Merry Christmas

So here it is, Merry Christmas, everybody's having fun... I'm home now in Ireland for the festive season but things changed for me in Spain before I left. I secured new lodgings in a town called Lugones. It is fifteen minutes on the bus from there to the college. I am now living with a Spanish family composed of Mother, Father and four children. It is a fine big house with lots of open space and lots of light coming in the windows. I have my own bedroom equipped with a table and chair for study purposes and a tv and dvd player for relaxation. They are happy to have me stay with them as they want the children to hear English being spoken on a daily basis. I am happy to stay there as I will be hearing informal and relaxed Spanish spoken on a daily basis. Everyone wins!

Unfortunately, Paco's has closed down. He told me it was time for him to move on; he is hoping to move back to Ireland in the New Year. I gave him my email address and asked that he look me up whenever he likes over the next few years. Paco was the first person to make me feel welcome in Oviedo and I shall miss him.

On the day I was due to come home I attended a meal that was hosted by L'esperteyu, the pub that I drink in every Wednesday night when it holds an intercambio for locals and foreigners to practice speaking Spanish and / or English. Myself and Kevin met up with Monica and Rosa, two ladies we know from the intercambio sessions. I always call Rosa 'Sarah Connor' because I think she looks like the character in the Terminator movies.

 

The menu was typical Asturian fare. Meals are usually served in three courses; el primero plato, el segundo y el postre. For my first dish I opted for the fabada asturiana, a traditional Asturian dish of beans with bits of pudding. For my second plate I went for the lamb, el cordero, which is served with a little bit of gravy, some roast potatoes and no vegetables. I finished off with a bit of sorbet. The food was lovely and the amount of wine was considerable, plus we were also served some type of fizzy cider which is a change from the usual non gaseous cider that is served in Asturias.

 

 

Everyone was chatting away in Spanish and Kevin and I fitted right in. Armando and Teresa, the owners of the pub made us both feel very welcome and made sure we were not excluded from the conversations around the table. The meal only cost 20 euro per head which I thought was excellent value.

 

 

 

 

After the meal all thirty of us went back to L'esperteyu for free cocktails made by Armando. It is his own recipe and he wouldn't divulge all the ingredients. It was basically Champagne, a cherry, and some other unknown liquid. When cocktails had finished we moved onto beer and I had to keep my eye on the clock as I had a bus to the airport to catch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before I left, Teresa and Armando presented tee-shirts to Kevin and me. I was given hugs and kisses from lots of people who insisted I swore that I was coming back to Oviedo after the Christmas. So I had a great last day in Oviedo and a great send off by my new friends.

I look forward to getting back to Spain in the New Year and meeting head-on the challenges of the second semester. Meanwhile I shall have to cram over the Christmas for the January exams which start for me on the 9^th of January.

I would like to wish all my friends and family a very peaceful and happy Christmas and a prosperous New Year.

tempus fugit

 Time flees.  It has been some time now since my last posting to this blog and I think it is about time that I got back in the saddle and bring my friends up to date with my Spanish experience.  The weather is more like Ireland now; it is cold and wet most days.  Christmas is in the air, shops are starting to put up decorations and festive lights are beginning to appear overhead on most of the main streets in the city.  One of the reasons I didn’t post much sooner is that I was sick with a chest infection that just would not go away.  I tried all the usual remedies; I attempted to flush it out with beer, I smoked more than usual, I even had a few hot whiskeys in Paco’s but to no avail.  After two weeks of coughing incessantly in class and feeling embarrassed when people asked me why I continued to smoke I eventually decided I needed antibiotics.  A quick trip to the chemist confirmed my fears; no prescription means no antibiotics.  I went to the health centre in the city centre with hopes of seeing a doctor.  A woman with a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp and a temperament to match practically threw my European Health Insurance Card back at me over the counter and told me I had to register with my local neighbourhood health centre.  With a smile and a painful cough I thanked her for her help.  I returned home to google my local health centre.  The next morning I arrived at the Centro de Salud de Barrio Naranco.  As my chest wrenching coughs echoed up and down the steep streets of Naranco I held in my sweaty hand all the paperwork I could possibly imagine they would ask for.  It turned out to be relatively easy; my Spanish is definitely improving.  I was seen by a doctor (no charge) who gave me a prescription for a week’s worth of antibiotics (7 euro) and the infection cleared up very soon after that.  I am now registered with the health centre and I can ring to make an appointment anytime I am in need of a doctor. Olé!

