A belated farewell

Hello!

I've been meaning to write this post for the last week and a half but have found myself far too wrapped up in being at home, catching up with people and, of course, preparing for stage 2 of the journey: Russia.

Everything came to an end all too suddenly in Spain. The last week was fantastic and was marked in a number of ways at school - from homemade brownies to posters and cards. One amazing class even learnt a song by heart in English and serenaded me with it. It got me so emotional that when it came to making a parting speech and my chance to impart some final words of wisdom upon them, I found myself, for a reason that is still unknown to me, blubbing about how they should watch Les Mis because it will help them learn English and it will touch their souls and it would make me so happy if they could love it as much as I do. I don't mind telling you I got a few blank stares for that outburst.

A lot of the kids asked if they could follow me on twitter which has resulted in the biggest boost in followers my account has ever experienced. Score. And one of my favorite students even managed a few tears. The teachers were equally lovely, all wishing me well in Russia and asking me to keep in touch. It was a very sad occasion all round and, unlikely as it may be, I'd like to think I could visit in the years to come to catch up with them all.

I spent my last evening in Gijón in the most appropriate way possible - stuffing my face full of tasty food and sidra at Tierrastur with a big group of friends. I assured myself that it would be an early night, what with having to pack the following day to leave forever. Midnight came and went and the beers were rolling and the music was bangin' but I kept telling myself that I really should make a move soon. To cut a long story short... one thing led to another and all of a sudden it was 8am and Jean and I were stumbling home to our flats, clutching our sandy belongings which we'd left on the beach before running to the sea for one last drunken dip. It was a perfect way to end the night. The way I felt when I awoke on Saturday at 3pm, still full of sidra and with packing and cleaning to be done and the small detail of a flight to catch in 6 hours however, was decidedly less-than-perfect. 

And to top off the perfect last week in Gijón, this happened: 

So there we have it. Spain is over. I've done a LOT of freakin' awesome stuff (I just reread some old blog posts from throughout the year and it really hit home just how much awesome stuff I've been able to do. I'm very grateful for the lot of it) and made some freakin' wonderful friends. And for many of those friends it's hopefully just 'hasta luego' instead of 'adios'. Yeah, that's cheesy. Sorry. 

There'll be a period of downtime for this blog now as I travel up and down and around the country catching up with people and visiting friends but please tune back in for phase two: Ulyanovsk (you know? Ulyanovsk...? That really well-known city... you know... the one where there's... and they... ummm... right, yeah, no one's heard of it) which promises to be a voyage of fear and discovery. Gulp. 

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The home stretch

The wonderful and beautiful Joni Mitchell sang it best: Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Never a truer word spoken. As is so totally typical of human nature, with less than a week to go until I leave I find myself focusing more and  more on all the fantastic things about living in Gijón - things that I suddenly feel as though I've taken for granted or not made the most of these past 9 months. 9 months?! Flippin' heck... where did it go? I naively thought that spending 9 months in a country was a sure fire route to fluency but when a class of second years asked me the other day if I'd speak Spanish to them, all I could come up with was to show them my finely-tuned flair for coffee ordering. Not exactly ground-breaking (although they did say they were impressed with the way I pronounce the Spanish 'r'. If that doesn't get me a first I don't know what will).

Living on the doorstep of a beautiful beach is gonna be hard to let go of. And having to pay more than 2 euros for a beer will be something of a shock to the system upon returning home. On the topic of food and drink: last weekend I took a road trip to San Sebastian with Alex and her two lovely friends from Navia. We had a very lovely and relaxed weekend that consisted of soaking in the atmosphere of the city, a spot of shopping, a bit of sight-seeing and a whole lot of food and drink. True ladies of leisure. I raved about the egg tarts in Lisbon and now I'm going to rave about the tapas of San Sebastian. THEY WERE SO GOOD. Bars literally laden with every combination of cheesey, meaty, fishy delight that you could dare to imagine. And the best part is that you just dig in and pay up afterwards - no waiting for service and better yet (after such incidents as order-a-chicken-sandwich-but-receive-a-cup-of-tea) no awkward ordering faux pas! (fact of the day: faux pas is the same in the singular and the plural. I know because I just googled it.)

