My Spanish Life.

I have returned from my first venture into Europe proper. I have seen oh so many sites – and been stuck in Antwerp for five days!!! – not that it was all bad, but that town did remind me of Adelaide. It even starts with the same first letter.

I left Madrid on the 27th (i think??) expecting to meet up with my mate, Jon, in Brussels. As I made my way to the Metro, I thought it might be worth making a quick call to work out where I could meet him and his friend. I soon discovered that they’d arrived in Belgium, but to Antwerp, not Brussels. And here I was, an hour and a half from catching a plane, and not having any idea how to get from Brussels to Antwerp. Never fear. I’ll survive even if I have to sleep on the streets of Brussels for the night.

I got into Brussels some time after six. To my relief, travel from Brussels turned out to be extremely easy. One train ride for 10 euros and two hours later, voila, Antwerp. I wandered into Antwerp having very little clue where I was going with the vague directions of ‘head towards the cathedral, we’ll meet you there’. What? What Cathedral? Come on guys, this is Europe. There must be 1000s in this city. Even worse, I had no idea how to even speak in Antwerp. Brussels was easy – they spoke French and I, at the very least, can ask ‘parleiz vous anglais?’ but Dutch?! I wouldn’t even know where to start.

Nevertheless, I found my way, met up with John and Martin, drank some beers with them, a Dutch gent – Johan, and a Flemish nationalist who was adamant that immigration was a terrible thing. Luckily, we didn’t come to blows but more on that later.

My first few days were taken up exploring. The Cathedral, the Castle, the Sewer, an accidental stumble through the red light district in which women stand in windows (a little confronting, although it beats being accosted in the street, as happens in Madrid). In between these jaunts, the sampling of Belgian beers was a must. Our nights were spent in a hostel called Heksenketel – quite a charming hostel with a bar downstairs and an excellent spread for breakfasts. What it lacks in bed quality, it makes up for in charm. However, after a night of Belgian beers, it was difficult to manouevre the stairs.

After a few days of giants, castles and sewers, Jon and I were keen to press on. Antwerp is not a cheap city and it was rapidly eating into my finances. Plus we wanted to see the Western Front and make it to Berlin for New Years. Alas, not to be, as Martin, an American by way of Lithuania, was busy chasing the hostel girl – drinking till late in the morning and waking up late.

By Saturday, we’d had enough and decided to embark on our own journey, courtesy of his car keys. We organised to drive up to Johan’s house, a Flemish guy Jon knew from Lithuania, and then head to Ypres to see at least some of the Western Front before we left.

Jon drove and as we exitted Antwerp, we began to realise that we had no idea where we were going. We drove for a while, and only to discover we were still in Antwerp. We turned around to rechase our ground and once again couldn’t get out of Antwerp. But then, an EXIT!! We found our exit, pulled off, then discovered we needed petrol – off the exit we went. Petrol filled and ready to go, somewhat frustrated albeit, we searched for our exit. It had vanished. But then we found another one, seemingly going in the right direction. Alas it was not to be. 20 minutes down, we discovered we were not on our way to Johan’s house but Holland. Now how to turn around? After some crazy shenanigans trying to get off the highway, we managed to go in the other direction, which was THE RIGHT DIRECTION!!! Cool, all good, until we turn off one exit early and end up having to drive all the way back to Antwerp to turn around again. Surely, it’s not really this difficult.

Finally, we managed to make it to Johan’s and to Ypres. War monuments are always a solemn experience. War cemeteries are even more so. Thousand of names stared back at us from this enormous structure. Walls upon walls upon walls of names and dates. Thousands of Australians, New Zealanders, Brits, Indians ad nauseum. It was sobering to say the least.

We then searched for Polygon Wood, a cemetery we knew was somewhere nearby, and the scene of a relatively significant battle. Here lay hundreds of graves, primarily ANZAC and primarily unknown soldiers. It was fitting that we reached here as dusk began to set and we gazed upon this site with a grey night sky falling.

New Years Eve

New Years Eve is no different anywhere in the world (except Spain where they eat grapes!) For me, it was no different than an Australian New Years except that it was cold, and in Antwerp. I partied with Australians we met in the hostel. We partied all night long. It was fun, but still same old, same old.

