically driven power-to-the-people protest. When the students protested a few weeks ago, I asked one or two of the older ones why they'd decided the join the strike. Their response was generally "I don't know... because everyone else is." You'd hope that an answer like that could be put down to their age and their lack of political interest. But I genuinely don't believe that many adults would come up with much of a different answer today! Obviously there is a lot more going on than I could hope to understand and I don't mean to be too judgy, but come on Spain, get your act together. Right, just give me a second to climb down from my high horse...

School has continued to be entertaining and enjoyable. The other day I asked a boy what country was missing from the Union Jack and he replied with the Spanish for Wales, which is 'Gales' (pronounced gah-less). I asked him what the English word was and he confidently replied 'gays'. Haha. Then, in a history lesson I decided to show my 16 year olds the opening credits of Rosie and Jim as a very light-hearted way to introduce them to the topic of canals. I went to youtube, typed in 'Rosie and Jim opening credits' and showed the first video that came up without thinking twice. Everything was going fine, until 0:50. That's when I learnt a very valuable lesson about the dangers of flippant youtube viewing. I think my cheeks may only just have resumed their natural colour. See here for more details (PG viewing advised): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SS5GxBu2oQ

Last week all of the language assistants in the vicinity had to attend a compulsory meeting along with our mentors and any other willing staff members from our respective schools. The meeting was run by the government people to talk to us all about different teaching techniques. It was a bit of shambles, to be honest. Its very existence caused no end of controversy because many assistants had to sacrifice giving private classes and earning money to attend the meeting (which was a casual three hours long). Considering our pay cheques are yet to arrive, this was a big ask. Jean, Laura, Tess and I managed to stroll in 40 minutes late after getting completely lost in the outskirts of the city, which kind of set the tone for the rest of the meeting. It seemed to be going okay - we were sat in groups, discussing teaching techniques and how to improve upon past experiences of other language assistants. But then one of the mentors (okay, it was my mentor) raised her hand and proclaimed that it was all well and good us talking about how perfectly the scheme could work but at the end of the day there's just no time to implement any of it. The government lady came back at her saying that the schools needed to have more of a can-do attitude. Then another male teacher joined in, telling her off for berating their attitude. Then this other government chick said that if the schools didn't want language assistants then they could pretty much piss off and pull out of the scheme altogether. Cue: chaos. I can't claim to have understood much of what was said. But I'm pretty sure that it was all rather pointless.

The weekend just gone was pretty awesome. On Saturday, we kicked off the day at an American style diner with burgers and pink lemonade. Then we took a trip the Gijón aquarium. I flipping love aquariums and this one was no exception. The attention to detail was amazing - bright orange sea cucumbers waving about in the midst of a shipwreck and giant spider crabs crawling around a fake whale skeleton. That sort of thing. We were like little kids, oohing and aahing at everything and getting totally over-excited by the sight of sharks and a giant turtle. At one point Jean spotted a moray eel hidden in a corner that will probably haunt my dreams for evermore. After the excitement of the aquarium, we went for a coffee and a spot of shopping  and rounded off the day with a girls evening of pizza, wine, Grease and dancing. On Sunday, we went for an evening of jazz at the Jovellanos Theatre, which was part of a jazz festival that's currently going on in the city. The events are somewhat elusive (classic Spanish organisation) but we'd just about managed to book tickets in the week. The band was great. They managed to fuse classic big band jazz with a hint of Latino and some heavily Asturian influences. It all felt very cultured. Then we went for some food and cider. Because no weekend in Asturias is complete without cider.

Overall, despite feeling a bit frustrated at times by the Spanish way of doing things, it's been a good week. For the food, the drink, the scenery and recreation, I wouldn't have it any other way. But when it comes to politics and organisation, I'd take good old British bureaucracy any day.

Hasta luego!

X

Brits behaving badly

Hola from Gijón! I feel as though it's been a while since I blogged and quite a lot has happened in the meantime but I'll try not to get carried away. But, as ever, no promises...

I'll start with the fun stuff. Us language assistants have had a few wild adventures in the last week or two - from getting en-masse piercings, to drinking one too many ciders and daring each other to 'down the cheeseboard' in exchange for a lap dance, to jumping in fountains at 5am. We've gone a bit wild. I've taken this as a sign that we're really beginning to settle in and feel comfortable in our surroundings. Perhaps we're just delinquents. Who knows. Last Friday four of us went to a massive shopping centre in Oviedo for a spot of retail therapy. To cut a very long story short, the trip culminated in us stashing a 6ft tall Ikea mirror behind a set of lockers at the bus station because we'd managed to miss the last bus home and the bloody thing wouldn't fit in a taxi. Jean 'Braveheart' Comrie popped back the next morning to retrieve it and nobody was any the wiser. On Saturday we decided, after a flipping awesome evening of cider and dancing, to go for a cheeky dip in the sea to round off the night. If you've never done it, I couldn't recommend it more highly. There's nothing quite like a near-skinny dip (it's was a tad too public and well lit for the full monty) in the middle of the night to make you feel alive.

Rest assured, though - it's not all been cider-fuelled madness. Tess gave us a lovely walking tour of Oviedo on Thursday evening, demonstrating her highly impressive wealth of knowledge of all things Asturias. We had chocolate and churros in a little cafe and I ended up bumping into another Durham student on his year abroad. Small world. Then on Friday three of us ventured to Ribadesella which is a beautiful little village about an hour and a half away from Gijón. Thanks to it not being high season any more, most of the tourist attractions were closed. But the sun clearly didn't get the memo so we had a full day of glorious November sunshine and wandered for hours taking in the views. It sort of summed up why Asturias is such a stunning and unique part of Spain - rolling hills and mountain ridges in one direction and miles of golden coastline in the other, all within walking distance. It would be more than possible to ski and surf on the same day come December although I might have to settle for ski and bodyboard - the less cool but far easier to master alternative.