In saying that I must admit that to date I have not yet made any phone calls in Spain, too nervous, I fear the confusion that is bound to occur.  Either the person on the other end won’t understand me or I won’t understand them and then there will be awkward silences as they await an answer and I fight the impulse to hang up.  Someday, soon, I will do it.

Life continues in an amazingly boring and isolated way in the flat.  My flatmate Moises continues to not make any real effort to talk with me and at this stage I have basically given up trying.  When the bills arrive he leaves them on the kitchen table, I leave the money on the kitchen table.  The next day the bills and the money are no longer on the table.  The only time he talks to me is when he asks me not to stand so close to the mirror in the bathroom when I clean my teeth as he then has to wipe off the tiny splashes on the mirror.  Or if I use the washing machine too often he reminds me that the electricity bill is due soon.  There are no lights turned on in the flat unless it is absolutely essential.  Sometimes I have to use the light on my mobile phone in order to get to the light switch on the other side of the common living area so that I can make my way to the bathroom or kitchen without tripping over the dog who lies on the floor in the darkness. The common living area is a waste of space; neither of us use it.  That is because he stays in his bedroom 24/7 and I won’t sit out on the couch because I am made to feel uncomfortable.  The last time I did so to watch a DVD he walked past me with the dog to go for a walk, not a word spoken, he returned from the walk with the dog and again had to walk between me and the TV, still not a word spoken.  At least the dog came over to me and rubbed his head against my knee.  We now have internet and a landline.  The internet makes it a bit more bearable when I am in the flat as I can watch things online in my room.  Though as I have said the situation is quite uncomfortable and isolating so I will have to remedy that.  It is quite likely that I will be moving out of here in early January; I have been asked to move in with a Spanish family. The parents, who are both teachers, would like me to live with them so that their four children can practice speaking English with me.  It will of course improve my Spanish too.  I will keep you posted on how this works out folks.

I now have some part-time work as a teaching assistant in one of the local schools.  Six hours a week, four on Monday, two on Tuesday.  The name of the school is Colegio Santa Teresa De Jesus and caters for children from four years of age right up to eighteen years.  The college is up the road from where I am living at the moment.  When I say up the road I mean ‘up’ the road.  It is on the way to the Christ statue on the hill and no matter how cold a day it is I am still sweating after negotiating that incredibly steep gradient.  The school is nestled at the foot of the hill of El Cristo and looks out upon the city of Oviedo.  In the distance, beyond the city, the encroaching snow-capped mountains are an impressive sight and I get genuine pleasure simply standing on the road and drinking in the view.

 

 

 

I work with nine different classes.  Four of them are infant classes and they each get half an hour.  They are basically four and five year olds and I have stood in front of them and sang ‘One finger, one thumb keep moving’, ‘Old MacDonald had a Farm’ and ‘If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands’.  Then, while they sit on the floor I sit on a tiny little chair and read them a story, pointing at the pictures asking them to name different objects such as a dog, or a table.  I ask them if the duck in the picture is happy or sad, that kind of thing.  It is all in English and so it is pretty easy for me (I can speak English fluently). It is however highly embarrassing and if anyone I knew were to walk in while I was flapping my arms and clucking like a demented chicken I would feel obliged to kill them before they had the chance to notify the outside world what was going on.

The other classes are kids aged six to seven and eight to nine.  I can get away with the ‘one finger one thumb’ gig with the six year olds but the eight and nine year olds are studying science and when I asked one of them to explain to me distinctive features of a mammal I was told that it was viviparous.  Dumbfounded, I lowered my finger and thumb and nodded knowingly. "Well done young man", I said. I had to look the word up when I got home.  Over the past few weeks the kids seem to have taken a shine to me and as I walk through the corridors I am greeted from all directions with ‘Hola Colin’ or ‘Hello Colin, how are you today?’  Some of the girls insist on hugging my leg when I arrive at  the class. Love hearts have started to appear on the blackboard with the words ‘I love Colin’ written in them.  Some of them think it is hilarious that when they ask me a question in Spanish I reply to them in Spanish saying I can't speak Spanish and therefore don’t understand what they mean and that they will have to ask me again in English.  I separate the classes into teams and hold quizzes based on what they have been studying.  They seem to love that. 

