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.

Hombre, tranquillo

 

12/09/2012

Today’s blog is coming at you from Paco’s.

Okay, I’m back.  It has been a quite stressful week to say the least but I think I am through the worst of it (until classes start).  I have my Irish mobile phone back online so anyone wanting to send me a text message please send it to my Irish mobile, thanks.

Classes start tomorrow at 10.00am.  My first class is linguistics but I have no idea where it is taking place.  Right at this moment I couldn’t care less; I have resigned myself to the fact that I won’t be there.  I need to get my username and password for the college website before I can see my timetable and where each class is taking place.  Tomorrow will be spent trying to find the Secretaria de mi Centro de Estudios, so that he or she can give me my código y pin de usuario.  Hopefully then I will be able to find out where I am supposed to be.  I had a very stressful day today getting paperwork sorted with the police and the local county council.  Here is an excerpt of an email I sent to mi novia today.  I wasn’t expecting her to do anything about it; I just needed to let off steam to someone….

"What a shower of bloody stupid fecking..$%"@$@!!&.  I am constantly walking back and forward from one office or building to another, getting forms stamped and signed and all that nonsense.  I got sorted with my NIE (identification number for foreigners); it is just a tiny piece of paper, not even sturdy enough to be called a card.  I filled out the form, then they sent me to the bank to pay 10.30 euro and then back to them to issue me the piece of paper.  They then suggest that I get it laminated as it will not last very long if I don’t.  How about you guys laminate it before you give it to me? I think to myself but I just smile and say ´gracias´.

I go back to the University building where I queued the other day.  Leopoldo, the professor, said I was to go there to get my learning co-coordinator’s signature on the learning agreement changed before sending it to Eduardo in Maynooth.  They tell me she is not in this building and tell me to go to the Milan campus, (where I was with Leopoldo) I will find her there.

Before that I go to the County Council to get my citizen card.  They take all my details and input them onto the computer.  I show them the letter signed by Moises stating that I am sharing an apartment with him.  I show them a copy of a bill with his name and address on it.  They can’t process anything until I show up with his original DNI card as proof that he exists.  For God's sake!!!

I then go back to the college to hand in my choice of lessons to the girl in the Casa de las Lenguas building.  I ask her where I can find the learning co-ordinator to co-sign my learning agreement changes.  She points out that Leopoldo did not sign the original learning agreement and that that needs to be done too.  Then she directs me to another building to find the learning co-ordinator.  When I arrive there they inform me that she is at a meeting and will be available either later today or tomorrow."

Aaaarrgghhh!!!!!

At some stage I realize that I need to slow down before I have a feckin’ stroke.  If everyone else here is so laid back and not appearing to really give a damn, well then, why should I?  I essentially have 90% of the paperwork done and so I’m going to take a back seat now and finish the paperwork in the style of a Spaniard – mañana, mañana.

I really have no right to be complaining as I am getting to live in Spain for a year at the taxpayers’ expense (I did pay taxes for 20 years).  I freely admit I am in a great position and I am very lucky to be where I am right now.  The economic situation in Spain is actually worse than it is in Ireland.  There is a higher rate of unemployment.  Moises for example sits around the flat most days waiting for phone calls offering him a days work here or there as a waiter.  It is quite obvious that a lot of people here are feeling the strain.  Like Ireland there are plenty of places looking to buy gold and offer instant payment.

As I mentioned before people are unhappy with social services and periodically there are protests on the streets.  I have also noticed a lot of graffiti around stating the banks are to blame, that people are sick of being dehumanized and treated only as numbers.  A lot of the graffiti is based around the University Campus.  Here are a few examples…

I signed up to a program in the college whereby I am paired up with a Spaniard who helps me with things like finding classrooms and offices and helping me should I need information regarding the city and such.  Her name is Paola and I met her this evening.  She is very nice and we chatted for about an hour.  There wasn’t much she could help me with as I have most things done and I need my password before I can find my classrooms.  Working out my timetable and choice of subjects I am working with two different codes assigned to each subject.  Paola showed me her list of subjects and timetable on the University website and they were listed with a third set of codes, dios mio.  She explained that the paperwork is always horrendous but once it is done I can relax and concentrate on why I am here in Spain.  It was good to make contact with her and I have her mobile number should I need assistance with anything in college.