School's been going really well. I mainly get sent to an empty classroom with a group of 8-10 students with the simple task of making them talk. Sometimes the teacher provides a vague lesson plan but most of the time it's total improvisation which is pretty nerve-wracking. Today I arrived in the classroom and Luz asked if I'd received her email with the lesson plan for the day. I told her I hadn't and asked when she'd sent it. She said 1:30. This conversation took place at 2. Classic Spain. There've been some beautiful moments over the last week or so - kids really do say the darndest things. Like this morning when an incredibly keen little bespectacled girl waved her hand in the air and said "May I take you a question?? Is real that English persons eat bacon and baked beans as breakfast?!?" When I told her that, yes, we're pretty partial to the odd fry up she nearly passed out with excitement. Or last week when two of the girls took it upon themselves to transform a simple dialogue of a man and woman in a restaurant into a highly melodramatic interpretation of what would happen if Justin Beiber fell in love with Paris Hilton.

I've been taking full advantage of offers to go for coffee with various groups of teachers. The offers usually come when I'm on my way back to the staff room from lessons. Just as I reach the threshold, a teacher will brush past my and say "Hey, wanna come for a coffee?" And I've set myself the challenge of always saying yes. Even when I'd really prefer to just go hide in a dark corner of the room and avoid any sort of human contact, never mind prolonged interaction with speakers of a different language, I grit my teeth, smile politely and turn on my heel. So far, it's been worth the effort. The teachers are all great fun and I get a really good insight into the workings of the school. Never mind the fact that it's really the only Spanish practise I get day to day! It scares me how much they talk about the kids... the staff room really isn't any different to the playground in terms of bitchiness. I dread to think what our teachers had to say about us at good old Portsmouth High School.

Today marks 9 weeks since I left England, which is pretty darned scary when I think about it. 9 weeks has been enough to get used to the food, the daily routine (eating lunch at 3 and dinner at 10... that sort of thing) and the general pace of life here but I'll be darned if I ever get used to not being able to buy a pack of wotsits as and when the craving hits me or turning on the radio and hearing nothing but Gangnam Style or Call Me Maybe.

X

Cider, concerts and classes

There are certain things about Spain that I'm finding particularly incredible - the fact that you can still swim in the sea in October, the fact that the whole world shuts down to dedicate time to lunch and the phenomenon of free food when ordering a drink to name but a few. I've ordered myself many a milky coffee now and the bonus food has ranged from a little pastry, to a shot of orange juice and a piece of marble cake, to cheesy nibbles. A few of us went to a wine bar the other night and couldn't go more than ten minutes without the barman bringing round a new platter of tapas for us to sample. And this weekend I ordered a glass of coke and 2 minutes later received my coke along with a complimentary bowl of olives, bread and tuna, crisps and red pepper stuffed with a tomato and sausage meat combo. It's madness. Amazing, tasty madness. Also, it's always appropriate to order a beer in Spain. Always.

Last Friday, a group of us went to a nearby town called Candás for a cheeky day trip. The sun was shining so we wandered around at a leisurely pace, exploring the coastline and discovering the various bits of random art that were on display. Then we found a little bar and made ourselves at home. I had my first experience of Asturian Cider and the art of pouring it, which involves standing tall with both arms extended in opposite directions - glass in one, cider bottle in the other - pouring the cider from above your head and catching it below. Asturian cider is flat so this method of pouring gives it a bit of buzz and wakens the taste apparently. It also makes for a jolly good show as we found out. About 3 hours, 3 platters of seafood, 18 bottles of cider and a fantastic amount of great laughs and banter later, we somehow managed to stumble to a bus stop and stagger our way home. People had told me that the cider here is lethal... they were quite right.

School has been just fine this week. The teachers have been very accommodating and the ones who don't speak English have discovered that I do speak a bit of Spanish so they've promised to talk to me as much as possible, which is great. I made a powerpoint presentation about Durham and cracked it out about 4 times in the course of the week. I decided to show them the fantastic Freshers Week video that was made for Collingwood this year and only just managed to fight back the tears, which did nothing at all for my already waning street cred. Spanish kids are cool and it's becoming harder and harder to maintain the illusion that I'm totally down with them, homie. It's only a matter of days before the mask slips completely. On Wednesday, I went for coffee with a few of the teachers. They were talking about two old-school Spanish singers who have heart-melting voices and sing the poetry of Lorca and Neruda and the like. I've had the pleasure of studying said poetry at Durham so I nodded along enthusiastically, overjoyed that my Spanish Literature module was about to provide me with a source of real conversation with actual Spaniards. One of them turned to me and said "Oh, you like things like that then?" to which I replied "Oh yes! Absolutely. I love Spanish culture and literature." This would have been fine, were it not for the fact that she'd actually asked if I wanted to go with them to the concert they were attending on Friday. Next thing I know she was telling me when and where she'd collect me and I was handing her 17 euros to cover the cost of the ticket. But thank goodness for this particular communication breakdown - I went to the concert and it was amazing.