Yesterday I was invited to have lunch with the staff  in the canteen.  I walked into el comedor a couple of minutes too early, before any of the staff had arrived. The canteen was still full of kids eating their lunch.  Immediately I was met with a chorus of ‘Hello Colin, how are you today?’  Each of them asking individually and expecting an individual answer.  As the children shouted and waved I noticed the catering staff looking at me, wondering who the celebrity was.  Each child is given a hot two course lunch and healthy dessert such as fruit or yogurt.  There is a playing field outside and a small running track.  The facilities are very impressive indeed.  All the staff have been very welcoming and helpful and there is always a real teacher present when I am with the children.  They all wear white coats and remind me of doctors or dentists.  You can see some of them in one of the photos.  The lunch was a two course meal consisting of pasta and chorizo with a large helping of pickled vegetables for el primer plato, el segundo was a large slice of tortilla with tuna.  Two large salad bowls sat on the table with olive oil in a bottle so that you could add according to taste.  A few of the teachers have practically no English but they are friendly and try to engage me in conversation.  The teachers that I work with appear to be pleased with me and tell me that I am doing very well with the kids.  As long as I can come up with songs with lots of actions for the little ones and can think up new games and quizzes for the older ones everything will be fine.  One finger one thumb will get old soon enough so any suggestions for keeping them entertained would be most grateful folks.

I think that is enough news for this posting.  I am involved with an informal language exchange that has been set up in L’esperteyu, the pub next door to Paco’s.  It is on every Wednesday night and it has really improved the social aspect of my stay here in Oviedo.  Perhaps my next blog will be about that.

Gijon

06/10/12

During the past week I have met some of the other Irish Erasmus students. There is Kevin who is studying Spanish and Irish in Galway. There are also three girls in their early twenties, (in the order they stand in the photo), Grainne, Roisin, and Stacy. Roisin is actually English but studying in Ireland. We chatted and compared our impressions of the city and the college. They remarked on how the bureaucracy involved with the paperwork was a total nightmare. I remarked that it was ridiculous that we still had to wait for our usernames and passwords. They told me that they were given theirs this week, when they paid to do an extra curricular intensive Spanish course, and could now log on to the system. (Deep breaths Colin, keep calm, don’t lose it). I have heard many theories as to why I am still waiting for mine. Some of the more plausible ones are: 

1). Because I handed my details in so early they are sitting at the bottom of the pile and the admin staff still haven’t reached the end of the pile (he who is first shall be last and he who is last shall be first). 

 2). The administration staff are working through the list of Erasmus students alphabetically according to the name of each University; this could well push Maynooth back to near the end of the list. 

 3). The administration staff have the system set up that when each Erasmus student pays to do the intensive Spanish course they will then automatically receive their username and password for the system. They may assume that everyone will apply to do the course. I have not elected to do the course, neither has Mairead.

As far as I can tell we are the only two with no access to the system. Meanwhile I am expected to access notes and prepare work for class. When I arrive to class I am asked why I haven’t done the preparatory work, (deep breaths).

I have emailed my learning coordinator about it and he has emailed back saying he will look into it. One of my lecturers said she would make enquiries. She emailed me yesterday saying that she was told that the system was down, (only the part for Erasmus students) and they didn’t know when it would be back up again. I thanked her for making the enquiry on my behalf but I informed her that all my fellow students from Ireland were given their usernames and passwords just this very week gone by. Watch this space…….

Yesterday was the first day I have been outside Oviedo since I arrived nearly six weeks ago. Kevin and I hopped on a bus to the city of Gijon, arranging to meet the girls there. The journey takes no more than 20-25 minutes and costs 4.40 euro return. Gijon is right on the coast and boasts two lovely beaches. It was refreshing to smell the sea air as soon as we got off the bus. It was about 3.00 in the afternoon; everywhere was very quiet, not many people to be seen about the place. Gijon is a strange mix of beautiful Romanesque architecture and modern industry. A photo taken of a statue from one angle will show a background steeped in history; taken from another angle, modern buildings are the backdrop.  There are two beaches separated by the port. Further on past one of the beaches can be seen some sort of industrial complex that looks ugly and in my opinion takes away from the otherwise beautiful views of the coastline. The weather has been unusually hot for the time of year. Yesterday, the 5^th of October, the temperature was about 27 degrees and the sun shone so brightly that I had to wear my sunglasses and don my cap to stop my head burning. We walked the length of one beach. Watching people swimming and surfing I wished I had brought my swimming togs with me. A dip in the Cantabrian Sea would have been nice right then.