On a lighter note Oviedo really is a lovely city and I would urge everyone to come and see it.  Everywhere you look there are statues and sculptures.  There is even a statue of Woody Allen.  He made a film called Vicky, Christina, Barcelona and the character played by Javier Bardem takes the two girls to his home town of Oviedo.  So I suppose the statue is a way of saying thank you for putting Oviedo on the map, so to speak. 

The main park in the centre of the city is the Campo de San Francisco.  There is a path around it where many people sit and chat, especially in the evening.  There is a part on the edge of the park where the date is shown in grass.  Each morning somebody changes the date; I find it quite pleasing to look at for some reason.  I think the park may become an area that I will spend time in relaxing and just watching the world go by.

The people here are crazy about dogs.  Everywhere you look there are people out walking with their mascotas.  Moises takes Rocco out at least twice a day.  Outside some shops I have seen places for tying up your dog while you go shopping.  It is not often that you will see dog excrement on the streets or in the parks as everyone is very conscientious about cleaning up and keeping the place clean.

Speaking of keeping the place clean, every night at about 3 or 4 o’clock there is refuse collection of some sort or other, be it cardboard, general waste or glass.  I am getting used to hearing trucks pulling up outside and bins being dragged along the paths or glass smashing as it is thrown into the back of a truck.  Roads are washed down with high power hoses at all hours of the morning.  It is a wonder anyone gets any sleep.

Just one question folks.  Is the sculpture below supposed to represent the female or male form?

Hasta luego.

Mobiles and Paperwork

04/09/12

I thought it would be a good idea to get a Spanish mobile phone.  I believed it would work out cheaper for me; not so.  I bought the cheapest mobile phone I could get in Movistar, €25 with €6 free credit.  I got one of those flip-top ones that aren’t all the rage anymore.  The girl in the shop set the phone up for me and I gave her my passport so she could enter my details on her computer.  When I got home and had a look at the print out of my details I noticed that they had listed my nationality as being Israeli, hmmm.

With my 6 euros free credit at the ready I proceeded to send about five or six texts to various people in Ireland informing them of my new number.  Immediately afterwards I received a text from Movistar:  El saldo de su tarjeta es inferior a 2 euros.  It had cost me over 4 euros to send a few texts.  Emma, my friend from Tarragona, rang me later and explained that it is very expensive to send a text outside of Spain.  When I use my old phone with Meteor it only costs 11c per text.  I shall have to sort out an online account with Meteor and top up with my debit card.  To be honest I don’t regret buying the phone from Movistar as I now have a Spanish number, which should come in handy if I find work. I think the local folk will be more inclined to ring me or text me if the number is a Spanish one.

I recently received an email from Emma explaining the situation with SESPA (see previous post on this blog).  This year there has been a lot of cuts in the health system and the education system.  The sign basically says that if you want to have a bad experience go to SESPA.  Since that protest I have seen SESPA everywhere.  Only today I looked out the kitchen window and I saw an ambulance parked outside, I think some poor old dear had fallen on the street. 

I don’t have any more photos to post at the moment so here is a photo of me and Emma in the Gothic District of Barcelona last year:

En Asturias, la gente que te abre su casa como si fueses su hermano.

While the above statement is true I know from personal experience that it also applies to Catalonia.  Muchas gracias Emma, besos y abrazos.

While I was having a beer in Paco’s last night he insisted that I accompany him down the road to a favourite sidrería of his.  I was kicking myself that I didn’t have my camera with me nor my notebook because now I can’t give you guys the name of the sidrería nor show you Paco pouring the cider from the bottle to the glass.  ¡Qué lástima! We stood at the bar and Paco ordered one bottle and one glass.  It was then I noticed the bucket at his feet.  Standing with the bucket at his feet and with the glass held very low and the bottle above his head at arms length Paco stared straight in front, as if he were staring into space.  He tipped the bottle and the flow from the lip of the bottle found the lip of the glass.  Still staring straight ahead Paco corrected the trajectory until the cider flowed into the glass.  With the glass about one third full he handed it to me to taste the cider.  I sipped at it but he told me that I must drink it all down in one go; I happily complied.  He then went through the same procedure again, with the same glass, and then drank the cider himself in one gulp.  There is no gas in the cider and therefore it is poured from a height to aerate it before consumption.  I must say it is much tastier than the fizzy Bulmers at home.  We polished off the bottle in a matter of minutes and then headed back to his pub as I had arranged to meet Mairead who had recently arrived; Mairead is the only other student from Maynooth who is in Oviedo this year.