They were called Paco Ibanez and Amancio Prada, with a combined age of 150, and were absolute masters of their trade. The concert hall was rammed. I was the only person under the age of 40 and certainly the only foreigner in the building. They walked out to absolutely raucous applause (but no whooping - in Spain it's not good form to whoop) then proceeded to blow everyone away for 3 solid hours with haunting vocals and intricately beautiful guitar-playing. They had pretty good banter too. At one stage Paco had quite a rant about 'Lady Caca'*, as he called her, and the 6 million 'cretinos' who'd bought her latest disc. I can't really express how much I enjoyed it... it was just the sort of thing I'd hoped the Year Abroad might bring. 

Yesterday a few of us from Gijón met up with some of the assistants from Oviedo and went to the botanic gardens and then on to La Laboral, which is a centre of art and culture on the outskirts of the city. It's a blimmin' beautiful building with a tower that gives a view out across the whole of Gijón. It was a lovely day. We had an extremely keen tour guide and I think I might have even learnt a thing or two about history and art and things whilst making a few new friends on the way.

I keep flicking through the pages of my diary and realising anew how long it is before I come home for Christmas. But if time keeps racing by at this rate, it'll be here in no time at all... and maybe even too soon - my checklist of things to do here and places to visit is growing by the second.

Hasta luego!

(*in case you didn't know, caca means poo. Haha.)

"Do you like Justin Bieber?"

Week two in Gijón and the time seems to be flying.

I’m finding it to be a very explore-able city so far. There are bus stops everywhere and about 20 different bus lines in all, which all seems a bit unnecessary because everything’s within walking distance of everything else anyway! The streets are mostly laid out like a massive grid, so it’s almost impossible to get yourself so lost that you can’t find your way back again. It’s struck me that in Real Everyday Life, time rarely allows for the luxury of getting lost. If you get lost, it means you’ll be late somewhere or you’ll miss something and it nearly always causes a downright convenience. Here in Year Abroad land, I've found myself with time to spare so wandering aimlessly is something I've indulged in a LOT. In the last few weeks, I've clocked up a good few hours of getting lost. It’s becoming a game – seeing how long I can wander before I have to yield and pull out the map to check where on earth I am. Once or twice, it’s turned out I’m at the complete opposite end of the city to where I was expecting. I reckon the buildings just get up and relocate themselves a few blocks away every now and then, y’know? That’s where the buses come in handy. It’s quite liberating to jump on a bus that seems to be heading in vaguely the right direction and just see what happens.

My school is great. The kids are all incredibly friendly and are thrilled to have a real live English person in their midst, which has really taken me aback – I was almost expecting hostility or, at best, indifference. I've been with 6 different groups in the course of a week, ranging from 11 to 16 years old. Regardless of their age, there are a few seemingly essential basics that they need to get out of the way before we can form any kind of bond. “Do you like Justin Bieber?” “Who do you support, Barca or Madrid?” “Do you watch MTV?” I learnt very quickly that my answers to these questions would be the making or breaking of me. By the third lesson I’d developed a sort of alter ego, fine tuning my answers to get the best possible reaction from them “Hi! I’m Sian, from England. I love Barca football team, paella and everything about Spain, particularly Gijón. My favourite film is The Hunger Games and my favourite sport is handball. I love The Big Bang Theory. I don’t like Justin Bieber one bit. My favourite band is The Script. My favourite actress is Penelope Cruz.” It’s not all strictly true, but seeing their blank faces at the mention of Emma Thompson, Dr Who and Newton Faulkner was too much to handle.

It’s not all sitting around having a good old chinwag though - that’s just the safe haven of the English classes. Something I didn't really realise is that the school runs a bilingual course which means that, if the students enroll onto it, all of their lessons are taught in English. But they still have to get to the same standard in each subject as the students who are learning in their native Spanish. It seems a bit mad to me. The concepts they’re learning about are hard enough to follow, let alone having to learn them in a foreign language. On Tuesday, I was asked to make a presentation on Neoclassicism and the Culture of Enlightenment in the 17^th Century for next weeks History lesson, whilst yesterday morning I had to delve deep into the depths of my mind to retrieve words like pipette, burette and graduated cylinder for a Science lesson. There’s a reason I didn't carry on with either of these subjects beyond GCSE. I’m total crap at them. Maybe it’ll turn out to be a romantic Hollywood-style ending that sees me teaching the children but at the same time learning a thing or two myself so that we finish the year in a slow motion, soft focus montage depicting how we've grown together. Maybe they’ll all fail their exams because of me. Fingers crossed for the former.

I've had a few nights out on the tiles of Gijón, which have all been highly enjoyable. The other language assistants in the city are all lovely and we've formed a nice little group. We went to another university faculty party last weekend, this time the medics. But when we arrived most of the party-goers were younger than my brother, which was hugely disconcerting (it’s legal to drink in Asturias from the age of 16. I know, right?!) so we returned to the little seafront bars in the city where we found some grown-ups.

In terms of speaking Spanish, I’m not doing as much as I should be. If you get me started in a good one-on-one conversation, I can just about hold my own. I’ve managed to maintain a good few conversations about all sorts of serious things: politics, long distance relationships, the education system, you name it. But catch me off-guard and you’d think I’d never had a Spanish lesson in my life. I was paying with my card in a shop the other day and the lady asked to see some ID – not particularly complicated, especially seeing as the Spanish word is ‘identificación’ – but she might as well have asked in Chinese (or Russian for that matter). After asking her repeat herself about 5 times I eventually got the jist and managed to pull my passport from my bag but by that point I was shaking, sweating, on the verge of tears and redder than a baboons bum with the stress and embarrassment of it all. Never mind. Practice makes perfect I suppose.