We met the girls on the esplanade coming the opposite way. They were going for a swim and a bit of sunbathing. They had another girl with them but never bothered to introduce her to me or Kevin. We chatted for a while and then agreed to meet up later in Dominoes Pizza, who have an ´all you can eat´ deal for 6 euro. Kevin and I moved on around the coastline taking photos and marvelling at how quiet the place was compared to Oviedo. I have posted photos of the beach and the battery that is located on the headland or lookout point, el Cerro de Santa Catalinal. The battery is built into the headland rather than on the headland and is quite aesthetically pleasing to the eye.  

Something I found very curious was the modern sculpture or installation located on the lookout point. It looks like something that would grace the cover of a Pink Floyd album. It is just a large concrete structure. I have posted a photo of it here on this page. When you stand in the centre of this structure some sort of sound effect or illusion happens. As you are standing on the lookout point and the sea is below you it sounds as if the sea is actually somewhere above your head. Strange indeed.

Like Oviedo there are many statues and sculptures dotted about the city of Gijon. There is a statue of King Pelayo, who I think was the first king of Asturias. There is a statue of Octavius Augustus, the first emperor of Rome, the original ‘first among equals’, I couldn’t get the pigeon who was sitting on his head to shift while I was posing for the photo. There are Roman baths located below ground level but unfortunately it was closed at the time but I will be back to have a proper guided tour of them. 

Kevin and I wound our way down to the port and looked at the fish swimming in the clear waters of the harbour. The whole place is very clean and with the sunshine reflecting off the water I kept getting urges to jump into the water. It was a really beautiful day and it felt so good to be away from the hustle and noise of Oviedo.

We are tired from walking and so we meet up with the girls as arranged and stuff our faces with cheap pizza. After that we walk back along the promenade heading for the bus station. It is about 7.30 in the evening and people are still swimming and surfing. As we walk past the harbour the sun decides to set in a way that tends to get artists all in a tizzy. Unfortunately my camera isn’t good enough to capture the beauty of the moment. I take a photo anyway. The place is now jammed packed with people. They are all out on the streets and occupying every seat outside every café and restaurant. Musicians are playing on street corners and the night is loud with Spanish conversations. ‘I shall return here with friends’, I think to myself.

The day was a pleasant introduction to a lovely city and I know I shall be back to Gijon several times over the coming year to explore it even more.

España... ¡por favor!

29/09/2012

Okay, it has been a week now. My grandmother was buried last Wednesday. I decided not to go home for the funeral as I would lose too much ground here in Oviedo at such an early stage and it would make the rest of the year nigh on impossible. The reports from home are that it was a very nice funeral and that everything went off very well. I feel for my mother who, obviously, lost her mother and I feel for my father who has been an attentive son-in-law for around 44 years or more.

Not a lot has happened since my last post, I have attended no more midnight performances in church nor have I climbed anymore local peaks. I suppose I am settling into everyday life; the honeymoon is over so to speak. Therefore I shall give you a brief narrative of some of my interactions with the locals. First I shall look at the negative or ‘challenging’ aspects; then I shall look at the positive.

To begin, Spaniards really don’t give a damn about small problems. Something that is dealt with almost straight away at home can be ignored here for months or a life time if need be. Please note that all conversations reported here have been in Spanish and involved some effort on my part and no effort whatsoever on their part.

I am informed in class that I need to read the notes posted on the ‘campus virtual’ before I attend the next class. The ‘campus virtual’ is on the University website and everyone needs a username and password to access this treasure trove of information. I am still awaiting my username and password. When I approach the administration office regarding this problem (remember, all conversations in Spanish) I am asked if I have actually registered with the University yet. I respond that yes I have actually registered with the University three weeks ago. They ask to see my passport and then press a few buttons on their keyboard. I am then notified that yes I am correct; I do not in fact have a username or password yet. When I do have a username and password I will be notified by email… next please.

