Heng-zi's Penniless Travels

5,000 Years in 10 hours --- Orkneys

2006-07-09T08:49:00.000-07:00

There is a thing that sustains a person longer and better than food sometimes. This thing, can be called by various names: unsatiable traveller thirst to see all, stupid Task A personality kicking in, awe at seeing new and wondrous sites...or whatever you want to call it.

From reading a ton of travel lit on the Orkneys, it supposedly holds Europe's oldest archeological sites. Now that I've personally held the skull of a 5,000 year old human being and seen tomb sites and living quarters from the same time period....I'd like to say that Canada, as a country, seems even younger than before. I used to think we might be a tyke in historical years, now it feels more like we're just newborn as a country.

Our first day in 'Keerkwull' (Kirkwall) was filled with brain rattling activity. I am not joking about my brains being rattled. Though it was April, I FELT the winds in this part of Scotland relentlessly pushing and shoving you irregardless of what month we hope it to be. There is a saying that stands true of this region. The winds DO blow sideways. Forget umbrellas if it's raining here--you won't need it. You need more of a body shield like what the SWAP team has. The rain ends up INSIDE YOUR coat sleeves because it never lands straight down. It comes down horizontally--that's how windy this place is. If you see my photos, half the time I was wearing a headband, a toque AND my rain hoodie to keep my brains and intelligence intact.

It was Easter Sunday weekend and I had big dreams of renting a bike and riding around the island. In my mind, I had romantic visions of a lazy, chillaxed ride by the waters admiring its flawless cerulean complexion.

What befell us was a town in Sunday dormancy. We discovered that apart from church and a couple of stores and restaurants, everything else would be closed. Thus, no bike. ;( However, it was amazing all the same. We attended an Easter service at St.Magnus Cathedral, the oldest on the island that dates back to the 1100s. A beautiful, ruddy building with spectacular hand-painted glass windows and hand-carved ornate pillars that line this rather long edifice. Frankly, it was one of the most touching moments of my life when I realized that I was sitting in a church, worshipping, in the Orkney Islands of Scotland. Unreal.

After we left the church in search of island adventure, we decided to walk to Scapa Beach, where the HMS Royal Oak was sunk during the Second World War when German U-boats clandestinely entered the water area and surprise-attacked the boats that were docked. Nothing could have prepared us for the cutting winds that we opposed the entire way. We walked, or staggered really, along the cliffs, overlooking history. The colour of the water was ultramarine and glistening. Though we could barely hear each other through the noise of the wind, Sneha and I managed to outline the beach out almost towards the open waters. Normally, a walk of that distance would have taken 20 minutes. However, with the wind factor we faced, it took us double the time. I felt like I was air climbing, clawing and breaking through this unseen web that kept dragging me back.

That day shattered all hopes of renting a bike. By the time we got back from the beach to our hostel, (it was still a ways to "downtown" Kirkwall) we were both knackered from fighting the invisible forces of nature. We met a fellow Canadian from Calgary who told us about his biking adventures and how it has been so physically taxing to ride a bike in the Orkneys. I decided to lay my dream of biking to rest.

That night we changed our plan of attack. We had a long discussion with our eccentric hostel manager (who had the most creepy, horror-movie laugh you've ever heard...who also told us some disturbing stories about a mentally disturbed lady who stayed in the hostel and who had a machete under her bed....yep....) who kindly told us of spots to go if we were able to rent a car.

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Oh bliss! The first and only day during my European travels that were in a rental car! In the Orkneys, it made all the difference between seeing everything and seeing nothing. We TOTALLY lucked out by renting the only automatic car available. I couldn't drive standard/stick-shift to save my life so it was awesome that we scored this puppy. (Not that I drove or anything). Our new found Canadian amigo Xavier came too and the three of us set off for the most whirlwind day of our entire trip in Scotland.

As Sneha gunned our little blue vehicle out of the garage, we set off to see the Orkneys in 10 hours. All that history swallowed, whole and unmasticated, in 1 day.

First stop, we headed south on the island to the Italian Chapel. For those of you who have read the Da Vinci Code ( I still haven't yet), this is the Italian chapel mentioned in the book. It was a lovely little building constructed for the Italian Prisoners of War during WWII. The Italian artist who designed this PAINTED bricks on the wall, to create a fabulous illusion of what the building is NOT made of. My favourite bit was the wood carvings made in Italy depicting various moments in the life of Jesus.

Next, we headed to the most southern tip of the island to the Tomb of The Eagles where there, we had the most down-to-earth untouristy type of tour possible. The farmer who owns this land and who found the site, has converted the area so that it was like having a tour that started in someone's home. He keeps the numbers down so that bus loads of tourists cannot come all at once. We had a tour from some relative of the family inside the building--I got to see roughly made tools, knife-like instruments that they found on the site, hold a 5,000 year old skull, and check out interesting jewelry and pottery that were all dug up from the site.

To be cont'd...

Scotland's Stones - Post travel Recap Stories

2006-06-28T12:30:00.000-07:00

Since I've been home, I've been stewing over whether or not I should write about some of the most memorable adventures I had in Europe. Two months I have been back, and already Europe seems like a dream.

I've decided to write about the Orkneys, my favourite place in Scotland. About three years ago, when I first came back to B.C. from Quebec, I took a geography course at SFU that had a brief lesson on Scottish immigrants to Canada and how some were from the Orkneys. Strangely enough, that one class planted a desire in my heart. " Gee," I thought, " Wouldn't it be amazing if one day I could visit these little Northern Scottish islands?". At the time, it seemed like pure fantasy.

What an exhilarating, indescribable feeling, that several years later, I would be boarding a ferry to the Orkneys.
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SEASICKNESS - ON THE WAY TO THE ORKNEYS... (Not to read for the faint of stomachs )

Seasickness is a hell that could drive people to suicide. I can testify to a taste of what sailors endured their whole lives. Kudos to all you seafaring people. Eating a "Boots" (Sort of like a Shoppers Drug Mart here that sells food as well) Duck Wrap and then getting sick is NOT a fun way to go. I spent four and a half of the six hours on the ferry to Kirkwall with my eyes closed.

I fought the urge to upchuck for about an hour because I hate the act of wretching..but the waves finally proved too much. I cried "uncle" and had to run to the washroom to do my dirty deed. Defeated, I felt relief though.

Nausea is an agony that I would not wish on my worse enemy. Your world is spinning... the sea is a carousel ride gone wrong. With every ascending and descending wave, you feel your meal rising from deep within your belly into your throat. The taste of chives from the blasted duck wrap only increased my waves of nausea.

After I threw up, I smelled puke for an hour---it permeated out of my nasal passages and tainted all my sensory organs. I had to periodically change the piece of gum I was chewing to get the taste out of my mouth.

As I sat there, head stuck to the side board between two large windows, pale and face throbbing, I am grateful to my friend who went in search of seasickness medication to help me survive the remaining hours on this rocking Titanic.

I remember, through eyes clamped shut, that she handed me little pills every hour, some homeopathic stuff, to fight the enemy that was nausea.

The glorious hour came, when we finally arrived at Kirkwall at 11pm. The meds had finally started kicking in and I was able to walk off the ship with few complications.

What struck me was the intimacy of the relationships among the people on board. As we all hovered around the entrance/exit way for pedestrians on the boat, I caught bits and pieces of people's conversations.

"So, how's the wife?"
" AH! I didn't know you would be back already? How was your trip?"
" Are you back to teach?"
" Did you know that so and so just had a baby?"

The Orkneys was an amazing little community like "Cheers", where "everybody knows your name". My friend and I definitely stuck out, as we were evidently, not locals. Also just based on appearances, it was obvious that we weren't Orkadian either.

We paid a quid and boarded a coach that would take us from the ferry to Kirkwall docks. There were three women on the bus (the driver and two locals ) who chattered non-stop about the latest island news. I noticed the cute Orkadian accent. The broader rolling of the 'r's and the way they said no or not as " nuoooee" --prolonging certain vowels. Kirkwall was received through my ears as "Keerrkwull".

More on the Orkneys....

Dancing in the YVR

2006-04-27T12:11:00.001-07:00

Whoo-hoo!!!! I am home!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, I wanted to hop out of my seat when I saw the grey, cloudy skies of my beloved city. Even the greyness was endearing and familiar. I was sooooooooo stoked to hear a "Canadian" accent when I got on the Air Canada flight and was greeted by a flight attendant. It's surreal how quickly things change. One moment I'm in Europe and just three movies, two airplane dinners, cookies, lots of ginger ale and water later, I'm back in Canada!

My last month in April flew by. My final week in school ended on a super high note. I got to sub in for other classes (hence spending time with students of other grades), go on a cool "Victorian" fieldtrip where we all dressed in black and I made butter from cow's milk with the students, to seeing my Grade 3 and 6 students rock the house with their "Three Little Pigs" French plays. We presented in two performances for the school and I was so proud of them. I did have a couple of panicky moments when the students sort of mucked about during dress rehearsal but they did a fabulous job and I had great comments from some of the teachers who told me that they now saw the importance of teaching kids French even from a young age! Youpie!

Saying goodbyes was the toughest part. Friday was an extremely tearful day as I had to part with the Year 1s and 6s. I went home with loads of cards, gifts and new penpals.

A Sweater Made of Eyebrows

2006-03-17T09:43:00.000-08:00

How I love my dear Year 1s.
"Miss, is your sweater made of eyebrows?" asked Ciaran, one of my adorable, but ADHD, boys who has mesmerizingly large blue-grey eyes (killer, really) and brown hair. He had buried his face in my white woolly sweater while giving me a hug. I burst out laughing as Courtney, one of the tiniest girls in our class and who was standing next to him, shot a miffed look, and replied (I think on my behalf), " It's wool."

Kids are the cutest things. It is comments like that make my heart warm and remind me daily why, I love being around children. Jamie, one of my platinum blond hair blue eyed sweeties who permanently has two green vertical tracks of snot crusted from his nostrils down to his lips, has told me that he is going to marry me---I tenderly told him that he needs to finish school first.

I finished my last day in the Year 1 class a few weeks ago and have moved into the Year 6 class for my last four weeks. I can't even believe that I've already been here for almost three months and there's only a week left.

Funny how routine my life really is--and how easy it is to get lost and stop wondering about the differences that has made my life richer being here. One of the things I have enjoyed being in England is being able to ride the double-decker buses. Unfortunately, it's not the cool classic, iconic red deckers you see in London, but just a modern version of the bus with two levels. However, riding so high in public transit is amazing--you get to see the city in a new light as you pass over the tops of buildings and get to see beyond the city and out into the fringes of city limits.