I’m looking forward to becoming more of a fixture at the school and my timetable includes a 3-day-weekend so hopefully a bit of travelling will be possible in the next few months.

That's all for now. Don’t be a stranger, eh?

X

Angel and Luz

Today I went to a meeting in Oviedo for all the language assistants in the region and met my mentors for the first time. Mentors are the teachers who are supposedly responsible for the language assistants assigned to their school. We were meant to have received emails from our mentors many moons ago - mid-summer sort of time - with a general introduction, tips on how to find accommodation, offers to meet us from airports or train stations and good old-fashioned encouragement and advice. I didn't hear a thing from mine. But I didn't panic, I just sent them a few pestering emails over the course of a few months. September came around and it transpired that some peoples mentors had actually found them a flat or offered to house them for their first few weeks in Spain. Meanwhile my pestering emails remained unanswered. I panicked a little bit then. Eventually, I heard back... a nice email informing me that yes, I could go home for Christmas and no, they didn't know my timetable yet. Thorough. Most people had already met their mentors by this weekend. Jean's (the Scottish girl) had bought her a toaster for her flat and was picking her up to take her to the meeting this morning. I'd received an email saying 'hi, we don't know how we're getting to Oviedo, but we'll probably see you there'. Again, thorough.

So, needless to say, I wasn't feeling overly optimistic when I walked into the foyer to see assistants from all over the world chatting away to their mentors - their new found best friends whilst mine were still unidentified and incognito. I wandered aimlessly for a few minutes looking for anyone who might be them, feeling like a stray dog or something, then gave up and went to find Jade (the girl from France). All of a sudden, a ray of Essex sunshine burst into the room in the form of Miss Alex Nel. It was lovely to see her and she was looking very well indeed. For a brief period, I forgot all about my abandoned-by-my-mentor woes and went and sat with Alex and her super keen mentor in the conference room. The meeting was a bit of a waste of time to be honest. I did some doodles. That was cool. At the end, Pilar (the lady in charge of the whole operation) started calling out names of people who were yet to meet their mentors. Cue: the awkward moment when a Spaniard tries to pronounce my name. "Seeen? Sheehan? Shown?". I waved my hand in the air. A man and a lady in the front row waved back and beckoned me over.

They were my mentors. I get two because the man has just (very reluctantly) retired and the lady is taking over his position in the school but he still wants to be involved. Angel and Luz. Angel means, well, angel, funnily enough. And Luz means light. Not to sound cheesy, but that seemed pretty promising.

And then it all went drastically up hill. Within minutes I'd more than forgiven them for the lack of contact and information. They were so warm and friendly and down-to-earth. It didn't really add up, but I assume they must have just been busy with their respective near-retirement and new-job stresses. They invited me to join them for coffee and a donut and we chatted and laughed and had a lovely time. They gave me a really good sense of the sorts of things they want me to do and what the school is like. I tentatively floated the idea of leading extra-curricular drama classes because it isn't taught as an actual class. I wasn't sure how they'd react - if they might think it was a bit forward or presumptuous - but they couldn't have been more enthusiastic. So that's a very exciting prospect and I was pretty over the moon.

Angel winked at me a few times in that endearing way that all Grandpas seem to innately master. Not that he's Grandfather age quite yet, but it's the best way to describe it. And Luz insisted we take pictures to mark the occasion of our first meeting. After coffee, I'd already decided that I'd hit the jackpot with the two of them but in the car on the way back it just reached a whole new level of great. Angel revealed that he's a Newton Faulkner fan. I nearly fainted - to find someone who's heard of Newton in Spain is a rarity but to find someone who's a fan is nigh on impossible. And, if you didn't already know, let me tell you: I LOVE Newton Faulkner. Just as I'd recovered from the shock, he casually asked if I'd ever happened to see Bon Iver live at which point I lost all self control. He told me about seeing our beloved Justin Vernon and co live in Bilbao and said 'when you see them, they're so good, you freak completely out'. Too right. (We'd had to switch to English by this point because my broken Spanish didn't allow for the elation that I wanted to convey). I apologised for overreacting but he said he understood - that it must be like finding a piece of home away from home, which was spot on.

When I got home, I had an email from him inviting me to dinner with his family. He signed it off 'Viva Bon Iver!'. What a legend.

So it's been a great day. Just great. And proves how first impressions can be deceiving, that good things come to those who wait, that patience is a virtue and don't judge a gift horse by the cover of it's silver lining. Or something.

Bienvenido a Asturias!

Right then, I'm in Asturias. I'm sat in my very own room in a beautiful house which is going to be home for the next eight months. Up until now, I've had this strange feeling that I'm going to get a call from Durham at any moment saying 'Psyche! You can come home now. As if you're going to have to live in another country for a whole year. Hahaha'. And then we'd have a jolly good laugh about it and I'd jump on a plane home and settle down with a plate of fish and chips and a pint of Thatchers cider and normal life would resume. But now that I've unpacked and my clothes are in a cupboard and my books are on a shelf and my suitcases are tucked away under my bed, it feels more likely that I'm actually here for the long haul. This is view from the back door... Not too shabby, eh?