I come home from college and decide to have a shower. At least with a cascade of cleansing hot water I can wash out the stresses of the day. The hot water is powered by gas. I slide the switch half way to the right and press it in until the pilot light is showing, I release the switch slowly and the pilot light remains lit. I then slide it fully to the right and hey presto we have instant hot water. Two minutes into my shower the water is freezing cold. Clad only in a towel and a pair of chanclas (flip flops) to stop Rocco’s hairs sticking to my feet I am pressing on the switch to re-ignite the gas pilot light. After ten minutes of manic button pressing I have dried off and still the pilot light has not taken. Cursing, swearing and banging cupboard doors loudly do not solve the problem; Moises stays in his bedroom. I go back to the bathroom to finish off with a cold shower before I get dressed and head off to the local cibercafe because we still don’t have internet in the flat, (another long story I am not prepared to go into here).

In the local cybercafe or locutorio custom and practise is to turn off the computer when you are finished. The next person to use it has to turn it back on again and wait for it to load up once more. I turn it on and after three minutes of staring at the screen I see that it is hanging and needs to be rebooted. I reboot it. Four minutes later I am still waiting to use the internet; it is still getting around to rebooting up ready for use. I pull my fingernails out from the wood of the table and go to see the guy at the desk. I tell him that I am waiting nearly ten minutes to use the internet. He shrugs his shoulders and says that it takes a while for it to kick in if there are a lot of people using it. I go back to my desk and reread the text messages on my phone to pass the time. The internet is now finally available. I do what I need to do while there are people on either side of me shouting into microphones, communicating with their loved ones through Skype. There is a potpourri of languages in the room vying for dominance, French, Italian, German, Asian, Indian, Moroccan and other African dialects. I just want to access my gmail. I need to print stuff for college. I send the documents to print. I log off. I go to pay the guy and tell him that I have printed stuff. He tells me there is nothing waiting to print, that I need to go and print it again. I go back upstairs and turn the computer back on again. I wait for it to turn on. It hangs. I wait for the computer to reboot yet again. I now have personal experience of Einstein’s theory of relativity, how time can warp and how space can actually bend. I go back downstairs to ask him if I will ever get out of here and father children before I die. He explains that it takes a while if there are a lot of people using the internet at once. I acknowledge this, thank him, and return to the desk to work on my ulcer.

He decides to help the foreigner by standing beside me and showing me how to print a file by doing exactly what I have already done to no avail. I tell him I have done this before; he shrugs his shoulders and sends my file to print, no problem.

I get home, Moises has decided to get out of bed; it is after all five o’clock in the afternoon. I tell him that the hot water is not working. He rubs his eyes, shrugs his shoulders and tells me that the same has happened to him. Moises doesn’t talk to me very often and it is quite disconcerting to be honest. I am always the one to instigate conversation and he obviously has a problem with how I pronounce ‘trabajas’ (you work) because he always replies with ‘tabacos?).

Basically, after trying my best to communicate with him that I have a pain in my backside with only getting half a hot shower his attitude seems to be that the problem does not lie so much with the shower not working but more with me being in a frame of mind of wanting the shower to work. If I can chill out a bit and reach the stage where I don’t care if the shower works or not I will feel a lot better about the shower not working.  Bloody marvellous philosophy!

Meanwhile people in college approach me and ask me where I am from. They ask to exchange phone numbers with me so that we can meet up for a coffee and practise Spanish and English together. They then promptly don’t ring me. I don’t hear from them ever again. I sit in class and I am impressed with myself that I can understand a lot of what the lecturer is saying. Having a foreign language enter your head and recognizing what is being said is not the same thing as hearing it and retaining it for further action. While I hear and understand what is being said I promptly forget it as I process the next few lines of the lecturer’s speech. Everyone around me is scribbling like a maniac, taking down every word he is saying as if it were being delivered from Mount Sinai. I look behind me during the lecture, there are two very young Chinese girls, one is staring into space, the other is drawing pictures in her notebook. Later on, after class I meet them briefly on the street, I ask them if they could follow what was being said in the lecture. ‘Not a word of it’, they reply. They don’t appear too worried about it. It has only been a month I tell myself, I need to relax a bit and just let the experience wash over me. Tranquillo chico, no te preocupes. Que será, será.