Riding up top of a double decker and the view it offers reflects on my last few months here in Europe. For me, it's a minute, subtle, but clear picture of my change in perspective--how I have been opened to other views, ideas and how what I see has changed. Just the extra height allows me to see things that were normally out of sight. I think having come to Europe has allowed me to meet people and to do things that would otherwise have been impossible.

DID YOU KNOW...( I sure didn't!)That cops in England are not allowed to carry firearms even while on duty?
-In the 70s, there was a serial killer called 'The Yorkshire Ripper' who killed at least 11 women and sent disturbing tapes to the police, taunting them that they'll never catch him. Well, he actually killed a female uni student about 100 meters from the house where I live in now! (We live next to a big field and it's up above uni grounds)

THE QUEEN'S ENGLISH - PART 4

"I'm shattered/knackered": I'm tired, pooped, wiped -- absolutely exhausted

"I'm gutted": I'm really upset, choked

Have a kip: Take a nap

Petrol: Gas ( I think we get snickers for calling it gas....)

Chuffed: Pleased (really happy about something)

"Inverted Commas": "Quote unquote"

Guillotine: Large Papercutter ( I was quite shocked by the term--When asked if I wanted to use 'the Guillotine' at school....I had a bit of a mental image..."Wow! what a horrible form of punishing the children!")

Bum Bag: Fanny Pack (Beware! Calling it a fanny pack has gotten me into trouble! In the UK 'fanny' does not mean bum but a childish term for a girl's private parts!)

"Ta": Thank you in vernacular

Tig: Tag [I've also been told that in posh grammar schools, children yell 'Pax'(Latin term for Peace) when wanting an illegal 'time-out']

Spagbol: What we call a regular spaghetti/pasta dish with tomato sauce, meat and/or veg

Unihawk: Floor Hockey

Sweets: candy

Lorries: big trucks

Cambridge photos March 2006

2006-03-17T09:05:00.000-08:00

Top Left: King's Chapel where I heard the Choir Boys sing

Top Right: Wren's Library where you can see preserved literary treasures

Middle: Punter going under one of those awfully "romantic" bridges

Middle Left: Me riding past the famed Mathematical Bridge

Middle Right: My "the pastures are alive" moment of frolicking on The Backs of the colleges

Bottom: The entryway of Corpus Christi one of the renowed colleges. The sign on the bottom lists hours that visitors are allowed to enter and visit. Cambridge is known not for welcoming but "controlling" tourists.

CRUISIN' IN CAMBRIDGE AND CHOIR BOYS

2006-03-01T09:00:00.000-08:00

Check it out. Me, a nifty metal basket, a mini-ten speeder that runs only on one speed, riding around Cambridge on the left-hand side of the road!!! Absolute Bliss! I had never had soooo much fun biking around everywhere! I am definitely hooked by this...

Cambridge is an idyllic little university town filled with romantic nuances. Willow trees with branches that fall gracefully to the ground and flow wistfully when the wind blows, bridges built centuries ago where lovers embrace and gaze out onto a river where punters "punt" (Side-note:As I understand it, Punting is an activity that ressembles what you see down the canals of Venice...people navigate around the river by pushing a long pole down into the waters to push the little boat forward. The little boat is a simple rectangular hollow piece where people can either sit or lie down and snooze as they sail down the peaceful Cam...) and little boats filled with more lovers and students go by...

I was deeply impressed by Cambridge. The town bears a life of its own, existing at a level uncommon to most other regions of the country. It is a town dotted with colleges--it's lifeblood comes from the centuries of world-renowned scholars, academics and world-changers that have graced the hallways and dormitories of its prestigious colleges.

I spent a few gorgeous days in Cambridge...well, "gorgeous" not for the weather at first--I biked around in rain on the Thursday, but ended up seeing a great museum, the Fitzwilliam, followed by the Round Church for a great presentation on the history of the town. It was hilarious to walk into the Fitzwilliam, I, ressembling a drowned rat, to be greeted by a splendid museum entry way decorated with head busts along the stairways and lavishly decorated walls that only increased the grandeur of the museum.

This is the town where Isaac Newton made his great discoveries...I got to see the tree that was planted by one of his appleseeds and to see the window of the room in which he dwelled. I walked into the Wren Library where ancient and important manuscripts are kept in glass storage desks where you must lift up a brown felt covering to see what is underneath. The covering is to protect the documents from damage from sunlight and oxygen. One of the neatest ones I saw was the original handwritten works by the author of Winnie-the-Pooh (A.A. Milne), another was the Pauline Epistles, and further still--Bertrand Russell's handwritten notes on a radio broadcast about the consequences of using the H-Bomb.

All over campus, there were so many HUGE names that I came across--whether in statue form or in writing--the likes of John Maynard Keynes ( the founder of certain principles in Economics " Laissez- Faire" stuff), Tennyson, Francis Bacon-AND ( I was quite stoked about this!) I saw the statue of William Wilberforce! He is definitely one of those hero types to me---the abolisher of slavery! I really admire his work and his life.

In general, I don't know how to describe to you walking around this town. The history is so rich that sometimes I feel like I must have been imagining things because I don't know how so many "greats" could have assembled and studied in this one place. I must say, the most pleasurable thing is just to walk around, or bike around the streets...sometimes, I feel like I was taken back in time as I biked down narrow cobblestoned roads and zoomed passed buildings older than Canada.

Finally, I want to describe to you an incredible experience that I had here. I got to listen and attend an "Evensong", a boys' choir that sings daily in King's Chapel. They were literally angelic in sound to my ears.

Close your eyes and hear the voices of heaven. Open your eyes and see a glimpse of life from the medieval times. King's Chapel was lit only by candlelight that lined the rows where the boys choir sat and also along the walls of the chapel inside crown-shaped candleholders that jutted out from the walls. In that place filled with shadows and somberness, one could feel a presence of another time. When I looked up to admire the ceiling in the semi-darkness, my eyes fell upon two angels, coal-coloured, sitting on top of the arched wall that separated me from the main singing section, holding golden trumpets poised for a triumphal blast. The arch was a tar black and looked even more looming when reflected upon by candlelight.

In order to follow the Mass, one had to look through the archway, where a large wooden bookstand stood between the left and right sections of the chapel. This book/music stand was lit by two burning candles on either side of the lip of the stand. The two lights flickered brightly throughout the service. I could only see a fragment of the set-up on the side where I was sitting as I experienced the whole service through that archway.

The boys wore white robes over top of a red undercoat that peeked out at the collar and at the ankles. They ranged in age probably from the prebuscent to adolescence. When they sang, all I could do was close my eyes and imagine myself in monastic attire and worship.

At one moment, a man donned in a long black gown got up onto the podium of the bookstand and read from the large Bible resting on the stand. After he had finished reading, (Mark 13 was the passage), he came down and gracefully turned the stand 180 degrees, first by moving one of the candles back, which happened to be on an iron hinge, and then after he had finished turning the stand, rotated the other candleholder by its hinge so that the two were parallel again.

What was surprising, was that the next reader was a young girl, dressed totally different than the first reader. She had on jeans and a simple sweater with a head of wild,curly hair. I found the difference striking, yet original. It was nice to know, that despite all the traditions of such a service, that "regular layman" types like you or me would be allowed to read the Bible during a service like that.

In that candlelight, I examined the crests on the walls--the dragon and the hound that protected either side of the royal coat of arms. Finally, the service ended and the boys, along with the priests and other people in charge, solemnly filed back through the archway ( towards me) led by the priest carrying the cross and two rows of boys on either side with the ones at the front carrying long poles with candles at the top.

What a sublime, divine experience!

DINNER WITH HARRY POTTER

2006-02-18T05:23:00.000-08:00

I had a once in a lifetime chance to participate in a formal! Formals are held most evenings of the week in each of the Cambridge colleges, where students and fellows eat together in a rather formal, elegant setting. You can only attend if you are invited by someone in that college. I had the privilege of being a guest at Magdalene (pronounced "Maudlin") College's Thursday night formal. (Note: I had my "half-term" which is Spring Break, so I went down to Cambridge to visit a good friend.)
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Ushered into a dark dining room, illuminated only by candles that run down the length of the dining tables, one noticed portraits of renowned academics decorate the back wall. There was one elevated long rectangular table at the back, and three long tables facing perpendicular to the head table a couple of feet below. The head table at the back was where all the "fellows" sat. I had to ask if fellows could be women; and yes, there are women as well. They are the senior researchers/academics/professors in the faculty to which they belong. We sat nearest to the door where the food was being served---our two long tables were filled with students and their guests.

Harry Potter, was in the form of my friend's two friends who belonged to this college. Both of them wore black robes over their shirt and ties (The two guys sitting on the right hand side closest to the camera in the right-hand side photo). This was the way to identify the college fraternity. Our tables were nicely set (though we did not get the expensive cutlery; just the IKEA type stuff) and we talked over candlelight. There was an expectant buzz in the air as we waited for the fellows to enter.

What was hilarious was that I met three other Canadians--all from Vancouver--at this formal(The guy sitting next to me, his g/f across from him and the guy sitting beside the g/f)! So there was five of us Canucks with one Scotsman sitting at our end!

Suddenly, there was a loud announcement and we all rose from our benches. We looked to the doorway at the far end of the room and in entered all the fellows. Once they've all entered, a gong is sounded and one of the fellows began speaking in Latin. Finally, we sat when a loud "Amen" kind of response was spoken.

The dinner was a three course meal that began with a Thai fish cake appetizer, followed by a duck main course and ended with a delicious three flavoured sorbet. I must say it was quite an experience to dine in such a setting, though these formals are quite common and happen on a weekly basis. One of the guys who belonged to the fraternity had already gone to 7 other formals in other colleges and was determined to meet people from all the colleges so that he could attend their formals! It is not strange in Cambridge to see men decked out in tuxedos on a Wednesday walking down the street or women dressed to the nines on a Thursday---it's most probably because they're heading to a formal! Some formals are more posh and pricey than others--it just all depends on the college.

Only in Cambridge will you find such long-standing customs...many of the dining halls in their colleges ressemble grand eating rooms that one sees in castles or on T.V., yet this is where the students and staff dine daily.

LET'S LEARN BRITISH ENGLISH! (VOCAB CONTINUES..)

"half ten": Ten thirty (telling time) I have been mocked for saying things like "quarter after" because it's "quarter past" in British English. Anything that is thirty minutes past is called half-something.

gorgeous: wonderful/nice here, it doesn't just have to do with appearance, it's also about the way things are, if food smells good etc..

Wellies: Better known as Wellington Boots---or as we call them, Rubber Boots back home...(rain boots) Where does Wellington come from??

Pudding: Hot Cake--literally, I was so surprised, b/c the French also call it pudding--and I thought that it was just so odd..since pudding for us is doughy sugar goo in chocolate,vanilla or caramel form in those plastic containers...here, it's yummy cake warmed, and the best one I've had is sticky toffee pudding!! Melted toffee poured over a piece of cake...hm... They also call use the word pudding to describe dessert in general.