Food glorious food

San Sebastian is definitely worth a visit. I can easily imagine whiling away many an hour simply strolling up and down the beautiful coastline in the height of summer. The reality of our mid-May visit was slightly soggier and umbrella-laden but the rain only meant that we head to go in search of shelter and shelter meant martinis. No complaints there.

Another week, another near death experience on a surfboard. Although I'm actually starting to think that getting in and out of the wetsuit presents more danger than the sport itself. Nothing destroys the illusion of grace and femininity that you've tried to maintain quite like slipping about on a wet, tiled floor with both arms stuck inside the torso of your wetsuit and salty, tangled hair plastered across your face. Like a demented, blind penguin. Surfing is great though... I'll definitely be looking into chances to take it up again in the future wherever possible. 

Last Wednesday I went to my weekly private class with two brothers. The younger brother, Rodrigo, is quite frankly one of my favourite people ever and has provided me with some of my most entertaining and soon to be most treasured moments in Spain. From him opening the front door and exclaiming 'good morning!!' every week without fail before remembering that it is, in fact, half past five in the afternoon, slapping himself on the forehead and stomping his way upstairs reprimanding himself under his breath... to the time when he branded Jack as a 'bloody imbecile' for choosing to climb the beanstalk. He is a legend. Anyway, on Wednesday at the end of the lesson his mum walked in and handed me a goodbye present that she said they'd both picked out themselves and that Rodrigo had been incapable of waiting two weeks to give me. Needless to say I was biting back the tears. I will wear my matching necklace and earrings set with extreme pride. 

Things are truly winding down at school too. Most of the kids are aware that I'm soon to depart. Today I received a goodbye poster from a fantastic class of first years adorned with emotionally gems such as 'don't ever change, you're special how you are' and 'we know you can be an actress!' and 'for our favourite blonde'. And they greeted me into the classroom with a standing ovation. It was a pretty special moment. And the eccentric male teacher who bakes a new cake for the staffroom EVERY SINGLE DAY has been plying me with double helpings of cake, which I've taken as his way of saying goodbye. 

So, it's really happening... Spain is drawing to a close. I hope to squeeze in one more blog before I leave and then there'll be a period of down-time before in all starts again in... gulp... Russia. 

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Jet setting

Alright, go on... I'll admit it... I'll put my hands up in the air and say... I'm a lucky little so-and-so getting to do this whole year abroad malarkey and the travelling and experiences that it allows. And the last two weeks have been a perfect example and an apt reminder of this fact thanks to two consecutive weekends spent being a professional jet setter.

Two weekends ago Jean, Tom and I headed to Lisbon for a mini break. VERY mini break would probably be more accurate considering we arrived late Friday afternoon and left again early on Sunday morning. But the short-lived nature of our visit certainly didn't mar the experience. Upon arrival we dumped our stuff off at our snazzy hostel and went straight back out in search of the castle of São Jorge which was an awesome site that would make the perfect setting for some sort of Medieval drama. Or a scene from LOTR. Or Harry Potter. Suffice to say, it was epic and beautiful. We then turned to trusty Trip Advisor to point us somewhere for dinner and our little pal didn't disappoint - we ended up feasting on wine and tapas in a trendy little cafe/bar which was run by an equally trendy gay couple. I was pretty much in heaven. On Saturday we started off at the oceanarium (penguins = joy) and then we headed to Belém, a lovely historical area in the West of the city. We saw the famous Jerónimos monastery, the Belém tower and the impressive Discovery Monument in homage to the Portugese age of discovery. But all of these fantastic sights, steeped in history and culture, paled in comparison to the experience of the mighty Pastéis de Belém . These are the little egg tarts that the area is famous for. If you've never tasted something that has made you exclaim with joy and delight; clench your fist and punch the air in pure elation, get yourself to Lisbon now for a taste of heaven. On Sunday morning we rose with just enough time to ride one of the iconic yellow trams that trundle around the city (speaking of trams, did you know that Gaudi was killed by a tram?! Fact of the day.) before heading to the airport to catch the plane back home! Verdict: I like Lisbon. I like it a lot.