Berlin by way of Holland…

ah… driving to Berlin. We’d been kicking back with these two Dutch guys, Ton and JR, in Antwerp for most of our time there. They’d been hitchhiking to Malaga and had made it as far as France before almost dying and deciding France wasn’t worth the effort. We offered them a lift home and drove as far North as I had ever been.

There was a marked difference between Belgium and Holland. The roads were smoother, the roads were wider, the land was flatter, wetter and the sky was bluer. The speed limit was normal but I think we surpassed it. We hit Leeuwarden sometime that night and crashed out. The autobahn’s of Germany were calling, and I wanted to drive them.

German autobahns. Possibly the most terrifying thing to be on if you were to crash – and I know someone who has – but also the most fun I’ve ever had in a car.

These are the rules:

1. Wait for the road to hit three lanes.

2. Once three lanes, ease accelerator down.

3. Keep accelerator down.

4. If cars in front are slower, drive around them. If cars behind are faster, move out of the way.

5. Drive, drive, drive.

200km/h is a nice speed to drive at. I recommend it. It is however slightly strange to drive at 200km/h and still be overtaken. Damn Honda wouldn’t go any faster.

We entered Germany with a sign saying 500 odd km to Berlin. Sweet that’s a two and a half hour drive. And what do you know – it basically was! Even with our detour for curry trees.

I’d like to go back to Berlin. I don’t think I had enough time to really explore it. I took touristy tours, which were good and recommendable, but it was only by the 4th day that I began to feel like I was getting to know Berlin. They say it’s a party city, but I don’t think it compares to Madrid. There were definitely no kids drinking in the streets at 9am, but then again, I might just not have seen them.

It’s also a city where the past is very much alive. The difference between West Berlin and East Berlin is still very obvious – although most East Berliners do not live there anymore. They’ve moved elsewhere. But East Berlin is alive and happening, whilst West Berlin just sort of exists as a residential zone.

It’s been four weeks since I got back now. So it’s becoming a little distant in my memory. So I apologise for no greater detail. I’ll try to be more prompt with my travel notes.

So I’m slack. Slack, slack, slackity slack slack. So slack that I rarely manage to put any words on this page. Even though, everything is always new, everything is always different and, well, you know, whatever…

Ah, but for some news: This weekend was, once again, a long one. Four days off and now it’s Sunday and I’m sitting here procrastinating creating tests for my classes tomorrow. I don’t know why we have to write these tests – the students aren’t happy about it and I’m not happy about it – perhaps we should strike. No, but seriously, I have to write tests for all my classes.

Anyway, to the point, Lejos. This weekend, like many others, was a long one. I intended to take full advantage of this and head out of Madrid again, this time to Granada. Unfortunately, with my habitual bad planning abilities, I left it too late and was unable to find a room available. I could have just gone anyway and hoped for the best, but the last thing I wanted was to arrive down South and discover, much to my disbelief, that there were really, and truly, no rooms available. So I didn’t go.

Which meant I was stuck once again in Madrid without an agenda. Luckily, or unluckily, being stuck here also meant I was stuck here with this horrible cough that refuses to leave the back of my throat, which meant being here wasn’t that fun anyway.

But as things happen, I decided to make the most of it. I headed to the Reina Sofia (an art gallery with Picasso’s Guernica) which I didn’t enjoy as I should have because of this damn cough. But I kept at it and got in touch with a couple of friends to see if they wanted to check out a jazz club or such that eve. Turns out that great minds think alike and we headed to Cafe Central to check out a band Lejos. Consisting of violin, piano, guitar, double bass and drums, this band was possibly one of the most amazing groups I have ever seen. All four of us sat there in almost stone cold silence, our eyes gripped to the movements of the musicians as they darted around various forms of jazz. This was ‘true music’. You could feel it through the walls. Even four bottles of wine into it, they were still amazing.

Friday, I failed to do much, recovering from the night before being of greater importance, than anything else I might have planned. I went out briefly with Santi, Rocio and some other friends, at first to the University where they were designing sets for a friends performance, and then to some small typically Spanish bar for dinner of tapas around midnight. It was a typical Spanish evening – not particularly eventful but enjoyable nonetheless. My Spanish is particularly appalling at the moment. I’m not sure why but I feel like it’s going backwards a little.