I spent most of my last full day in Llançà decorating some shelving for the Love Cambodia shop, which has undergone quite the transformation since I arrived at the beginning of the month. It looks like a proper shop now and is all kitted out, ready to open for business so fingers crossed for Sheryl that it all goes well. The next morning I packed up my stuff (which involved standing with a hairdryer, drying each individual bit of clothing that I'd washed the day before but, thanks to the uncharacteristic lack of sun, hadn't dried in time to be packed. Typical) and got a lift to the station from Sheryl's friend Steve. The 3 hour-ish train journey went pretty quickly and I ended up chatting to a lady from Winchester, which is about half an hour from my house at home, and a Canadian man who lives half an hour away from Owensound, which is the town where a certain handsome young man happens to be living this year. It's a small world.

I arrived at the airport in one piece with a casual two hours to spare before my flight. I know, right? Me? Early?! There's a first time for everything. At the departures terminal, a very random man started telling me how he'd been robbed and asking whether I knew where he should go to buy a new ticket with no money. It was a bit like an A-level oral exam and I kept getting the feeling that an examiner was going to pop up at any moment and ask me to summarise what I'd just heard and answer a few comprehension questions. It was unnerving. I told him to go to security and off he ran. Boarding the plane, a group of men had been stopped because their hand luggage was too big. I had to sidle past with my best innocent face on, in the knowledge that I was dragging a perfectly regulation-proportioned but 5kg overweight suitcase behind me. I got away with it. The plane took off and I waved goodbye to Barcelona.

At Oviedo airport I was met by Nicholas - the Father of the family I'm staying with - and his son Alex. The family are English but they've lived out here for 14 years so they're all bilingual. When we got home (the house is incredible - they pretty much built it themselves. It could be on Grand Designs or something) I met Rebecca (the mum) and Mel and Isabel (the daughters). Isabel is who I arranged the homestay with so it was lovely to meet her in real life! They've said we can talk Spanish in the home as much as I want so my fears of not getting enough Spanish practice were quickly allayed. It's a pretty great arrangement and I'm very happy to be here indeed!

On Friday morning, Isabel took me to the police station to try to get my NIE (national identity number). I won't bore you with the details, but 5 hours later we still hadn't managed to conquer the Spanish bureaucracy. We went from the police station, to the social security office, to the bank, back to the police station, to the town hall, to another office, to another bank and back to the police station which, by this time, was closed. So I ended up with a national identity, but no card to prove it yet. It was so flippin' complicated and my head hurt from trying to keep up with all the Spanish - I would have died without Isabel there to translate. I did get a great walking tour of Gijón in the process of it all though, so that was a nice silver lining. We went out in the evening and met three other girls who are also working as language assistants here this year - one English, one French and one Scottish. It was an great taste of Gijón nightlife, involving many hours spent in a bar seemingly dedicated to drinking games, playing a ring-of-fire-esque game with a wine and coke mixture called calimocho.

Saturday night, we went out again to a massive chemistry faculty party in a nearby town. It was a top night, starting off at a botellón (a street party) and moving on to the club, which was huge. I spoke a LOT of Spanish including a prolonged conversation in which I tried to explain to a group of Spaniards just how rude it is to say the C-word in England (the Spanish equivalent gets thrown about so casually). I kept talking about Barcelona and La Festa Mercé and Catalonia and how amazing it all was but experienced for the first time, first-hand, just how disinterested the Northen Spanish are in Catalan traditions. It was strange. I felt offended somehow. We left the club at 7am and got a lift back to Gijón, where we went for a coffee. The people in the coffee shop had been to bed, had a full night's sleep and were up for breakfast. We were sat there in our clubbing gear from the previous night. It was surreal.

Tomorrow we've got a meeting in Oviedo as the official start of the assistantship so I'm going to see Alex, which is incredibly exciting.

It's been a great couple days. I've been VERY grateful for skype and for spotify (Mumford and Sons new album - wowie). I wish I'd brought less clothes and more home comforts, but I do have my dragon onesie. So that's good.

Until next time!

X

Barcelona vs. Durham

HOLA.

Right then, home sickness has kicked in this last week or so, prompted by the knowledge of many people making their way back to Durham and settling into houses or college rooms, ready for term to start. I knew this time would come - the day when denial would be futile and the reality of my absence from Durham would truly set in. And it's just as sad as I knew it would be too. But, once again, I should be spending less time feeling sorry for myself and more time concentrating on being grateful for the experiences I'm having under the guise of academic pursuit. And luckily this weekend has provided an EXCELLENT distraction.

Barcelona. Barcelona, Barcelona, Barcelona. Where do I begin? 

Actually, first of all I'd like to quickly tell you about a little bit of teaching experience I got on Wednesday. I arrived at Sheryl's language school in Figueres in the afternoon, expecting to do a bit of observation and to maybe provide a source of conversation practice for her students, but nothing more than that. Next thing I know, I'm sat in a room with a pile of textbooks trying to get my head around the fact that I'm suddenly taking two classes in T-minus 20 minutes. It was surreal, but the spontaneity didn't allow time for nerves or over-analyzing on my part, which was probably a good thing. I put on my best 'I'm a teacher and therefore I demand respect but also I'm friendly so let's be friends too' face and practiced a few words on the chalkboard. The kids came, I taught them some English, they laughed at my accent and we all had a bloody great time. It was very encouraging and exciting. Bring on next Monday and the official start of my teaching placement. I've got my game face practiced and ready.

Now, back to Barca. I jumped on a train from Llanca late Friday afternoon and arrived in Barcelona two and half hours later to find a familiar smiling face waiting to meet me at the station. The lovely Yoanne, the girl who has kept me sane during Russian classes and joined me in my apparent quest to come as close to failing the Russian language module as possible without actually doing so. She's been in Barcelona all summer working for a lettings agent and we managed to arrange for me to go stay. Hoorah. Completely coincidentally, we happened to pick the weekend of La Festa Merce which is a yearly festival in Barcelona to honour the patron saint of city and celebrate all things Catalan. And, let me tell you, it was flipping brilliant. 