"You alright?": "How's it going?"/"How are you doing?" The first few times, and even now when I'm not paying attention, whenever people ask me that--I'm always taken back, b/c I'm thinking, " What? Do I look ill? Do I look worried or upset for them to ask me this?"...so it was kind of funny to realize that this is just their general greeting here....

pavement: sidewalk

cling film: saran wrap

"go to the toilet": go to the washroom (The Brit are good this way-blunt and to the point-they just say it as it is)

Hash key: The pound or number key on your phone (The Tic Tac Box)

So, how's the teaching?

2006-02-11T09:05:00.000-08:00

Top Center Photo: This is our Canadian Contingency teaching here! We're from three different campuses: SFU, U of Lethbridge and U of Regina. (Left to Right) Peter (SFU), Lacey (UR), Me (Of course!), Ben (UR), Meaghan (UL), Stephanie (UL), and Kelly (UR). It's too bad the picture's blurry, I can't get another copy for the moment, so this is what you'll see....the following two photos are more interesting...

Lefthand side photo: Hm...Folks, welcome to a day in my life as a teacher here. This is what I eat at lunchtime with the kiddies. It's yummy cafeteria food. The day I took this photo was probably the day that served, by far, the sketchiest, nastiest food. Most days I can eat it, but that day...

The "Fish Burger" was definitely a bit too fishy for me and I'm not sure about that mousse...it looked a lot like disintegrating dog poop...the "chips" (fries) were cold pieces of hard plastic, and so all I ate that day were the beans and pineapples...YUM! Some days it's great, they actually serve real chicken with veggies (that have been boiled to a paste)...I look forward to those days.

However, "dinnertime" (they call it dinners here) is my favourite time of the day at school b/c I always sit with different kids from different classes and they're always telling me the most interesting stories...I get a lot of inside scoop into the each grade.

Righthand side photo: This is a view of Guiseley, the town in which I teach. It is also in Guiseley where the legendary Bronte Sisters' parents (The ones who wrote famous books like Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre) got married in a church that still stands! This was over 300 years ago..it is 12 miles outside of Leeds and it takes me two buses and a train to get here (an hour) Lacey and I walk from the Guiseley train station to get to the school. This is a view of our daily route to get to Queensway.

MORE VOCABULARY
Chave: (cha-vuh) sort of like a European homeboy-pimp type who wears too-short track pants, hoodies or upturned collar shirts, gold chains and believe it or not...Burberry. It's high-class meets low-class. This was definitely an interesting word to learn from my students.
whinge: kind of like whine or complain-- "Quit your whinging!"

To be honest, life in Leeds is VERY different than life in Spain. There's less cultural differences except for the fact that people are surely more polite but also more reserved. It's a pain to get around in the city if I want to do anything, so for the most part, life is pretty mellow around here. I am also not getting as much teaching as I had thought...and for the first time in my life--I have to struggle to find things to keep me busy. I am currently placed in a Year 1 class room--so I get all the super adorable kiddies who are just, just toilet-trained...but who still have tons of boogers hanging out of their noses and who love to give me hugs.

I am definitely a hug-a-holic. I love getting hugs. I get them everyday from quite a few kids, and it's so rewarding. I also get lots of hilarious comments from the students.

After one boy sneezed, his comment was, " I need a tissue, I just 'blessed you'd' ".

Another time, after I had just finished my presentation on Canada, one of my students said, " You can go home now Miss Lo."....at first, I wasn't sure whether to be deeply wounded or what...but then he comes up to me later and says, " You can go home (to Canada) now Miss Lo, but make sure you come back after the weekend on Monday." SOOO SWEET!

Another boy asked me if there were oranges in Canada...

I also don't know if the cultural thing is just different...but in year 1, I find my students already dating and kissing. NO joke. 5 and 6 year olds. What happened to the innocent crushes and just "holding hands" or "sitting next to each other" sort of thing??! I mean seriously here,--their parents "exchange" gifts on behalf of the kids---they write each other cards ( for Valentine's Day ) and the parents supply the chocolates and other gifts. It's madness! The craziest bit is that it's always the girls chasing and kissing the boys, and the boys who come complaining to me about the girls who won't stop kissing them.....Then there's the girl who, very matter of factly, told me that she's got several boyfriends, but only with one whom she kisses. Go figure.
I have yet to wrap my mind around the complex love lives of 6 year olds.

I'm wearing PANTS!

2006-01-26T09:50:00.000-08:00

For all you North American readers, you probably won't think too much of my title. However, for any potential European English speakers out there....

...Just when you think that you're in a country where you, technically, speak the same language, that you can't screw up or say something that raises an eyebrow.....

Well, let me tell ya.

I was sitting in the lunchroom on my first day in the school with some Year 4s ( Translation: Grade 4s) discussing differences in vocabulary and trying to tell them that what they call "trousers" is what we call "pants". To make my point, I repeat quite loudly, all the while pointing to my black pants that " I'M WEARING PANTS!" (poke poke indicate indicate). The kids are kind of smiling at me funny and then I see one of the lunchroom supervisor ladies turn RIGHT AROUND to give me this LOOK.

I stopped. I suddenly realized that I was telling the kids (rather loudly in fact ) that "I'M WEARING UNDIES!" Oh goodness. No wonder why I got the look. My first day in school and I'm going to be labelled a child molestor. I sheepishly stop pointing to my pants and went into a flubberly blubberly idiot-mode to try to re-explain myself and the point I was making...
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So, for all you Canucks and Yankees out there, I thought I'd give you a little vocab orientation for words I've picked up and expressions that are quite funny..a lot of these words I've seen in books and writing, but it's interesting to see them used on a daily basis.

Rubber: Eraser (imagine in Canada if students went around asking for "rubbers")
Posh: Cool
Pumps: No, not heels for businesswomen or hightop sneakers...they're black shoes with velcro straps that the kids wear for P.E. class
bobbles: hair ties
"Take the piss": to make fun of someone (make sure you use the right preposition--that it's "the" and not "a" --it will make a BIG difference in what you're trying to say)
mad: crazy
cross: angry
daft: stupid
be a gooseberry: be a fifth wheel or unwanted third party
lovely: I swear, this is used for everything like --great/nice/awesome/sweet etc.
he/she's poorly: not feeling well
reception: Kindergarten
rubbish: garbage/"that sucks"
bin: garbage can
pavement: sidewalk
fancy: like (sthg/someone)

There are loads more words....but now, I guess I should update you on what life is like here in Leeds, England.

1. I have taken more baths in the last two weeks than I have in the last ten years.
- Don't worry, I DO regard personal hygiene as something of importance, it's just that I usually take showers because I am too impatient to wait for a bath to fill up. However, in England, the water pressure in their old houses is soooo pathetic, it's like the shower head is just spitting water---so it's better just to take a bath.

2. I have drank more tea in the last two weeks than I have in about 4 months time.
- It's amazing how often we drink tea here. If I wasn't in school, I'd probably be drinking about three, four cups a day, since everybody seems to have tea all the time! I love it. It's so English! :) I generally start the day off and end the day with tea...

3. It's tough to learn how to cross a street without getting run over here...I keep forgetting that people drive on the lefthand side of the road...I don't know how many times I have started to jaywalk and then realize that I was looking in the wrong direction--I've had to literally throw myself backwards to avoid becoming roadkill...getting used to the fact that traffic is coming from all the "wrong" directions is something that one should get used to before jaywalking like the locals...unfortunately, I've just sort of gone along like I was a pro---but maybe just a pro at almost-getting-myself-killed.

4. If you don't stick out your hand to hail a bus, you won't get on. If I wasn't warned of this before, I would probably have stood on the sidewalk for hours before realizing that you have to "hail" a bus or else it will drive RIGHT BY YE!

5. The men here spend more time on their hair and more money on their clothes than I do. I'm sure all you female readers out there are eager to find out about English men...well, frankly, I don't really fancy the sort of high maintenance Leeds-men that I've been seeing everywhere....I mean, I can't speak for the whole country--so I will keep it to Leeds....it seems like people here are stepping off the fashion runways--EVERYDAY. Everyone copies the Beckham-frosted-tip-mohawk (yawn) look and probably have lifetime subscriptions to GQ magazines...It's also probably b/c I feel threatened by the fact that these men are skinner and "prettier" than I am!

6. To be local means that you have to brave the weather by never wearing a jacket or anything thicker than a t-shirt or crop top.
I've never been more shocked by the number of people who go out during the weekend, men and women--barely clothed--for men, just a thin shirt and jeans, and tons of chicks wearing nothing but a tanktop and short skirt to go clubbing! It's probably 0 degrees or colder! I don't know how they don't catch pneumonia....the hilarious thing is that all of us Canadians (and apart from me and Peter, everyone else is from Alberta or Saskatchewan--so they face -20 degrees all the time) complain and have noticed this about everyone! I went out Friday night with some locals and my goodness...trying to follow the motto "when in Leeds, do as the Leedites do"...I almost froze to death. No more of that, thank you! I would rather look like the overclothed (but warm) tourist than have my kneecaps be shattered by the wind.

More to follow...

Drama at the Border Crossing

2006-01-18T08:03:00.000-08:00

"What do you MEAN you're 'working' in England? Where are your papers?"

I could feel myself break out in a cold sweat as the Immigration officer peered down at me from his questioning podium. I had just travelled 9 hours by boat, two hours by train, an hour by car and through three countries with only eight euros on me when I got to the English border. I was NOT expecting to be interrogated like this.

I had woken up at 5am that morning to be driven to the nearest train station in France by my friend so that I could catch the ferry from St-Malo, France into Portsmouth, England. We arrived, (I, holding my breath and counting down the seconds on my digital watch) at the train station, running with my backpack and clutching my train ticket---making the one and only train by FOUR minutes...it couldn't have gotten anymore exciting than that...

So here I am, standing at the border with my huge pack, exhausted and a bit seasick (it's like the BC Ferries but with more motion ) being scrutinized like a criminal by this mousey looking Immigration man.

" Sir, I mean, I am not working, working...just working as in..I mean..." At this point, I can feel my face turning bright red as I knew that he was not believing a word I said.

Folks, let me advise you...when entering countries that are still reeling from 9/11 style bombings...NEVER say you're "working" in their country when in fact, though certified I am, I was travelling as a student and paid through the Canadian gov't, meaning that I was really, just a visitor.

Because of my verbal bungle, I was detained and had my luggage searched. You know that situation when everything you say just makes you sound worse and more guilty than the last statement.

When he had asked me where my work permit was, I said I had reference papers showing my proof to be allowed into the country. Then the millionaire question..."Where are your reference letters?"