Now, as if that wasn't spectacular enough, the very next Thursday I woke up early mearly to head back to Asturias airport (which is beginning to feel like a second home) to head to my favourite city in all the world: Barcelona. I spent the day wandering the streets, taking in sights and sounds and being deliriously excited about the ticket to see The XX at the Poble Espanyol that night that was tucked away in my bag. At 6pm I went to meet my long-lost-friend from school - the wonderful Katie Holloway and we had a truly superb evening full of sangria, strawberries, new American friends, beer and tapas and, of course, The XX who blew my freakin' mind.

The next day I left Katie again (sadly) and went to check in at our hostel. 'Our?' I hear you cry... 'But who were you with?!' Well, those of you with Facebook may have noticed a recently uploaded album featuring an obscene amount of pictures of a certain dashing young man sporting an outrageous pair of lime green sunglasses. Sian and Dave hit Barcelona, 2K13. What followed was a long weekend that is hard to put into words. So I'll just make a rambling list instead: We drank more Sangria and beer and wine of every colour and gin and tonic and mojitos than I thought physically possible. We ate paella in the sunshine and we sampled fusion cuisine in a tiny little Arabic restaurant in the Barri Gotic. We saw the Magic Fountains of Mountjiuc and wandered up to the National Palace. We went to Parc Guell and the Sagrada Familia (which is worth every penny spent. It's a jaw dropper.) We spent an afternoon on the beach and ate lots of ice cream and we went in the cable car out across the port. We did ALL THE THINGS!

Look! It's Dave! In Barcelona!

Basically, we made up for months on end of seperation and skype-dates and whatsapps in style. Dear Barcelona, I love you long time, love Sian.

I've now been surfing a grand total of five times. And the reality still isn't quite living up to the Baywatch dream. I think I've swallowed my own body weight in seawater. And the other day I got caught in a current and couldn't get back to shore and had to have a little cry because my arms hurt too much to paddle and all I could picture were swarms of sharks and jellyfish and octupi circling round like vultures waiting for me to pop my clogs. AND (disclaimer: what follows is a disgusting story) on Friday I was minding my own buisness at 8pm, a full 7 hours after having been surfing, when a torrent of seawater suddenly shot out of my nose!! For real. I am the epitome of cool.

Hasta luego.

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The Final Countdown...

HELLO! Very long time no see. Since my last post all sorts of things have happened so I'm not really sure sure where to start. The main reason for my absence from the blogosphere was a two week trip back to Blighty for Easter. It was a simply wonderful time and consisted of such delights as watching some friends perform their improvised comedy show (check them out, they're swell: http://www.soop.org.uk/), various meals in and out with friends and family at home and away, popping to Southampton to see Hairspray at the Mayflower, being treated to a swanky night out in Bath, being a guest at a lovely wedding and a visit to the optician. Yes, that counts as a delight. I love going to the optician. Don't judge. As ever, the two weeks flew by in the blink of an eye and now I'm back in the English department at Calderon de la Barca high school with only 6 weeks standing between me and the very end of this Spanish adventure. It's the final countdown. And that's actually pretty darned sad.

My last week or so in Gijón before Easter turned out to be a rather eventful one. I had a spontaneous solo adventure to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia for the weekend. Jean and Laura had already planned a weekend away to Granada but I'd decided not to join them, feeling pretty sick at the thought of the 24-hour round coach journey that they would have to endure. But passing up on a travelling opportunity only to sit on my tod feeling sorry for myself all weekend didn't seem to make much sense so instead I took the plunge, booked a hostel for one and set off. It was a very daunting prospect and I set off in the mindset that it would be a lonely and unenjoyable experience but that I'd endure it for the sake of doing something instead of nothing. But I'm happy to report that I was incredibly pleasantly surprised. There was no boredom, no lonliness, no nerves or fear. Luckily, it's a flippin' stunning city so I was constantly entertained by merely looking around. There's a wealth of museums, galleries, parks, beautiful churches and squares and the cathedral most certainly lived up to its international reputation. I think I managed to see pretty much everything that I'd wanted to in the time that I was there - I stayed for two nights which turned out to be the perfect amount of time - one night more and the lonliness may well have started to creep in. One of the nights I ended up being taken under the wing of a Spanish family as I ventured into a church for a choral concert. The invited me to stay at their house and told me to visit them in the Summer. It was strange, but amazing. The whole weekend was a fantastic experience and, as cheesy as it sounds, I'll have to admit that it was just as character-building and horizon-expanding as travelling alone is often advertised to be.