There's a lot to tell, so I'm going to opt for a brief day by day run-down (no promises on the 'brief' part though if I'm honest).

Friday

When I arrived in Barcelona I was already knackered after a late (but great) night out in Girona with Beth on Thursday but, after dinner of fajitas we wasted no time in heading out on the town. No rest for the sangria-fuelled. We started off in the Placa Catalunya where there was a band playing traditional Catalan music and we saw Els Gegants, which are these mahusive giant figures made of papier-mache. They're paraded through the crowd as traditional music plays. It was just as surreal as it sounds! We then moved on to Placa Catalunya where there was a Spanish rock band and I had my first experience of the beer men - guys who wander through the crowds selling cans of beer for a euro. If you look like an obvious tourist, they hike it up to one euro fifty. It was fun watching them get their hopes up with an easy looking target such as myself (being blonde in Spain and all). 1 euro fifty my backside. We made friends with some local guys and I started talking to one about music after he expressed an intense interest in 'good' English music, singer-songwriters in particular. I listed a few, all of which were met with blank expressions. So I asked who he'd had in mind. Westlife. He said Westlife. Our friendship dissolved as quickly as it had developed. We had some hilarious conversations with an array of interesting people in the square, culminating in a rendition of Consider Yourself from Oliver and a medley from Mary Poppins (I'm not sure of how or why, I just know it happened). Then we went to a club and danced til the early hours. 

Saturday
On Saturday we went into the city for a wander. The crowds were slightly less intense than they had been the previous evening, but it was still thronging. We went to Las Ramblas and spent a lot of time exploring the Mercat Boqueria, a vibrant market full of fresh food stalls. My personal favorites were the still-very-much-alive lobsters piled up by the dozen and the Willy-Wonka-esque sweet stall, which some tourists were treating as a free buffet. Sometimes it's very embarrassing to be English abroad. In the evening we headed out to the Estrella beer factory to see the Kooks. That sounds very off-hand, doesn't it? As if it's just the sort of thing one does on one's year abroad. It was freakin' incredible. The size of the crowd was indescribable - Glastonbury almost paled in comparison. We managed to stand right on the edge of a pavement and for the first time in my life I experienced what it would feel like to be an extra 3 inches taller at festivals and gigs. It felt great. The set was fantastic and way longer than we expected and I just had to keep pinching myself that I was in the street in the middle of Barcelona, watching the Kooks, for free, for my degree. Ridiculous.

Sunday
Yoanne and I got up in the morning and headed to Placa St Jaume to watch the Castelleres. It's a very traditional Catalan event involving huge teams of people building human towers which are then scaled by children as young as 5 or 6. It's pretty spectacular. Again, the crowds were unbelievable - the square was overflowing - and the atmosphere was electric. Whenever the tourists starting whooping and clapping, the Spanish and Catalans would all start hissing to shut them up in case it ruined the concentration of the Castelleres or broke the tension. One of the towers collapsed just before the kids reached the top and I thought my heart had stopped. As far as we could tell, no one was hurt but it was a tense moment.

For lunch we went to see a fantastic couple I know who've lived in Barcelona for a good while. They cooked us up a storm and it was just great. Lunch was followed by a siesta and then we went to the Sagrada Familiar, Gaudi's unfinished masterpiece of a cathedral, to watch a projection and lights show. For anyone who saw the Lumiere version in Durham, the Sagrada Familiar blew it out of the water. Sorry about that, Durham. Then we went to a square and danced to some Spanish music in a buzzing crowd. AND THEN we went to a club to see Fatboy Slim. He was superb. Again, just standard year abroad activity I suppose. Very annoyingly, Yo's camera got stolen in the club which sucked big time and put the only dampener on an otherwise kick-ass day. Bloody thieves.

Monday
To recover from the previous 3 nights, we went to the beach. All day. Lying in the sun. Getting my tan on. Probably not what Durham University had in mind for the improvement of my linguistic ability but certianly my idea of a great day. Then we had a romantic dinner for two at a tapas bar and headed out to watch the fireworks show to close La Festa! All in all, a fantastic weekend which has lit a fire of love for Barcelona in my heart.

Wow, if you've read this far down I'm most impressed and I sincerely apologise for taking up so much of your time. On Thursday I'm off to Asturias to begin the year abroad, proper. That means a regular job, no more Fatboy Slim or the Kooks, no more beach and much less adventuring. I'm not sure if I'm excited, but I'm definitely intrigued and that'll do for now!

Ciao!

Oh to be a multilingual toddler.

So, week number two in Spain.

The speaking of Spanish doesn't seem to be getting much easier. It's a stroke of luck that Spaniards often end their sentences with 'si?' or 'no?'  - on more than one occasion I've used that as a massive prompt as to how to respond, smiled and nodded or shook my head accordingly and left it at that despite not having understood the question at all. Although, on Sunday I was reminded how much worse it could be when I was introduced to a multilingual lady who'd been told I study Russian. She smiled broadly and said "ah! Ты говоришь по-русски тоже?" I stared at her blankly for a few seconds before realising she'd asked me to confirm my Russian prowess. Not for the first time, I couldn't even remember the word for no, floundered blindly for something to say then gave up and muttered something about it not being my forte. In English. She was unimpressed. 