It is now Friday and I have let things slip a bit. I have missed a linguistics tutorial on Thursday because I misread the timetable but I turn up for one on Friday morning to replace it. The lecturer is happy enough to let me join the class. I am one of the students they find easy to remember. I sit at the front of class, I look like I don’t know what is going on, I am balder than everyone else in the class and I am biologically old enough to be the father of everyone else in the class. I do make an impression on my lecturers. He asks if everyone understands the content of everything we have covered so far. Everyone replies that yes they do understand. I think to myself, ‘Sod it’, and raise my hand and say that I don’t understand everything and that ‘Quiero repasar todo’. After the lecturer explains everything to me again in Spanish and I pretend to understand everything he is saying, other hands are raised in the class to ask questions about the subject matter that they don’t understand. Say no more…..

Friday night I arrive at Paco’s. I don’t care if I speak to anybody; each conversation involves effort because it is not in English and it can be very draining. Paco greets me warmly and asks how college is going. I love this man and in a moment of weakness I tell him that I miss home, I miss my friends and family and that I feel totally lost in college. He smiles warmly, puts his hand on my arm and says ‘Hay que asistir y seguir. Estoy seguro que todo te va bien’. That is… ‘90% of success is turning up, I’m sure it will work out good for you’. Mairead, the only other Erasmus student from Maynooth turns up for a drink and we chat (and moan) about how the week has gone. Ángel, the organ player arrives and shakes my hand. He asks me how college is going. I tell him it is going very well. He leaves me to it and goes to sit at the end of the bar on his own. María, the girl who gave me a ‘reading’ in my first week turns up. She obviously remembers me as she shouts a greeting across the bar to me and then informs me that I have had a haircut and a shave since she last saw me. I smile and greet her too. Her powers of reading people are frankly astounding. She introduces me to her friends, we chat a little and then they move on to a table away from me and Mairead so that they can speak Spanish at the speed of light.

The alcohol kicks in, I feel more relaxed. As I make my way towards the toilet, the people I have mentioned make eye contact with me and smile. Ángel pats me on the back as I pass; María smiles and waves; the two young Chinese girls nod towards me and smile as young Spanish guys frantically try to get off with them. The night passes. Everyone leaves one by one. Only Mairead, Paco and I remain. Paco locks up the place and sits with us inside the pub. We chat about this and that. With the few drinks on me my curiosity gets the better of me and I ask him about the girl who calls every night for the free sandwiches. He explains that she is gitano (gypsy) and that she is only 24 years of age. She has three children and she is looking for a divorce from her husband. He still lives in the house with her but that it is very hard to get a divorce in the gitano culture. We say no more on the subject.

It is about 2.00am now. I ask Paco how much I owe him. He says he doesn’t know. ‘How much did you drink?’ he asks. I pay him and sit down to eat the free pinxo he has given me. Before I leave he hands me a bag with two bottles of beer in it. ‘Para tu casa amigo’, he says. I smile; I’m here for the next ten months, for better or worse. I think it will be for the better.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MOTHER.  21 AGAIN TODAY. XXX 

Camino mío

21/09/2012

Take me away from the city and lead me to where I can be on my own.  (Bagatelle, 1980)

It is the ‘Fiesta de San Mateo’. They have been celebrating it all week but today it is the finale and Moises tells me that there will be many ‘borrachos’ (drunks) tonight. Since college is closed today I decide to walk up to the statue of El Cristo, which has been staring down at me from the hilltop since my arrival over three weeks ago.

Carrying my backpack which holds two bananas, a bottle of water, my camera, mis gafas del sol, and wearing my baseball cap and Bermuda shorts I set off with no real idea of how long it will take. Moises tells me it will take about three hours to walk to the statue. Paco assures me forty minutes to an hour… The statue is very close as the crow flies but it is on a very steep hillside. The road winds leisurely back and forth to reach it. Ten minutes walking from the flat I am at the base of the hill.