When I arrived back from Santiago I had a few days at school and then whizzed off again, this time to stay with a Spanish friend in his hometown of Navia, which just so happens to be where Alex has been placed this year. We met up with Alex and went to a mahusive outdoor Easter party complete with 4 different stages upon which denim-clad groups of spaniards regaled us with disco covers of English and Spanish chart music into the early hours of the morning. It was very surreal and very entertaining and I ended the night soaked in beer and rain (and I dread to think what else) and totally exhausted. We partied like true Spaniards.

And since coming back after Easter the pace has stayed pretty darned... well... pacy! This weekend mi madre flew across the pond to visit for a few days and to get a feel of Gijon. This meant a weekend full of eating, drinking and being generally merry. We wandered around the city and along the coast as I tried to point out different spots of interest and to regale Mum with stories of my adventures here so far. On Friday night we went out to have a few glasses (which turned into plenty of glasses) of wine and found ourselves right in the middle of the Feria de Abril, a festival which celebrates all things Andalucian. All of the waitresses were dressed up as flamenco dancers and the wine and tapas were coming at as faster than we could keep up with. At one point a couple stood up from their table and proceeded to dance some intensely steamy flamenco about 2cm from where we were sat. It an absolute stroke of luck to have stumbled across such an authentic Spanish experience. Mum reckoned they knew she was coming. 

On Sunday morning I took to the sea for my first ever surf lesson. The sun was shining and the waves were perfect. Had I not been nursing a hangover from the night before I would have been overflowing with enthusiasm. As it was, the struggle to get into my wetsuit alone (it brought to mind images of an eposide involving Jim Cary as Ace Ventura and a Rhino...) nearly killed me. But once in the sea I had an absolute blast and am seriously itching to go again despite every muscle in my body, some I didn't know existed, aching like they've never ached before. 

There's lots planned for this last stint in Spain, including a trip to Lisbon, another to Barcelona and a weekend away in San Sebastian. The sun is shining, I'm excited, BRING IT ON.

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'British Culture'

I mentioned a few times that the third years (14-year-olds) have been working on a project based on different aspects of British culture. Last week they completed their projects and their work is now on display in the school foyer. They all ended up getting incredibly stuck in (well, nearly all) and developing a genuine interest in what they were researching. I can't say that all the information is factually correct ('The Royals' group, for example, casually skipped a few hundred years in their family tree) but they seemed to enjoy themselves and they certainly reveled in the opportunity to be a bit more independent in their studies. Success!

London

(They are now all completely fascinated by Boris Johnson. "But he's very freaky, no?")

 Media

(I think this group had a few motivational issues...)

Food

(The verdict: the Brits are addicted to grease, fat and cheese)

Education

(The girls working on this topic are genuises. They should probably run the school)

British Teenagers

(I certainly did not endorse the inclusion of a picture of One Direction)

The Royals
(I can't tell you how much they loved the story of Prince Harry gettin' naked in Vegas)

The Welfare State

(Just like at the Olympics opening ceremony, the NHS takes pride of place. Hooray for the NHS!)

Good old Spain

Another update from sunny-rainy-sunny-rainy Spain (it’s not just British weather that seems to have taken a turn for the bipolar recently, trust me).

Since my last post I’ve been on two school trips, posing as a responsible adult. Truth be told, faced with the prospect of a school trip I still very much want to run to the bus to shotgun the back seat and pull silly faces or wave at passing motorists out of the window. So it was a full time effort to maintain the respectable teacher façade. The first trip was to a very interesting exhibition in Oviedo about the lives of the Iberians. We met in the school foyer ready to leave at 10.30am. Suddenly, a girl raced up to the teacher to tell her that she’d forgotten to get her mum to sign her permission slip. I shook my head in pity, knowing from personal experience that she probably had a long lonely day sat in the school library doing homework ahead of her. But wait… this is Spain… I should have known… the teacher just shrugged and told her to get on the bus and bring the permission slip another day. When we arrived in Oviedo there were smatterings of snow from the night before so the kids sprinted around, climbing onto rooftops and lobbing snowballs at each other, at buildings and at total strangers. The teachers just looked on, totally nonplussed. The second trip was to the remains of a beautiful pre-Romanesque church. This time, the kids got their kicks out of trying to push each other out of windows and down stairs and running into bars and cafes at random to see if they could steal straws. At one point I tentatively asked the male teacher if perhaps the students should be making some notes or at the very least listening to the guide. He looked at me as if I’d asked him whether flying pigs truly exist, exhaled slowly and said "In theory." But aside from being flipping mental and far from traditionally well-behaved, the students were great company on both trips and we had a lot of fun.

