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
No comments:
Post a Comment