Immediately there is a steep incline, it is a narrow pathway from the main road up through some fields. I walk slowly and steadily to conserve energy. Maybe I should have had some breakfast before I left, I think to myself. It is now 11.00am. Should I be walking up the side of a steep hill as the sun is rising to its highest point? Crazy fool! Although it is September the temperature at the moment is 25 degrees and already I am being to sweat. I pass two old women who stand at a gate chatting. They greet me and I reply with ‘Buenos días señoras’. They smile and turn back to their conversation. Further up the path two butterflies accompany me for a while, one orange the other green and yellow. Their dancing is too erratic for me to get a proper photograph. Soon I come to the main road that leads up to El Cristo. Other walkers are ahead of me, I greet yet more as they come down the steep road. A cyclist in all the gear passes me as he makes his way uphill, his arse out of the saddle, swinging methodically from side to side. I like to walk, the steady low impact motion helps me to focus and concentrate.

I think about my first week in college. I call to mind the people who approach me and introduce themselves. Alberto is an elderly gentleman who also speaks English very well. While we sit in the linguistics lecture he turns to me and asks if I’m following everything; this makes me smile. Juan Carlos, a young guy in his twenties from Peru asks me if I would consider signing up for the Tandem Programme as he hasn’t got an English speaking partner yet with whom he can intercambiar. Nesli, a woman from Turkey approaches me in the library. She is doing her doctorate on comparative literature and is spending the year in Oviedo to improve her Spanish. I have seen her in my Spanish Literature class. We talk for about ten minutes about how difficult it is to understand the lectures and marvel at the intricate and occult details of the timetable. In the English literature classes I marvel at the students’ high level of English. The lecturers are very supportive and at different times I am stopped in the corridor for a chat and enquiries are made as to how I am doing. Another lecturer replies to my email, assuring me that I am not bothering him and that if I have any more doubts about anything I am to let him know.

I stop at the side of the road to take some water. High above me I hear a droning noise, it is someone flying a motorised hang-glider, I look up and the sweat stings my eyes. Soon I come to an old church of historic and cultural value; at least that is what the sign says. There are guided tours around this area, but not today, it is the feast day of Saint Matthew. 

 I spot my first lizard on the side of the road and take a photo before he disappears. More cyclists pass me heading up the winding road and soon I come to a restaurant named ‘Buenos Aires’. A fitting name, the air is indeed good up here. The smell of cooking teases me, there is a heavy charcoal smell; must be a barbeque. I think of the bananas in my bag and decide not to bother just yet. Families, heading up to have picnics at the summit, pass me in their cars. The children look at me through the back window as the car disappears around the next curve.

Eventually I am starting to believe that the road is not going to lead to El Cristo but is in fact going to lead me to somewhere else such as Barcelona or Valencia. Then I see it, a sign pointing out a pedestrian pathway, a short cut up to the statue. It won’t be long now, I think. The path is almost vertical and I have to stop half way up to catch my breath. I drink some more water and wipe my forehead and eyes with my handkerchief. I realize my tee-shirt is saturated and that I can actually squeeze the water from it. The clouds cover the sun and it gets much cooler. The sweat on my body cools accordingly. I wish I had brought a second tee-shirt. 

 I have a feeling I am being watched. I take a photo of the steep path and then resolve to continue on...

At last I reach him. He stands there, arms wide open to welcome me. It has taken me just one hour and forty minutes.

 There are people there, looking out over the city of Oviedo. German and French tourists take photos of the landscape and pose beside the pedestal. I stand and gaze up; the sun comes out again and shines upon him. 

As I stand at the very base and look up I get a feeling of vertigo, as if I am about to fall off the planet and plunge into the deep and wide open sky.

After I take a few photos I sit down to take some nourishment and look out upon the city. I can see the Campus de Milan where I attend college. I can see the apartment block where I live, I can see the Campus de San Francisco in the centre of the city. On the horizon shrouded in a haze sit more mountains. All around for 360 degrees there are mountains. The sound of church bells ringing below in the city travels up to the summit. The noise of traffic can’t reach up this far. I send a text to mi novia, telling her where I am and that she will have to come here with me sometime. She replies that she would love to. Te extraño cariño.

I sit there for half an hour, taking in the view and thinking about life, the universe and everything. My thoughts go out to my grandmother. Having been told earlier by phone that she has been taken very ill, I sit and think about her. I remember times spent with her when I was a child. She has always been very good to me. She is a very strong woman of ninety one years of age; I hope she will pull through and that I will see her again.

