My Spanish Life.

I want to post about Australia. But I am in no way patriotic enough to do that. I care more about the outcome of the Hottest 100 than anything else. And yes, the Aboriginal flag should be on our flag. And no, Kevin Rudd is not that much better than Howard, but perhaps at the very least he pretends.

Maybe I should deal with it.

Or maybe not.

Well. The idea of blogging my life in Spain seemed like such a good idea at the time. However, being the master procrastinator that I am – right now, I am procrastinating the preparation of classes for the morning, going shopping for food, sleeping and all manner of other things – this blog has fallen by the wayside. So far by the wayside that I can’t even remember what I wrote last. Pathetic, huh? Yes.

Well, let’s assume that I haven’t written anything since before Christmas. And we will begin there.

It’s been an up-and-down few months. Highs, lows, sadness, happiness, frustrations have been amplified by a number of things. But I don’t want to moan. For Christmas, Heidi and I travelled to a small village in Germany, Ellingen. Situated between Augsburg and Nürnberg, it was a quiet peaceful village of a few thousand, complete with its own king. We stayed there for ten days, vainly hoping that snow would fall and bless these Australians with a white Christmas. Alas, it was not to be. Instead for ten days, we braved cold weather, ate so much wurst that I don’t think I could ever face another one, sampled the delight that is glühwein, explored Nürnberg, gave our very own rally in the same spot as he-who-shall-not-be-named did. (Not Voldemort, Hitler.) We spent a day and a half in München (Munich), exploring the city with the help of a free tour guide from a great tour company which I will not plug.

It was a nervous affair, travelling across borders. Heidi was sans papers and there was always the risk that some airline would call her up on it. It was not to be, and seemed to prove the point that Europe does not pay much attention to its internal borders.

We came back to Spain and Madrid on New Years Eve. New Years Eve, everywhere, I have come to realise, is generally a disappointment, but Spain puts on a great party. We began our evening in the hotel of a friend of mine, drinking wine and beer on his tenth floor terrace. Yes, you did read that right. My friend’s hotel. Then somewhere near 11.30pm, we decided to brave Puerta del Sol and the raging sea of millions. We reached Callao with ease and then were greeted by a vast crowd stretching all the way down Calle Carmen. The whole of Madrid seemed to be loitering here, waiting for the bells to chime so they could eat their much-desired 12 grapes and hope for luck for this year. 12 grapes, you say, what?

Spain has this strange tradition, from whence it came I do not know, of eating grapes on New Years. The art to it is that you must devour one grape everytime the clock chimes twelve. Now this sounds relatively easy but apparently  not. Not only is 12 grapes quite hard to swallow in 12 seconds but its also extremely difficult to do whilst avoiding the celebratory hurled bottles and champagne rain. I don’t know if I managed to get my luck for this year. So far it hasn’t appeared to be particularly good or bad.

Heidi left on the 5th January to return to Australia, leaving me homeless and at a loss for what to do. I spent the next week intermittently moping and looking for houses, sometimes both at once. The problem with the housing search in Spain is not that there aren’t any, but that there aren’t any good ones. For an Australian, raised with houses and gardens and ample space to raise a family of 15, a Spanish piso can be daunting to say the least. I saw grand old rooms with furniture that appeared to be left from when the rooms had been grand, young rooms, rooms which were smaller than 8m2 for 300€, rooms that came with children or freaks or just bad vibes. And then I happened upon a room that was bigger than anything I’ve seen, with two balconies, a study, a TV and a DVD player.. essentially self-contained, all for the ridiculously low price of 400€ a month. Needless to say, I’ve taken it.

What else can I say in this random post?

I have a number of goals in the next 6 months, but giving my warrant for procrastination, I do not know if I will achieve them. I should think hopefully though. Until I next update.