On Saturday a few of us drove to Llanes which is a stunning little coastal town about 55 miles away from Gijon. It was a bloody great day. We parked up and walked along a cliff which provided us with some pretty fantastic views – to my right were the snow-capped peaks of the Picos de Europa, to my left the sea was crashing and smashing against the rocks and straight ahead was the town itself with a little golden beach to boot. This is definitely one of the most special things about Asturias – the sheer variety of the landscape and in such close proximity. We spent a few hours mooching around and taking in the sights, stopping for lunch halfway through. After lunch, we went in search of a landmark that Jean and I in particular have been super keen to see. In Llanes stands the house where they filmed ´The Orphanage’. If you haven’t see it, I’d highly recommend it. Unless you’re of a nervous disposition. I saw it at the cinema when it first came out in 2007 and can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever come quite so close to crying with fear. But it is fantastic. I promise. The road where the house is situated turned out to be full of houses that could have fit the bill – deserted, dilapidated, dark and steeped in scary movie clichés. 

We then jumped back in the car and went in search of an inland beach up in the cliffs and to find some geysers that were rumoured to be in the vicinity. Finding the beach was easy enough but the geysers proved to be slightly more elusive. But we eventually found them and they were well worth the wait… I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about what a geyser actually is or what one would be like but I can tell you now that they were freaking cool. They sounded like sleeping dragons and the force of the spray shooting up through the ground was pretty spectacular. Unfortunately due to the delay in trying to locate them, we ended up having to walk back to the car, through fields and woods, in the fog and rain, in the middle of the countryside, shrouded in darkness. This was far from ideal considering we’d spent a good chunk of the day thinking about horror-film clichés. Eventually we made it back alive and by the time we arrived back in Gijon it was all I could do to crawl into bed with a cup of tea. The sign of a good day well spent.

Last night three of us went to see the latest Almodovar film ‘Los Amantes Pasajeros’. I LOVE Almodovar. I love the non-sensical and risqué style of his films. So to see one of his films in Spain without subtitles was definitely on my Year Abroad checklist. Despite the rest of the world often quoting him as being the face of Spanish film-making, he tends to split opinion pretty drastically on home soil so when I mentioned to a few of my teachers that I was really keen to see his new film they immediately launched into speeches outlining how and why his films are full of bad morals and horrendous stereotyping. On face value, that may be true but it’s all done with tongue jammed firmly in cheek and with more levels of irony than you can shake a stick at. ‘Los Amantes Pasajeros’ was a throwback to the films he made in the 80s during La Movida movement, without the dark and disturbing edge of his some of his more recent films. It was colourful, it was silly, it was incredibly risqué and I loved it.  

About an hour ago I had to get stern with a class for the first time. To be honest I haven’t quite mastered the fine line between ‘I’m your friend’ and ‘but you must respect me’ so the class ended up descending into madness. I rolled up my sleeves and put on my most serious ‘don’t mess with me’ face and told them, in no uncertain terms, that whilst it’s great to be able to have fun in lessons, if they weren’t going to concentrate then we’d sit in silence for the rest of the hour. One of the boys put up his hand and said “Teacher, can I tell I joke?” I told him I didn’t really think it was the appropriate time but if it was relevant and would re-lighten the mood then fine. So he said “What’s the different between work and study?... Don’t ask me! I’m Spanish! I don’t do nothing! Hahahaha”. And the whole class fell about laughing. 