But language barriers aside, the week's gone pretty well. Cristina has continued to be a source of constant entertainment, my favourite quote being her response to "Goodnight Cristina, sleep well" - "I don't want to sleep well". People used to say I had to have the last word in everything but I've surely met my match here. We've enjoyed a few more trips to the beach and watched more episodes of 'Los Hermanos Koala' than I'd care to mention. On one of the beach trips I was once again ambushed by a shoal of fish. I'm starting to think they've got it in for me. 

On Friday night, Beth and I went out in Figueres with a few of her friends. The club was small but quite busy and there was a lot of dancing (I flipping love how people actually dance in Spanish clubs - people were dancing the Merengue to Levels by Avicii). Not being one to shy away from a party, I got stuck in. And it was great. When 4am came, however, the party animal in me was getting rather sleepy, so I sat out in the smoking garden to start writing an email to Canada (thank goodness for technology, eh?) Beth's friend David came over to ask if I had a lighter. I said no, so he went to ask a bloke in the corner. Next thing I know, he was flying through the air back past me, propelled by the fists of this absolute nutter who'd starting pummelling him like a madman. Chaos ensued. There was a lot of blood, a lot of shouting and a lot of drama. When we finally thought everything had calmed down we tried to leave but on the way out David spotted the same guy and it all kicked off again. Somehow, I found myself momentarily in between them desperately trying to think of the Spanish for "please calm the feck down you absolute mentals before someone gets killed". Aaaanyway, we eventually made it home and David whisked himself straight off to A&E, or the Spanish equivalent. Never a dull moment, eh? I bet that'd never happen in Klute

I'm currently staying with an English lady from Sheryl's church called Justine-Kate and her husband Josep, who's Catalan. They have a beautiful little boy, Joshua, who's been kind enough to let me share his room for a few nights. Josh is five and is bilingual (I swear these linguist children are doing nothing for my self esteem). The last two nights I've woken in the middle of the night to find him on the end of my bed, chatting about his toys or telling me his dream or giving me instructions on how to work the fan. It's sort of adorable, if not the tiniest bit strange, that he happily chats away to my sleeping self. Then when I wake up he stops talking and says "oh, hello, is it time to get up?" I'm working out whether he'll fit in my weekend bag - I'd quite like to take him with me. There's probably laws against stuff like that, though.

I've met so many people in the last two weeks (Sheryl is a networker) it's getting hard to keep track. I know this is going to sound ridiculously stupid, but it really hits me just how many people there are in the world, y'know? I mean, in the Durham bubble you can feel like you know everyone, totally oblivious to the world outside and the billions of people living their lives who haven't heard of Durham or Chichester and don't have a care to. I told you it was stupid. I'm just having one of those days. 

I still haven't sorted out a bank account or phone number, mainly because I'm a bit scared to tackle it. But they're on my list of things to be brave and do.

Oh, and I figured out how to watch Dr Who (thanks to the beautiful Miss Neal). Awesome.

X

Sent from my iPhone

Year abroad ahoy, for real

¡Buenos dias! Well... I've been year abroading for a week now and already enough has happened that I'm not really sure when to start!

First of all, let me introduce you to a few more people and explain a few things...

So, Love Cambodia is a charity set up to support the poor and needy in Cambodia (www.welovecamodia.org). Chris and Sheryl's involvement in the charity springs from the fact that Chris decided to quit her job, totally uproot her life and move to Cambodia five years ago as a missionary. Since then she has set up a house and takes in Cambodians who would otherwise be on the streets. As a result, Sheryl has decided to open a second hand shop (a rarity in Spain) to support the cause. It's a brave project but the passion behind it is pretty immeasurable so I'm incredibly excited to see how it develops! So far my involvement has been limited to cleaning the shop window but I was somewhat stunted by the mother of all hangovers. Hopefully I can be slightly more useful in the next few weeks.

Now for the introductions, Beth and Cristina are Sheryl's gorgeous daughters. I've known Beth since we were little tiny people. She's recently moved back here to Spain after some years spent in England with her Dad. Cristina is 3 and switches between Catalan, Castilian and English at the drop of a hat. It's flippin' amazing. She's taken to calling me Siana, which I quite like. Maybe it'll stick. I'm sure there'll be MANY hilarious Cristina quotes in this blog - she's an absolute monkey (in a lovely way). 

On my first full day in Llança (Tuesday) I dived in head first and went for an explore on my own. I walked right round the coast and found myself on a cliff edge with a breathtaking view. The sea was crystal clear and sparkling, the sun was shining, the wind was in my hair, and suddenly it felt very lame that I couldn't share the moment with anyone. Never mind - I suppose that's something a year abroader has to get used to!

The next couple of days were a wonderful mix of beach time, beer time and family time. The highlights include: taking Cristina for a swim then leaving her ashore and venturing out into the deeper sea myself while she wildly exclaimed to Sheryl and Chris "He perdido la chica! He perdido la chiccaaaa" (translation: I've lost the girl!)... purchasing a snorkelling mask and having a veritable panic attack at the sight of the swarms of fish of which I'd previously been blissfully ignorant... going out with Beth and a few of her friends and dancing and having a great time (the resulting hangover was not so much of a highlight, admittedly). 