My eyes widened.

The realization hit me like an anvil falling on the Tasmanian devil....in my rush to pack up my belongings in Madrid, I had packed my reference letters into my suitcase that my friend took into the UK for me over Christmas.

My papers, were already in England. They were in my friend's parents' house half an hour away.

Of course, though I had shown him my return ticket to Canada and though I am guaranteed 90 days hassle-free (though not allowed to work) in the UK with my bona fide Canadian passport,....when he uttered the words, " Have a seat, I think I'm going to have to hold you back for further questioning and call your contacts." OF COURSE I could feel the hot tears roll down my face.

Welcome to England. Or maybe, not.

It was quite a rude awakening at the border, but despite the situation, it actually all turned out and probably for the best that I was detained.

The other Immigration officers could tell that I was quite exhausted and probably NOT the Osama Bi. La. that they were looking for and came over to comfort and reassure me that this was "standard procedure". Standard, of course. Look through all my stuff, pull out the dirty underwear, and my still-manure smelling jeans (fresh from the French farm I had visited just a day ago) and all. Sure, go right ahead.

I sat there with a dismayed and hollow look on my face. Thoughts raced through my head...they were calling the parents of a friend whom I had never met and my homestay family whom I also had never met. All I could think was.."gee Hengz, what a great first impression you're going to make on all of them."

In the end, my friend's parents were absolutely brilliant. They came all the way from their town, brought my luggage so I could show the documentation, and even gave me a kiss and a hug on arrival at the ferry terminal.

My homestay had no worries and figured it out right away that the officer was a bit zealous at his job...

Anyhoo...the nicest thing was that the lady officer who had to search my bag (also the one who comforted me) was the kindest lady and we had a great chat. At the end, the officer who interrogated me also came back to talk to me (in a MUCH nicer fashion) and told me that by the time he made the calls, he was just wanting to ensure my safety in making it to my friend's house because I would have had actually a tough time getting there with no English pounds and with my bags and all...so it was better that my friend's parents came....

To top it off, a third officer whom I didn't have to deal with personally--came out of his office and offered to make me a "spot of tea". It was a really good cup too, I must say. Yes, the English touch there really changed things...

All in all, that was my little drama at the border. Having worked at the airport Immigration back home in B.C., I was imagining how insane it would have been if they had detained me till my papers came....yep..that would have been highly unpleasant.

Thank goodness for miracles!

Highlights from Christmas Travels

2006-01-17T06:11:00.000-08:00

Well Folks,
I didn't get to the blog as much as I would have liked to during my Christmas travels here in Europe. Let me say, Portugal and Northern Spain were absolutely brilliant. If you get a chance, you must MUST do Portugal. It is a hidden gem for travellers, especially over Christmas. I have never been to a country where when the people don't speak a language that you both can understand and yet still go soooo out of their way to help you out. I love the Portugese!

Paris may be a little romantic getaway for some, but if you are a budget student traveller like I or Christine, we didn't enjoy it as much when everything costed double and you have to pay almost 30% more just to SIT inside to have a bite...also losing about €100euros doesn't really help either! How many times did we say Hallelujah outside of a grocery store??

There's too much to say about all the other places so I will just sort of write a few quick highlights before I bomb you all with my story about getting held up at Immigration upon entering England.

(In no particular order)
1. Going to see a local French farm in St.Philbert de Bouaine (by Nantes) in France. It belonged to my friend's parents' friends. I got to see organic, free-range chickens and I got to help with the mainly mechanized process of milking! (I got to clean the nipples on the udders, squeeze out bad milk and put on the suctions and then I got to clean them afterwards!!! soo cool!!!)

2. Going to the cool sewage museum in Paris! You get to smell, see and read about the history of how they built the sewers and cleaned the waters...walking thru their sewers was the bonus!

3. Walking around San Sebastian (Northern Spain), along their beachline (in the shape of a seashell), hiking up both mountains in S.S. on an extremely overcast day and yet with no rain...

4. New Years Day in Biarritz, Southern France seeing the wickedly powerful waves crash onto the jagged rocks that jut out from the sea! It was mighty windy but a fantastic first day of the year! Christine and I had spent a relaxing non-eventful Eve just watching French Broadway musical comedies, eating wicked Bayonne (French Speciality Chocolate) and French cheese.

5. Miranda do Douro Breakfast in Portugal. We were in a tiny town where we got the best breakfast in the best pension overlooking their famous gorge. We were made a homemade breakfast with hot bread, ham, cheese and freshly made orange juice..we had breakfast looking out at the wicked landscape and were full. We only paid €17.50 per person!

6. Wine-tasting in Oporto, Northern Portugal. We went to the Sandman Wine Cellars and got a tour (in French!), where we got to sample their different super sweet strong Port wine!

7. The bridges in Oporto...are stunning! Weather wasn't great those days...but overall, Portugal was at least warmer than Spain or France!

I could go on and on...but I am thankful for all the SUPER kind and cool people I have met on my trip. There were a few close calls when Christine and I ended up in San Sebastian and even Biarritz with no place to stay, we got to S.S. soaking wet walking around looking for a place to stay, they were all full ( sounds like another Christmas story we all know) thought we would be dead...and then boom, a little miracle. Found a fabulous little hostel where it was family-run and they gave us a deal and treated us super well. Or in Biarritz, we got the cheapest, and one of the only rooms left in the entire town on New Year's Eve at a "one star" hotel.....In Coimbra, we had missed the only bus that takes tourists to the Roman ruins in Conimbriga, and the bus driver, when finished his route, took us for free up to the ruins!
On and on, Christine and I met angels who would give us change for the bus or offer their help to us....two important mentions. Two ladies in S.S. who walked us to the bus, and this lovely Portugese-Indonesian girl and her friend who took us on the metro in Oporto....

This is what I find so rich about travelling, not even so much the food or the sites..but it's always about the people!!!

Bom Dia Portugal!

2005-12-26T06:05:00.000-08:00

What can I say? Portugal is absolutely amazing! The people, the weather...the seafood....overall, I can´t describe how beautiful the people and the country are! There is so much to say, but I will have to blog more when I arrive in England,

Random events since Christine and I have arrived in Portugal :

- Let´s talk about Christmas. Christine and I ate the only restaurant open on Christmas Day...and of course, it was a Chinese restaurant. We had Chinese food with the famous Port wine from Portugal. (Chinese people always got your back!)

- We met some Malay med students from England who are travelling through Portugal...one desperately needs a belt, as we saw a bit of "thong" ?????? that was enough to end the conversation and take our leave, rather abruptly.

- Met a lady who was fishing in the river that runs through the city...apparently they don´t have regulations against eating mutated seafood....same deal in Lisbon, cute old weathered men will have their fishing poles dangling in a pretty nuclear looking body of water......

- Did you know that the design for nuclear power plants came from a palace located in Sintra, a town just outside of Lisbon? Their kitchen "chimneys" ressemble the smoke stacks from plants in North America.

- Don´t accept bookmark snakes from Portugese strangers...who still live with their mothers....even if they´re good-looking! They may be divorced with a four year old child and try to knock your teeth loose by demonstrating the passion of the Portugese!

- Did you know there is a place called Pampilhosa (in English: Pimplehosa or Pantyhosah)...if you try to "cheat" an extra stop on the train from Lisbon to Coimbra...you might end up there.

- We are the CANADIAN WALKING TOUR OF PORTUGAL! We have accumulated about 36 hours worth of walking time....whether it was through random little towns, or just getting lost and wandering the industrial neighbourhoods of bigger cities...

- In Lisbon, the city shuts down after 6. There is absolutely NOBODY on the streets...(People go home and hide from us obviously....)

- We have been snubbed from every single dog in Portugal! They act more like cats than dogs!

- But if you´re looking for some loving....the burros (donkeys) of Portugal are the dogs of Portugal. Visit them now at the Castle in Lisbon before they go extinct (this is no joke) we got to pet, brush and smell a bunch of them that are being "bred" to preserve the species....who knew that even domesticated animals would become endangered species!!!

- In Canada, kids pretending to speak Chinese say "Ching Chan Chong"...but in Portugal, it´s some low pitch tonal groan "WAOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAA"...what happened to the pots and pans falling down the stairs???? ( We have heard numerous MEN -young and old - paying tribute to what they believe is OUR cultural background --THANK YOU or OBRIGADA Portugal...Or, as Heng-zi says when she is tired, "Arigata" )

-It´s amazing how many people learn Japanese here and can say "Sayonara". They feel the need to share this with us every time we walk by.

(Uncensored list)
- Here´s a list of our top ten Portugal smells (in no particular order):
1. Random mothballs smells on the streets in Ribeira
2. Some kind of funk (we don´t know what it is but we attribute it to the garbage)
3. Sewage...that pumps onto their "beach" at Matosinhos Sul
4. Lovely smell of pastries...that all taste like sugary egg tarts, no matter what they´re called
5. Delicious Seafood!!!!
6. B.O. on our comforter in our room...hmm....who sleeps with a blanket shoved under their armpit?!?!?!?
7. Urine...and more funk
8. Rotting garbage and more funk
9. Smoke instead of normal salty beach smells at the beach
10. The gas we keep getting from the food!!!!!!

More fun facts to come....

Adios and Hello

2005-12-19T08:35:00.000-08:00

Hard to believe that I have only been here three months. It feels like I´ve lived in Spain for a year or more.

Pretty much, it´s been one of the richest experiences of my life living here in Spain. I have pretty much fallen in love with everything here except for a Spanish guy!

The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of activities, good-byes, closures and wrapping up my life here. Part of me is quite numb and unable to process the fact that I will no longer be here as of tomorrow.

The friends that I have made here are jewels...each one has brought so much richness into my life. I´d like to believe that wealth is based on the quality of your relationships......heheeh, because I would like to say that I became a millionaire in Spain! The openness of hearts and the warmth I have received from my colleagues at work and from my friends from university and church is indescribable. It has been painful to work through moving on.

Tonight, I board a bus to travel with a friend from home for the next three weeks....we are heading off to Portugal and it will be a miracle for us to meet up in Lisbon. I will try to keep you all updated on my travels over Christmas. This will be the first time that I am sort of on the road over the holidays....

However, despite all the tough good-byes, there is an anticipation and a peace about going to England. It will be a totally different culture and a different kind of society all together...be ready for blogs complaining about the weather...hahaha....

Thanks for travelling with me through this leg of the journey,
See you in Portugal!

Purposeful Randomness--Colliding

2005-11-23T09:44:00.000-08:00

Time for another random blog on things I´ve observed here in Spain...