Onwards with the weekend, Saturday day was once again uneventful, but we decided to return to watch Lejos for a second time. And once again, astoundingly magical. The soaring of the violin, to the tempo of Egozcue’s guitar picking, the coordination of melodies and harmonies all working together to form heaven in a quintet. Everyone in the room was caught up in it, even Terry Pratchett (yes, the author) who was sitting up front tapping his feet. I especially liked the two young girls, children of one of the musicians I think, who mouthed every note and beat that the musicians played, creating their own duo of vocal mimes.

If nights could always be like this…

but now today, I must return to the real world and write tests!

Ok ok ok… I’m sorry. It’s harder to keep a blog up-to-date than I thought. So before I go into any detail, here is a dot point summation of some of the things I’ve been up to lately.

• You may have seen the death of a young anti-fa at the hands of fascists in Metro Legazpi – then again, if you’re in Australia, it probably didn’t make the news. Well, it wasn’t me, but I went to the antifa manifestacion (as a protest is called here) on November 17.
• I neglected to mention in my poorly written, but I was oh so tired, entry on Segovia and Salamanca that I also went to the Real Jardines in La Granja near Segovia. The most beautiful gardens I have ever been to.
• Work, work, work, – if I haven’t mentioned it I start at 8am and finish at 7.30pm four days a week. This means I leave home at 7.15 am and get home around 8.15 every day. I’ve wanted to murder both adults and childrens, but it’s still ok work.
• Reading a lot. Soon to start trying to read in Spanish.
• Experimenting with new foods like Cullas de la Madrilena – which is the best parts of the cow (maybe it was pig) - the hoof, the stomach and the nose  – hell, I don’t even know if I spelt it right. Also, the tail of the bull – fantastic, y’gotta try it. Morcilla (mmm, blood.. so good and so bad for you.. that’s not sarcasm by the way)
• Toledo – without a guide book – slightly less satisfactory than it could have been.
• Good bars, bad bars, bad clubs, bad clubs, bad clubs, and Spanish bars.
• mmm… what else? Spanish lessons every day. Draining but people keep telling me I’m improving. And then the proper Spanish lessons from my students like joder, gillipullas (sp?), cabron, cono, (with the n that my computer can’t do), marika, marikon,  etc etc – (if you’re offended by bad language, don’t look these up). I can now explain the difference between tu putta madre and de putta madre, and swear like a Spaniard in guiri costume.

Other than that, not a lot. I’m trying to organise Christmas with a friend in Lithuania – hopefully we’ll meet somewhere in between. But I’m not sure. If not, maybe Morocco, maybe France, or somewhere.

I promise to be more regular.

I’ve just returned from three days out of Madrid. It was absolutely fantastic to leave Madrid and see some of Spain. This weekend was a local holiday in Madrid… for what I can’t recall… which meant we had Thursday off from work plus puente on Friday. Luckily, I only teach one class on Fridays and it’s in a school thus I too had puente (means bridge – when a holiday falls on a Thursday and you take the Friday off).

My British friend, Tom, and I decided it was high time to make an effort to see some of Spain and decided to head to Segovia, Avila and Salamanca for the four days. With little planned – no rooms booked, no real time line, – we left Madrid, finally…, late Thursday afternoon.

Segovia

Segovia is a short trip from Madrid. It’s about 60 odd km and is home to the last Gothic Cathedral built in Europe, the Alcazar (a building that has served has a royal palace, a military training centre and a prison), and an 800m long Roman Aqueduct, built somewhere around the first century and up until a few years ago, still used!

Unfortunately, we hadn’t counted on the whole of Madrid coming to Segovia for the weekend – and spent a good period searching the streets for a room. Finally, my guide book saved us with a suggestion that turned out not only to have a room but also to be a reasonable price. We were even escorted to the room – which was in another building, a street or so from the hotel.

Next stop was food – not having eaten all day. We steered clear of the tourist restaurants, searching for a reasonable priced menu. We came across a little local restaurant – which had reasonably priced cochinillo asado (suckling pig) – a 16€ menu I think. A couple of bottles of wine, two courses later, we decided it was time to crash out.

Friday morning, we rose relatively early to have a look at this Roman aqueduct. As the oldest thing I have ever seen, it was spectactular. 2000 years old and only recently had it stopped being used. Plus it was built without the use of any mortar whatsoever – a marvel of the Roman ability to use keystones.