Today I went to register with the University of Oviedo.  Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork!  There is a lot of it folks.  Thankfully I had as much of it done as I could before I left Ireland but what I have left to do will all be conducted through Spanish.  Again I must remark on the friendliness and helpful attitude of the Spaniards in Oviedo.  I had to queue at a counter for about 20 minutes but when it was my turn I was brought to the desk of a lovely woman named Teresa.  From the start she told me to stop her at any time if she was speaking too fast or if I didn’t understand anything.  She was also very helpful in that she did some scanning of documents at my request and emailed them for me.  I was given a folder containing a map of the city and a map of the city bus routes, information on all aspects of the University and information on places of interest and places to visit all over Asturias.  She explained then that the computer system was down and that I would have to come back next week to register properly.  In the meantime I would have a lot to do.  I have to call to the local police station to register the fact I will be living in Spain for the next year, I have to call to some other office to get a citizens card, I will have to get a letter from Moises providing the address of our flat and explaining that I will be living at that address for the next year.  He is happy enough to sign it if I write it.  I also have to find a woman called Clara in the library who will in turn set up a meeting between me and my allocated professor for the year.  This is by way of introduction and to have an informal chat with him about the subjects I have chosen to study and to see if he will agree that I am capable of doing them.  Classes start on the 13^th of September and apparently I have until the 1^st of October to change my mind about any of the subjects I shall be studying.

I hope friends and family at home are all well and when I get my mobile sorted I shall begin texting you guys again.

Later guys.

I have found my local

02/09/12

Well, as the title says, I have found my local.  I did a quick search of Irish pubs in Oviedo and two appeared side by side on Calle Jovellanos, Paco’s Pinte and L’esperteyu; a real Irish name indeed.  I arrived at L’esperteyu and ordered a pint.  I was given a pint glass of Amstel, the beer had a head on it the size of a doorstep.  After downing such a ‘heady’ beverage I realised I was hungry.  They didn’t serve food but luckily there was snack bar down the road a bit that offered kebabs, hmmm… kebabs, cheap and nasty.  One kebab and a bottle of Heineken cost €5.30, good value.  With the hole in my stomach filled I headed for Paco’s.  When I ordered a bottle of beer Paco smiled and asked me what part of Ireland I was from.  We struck up a conversation then. He told me he had lived in Galway for eight years and that he was in love with Ireland.  He also gave me the names of the siderías to visit and more importantly the ones to avoid.

 

Later, while I was sitting outside alone having a smoke, he came out with a large hardback book about Asturias.  It is full of glossy photos of the region and gives a lot of details and suggestions of where to visit.  When I gave it back to him at the bar he told me to hold on to it for a while and to return it to him some other day when I was finished reading it.  Soon I witnessed another act of kindness by this man.  A young girl in her late teens or early twenties came in and stood at the bar.  She didn’t look very well, there were dark rings under her eyes and she had a tired and sad look upon her face.  Paco greeted her and then proceeded to collect the remaining sandwiches he had for sale, place them in a bag and hand them to her.  She thanked him and left without paying him or saying another word….   

 

Paco is an excellent host and seemed to be very aware of my sitting alone at the bar.  He called a guy over and introduced him to me with instructions that he speak to me and explain to me what he does for a living.  The guy’s name is Ángel (26 yrs) and he plays the organ in the local church.  When I expressed interest in what he does he asked me if I would like to hear him play.  I said that it would be nice to hear him play someday.  He explained that he could play for me now, no problem, and went home to get the keys to the church. 