- Due to the lack of parking space, people double park all the time in the side lanes. Well, a lot of times, they´re blocking someone´s permanent´s spot. So you know what the driver will do to get the culpable party to come out and move his/her car? HONK.......HONKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK FOR WHAT FEELS LIKE HOURS.......NO JOKE. Until the person comes out. This happens all the time at my new place...and seriously, the dude just LAYS IT on the horn. When people honk here, it´s not just a one second BOOOT, or maybe like slightly longer and louder HOOONK if you´re angry, it´s like..............wow, I don´t know, but they need longer warranties on the horns in cars here....

- Want to multi-task? Make dinner and wash your clothes at the same time. It´s quite common here that a lot of apartments have their WASHERS in the KITCHEN...so instead of a dishwasher, you can wash your clothes. It´s always hilarious for me to retrieve my clothes in the kitchen....

- I don´t understand the people who stand at the top of metro stops when you come out who hand you advertisements for stuff. They hand you flyers for restaurants, language classes, computer classes..EVERYTHING. The worse thing is, people will take them, and you see that they don´t even look at the flyer...immediately, like not even 20 ft. away, down the steps or around the corner, you will always find this huge pile of flyers strewn EVERYWHERE on the ground. I don´t get it.

- This, I think is a brilliant idea, though I don´t know if it´ll ever fly in Canada. The kids here come to school with what looks like luggage on wheels. You know, the kind you usually take on vacation that has an extendable handle and that you can roll everywhere. Well, I used to be quite amused at seeing my students come running in with their Batman luggage, or their Spiderman luggage...but now, I think it´s really quite fabulous. The kids don´t have to hurt their backs because they can just tow this cool little backpack on wheels around. This would save the trips to the chiropractor when they´re older. There is the strap option, so these kids can easily ZIP their handles away and throw on the straps. As a teacher, this is like the best thing since Post-Its were invented.

- Two hour lunches. Enough said. ;) Brilliant. Here as a teacher, I get some perks. Half hour coffee breaks, where the school serves you coffee, fruit and usually some sort of snack like baguette or muffins or something.

- Oh, and beware laundry takes over 2 hours to do here...the average spin cyle and wash takes about 3 to 4 hours. What a shock for me to find out...

- Saw a dog, on command, bring a pack of smokes to his owner from the counter of a tobacco stand, pretty nifty trick.

- Ate Chinese food where the noodles used were linguine noodles....

- Did I tell you that I have seen the evidence of royal inbredding? Went to a monastery/palace where on the walls were paintings of past royalty. You can definitely see the effects of inbredding with the unattractive teeth and jaw features and slightly weird looking features.

- My psycho landlady has taken a turn for the better. Believe or not, she let me have guests over! How nice! It was quite a miracle...Turns out too, that I live in an apartment complex with all military veterans. Hence, it´s a building with all cute old people and everyone knows my roommate and I because we´re the ¨new¨ ones in the building.

- Here, they open the gifts on January 6 ¨Los Reyes Magos¨Day...so, if you find that you don´t have time to buy gifts for December 25 you´ve got a week or so to get it all together...

Bright-eyed and Twenty-five

2005-11-23T09:20:00.000-08:00

Friday, November 18, 2005

Knocking on quarter of a century actually hasn´t been too bad.

Having a birthday in Spain could help too. In a way, I´m really glad that I celebrated this relatively important birthday in another country....mainly because it becomes special almost because of the fact that I am away. If I was home for my birthday, I probably would have kept it super low key and done nothing.

The actual day of my birthday started off with only four hours of sleep and saying good-bye to my dear roommate of the last two months at 8 in the morning at the airport. The four of us Canadian chicas had a last sleepover event and so when we had to wake up at 6...it didn´t even feel like I was conscious.

Anyway, after the tearful goodbyes and sleepily heading to school on the metro...I arrived at school a little sad and a little tired. BUT, I was surprised when my Vice-Principal (called Deputy Head here) came out to wish me a happy birthday. I didn´t even realize that she would have remembered....

What followed was really quite special and hard to put into words. I walked into my grade 4 class and they were finishing up the first block´s activity. I slipped off my backpack and sat in my usual seat when all of the kids turned around and sang Happy Birthday to me in English! I didn´t even know how to respond, I was so surprised.

The following block, I head next door to teach the other grade 4 class...unsuspecting anything. As I enter, the entire class erupts into Feliz Cumpleaños. By this time, I´m a little bit more aware and am floored that this class as well, SOMEHOW knew it was my birthday.

At recess, my teacher asks me to come outside. I open the door and there standing, like a little choir, were all my grade 3 kids! Every kid, even the two children with difficulties walking and one is in a w-chair, came out to sing HB to me.....by this point, I am on the verge of tears....very touched by their actions.

I got loads of hugs and kisses from the kids and then I head downstairs to the staffroom for the usual half hour of coffee and snacks (yeah, it´s a nice life here being a teacher I´d have to say ) I am approached by all the teachers and staff who give me kisses and well wishes. By this time, I am quite puzzled and surprised that sooooooooo many people know it´s my birthday.

The speech therapist brought down a little electric keyboard that played a fantastically cute and cheesy tune and a little group of teachers sang me Happy Birthday......

AND THENNNNNNNN......

My vice-principal comes in with this red book in hand and presents it to me. On the cover, in nicely printed letters on special handmade paper, were the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY in CHINESE. I was pretty stunned. Somehow, my teacher had managed to find the Chinese characters and printed them out. I open up the book to find that ALL of my students, the grade 3s and 4s, had all written me individual messages and drawn me pictures on black construction paper and my teacher and glued them all in and made this fabulous book. In the back, my own teacher had drawn me a little picture (he´s an amazing artist) and written me a poem. Other staff members also wrote messages and drew me pictures.

It is honestly, one of the most precious gifts I´ve ever received.

By this point, with the lack of sleep, the mixture of emotions, I broke down and cried a little, I was so touched. It hit me that pretty much, most of the staff in the entire school and all my kiddies knew it was my birthday. I can´t even tell you HOW loved I felt at that moment....

This school that I am working in, is really quite exceptional. I have never felt more welcomed and more accepted. My other schools are definitely not like that...so to have this happen, honestly, it´s an unforgettable 25th birthday.

SURPRISE! What...IT'S NOT MY BIRTHDAY...YET.

2005-11-12T04:44:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, November 8th, 2005 (Evening)

So, I’ve had the most memorable pre-25th birthday ever. Honestly, I have the BEST friends a girl could ever ask for here in Spain. My Canadian chickfriends here are incredible…I can’t even tell you what I would have done if I didn’t know these girls. They have been family for me and seriously, we all feel like we’re sisters.

They knew that I was reluctant to talk about turning 25 next week, and so this past week, on Tuesday ( so about ten days before my bday..) they threw me a surprise party! It was WAYYYYYYY TOO sweet….I was so shocked that I don’t think I really knew how to respond. I didn’t suspect anything, and had assumed that we were going to eat tapas as this was the “original” plan. I had shown up with another friend of mine (who didn’t know what was going on) and apparently, he was MORE surprised than I was!

We showed up at my friends’ apartment, and I open the door to see nothing but total darkness. Suddenly, one of my friends appears and yells “SURPRISE!”. They throw on the lights and I see this “Feliz Cumpleanos Heng-zi” sign on the wall with balloons everywhere….

There was about a dozen people who had shown up…so I was even more surprised. I was really, REALLY touched. I had received a couple of odd emails earlier about people not coming to tapas or showing up late---so it finally all made sense when I saw them all sitting there in my friends’ living room!

For about twenty minutes, I just sort of sat there in a semi-stupor state, talking to people but not realizing that they were here for my “birthday”. I guess I had been in a little bit of denial that I was turning 25, so this party really brought to light the fact that I was REALLY going to be quarter-of-a-century YOUNG in about a week’s time.

The girls had even set up this powerpoint to play a game to see how well people knew me---it was like a game where people had to answer questions (from serious to silly ones)…it was really amazing to me that my friends would actually spend the time and the energy to do something like this for me….I guess I just didn’t know how to receive such kindness…honestly.

They even got me these SUH-WEET pyjamas that I had fallen in love with but refused to buy because it was too expensive…and they all chipped in and got me the set! I wish I could show a picture of them---they’ve got these cool trains and designs on it…like a “scene” with clouds, trains and a rainbow or something,---all sown on with extra patches of colourful material. Wicked rad PJs.

So…I guess you can say that I feel a lot better about facing the big 2-5…as one of my friend’s put it…I’m 5 years away from 30 and only 15 away from 40. Oh la la!

Update on Psycho Landlady, Teaching the Pres' Kid and Spanish Halloween

2005-11-12T04:38:00.000-08:00

Ever felt like a prisoner in your own home? Well, the day our landlady announced that she would be coming over EVERY DAY (no exaggeration there, folks, seriously!) to “study” for her exam (it’s some sort of big examination like an LSAT, or MCAT etc.) was a day of grieving and much sorrow in our house. Throwing of ashes might have been appropriate as well….

Seriously, when I heard her come into the house, I shrunk under my covers like a little kid who’s seen a monster under her bed. Just on Friday, she questioned us on who left the bathroom light on. Tonight, as my roommate and I were eating dinner, she came in to tell us that having placemats on the table wasn’t enough, that it would still ruin the wood---and so we have to place another tablecloth under our placemats to ensure that her precious table lasts longer.

In talking to other people about it, we think that she’s here to spy on us. Landlords here actually do that sort of thing. She can totally study in her own place, but the fact that she’s choosing to study here is a little bit ridiculous and completely against the law (unfortunately, I won’t be able to do anything about this since my time left is so short and my rights as a stranger are few). The clincher is that she isn’t just here for a few hours in the afternoon when we’re still at school---she sometimes studies right into the night---till 9 or 11pm!

TEACHING THE PREZ’S DAUGHTER…AND MORE

Before I start—I don’t think I’ve actually told you that I TEACH the president’s daughter. I was told that she goes to my school…but it wasn’t till two weeks into my time here that I found out that she is actually in my class and we talk all the time. IT’s soooo weird to realize that the guy running the country (and who is not in the good books with a lot of the citizens here) has a daughter in the school that I teach at. It’s kind of crazy all at the same time, but since he is a Socialist president, he is acting on his beliefs in supporting the public school system. I can’t imagine our own prime minister or other presidents and leaders sending their kids just to an average school…

I’m sure you’ve all seen one of those classroom drama type movies where the teacher walks into a room and what appears is complete anarchy. Kids attacking other kids with scissors, drawing on everything but paper, running around screaming, shouting…well…welcome to my life as a teacher in Spain. It’s no longer just the movies for me. The teachers here don’t really have any classroom management style besides SCREAMING. I had a really tough class during my practicum, but honestly, nothing compares to the kind of kids that I have in my classes here. It’s not just in ONE school, but it’s been in every school I’ve been in. I have come to realize, if I can manage and teach Spanish kids----I can teach any kid.