We journeyed on to Salamanca – the old university city. The philosopher, Unamuno went there and a professor Luis Fray was imprisoned and tortured during the Inquisition for five years. Upon returning to teaching, he started his next class with “As I was saying yesterday…” and continued on his merry way. It was all the seat of Franco’s government during the civil war.

Salamanca is a beautiful city, filled to the brim with huge 500-600 year old buildings. Every corner you turn appears new, which unfortunately resulted in us getting lost every ten minutes. Luckily, we had a map but it made the town seem 10 times larger than it actually was. This was particularly bad on the first night – when every Madrileno and his dog was there. It took us 2 and a half hours to find a hotel room. Everywhere, completo. Completo. Completo. It seriously looked like we would be sleeping in the car. But we were saved by a backstreet hotel, who had created a doble habitacion by adding to single beds. Dodgy but at least it was a room.

I do have some photos of the trip, but I’m having difficulty uploading. I will attach some asap (perhaps this w/end when I’m rested). On Monday, I have a Spanish exam. Not looking forward to it, but with significant study – instead of other options – I will hopefully be ok. I’m trying to talk more Spanish with my room mates, but with limited vocabulary, it’s difficult. There’s only so many ways you can say voy a la cama, soy cansado, que quieres etc without someone getting bored.

However, I no longer hear Spanish as a long string of words. I can distinguish the gaps and the voices have slowed down. I think this means I’m adjusting. I’m pretty sure my English is slowing down to an ultra slow pace. If I even try and talk at a normal pace with non-English speakers, they get the same look that I give when I hear Spanish. Y’know – that blank stare of confusion.

Well, I must head for bed. I’ve been slack with the blog of late, but it is tiring trying to work, live and communicate.

BTW, you can see some photos here http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=19812&l=bb8ca&id=627244273  (Salamanca)

and here

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=19810&l=8fa8f&id=627244273 (Segovia)

You never quite realise how much you miss the internet, until you haven’t got any access to it. For the past few weeks, basically since I started working, I haven’t been able to get near a locutorio to check the internet and it wasn’t until two days ago that our internet was connected at home. As I’ve said before ‘things happen slowly in Spain’ and Telefonica (the phone company) is one of these. Luckily, Rocio’s father works for Telefonica which means our place in the connection line sped up a little. Nevertheless, apologies to all and sundry for not being in contact. Now I have skype, now I have email, facebook, whatever, I’m here and alive. Don’t cry, Josh. (Anyone who doesn’t know Josh might not follow that comment).

So, on to news…

Well… there’s very little. We never made it to Zaragoza. Tom was booted from his room, because the guy’s mother wanted to stay and thus needed the weekend to search. I was left without any plans. There was talk of Toledo for cochinillo (suckling pig) but like many Spanish plans it became manana, manana. (Damn english keyboard not having the second n!) So I did very little. I recuperated, you could say.

Last weekend, though, I decided enough was enough. I didn’t want to sit around the house, and I didn’t want to fiesta too much. I decided to go to the Prado and be a proper ‘guiri’. I’d love to say I have pictures, but you can’t take pictures inside. I do have some of outside but it ain’t the prettiest building. I mean, it’s nice and all, but y’know, a little bland. The Goya’s inside are amazing though. By far my favourite pieces. La Pintura Negras are disturbingly brilliant, and I will consider going back to look at them more closely. (Sunday’s are free.)

Other than that, it’s been work. I may be repeating myself, but I start at 7am with the metro from Franco Rodriguez to Avenida de America – and then from Avenida de America to Arturo Soria – where I have two classes with EMTE Sistemas. Then I head to Puerta del Sol for a two hour Spanish class. then I head either to Pio Doce or Santiago Bernabeu, depending on the day and finally back to EMTE for two more classes. I walk out the door of EMTE at 7:30pm – head home, either to crash or plan lessons (generally the former) and get home about 8:30pm.

Seriously, anyone who reads this who is considering English teaching, be warned. 18 hours a week may sound easy but it’s really 18 hours pay for 40 hours work. But it’s not a bad job… except if you teach kids! (More on them some other time.)

Now, I hope you’re all satisfied. I’m going to watch Die Hard 4.0 in English and chill out, slowly becoming brain dead.

Hasta luego

I move into my room today…

 And my team gets thrashed in the AFL Grand Final.

I don´t know whether to be pleased or not.