So, approaching midnight Ángel opened the doors to Iglesia de la corte and introduced me to a church built in the early 1700’s.  Asturias pretty much held out against the Moorish invaders for 800 years and the church itself has no Moorish influence in its architecture.  It is hard-core Roman Catholic.  There are two organs in the church and a harmonium.  Ángel played the harmonium first, showing me how the notes are produced by air driven through metal reeds by foot-operated bellows.  Then we went to the side of the altar and he played on the electric organ.  I have posted a video of his playing; make sure your PC is audio enabled when you view it.  The other organ up on the balcony at the back of the church is from the 18^th century and is gigantic.  There are workmen in at the moment and so the organ is covered in plastic to protect it.  Ángel insisted I come upstairs with him to see it.  I stood on the balcony overlooking the pews below while he knelt down and reached under the plastic to play the small keyboard.  The sound of it nearly knocked me off the balcony.  I can’t express in words the feeling of the sounds travelling from the pipes through my body and resonating around the empty church.  What an unexpected experience, to be slightly inebriated and standing in an old empty Spanish church at midnight listening to the church organ being played.  I didn’t take a photo of it as it wouldn’t do it justice being covered in plastic.  Ángel informed me that it would be uncovered in a week or two and that I could come back then to see and hear it properly.

 

I asked him if he played anywhere else besides in this church.  Smiling, he told me that he had played for the Pope in Rome and also he had played in France and Belgium.  He explained to me that playing the organ was his life and that the large organ he had just played was his novia (girlfriend). 

We headed back to Paco’s then so that I could buy him a beer.  Standing outside for a smoke I took a photo of Paco and Ángel, then Paco took a photo of myself and Ángel.  He explained to me that he had just taken a photo of all three of us together.  I was confused and wondering if I hadn’t understood exactly what he had said.  He pointed to the stencil on the wall behind me, it is a picture of him done like the famous image of Che Guevera by Jim Fitzpatrick.

 

 

Ángel had to leave then.  We shook hands and I thanked him for his time and we agreed that we would meet up again soon for a beer.  When I had ordered one more beer for the road Paco introduced me to a girl who was sitting alone at the bar.  With two paper roses in her hair and a cup of herbal tea in front of her she smiled warmly as we shook hands.  Paco explained to her where I came from and that she should speak slowly to me.  She was very chatty and a few times I had to ask her to slow down as I wasn’t getting anything she was saying.  She gave me her email address but I didn’t understand why she would think I wanted her email address.  Eventually it became clear to me; she ‘reads’ people and if I would like a proper reading I was to email her.  I thanked her but explained that I thought all that stuff was a load of nonsense.  She insisted on giving me a quick reading there and then.  She wrote it down for me as follows….

La verdad te persigue pero tú eres más rápido que una liebre.  Conduces con cordura tu amplio destino.  Porque eres el mensajero de tus antepasados.  No debes en el camino que tienes que elegir.  Porque siempre sabrás que camino escoger.  Luchaste contra Dragones y mazmorras en el destierro de una vida pasada.  Ahora queda la dulce apariencia de un ángel.

Make of that what you will.

 

I am delighted with the friendliness and warmth of the people I have met so far in Oviedo.  Even when I am struggling to say something in Spanish they smile and wait patiently for me to finish the sentence.  Moises thought nothing of showing me around the area and helping me to carry my groceries back to the flat.  Paco has loaned to me a beautiful and expensive looking book on our first meeting and Ángel was only too happy to show a stranger around a church late at night and María was happy to give me a reading, whether I wanted one or not.  I shall return to my local on a regular basis and anyone who comes to visit me will be introduced to Paco, (as well as all the other bars on that street).

Hasta pronto.

Methinks this protest doth party too much

01/09/2012

As previously mentioned the University is within walking distance of my digs.  Yesterday I decided to take another walk around the city just to get my bearings and pop by the college to take a few photos for you folks back home.  At the moment I have an infinite amount of time to fill as college doesn’t start for another two weeks.  I will have to register with the college next week (that will probably be a whole blog on its own; I have been warned about Spanish bureaucracy) but as it is the weekend I can just sit about drinking wine and waffling away on this blog.  I am very close to the bus and train stations, below is a photo of the road outside the station.  The station is to the left of the photo and the cafe I sat outside waiting to meet Moises is to the right.  So as you can see I am pretty central for when friends come to visit.