I say this because I have discussed this with Spanish and foreign teachers alike. Spanish kids are notorious for being the most misbehaved, disrespectful, loud and talkative bunch you’ll ever meet. I don’t think it’s always been like this…but definitely over the last while, there’s been a radical shift in how the students perceive their teachers here, which has led to a lot of stress and a lot of unhealthy habits in the classroom. I met someone who knows a teacher who teaches the children of diplomats in an international school. The teacher talked about the fact that the Spanish kids are the most difficult to handle.

Let me explain. First off, I need to tell you that I love the kids--- I absolutely love them as people, just not as students. As friends and as my little buddies in class, they are awesome. I have received stickers, drawings, gum, hugs, kisses---you name it! They love for you to play with and talk to them. With the boys, they tell me all about soccer/football; as for the girls, they are sweet and extremely animated. It’s just that the majority of the kids have lost a sense of respect for teachers as an authority. They will sit there, RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU AS YOU’RE TALKING, and act as if you’re not there. They will be braiding gimp, passing notes, throwing eraser bits and getting in and out of their desks as they so please. The worse is that they’re always talking so loudly it sounds like they’re screaming and shouting at each other. In general, the Spanish are a loud and outspoken people, so even if you’re standing only two feet away, sometimes you still feel like you’re being screamed at. I teach different grades, and I’ve seen this in all the grades I teach ( grades 3 – 5).

For the last two weeks when I was shadowing the sub (my main teacher was gone studying for an exam), the kids were even worse. It was seriously a scene out of “Dangerous Minds” or something. I just stood there staring at the circus before me. Kids chasing each other in the classroom, others pretending to strangle another, throwing paper and objects, stabbing someone with a pencil…it was a nightmare. One boy played his Game Boy throughout the day for the entire two weeks the sub was there and would share his Game Boy with his friends. He didn’t do an ounce of work. The students were literally animals uncaged.

Back home, even with a rough class, you might have up to half your class that is difficult to handle. In the afternoon school I’m in, (especially in the grade 5 classes) much more than HALF misbehave….the biggest problem is the talking. I can’t say this any nicer…but they just don’t SHUT UP. They are constantly, incessantly, uncontrollably, TALKING. You put out one fire, and another person is talking in another corner. The teacher has to constantly shush and yell and stop and interrupt to get the class focused. It’s exhausting to watch, because you see how much time the teachers lose here in just trying to manage the class.

The thing is, I’ve never told the kids to shut up. This I have seen a lot with the teachers who use that order frequently. Back home, I can’t imagine a teacher telling a student or students to shut up…there would be major trouble.

Also, the pitch at which the teachers scream at is also unbearable for me. I don’t think in Canada teachers would get away with the kind of screaming that occurs here. It’s really sad to see actually. One time, I witnessed a teacher screaming at two kids soooo loudly and so furiously that she lost her voice at moments.

I don’t know where the break down in order has happened…but when you are fighting with two ten years to take away a toy from them…as a teacher…that’s pretty sad. The fact that you get caught in the melee of chaos and no one listens to you….that’s pretty sad. Or, when you observe a class and see that there are kids literally under their desks and the teacher doesn’t even notice….you know there are issues.

I could go on and on about the stuff I’ve seen, but until you come here and see it for yourself, it all sounds like I’m exaggerating…so I won’t go on because this is seriously what we face everyday here as teachers.

TRUCO TRACO! TRICK OR TREAT!

Believe or not, I went to a ten year old’s Halloween Party on Saturday. Let me say that I feel very privileged that one of my fifth graders would ask me to her party. I don’t think teachers usually get asked to come…so it was pretty cool.

I got there an hour and half late…and I wondered to myself, what am I getting myself into? I’m going to a party, with Spanish kids, for Halloween. I guess you can say it’s funny because Spain doesn’t celebrate Halloween. They ‘celebrate’ November 1st, All Saints Day, by going to the cemeteries and laying flowers on the graves of their dead ancestors and loved ones. However, over the past few years, with increasing North American influence through the media, Spanish children have grown keener on celebrating this holiday.

Anyhoo, it’s also November 5th, so it’s a week after Halloween. I arrived at the apartment to be greeted by screaming girls and boys who are dressed to the teeth as witches, dead brides, skeletons and Freddy Krugers. It was quite impressive. I had arrived just when they wanted to go trick or treating….

Hm. Guess who was the lone adult who went with them….

Yep. You guessed it. NONE of the parents came…and I was this strange person who just showed up and then indirectly delegated as Halloween Trick or Treating chaperon. So imagine this, I’ve just arrived at an apartment complex and immediately I’m whisked away by twenty or so kids chattering excitedly to me in Spanish (and I’m not quite understanding everything) to go trick or treating around the area A WEEK PAST HALLOWEEN in a country that doesn’t traditionally, or is in the habit of, celebrating this holiday. It was nuts…running around with these costumed kids through the tennis courts ( to a bunch of staring tennis players ) to have the kids buzz every single apartment in every single building…….in vain. Only one apartment out of the tens of residences actually offered the kids candy. It was also crazy chasing down some of the boys in my class who decided to do their own thing and scavenge for candy outside the complex.

Restless, agitated and ready to kill for sugar, I led a pack of hungry ten year olds back to the lair for some refreshments and regrouping. By then, I was hungry and exhausted…but not for candy. Five espressos or lots of chocolate would have done the trick (laugh).

I had a great time, but I also noticed the differences…maybe it was just at this one party, but it was odd for me to see the parents smoking and drinking a lot of rum around a group of children….but to them, it seemed quite normal. The parents also appeared non-plussed to hear that four of the boys had disappeared. I also watched as a group of girls from my class opened the apartment window and scream down at every single passerby for a good fifteen or so minutes, inquiring about the four boys.

Finally, because trick or treating was a letdown, the kids put on music and the parents and I actually danced with them. This was pretty neat to see, as I don’t remember dancing at parties till I was older.

My Crazy, OCD Landlady, Park Creepies, Metro Meditations

2005-10-28T04:15:00.000-07:00

Okay. I´ve been in my new place for almost two weeks now. Actually, it´s not that bad, but I forgot to tell you all about my psycho landlady. We are not allowed any visitors, NEVER. That was the first thing. Then she begins instructing us on HOW to open the fridge door. Because the kitchen also has another door, she told us SPECIFICALLY to close the KITCHEN door before opening the FRIDGE door. My goodness. She put magnets there to keep the kitchen door from hitting the fridge and told us, quite severely, NEVER to move the magnets. Aye, Aye Captain.

She also told us HOW to SIT in her chairs, HOW to close the front door...and she kept saying CAREFUL, CAREFUL ,CAREFUL. I thought I was five years old again. Lastly, she told us like ten times which laundry hanging line we could use outside---pointing frantically to the same one..when there was really only ONE option..so yeah. I was exhausted just listening to her.

The best one was when she showed us where the cutting boards were, and carefully, like we were in kindergarten, told us to CUT OUR FOOD on the cutting boards. Then she threatened us by saying, ¨I will cut off your hands if you don´t¨. I was like...¨hahahah¨all like pretending to laugh and thinking ¨oh my goodness¨...this is INSANE.

So....pick your landlords carefully. They can be scary.

PARK

So, my roommie and I try to leech WiFi connections for free on her lappy at the park by our house. Unfortunately, at night it´s a hangout for lots of interesting people. There was a man who was hanging out there, who had hung his coat on the garbage can and was listening to a discman of sorts. The problem was that he was also horking into the kids´ playground every few minutes. What became our signal to leave was when one of us was checking emails and we heard the sound of....water....and realized that the man was peeing, RIGHT THERE in front of us, at the park.

METRO

I think it´s an absolute SKILL, every morning, as I hurl myself into an open subway train with thousands of other people, to see that there are people READING as they are surrounded and smothered by tens of other bodies and faces. They do it calmly as though they had all the time and room in the world. I always stare at those people incredulously..and at times, try to read over their shoulder to see what it is that they´re so engrossed in. (This is also typical metro etiquette here..people read over others´shoulders all the time).

Taking the metro now is something I´m proud to say,I can do like a local.Even when it seems like there´s no room left, THERE ALWAYS IS. If you don´t mind smelling an armpit and having someone´s butt in your face and a purse jabbing into your back, you´ll do just fine...it might just be one stop anyway!

Two words: DAVID BECKHAM

2005-10-24T07:48:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

If any of you travel Europe, I have to say this: YOU MUST GO TO A SOCCER(FOOTBALL, as it is properly known in all other parts of the world) GAME.

Imagine this: it´s not even an important football match, but the atmosphere is like that of an NHL playoff game. Men, women and children all clad in white soccer jerseys with the Real Madrid symbol, and/or with the purple emblematic scarf of the football team wrapped around their neck or tied around their arm thickly like a bracelet.

You get off the metro and hike up the stairs to a scene that looks like pre-post fireworks on Canada Day. Thousands of people milling around on the streets, proudly wearing paraphenelia of their team of choice. Street vendors are selling nuts, popcorn, beer, pop, calendars of the players, jerseys, photos---you name it---in brightly lit stands. The streets have been corralled off and police on horses and on foot stand by to make sure that hooliganism doesn´t take place.

We were lucky enough to get some sweet cheap (Only 15 Euros!!!) tickets to the REAL MADRID VS. ROSENBURG game. (Rosenburg is one of the top Norwegian teams) We were attending the first round of the Champions Tournament, where the top teams from around Europe play each other. Real Madrid is a much stronger team that Rosenberg, so it wasn´t going to be really a surprise for them to win...so, considering the odds, I was still shocked by the spirit of the spectators and by the amount of people going to the game.

We had to pass through security and take the escalator and hike up one of the towers to get to our seats. Believe it or not, in Spanish our nosebleeds section is called ¨VOMITORIO.¨ Nicely named I must say.

We stopped momentarily before ascending further to our seats to gaze down at the scene below...It almost took my breath away. The only way to describe the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu (home of the Real Madrid football players) football pitch from that height is like staring down inside a modern day Coliseum for contemporary gladiators who are clad in Siemens sponsored shimmery white jerseys, shorts, knee high socks and cleats. The soccer pitch just looked GLORIOUS. In the center, there was a gigantic soccer ball tarp, where the black hectagons were in the shape of stars (to show that it was a Champions match). You look around at the sea of people, the Spanish flags floating around...you hear the purple trumpet-like (and after a while, really annoying) fog-horns that are being blown all around the stadium....and you realize. I AM AT A REAL MADRID SOCCER GAME.