It is time to go back to the flat. I may head out later for a drink and to see Oviedo in full fiesta mode but I also have a mountain of reading to do. I have climbed one hill today but the college work won’t be surmounted quite so quickly.

Hasta pronto amigos

Eileen Curtis RIP

4th September 1921 - 22nd September 2012

I´m sorry I didn´t say goodbye when I had the chance.

Back to school

16/09/2012

Well I have officially started attending classes. It was a nightmare trying to find out where I was supposed to be for each class and consequently I missed my first few lectures.

Inside the college is very modern and very clean. The main stairs located at the lobby by the main door are impressive with a large modern painting adorning the wall half way up the stairway. It gives one a feeling of culture and refinement but without the stuffiness and self aggrandizement projected by some other Universities.

You may all remember that Spanish students come to Ireland every summer to improve their English; most of them are only children. We have seen them huddle together sitting on grass verges or indeed blocking the pathways. Well imagine those children about five years older. I have sat in a room with about fifty of them and felt very old indeed. I found that when I took my seat they gave me a wide berth and I stuck out like a sore thumb. Hopefully things will improve. Maybe when they realise I am a native English speaker some of them may be disposed to talking to me to practise their English. Thankfully, in the Spanish Literature class I am not the only mature student: there is Mairead, the girl from Maynooth, there is another girl who I guess is in her late thirties or early forties and some Spanish guy who looks to be in his late sixties.  So I am not the only one feeling a bit odd and out of place.

For anyone who is interested, the subjects I have chosen for my first semester are the following; Spanish Literature, texts and contexts, Hispano-American Literature, texts and contexts, Spanish Linguistics, An Introduction to English Literature, An Introduction to the Culture of the Anglo sphere. I was unable to choose Latin as it clashed with two of the Spanish subjects and I need a minimum amount of credits in Spanish to complete the year to Maynooth’s satisfaction. Here is a copy of my timetable which I have cobbled together from all the disparate information that is floating around on the University website. As you can see it is handy enough for me on a Monday should anyone be over to visit me for the weekend.

It will, of course, be wrong and I will have to change it when I end up in the wrong class. At least I have something to work with at the moment. It also changes every second week so the class locations listed on this timetable will not necessarily be the class locations for next week. So far I have attended the two English classes and the Spanish Literature class. I was late for the first English class because I was at room 11 and waiting for everyone else to turn up but when nobody arrived I went looking for the information desk. They explained to me there that I should be in room -11, menos once, which is actually downstairs in the basement. Such fun. The English classes will be conducted in English and students are expected to hand in work in English only. The Spanish class was delivered by a guy who spoke in a low monotone and I was sitting near the back of the class, therefore it was a strain to hear him, never mind understand him. I shall have to sit up near the front next time and try to work out what is actually going on. I have missed the Hispano-American lectures so far as we had to attend an Erasmus student meeting to welcome us to the college. I am still awaiting my username and password so that I can log on to the virtual campus and find all the information I need. Hopefully that will happen this coming week. I won’t hold my breath.

Other news, Moises has promised to go to the County Council with me tomorrow to show them his DNI card so that I can get my empadronamiento card. ´What is this card of which you speak?´, I hear you say. Well, every municipality in Spain holds a record of local residents: the Padron. This is held at the town hall (Ayuntamiento). I suppose the Irish equivalent would be the electoral role or something like that. If you are planning to live here and have children, it gives you the right to enrol them in the local schools (if places are limited registered children will get preference). It also allows you to take advantage of local leisure facilities with discounted fees at the municipal sports centre. It is often necessary when looking for work via the equivalent of FAS or the dole. I have been speaking with my brother, Gary, who has been living in Valencia for the last five years and he told me that he hasn´t bothered applying for his ´patron´ yet; he just couldn´t be bothered. Now there is a man who integrated into this country. For me getting that card is the last step in completing all the paperwork and it is a matter of principle at this stage; I just want to get it sorted so that I won´t have been beaten by the pen pushers.

He also sent me the following link which you guys should have a look at. It takes a light-hearted look at Spanish bureaucracy and it is good to see the ´system´being beaten for a change.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wtbQUaC9mE&feature=share 

Hasta pronto amigos.