I was making my way along the street when I heard a huge explosion and then the wailing of a siren.  ‘What the hell?’ I thought, ‘World War III has broken out and I haven’t cleared my credit card’.  The people around me carried on about their business as if nothing had happened.  To them it seemed normal; almost as if they had been expecting it.  Turning the corner I saw a large crowd gathered outside a building.  They were chanting something up at people who were leaning out of a window of the building.  Whatever they were chanting must have pleased those at the window for they were waving down to them and unfurling a banner that never completely opened.  Some of the people below carried banners too, while others had horns and whistles and proceeded to make an incredibly loud racket.  Occasionally more bangers were set off with the sound bouncing off the nearby buildings and then making a bee-line for my eardrums.  Police were diverting traffic and constantly speaking to each other on walkie-talkies.  I could have asked someone what was going on but I wouldn’t have heard any reply; it was that loud.

One of the banners read: ¿Quieres que te den por el culo? Apuntate al SESPA.  I’m not exactly sure what it means, I know it is subjunctive (private joke) and I know it is a bit rude and involves an orifice and the placement of some unnamed object thereof.  I’m not sure whose orifice and I didn’t ask because I didn’t want my culo getting involved.  I know that SESPA is Servicio de Salud del Principado de Asturias.  So it is something to do with the health care system.  There are 17 autonomous regions in Spain and I think that instead of the health care system being administered from a central government body each region is responsible for their own.  I think some people are having problems with the Asturian health care system.  Either that or they are telling everyone who has problems with the health care system to inform SESPA of their feelings.  I’m not sure.  My ignorance of things that don’t directly affect me on a daily basis can be astounding to some.

The crowd then moved on towards the roundabout just beside the University and proceeded to block it by stopping all oncoming traffic.  The police allowed them to do this and simply diverted motorists down other roads.  One or two motorists got out and approached the crowd but I don’t know if they were arguing with them or lending their support.  It seems to me that even when Spaniards are protesting there is still some sort of party atmosphere about the place.  There was a lot of shouting and waving of arms but no angry expressions or threatening behaviour.  I shall have to work very hard on my Spanish communication, both verbal and physical.

I left the party goers / protesters to it and made my way around the corner to the University of Oviedo.  The University was founded in……. (sigh) you can look all that stuff up yourself if you are interested in that sort of thing.  I just know it is one of the oldest in Spain and I will be studying there this year.  There is more than one campus around the city but my money is on this one being the one I shall be attending.  It is the Humanities Campus and the subjects I am studying, Spanish Language, Spanish and European Literature and Latin fall under that banner.  

This campus is made up of a big old yellow building (it could do with a lick of paint) with graffiti on the back wall, a modern looking library and a fairly modern administration building.  Of course it is all locked up at the moment but I think the doors will be open on Monday for registration.  It is right in the heart of the city and is surrounded by flats and shops; much like Trinity College but with no wall acting as a barrier from everyday life. 

I wonder how I shall get on with lectures.  Will the pace be too much for me?  Will I understand a word the lecturer is saying?  How will I cope when I have to write essays in Spanish?  Will the modules be marked on continuous assessment or will it all depend on one written exam at the end of term?  Will my head blow up in class leaving blood and grey matter upon the walls and floors?  Will that cranial explosion make it harder to make friends?  Thank Christ I’m not a teenager anymore and I don’t have to believe any of that actually matters.

What amazes me about the city is the proximity of the hills around it.  In Maynooth there is not a decent hill or mountain to be seen for miles.  Anyone walking around Maynooth on a cold and windy day will appreciate how surrounding mountains would be a welcome barrier against the forces of nature.  The hills here in Oviedo encroach upon the polis like sentinels, watching inferior mortals jostle about on a day to day basis while they stand resolute and timeless.  I have included a photo of a fountain which is in a plaza about 100 metres up the road from the college and in the background you can see how close the hills are.  Not a big deal some of you may say but sometimes, just sometimes, I get this feeling that I would rather be standing on those hills looking down rather than scurrying around down here looking up.  From the plaza above the train station a statue of Christ can be seen standing upon the hill close to my flat.  I wonder if it is accessible by foot.  I shall have a word with Moises when he returns from work today.

Hasta la vista baby.