My eyes eagerly scanned the pitch for...(of course) David Beckham. Yes, the man who made the mohawk hairstyle hot, and who can kick from anywhere to anyone...yes the legendary man with the sexy locks would definitely be the focus of my time at the game. Having come all the way, having known of him for years....and knowing how my sister would have killed to be in my place...I had to make sure that I saw him and took photos to prove my attendance in his presence.

I felt like a scientist watching an ant carrying food back to their underground habitat as I watched David Beckham warm up, kick around the ball, do a couple of quick Russian-dance like squats and pose for pictures---I was attentive to his every movement. (Hi, yeah, I am not a stalker...)

The first part of the game was kind of slow, but overall, the game was absolutely FANTASTIC. You have to be there to understand the passion and intensity that people show for their teams..it´s incredible to see a section of people in unison who are constantly singing and playing on their jimbayes, waving their flags, moving their arms in sync...the thought had passed through my mind that I wished to be with that cheering section...until I found out during intermission that they are actually a racist, extremist soccer-fan group here in Spain. My friend pointed out to me their flag, a blue X on a red background, hanging over one of the walls.

My favourite memory of the game was hearing how the crowd responded every time Real Madrid attacked the opposing team´s goaltender with a play....whenever a player would miss a strike to the net, you´d hear the entire stadium sigh or hear a OHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I loved seeing half the people get up out of their seats when a seeming goal would happen. I loved seeing people get up and boo and yell when their players got yellow (or the one red) carded during the game. This was the best part, just to see how people were so into the game. There was constant singing and shouting out of words and chants that I didn´t know....but what a great feeling to have been a part of that. It was wonderful to be able to sing that all-too famous soccer chant (that is almost ritual and iconic) ¨Olé, Olé, Olé, Olé,....O-Lé, O-Lé...¨inside a stadium with 65,000 spectators!

So, when the opposing team scored the first goal, the crowd was in an uproar....but it served Real Madrid right. They had been playing sluggishly and really needed to pick up the pace and attack Rosenberg more whole-heartedly.

The second part of the game was MUCH better, where Real scored four goals...the BEST one being the foul (the penalty kick) that David Beckham took to seal the deal, making it 4-1 for REAL. IT was brilliant, his signature kick that sent the soccer ball spinning in a boomerang like fashion into the upper right-hand side of the net as the goalie dove painfully and futilely towards the white spinning orb. I am sooooooooooo happy to have witnessed a Beckham goal LIVE.

A hilarious thing that occurs when a goal is scored is that they print it on the large LCD screens at both ends of the stadium, but they spell it ¨GOOL!!!!!!!!¨.........I had a good laugh everytime I saw the word come up.

It was also an extremely satisfying feeling to leave the stadium knowing that your team has won.....so incredible. And of course, one of the neatest parts of the match, traditional to soccer matches, is when the players exchange jerseys at the end of the game. (Sorry ladies, we tried to follow and see if Becks would make an exchange with another player....it never happened. Yes, we were severely disappointed too.)

Side fact: Becks was the only player who wore a long sleeve jersey. I have no idea why, but it was interesting...maybe to draw less attention to his tatoos??

I will end with a little lesson in European English vocabulary for those of us North Americans that don´t understand....I was severely teased by some Irish chicos about the words we choose when talking about soccer.

First off, the fact that I say soccer is anathema to them. I never realized how difficult it would be for me to call soccer football. I have a tendency to say the former, and then get some looks, and have to correct myself to say the latter. But in my mind..when I say football, I just see NFL and big guys in helmets tackling each other. It´s really bad how ingrained in my head that is.

Other words:

We call it a soccer jersey, they call it a soccer shirt. ( I told them that shirts had collars and buttons. They told me that jersey is something like visiting your mother...a place...)

We call it a soccer uniform (when it´s the whole outfit) , they call it a ¨kit¨. (They laughed and told me that uniforms is only used as the word for school children and what they wear to school.)

SO...I will end with this. Becks, in the flesh, though 3 floors down, was BRILLIANT...superb!
HALA MADRID!

Thanksgiving and Tanks...Short but Sweet!

2005-10-13T09:03:00.000-07:00

This will definitely be a short but scintillating blog! (Hopefully)

Did you know...
- there are 85 steps from the front door of our apt. building up to our actual apartment?
- there is a brand of bread here called ¨BIMBO¨ ( I don´t eat it because it´s really airy )
- there are boys in my classes named ¨Nacho¨!
- That the current president of Spain´s children attend one of the schools I am teaching at?
- That I work with a teacher whose husband is a descendant of Christopher Columbus?
- that I was here when the annual solar eclipse occurred here in Madrid (in all of Spain) and that I was too busy buying laundry detergent to notice...
- I was mooned by a man (unintentionally) when getting off the metro station--his pants and undies had completely come off and as I looked up to hike up the stairs, I was greeted by two white cheeks!
- I celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving with no turkey, but lots of food, 4 Canadians, Two Americans and a Dutch girl! One of our guests tried to bring a¨pie¨ because we couldn´t find pumpkin pie anywhere...and upon serving his ¨pies¨we discovered that they were CAKES! (Good all the same)
- Spain´s National Day (like July 1st is Canada Day) was yesterday, October 12th and I got to see the craziest MILITARY parade of my life! This parade had tanks, military vehicles with missile launchers and bazookas..the whole works! We were covered in diesel smoke as tanks roared passed us at over 90 km/h!
- that I got to wave at the King and Queen of Spain during the parade!
-that they have tons of military units, and one unit is like the ¨ski¨patrollers--they had on white army fatigue clothes with a pack and skis and ski poles attached to their backs!

Okay, so I thought I would make this one quick! Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving this past week!

Cheech and Chong, Finally teaching!!, Searching for Sushi

2005-10-06T04:10:00.000-07:00

DEALING WITH CHEECH AND CHONG: MY BUMBLING COORDINATORS

Most of you must be wondering if I am just on an extended vacation or if I fibbed my way here about teaching. Well, to quash all of your queries and dubieties, I am INDEED here to teach and will start as of tomorrow.

The reason why I haven´t talked much about classes and getting ready to teach is...well, I am dealing with some of the most disorganized administrators possible. Every foreign exchange student here in Spain will testify to what I am writing, so I don´t feel as bad writing this as a critique. It´s really just a cultural difference that I find personally hard to adapt to. I don´t know what´s going on because the admin. doesn´t know what´s going on either. Don´t get me wrong, I am actually grateful for their disorganization, because it gave me a month to adapt and get settled in a new country, but when meetings that should take ten minutes takes two hours....it´s a bit taxing.

For example, the coordinators don´t actually tell you if you have a meeting. They just sort of set a day with someone that they think will see you and depend on that person to pass on the message. Once the meeting starts, we will change rooms about three times in the span of half an hour. During our meeting with our coordinators, they still didn´t know our names. My housemate had to write her name on the back of her photo. Instead of having all the papers ready, they have to run out and disappear for half an hour to get a few photocopies done. Neither of my coordinators knew the website address that we were all suppose to have access to. To get organized about which person would go to which school, we had a two hour discussion, where in the end, they wrote our names down next to three different schools and we got a few numbers, maps and names and that was it. We still didn´t know who we would be with or what we would be teaching.

THE CLINCHER, the coup de grace, the K.O., was when they asked us Canadian girls, to go to the airport and pick up four British students from the airport on a Sunday. The coordinator was off to Ireland and decided that it would be best for us to do it. Can you imagine this right now? Three Canadian girls who have barely been in the country for a couple of weeks, are travelling on the metro to a Spanish-speaking airport to pick up some English people and bring them to their residence. Hilarious. We had the signs and everything! I guess it´s kind of a shock because it would be like us back home, asking some foreign exchange student to go to the YVR airport alone and try to greet and bring other foreign students to their housing. It would be unheard of! The experience turned out to be quite crazy too, as we were at the airport for three hours---trying to locate these students when all we had was their names and passport numbers. (One of them had lost their luggage and it took forever to get that settled in the secure area). We didn´t know what they looked or anything....yes, oh the loca(crazy)-ness.

IMPORTANT FACT: Did you know, that unless you have a search warrant for a person, you can´t even asked and be told if someone actually got on a plane to go somewhere? I tried desperately to get info from British Airways and apparently it´s against the law to tell someone if they ask...

Okay, enough about that--because despite the angst and stress we faced with the coordinators, all of us chickies are excited about starting in our schools this week!

FINALLY! I´M BACK IN THE CLASSROOM!

It was quite exciting the last two days to be back inside a school and in classrooms! I am sooo thankful for the fact that I don´t have any courses to take here! I will simply be in the schools doing a full-time practicum. In the morning I am going to be at a chartered school ( once a private now turned public school--but still has private school stuff ) to teach primarily English...I actually want to be in more of the Spanish subjects, but we´ll see. In the afternoon, I will be in another school, teaching a smattering of English with other subjects in Spanish (like Maths and Science).

At the morning school, I followed around Brian, an American teacher who has been in Spain for a long time, for two different classes where he taught conversational English to second and fourth graders at a frenetic pace. I LOVED the grade 2 class, the students are absolutely, cheek-pinchingly, cute and adorable. I didn´t think I would do well with younger students, but their energy and warmness captured my heart. They sang the ¨Welcome back, learning English is Cool¨song for me and we sang all these old school favourites like ¨Where is my finger/thumb/pinky?¨and the absolute bomb-school song that we all know...¨WHEELS ON THE BUS GO ROUND AND ROUND...¨OH MY GOODNESS. The kids rocked the songs!

The grade 4 class was more emotionally draining as the students were older and already tougher to handle. It was a surprise to me too, since I find that I generally prefer the older kids. This is what I noticed immediately and Brian and I talked about it...the Spanish kids are a lot less disciplined...as in, classroom management is quite a headache for teachers from other countries. The kids are fantastic, but they LOOOOOOVEEEE to talk and they don´t really listen. As it turns out, the older they get, the harder it is to discipline.

Now I understand WHY my own Spanish classes (the crash course that I took for 3 weeks in Sept. ) were the way they were. I thought that my teacher didn´t know how to teach or something....but it turns out she had been teaching for 10 years. What happened was, my Spanish class had about 30, 40 people. But there was always, about 6 people talking at the same time as the teacher. Half the time, I couldn´t hear the teacher because all I could hear were the dronings of these students in the classroom. The teacher didn´t really deal with it, she would simply TALK OVER the noise, which made it worse. Or, the teacher would talk PRIMARILY to those six students and spend about an hour, discussing tangents and questions that were completely irrelevant to what we were suppose to learn. The teacher was also really informal and pretty assertive with things like smacking the heads ( okay, these are like twenty-something year old big boys from Holland ) of male students playfully, but also to get their attention. I was quite shocked by how she decided to teach us swear words during our last class. The style of teaching here and relating to students is MUCHO different.

