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