Busy bee

As we all know, time really drags when you sit on your bum doing nothing. Which is why I'm trying my best to keep busy busy busy until Easter. I got the plan off to a (literally) flying start in the shape of an all too brief trip back to Durham. I jumped on a bus on Thursday morning, then jumped on a plane, then a train, then a coach, then another train and arrived in Durham approximately 14 hours later. Easy peasy. It was a splendid weekend and a happy/sad reminder of why I miss the place so much. Friday and Saturday whizzed by in a blur of wonderfully-familiar faces, coffee, dancing, dodgems, cobbled streets and musical rehearsal and before I knew it I was sitting back on the sofa in my little Spanish flat on Sunday, wondering whether it had all been a surreal dream (although not before a incredibly special coffee date at Victoria coach station, 7am, Sunday morning, to send me off back to Spain in style. The things he does for me, eh?). Back at school on Monday a lot of my students (and teachers) were incredibly confused as to how I'd managed to leave the country and come back again since they'd last seen me leaving school the previous Wednesday afternoon. Most of them seemed to think I was mad to trade in so many hours worth of travelling for so few hours on solid ground. 'Durham's worth it.' I told them.

I've mentioned a few times my intentions to start extra curricular drama lessons. Now, before coming to Spain, I didn't ever think that a lack of red tape could prove just as problematic as too much of it. But sadly, my efforts in this venture so far been thwarted at every turn thanks to the non-existence of procedure here in not-so-sunny Spain. Do I need permission slips? What about room bookings? How should I decide on timings? And dates? Which age groups would be suitable? How many responsible adults are needed per child? Must a qualified first aided be present? All met with shrugs and blank faces. But I'm not giving up quite yet. And it certainly hasn't stopped me from forcing theatrical activity into daily classes wheresoever I see fit. Inkeeping with this theme, one of my classes has been putting together little soap operas for the past few weeks and it is providing me with constant entertainment. Last Wednesday the groups performed to the rest of the class to show off their works-in-progress. My favourite group produced a story that was set in the Vatican City but that was strangely called 'Castle'. I'm still not sure why. The curtain went up to show the Pope parading through the city in his Pope Mobile. Suddenly, Batman swooped in and killed him in cold blood. Of course, no one saw because he was wearing an invisibility cloak. But, never fear, Inspector Poirot arrived to solve the case. Turns out Batman and his girlfriend (who just happened to be the newsreader) were in it together. Somewhere in the middle there was a subplot involving Justin Timberlake and his many lovers but I had somewhat lost track by this point. 

Another facet of my 'busy' plan is to try to spend more time exploring the region. So on Saturday Jean and I took a trip to a little town of Luanco. I'll be honest, it wasn't the most exciting place to be but the weather was fine, the sky was stunning, the air was fresh and we agreed that it was refreshing to go somewhere new for the day. The climax of the trip occurred at around 4pm when, walking along the beach, we noticed a very large fish that had found itself washed up on the shore and was thrashing around in the sand. Now, when I say 'noticed', what I actually mean is that we saw it, shrieked, screamed, jumped up and down and and ran around in little circles in a panicked frenzy for a minute or two. Eventually, we calmed down and I did what any decent human being would do: rolled up my sleeves, picked up and the fish and lobbed it back into the sea. Then we stood back to admire our handiwork and watch it gaily swim back out to deeper waters to rejoin its kin. Unfortunately, 10 minutes later it was still splashing around about 2 meteres from the shore so I can't help thinking that, instead of saving its poor little life, we actually prolonged its agony. At least we tried.

(Here's me picking up the fish. Yes, the angle and my pose are slightly unflattering, for which I apologise. But it's a good action shot so I'm willing to overlook my pride.)

On the way home we also stopped by the Maritime museum which, despite our low expectations, turned out to be incredibly entertaining and an afternoon well spent. If you ever find yourself in Luanco, I'd highly recommend a visit. And then on Saturday evening we arrived back to Gijón just in time to go to dinner at a Galician restaurant with a group consisting of 5 Spaniards, 1 Scot, 2 Englishmen, 1 Frenchman, 2 Americans and a German. And no, that is not the opening line of a very long and convoluted joke. We ate various types of squid, drank Galician wine out of little bowls and fought valiantly against the multiple language barriers that we were up against. One thing led to another and we ended up going to various bars and dancing to Pulp and Florence and the Machine and I finally arrived home at 6am, absolutely knackered and more than ready to collapse into bed. Saturday was a good day. 

In about an hour I'm off to watch Barsa vs. Milan in a bar that offers the best free pinchos in town. Spain has definitely brought out the football fan in me. C'MON BARSAAAA. 

S'later!

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