On Saturday morning I went to stay with Laura, the daughter of the pastor at Sheryl's church. It's been a fantastic weekend. Granted, it was stressful and exhausting at times thanks to the constant speaking of Spanish, but I suppose that's sort of why I'm here. We played card games and scrabble with her friends, watched the second Narnia film and many episodes of the Big Bang Theory (a massive hit in Spain, it seems), ate with her family, went to church on Sunday morning and cut up fish on Sunday afternoon. Yep, cut up fish. I'd forgotten how spontaneously and quickly the spaniards live their lives - they don't want to waste a second. So, one minute we were sat on the sofa watching tv and the next, without warning, I was stood with a pair of plastic gloves on, bagging up gory, bloody, fishy bits of a 2 metre long eel-type-thing to distribute to the poor people of the town. I'm still wondering whether it was some sort of surreal daydream. 

This morning we wandered round Figueres - the home of the Dali museum which is a fantastic sight if ever you get the chance to see it - and then I caught a train back to Llança.

And that's where I find myself now, sitting in the same seat I was sat in this time last week (this time with a beer, not a coffee) and wondering what the next few weeks have in store!

Ciao for now

X

So far, so good

I have arrived. 

The journey began at midnight last night when, to my horror, I realised my luggage was 5kg over the weight limit. With only 5 hours before I needed to be awake again to leave for the airport, some rash decisions had to be made. The casualties included my hair straighteners, nail varnish, high heels and jewellery. Maybe I can be less image conscious in Spain. 

We arrived at the airport in plenty of time and as I waved goodbye to mi madre from the other side of the security gate, reality hit me in a wave of terror and nausea. But I tried to keep my cool. I may be a drama queen, but public displays of hysteria are a step too far. 

On the plane I bought a copy of El Pais (a Spanish national newspaper) to see just how rusty my Spanish has become this summer. The conclusion: pretty flippin' rusty. I'm going to keep that same paper until my trip ends in May to see just how much more I understand of it then. Navigation between the airport and train station went surprisingly smoothly. I tried to speak Catalan but kept getting confused and switching to Spanish when I suddenly realised I didn't know the right vocab to finish the sentence. I speak fluent Spanalan. 

There was a 2 hour wait for the train to Llanca so I went and had a coffee. There I was... Casually reading my book and sipping on my cafe con leche, checking the time on my phone to see that I still had an hour to spare. Lovely. A second later, I heard my train announced. Confusion gave way to the panic-stricken realisation that my phone was still on English time and my train was in fact about to leave. Let me tell you, running up the stairs with two suitcases weighing in at 30kg and juggling a handbag, book and 3 coats (I wore what I couldn't fit in the suitcase) was way beyond the sort of physical exertion that my fitness level allows. I made it with about 3 seconds to spare and nearly threw up.

Since then, it's been great. Sheryl and another old friend Chris met me from the station. By the sounds of it there's going to be plenty to get involved in over the next few weeks, mainly helping Sheryl with a new shop that she's running linked with a project called Love Cambodia. It's all very exciting. More on this later. 

Yesterday I was still utterly in denial about my imminent departure and the beginning of this adventure. Now I'm sat in a beautiful square in a lovely Spanish town with a coffee. Can't really deny it any more. It's shell-shocking but also, I must admit, bladdy exciting. 

X

And so it begins...

Hello! Or perhaps that should be 'hola'. Or even 'привет'. 

I'm Sian (not that I'm flattering myself to think that anyone who's reading this won't already know that, but apparently the beginning is a very good place to start) and in 4 days time I will be about to embark upon my Year Abroad.

That's right - I'm one of these ludicrously fortunate people for whom a year of travelling, adventure and exploration is not only encouraged but is actually deemed compulsory by my university. To be bluntly honest with you, I'm not feeling all that fortunate right at this moment. I know it sounds hideously ungrateful but the thought of packing my life into a suitcase, waving goodbye to my friends and famalam and flying off into the unknown isn't filling me joy. I'm bricking it.

Firstly, there's the thought of everything I'm set to miss out on in Durham next year - formals, fancy dress, the plays, the aftershows, duvets and movies, dancing, college brunch... the whole shebang. Secondly, there's more than a few people who I struggle to go a few weeks (nay, days) without seeing so a year apart is sure to prove somewhat challenging. And thirdly (and here's where I'm going to make a big confession) ...I'm not a particularly organised person. I've actually been described as cataclysmically disorganised. It's slightly improved in recent years but when I was a wee teenager exasperated shouts of "you're such an effing space cadet" would occur on a daily basis in our house. Disorganised people plus mountains of paperwork and forms and things to sign and things to research etc etc etc is a deadly combination. Cue: chaos.

Right then, here's what I know - on Monday, I'm flying to Spain. I'm spending a month with one of my Mums oldest friends Sheryl in Figueres, just outside Barcelona. There will be an opportunity to be involved in a Church community there and to basically get stuck in to whatever opportunity presents itself. It's also a great chance to practice Catalan (and judging by my exam marks last year, I bloody well need it). At the end of September I'll move on to Gijón on the North coast to begin an 8 month placement working as a language assistant through the British Council. On a whim, I recently decided it'd be best to stay with a host family so after extensive online research (otherwise known as ten minutes worth of manic googling) I found a family who seemed darned near perfect. I got a really good gut feeling about it - and if you can't trust your gut who can you trust? - so a few email exchanges and a deposit payment later and, hey presto, I have accommodation sorted. That's one small step for Sian, one giant leap for... um... actually... I don't really know where I'm going with that one. But you get the idea.

Beyond these very small nuggets of information I'm pretty much just as clueless as you in terms of what this coming year holds. And don't even get me started on Russia. Just don't.

So there we have it - a disorganised space cadet, prone to the odd bout of histrionics, setting off into the relatively unknown to forge something that vaguely resembles a real proper grown up life for no less than a year. What on earth could go wrong? Tune in next time to find out...

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