Back to my time in the classroom, I discovered that the kids call their teachers by their first names. I like this a lot, but was quite shocked because you generally won´t find that until university in Canada. I had originally introduced myself to the kids who asked me my name as Señorita Lo until I asked Brian and saw that the kids called him by his first name. Then I felt sheepish because I must have aged myself with such an introduction by about forty years.

The kids are hilarious though, they will pull out ALL their language ammo when they meet you. So, I was bombarded with, ¨Hello, Good-bye, Good Morning, My name is, I am fine..¨rather quickly. I´m sure I´m like that too in Spanish, eagerly looking for any opportunity to throw out an ¨Hola, Que tal, Me llamo Heng-zi¨.

Another thing I am really happy about, is that because the teaching is relatively informal, we have more freedom to be friendly with the students without breaking the law or fearing lawsuits. Teachers here are free to show their affection and this is something that I really feel strongly about and really believe in (though I´m sure there are those who disagree, but I can testify to the importance of affirmation).

I don´t know what future blogs will hold..but I sure hope I will have some good stories about the Pacos, Marias, Gonzalos and Paolas in my classes to share.

SEARCHING FOR SUSHI...

Did you know, that I went to the only Japanese store in Madrid, and that it is only one of TWO in this whole country? My italian girliefriend here has never experienced the pleasure of eating uncooked fish wrapped in crackly seaweed; so I organized a little sushi party to have her try and taste the beauty that is in sake (salmon) and California rolls.

I am actually quite proud of myself that I have found ¨stores from the motherland¨(haha..) I haven´t missed asian cuisine that much since coming yet, but while hunting for all the necessary ingredients for sushi-making, I did find myself thinking more about my mom´s cooking, phoa noodles, udon...

Over a two day period, I asked around the few (meaning like 1) asian(s) that I know here about where to buy Chinese and Japanese food stuff. I also surfed the net and had even thought about walking into Japanese restaurants to ask them where they get their ingredients...(Tangent: Can you imagine this conversation...Me: ¨Hi, I am too poor of a student to come and eat your sushi {it´s like $50Cdn to eat sushi here} ...but can you tell me where you get all your stuff?¨I´m sure I might have gotten a few restaurant doors slammed in my face...)

I didn´t realize till I started that there´s an interesting neighbourhood by the Plaza de España metro stop that had a lot of Chinese shops. I talked to the teenage boy who did his homework in his family´s store in my terrible Mandarin and elementary Spanish...it was kind of funny because he couldn´t seem to understand that YES I am Chinese too...but NO I don´t speak his kind of Chinese but YES I do speak Chinese..just Cantonese and not Mandarin...

Finding the one and only Japanese store was a story in and of itself. I guess it´s when I was really searching for stuff from home that I realize how lucky I am in Vancouver to eat a lot of cool foods from all different cultures so cheaply and conveniently. Asian cuisine here is still definitely a luxury and so I found myself more like a woman hunting for diamonds rather than just going to the grocery store to pick up some groceries.

The reason why it turned more into a wack-through-the-concrete jungle of Madrid experience is that the streets are so UNclearly laid out here. There are NO poles with street names that hang over intersections and as I had mentioned before, they are labelled and glued to the side of buildings and are about the size of six floor tiles cemented together.

So, I clearly had the address and had brought my faithful map (thanks to my friend Matthew who took me to the coolest map store to buy this thing) to find Toyko-YA, the store. My roommate and I get off the metro and start in the direction of the store...to find that after having overexceeded the street on foot by about three blocks, we head back in the other direction...to find that we had gone beyond by another block or so. By then, we had walked for a good hour or so and were wondering if my map was just old, or I was directionally illiterate even with a map.

Miraculously, I restudied the map to see that we had walked ABOVE AND BELOW the street, like the two ends of an Oreo, and that the street was just this little-whittie thing in between some big ones. Relieved, we headed up the street and were eagerly counting the numbers down to the store and looking for storefront signs when...6...7...8...9. I blinked.

The building was occupied by a herbal naturopathy store.

I didn´t feel like crying...more like sighing and wondering if I would ever find the place when it was necessary ( it has already happened a number of times when I have attempted to locate a store, a church, a house etc. that I get there and it´s NOT there ) .

Maybe there was sushi hidden inside some of those Echinacea pills and flax powder, but I had all but given up. Thankfully, my roommate decided to go in and ask the salesperson if they knew the whereabouts of this seemingly(in my mind) phantom Japanese store.

Turns out, that on the far opposite end of this short, but extremely WIDE street---there are buildings with the EXACT SAME NUMBERS on the buildings WITH THE EXACT SAME STREET NAME.

Hidden by a few tree trunks and obscuring foliage, there stood Tokyo-YA.

Almost skipping, half-running and dropping to my knees, I could see the heavens part and the light shine down on Tokyo-YA and hear angelic voices ( just like that Philly Cream Cheese commercial ) in my head...

What hit me next was...¨WHAT on earth¿?!?¨ HOW does this work? How do these buildings get their mail sorted out?!?! It might be easier with the Japanese and the naturopathic stores to get their mail but I wonder about the private residents on both sides of these streets. They have the same numbers on both sides of the street...it´s like having two 22 Hastings or 543 Davie St. and hoping that people will be discerning enough to figure that there´s a chance that they might share numbers and street names...

Anyhooo...man, I rant a lot. Sorry. The sushi party was last night and it was a success! I had found everything, down to the mats, the wasabi, all the works....and we had a blast! I am glad to say that we have another sushi convert! Yahoo!

Apartment Hunting, Technocolor Yoghurt and Communal Dinners

2005-10-04T05:22:00.000-07:00

The past week has been filled with a lot of regular day adventures..I wish I carried around a tiny notebook to jot down all the idiosyncracies of Spanish life...I just love how different cultures are, it really puts into perspective that we in Canada, have our fair share of strange behavioural tendencies.

One thing, I hope I don´t come home and start doing is to stare at people for no reason on public transit. Since everyone is in the habit of doing so here, I find myself commenting internally as I stare at other people´s shoes, hair, clothes etc. It´s really a way to pass the time when you´re stuck in a subway train with hundreds of other people. You realize that they are doing the same to you, so you just play along.

Last week I was trying to find another apartment because the one we´re in is quite expensive. Though I love the facilities ( we have a great living room, patio, an upstairs terrace to hang clothes, our own laundry room, a quaintsy kitchen and each one a large bedroom) we´re paying over $620 Canadian per person for our place. That´s more than half of my money gone to our apartment. A little bee,(a boy from America), told us that he was staying with a Señora who does his laundry and he pays about half of what we´re paying per month. I was a bit shocked too, having talked and asked pretty much every single student that I´ve met here how much they pay, to find that there was only one other guy who paid more than I did in rent. Thus, I decided it was time to hunt for other apartments.

It is an emotionally draining experience to try and call and ask about apartments. I feel like I break out in a cold sweat everytime I have to dial the 9 digits...one of the last phone calls I made, I couldn´t figure out what the word for ¨door bell¨ was, so I ended up saying something like "eh, necesito pulsar el DING-DONG, DING DONG?!?!" ("eh, do I need to push the DING-DONG DING-DONG?") Luckily, some onomatopoeia is universal, so despite the laughter from my friends and the lady at the other end she understood what I was trying to say.

Though I loved the señora who was living in the first apartment I visited ( I ended up staying over half an hour looking at photos of her grandchildren, children and of her work), it was more expensive to stay with her, have two meals and my laundry done. My housemate and I will be moving in two weeks time into a shared accomodation but where we will be paying half of what we are paying now.

It´s hilarious how when people don´t understand you here, and you ask them to repeat what they´ve just said, it seems like they say it even faster the second time around...

Other than the apartment hunting, I had my first all-night outing here in Madrid. Man. Thursday was the last day of classes, so that night I went out with my buddies from class. Anyway, after hopping from place to place till 2am, (apparently some people don´t show up till after 3am--THAT´S when the fun beguns! ) we ended up staying in a really neat club that plays only House Music. Packed with people, there´s a glass-paned dance floor with lights and fog. I didn´t get home till 7am..my goodness. I didn´t realize how tired and sore I´d be after 5 hours of non-stop movement.

NEON YOGHURT -- FOOD BEEF OF THE WEEK

On the outside, the individualized containers of yoghurt appear innocently the same as those of back home. Even the name brand is the same-- DANONE, one that I am familiar with and eat all the time. So I pick up the package of 8 that has three flavours, Lemon, Strawberry and Banana. Apart from strawberry, lemon and banana flavours don´t exist back home ( at least, to my latest knowledge)..so this was going to be quite an experience. Bright colours swirl and dance on the little containers, the lemon is more like a lime-green, the strawberry is quite a pastel pink and the banana is a bright yellow, like the florescent crayon in your CRAYOLA set.

To my North American colour palette and surprise, I open the containers to find that the colours on the outside are IDENTICAL to the substance INSIDE. My lemon-flavoured yoghurt is lime-green, no joke. Looks like I am eating green skittles. My strawberry one was that pretty blush pink and the banana flavoured one was of course, a delightful neon-yellow. My goodness, they don´t lie when they say show you the colours of the containers!

There was not ONE crumb or morsel of real fruit in any of the flavours...I had to settle for a very vivid imagination that morning as I ate my yoghurt..."mmm.....I can just taste those strawberries..yum, yum..I´m sure they just mashed them up real good...."

So, I am on the hunt for good yoghurt....to be continued.

Note: You might be wondering why I am so anal about yoghurt, but you have to understand that I eat tons of it and I tend to be very picky about taste and texture....so I have to analyze Spanish yoghurt to death as well because I do that between brands back home too.

COMMUNAL DINNERS --HOME AWAY FROM HOME

One of the things I love, savour and cherish the most so far about my time here in Spain are the communal dinners that I have with my friends. Whether it´s two of us, three, five or six, whatever the number, I just RELISH the time that we have together. For me, it heightens the importance of the meal and how tied that is to relationships and deepening the links with others. Most of the time, communal dinners are simple affairs---making pasta is the general consensus. Naturally, some of us cook ( I seem to end up cooking quite a bit--and you would be surprised, I actually enjoy it---though I feel bad at times that this bossy side comes out of me as I cook and tell people what to do! hahah ) and others clean. At times, we all go to the grocery store together and pick up meat, vegetables, drinks and just wander around for a bit as we try to organize ourselves.

Maybe because dinnertime is such an important part of MY own background with my family ( we eat together quite often if not most days), it´s absolutely essential to me now that I use mealtimes also just as a time to spend with others. Despite the differences in schedules, I do believe that we need to take the time to enjoy other people´s company and not see food as simply a ¨necessary thing for survival ¨. Food and it´s preparation is actually crucially linked to a healthy society if used in the context of being with others as a time to socialize, discuss, and simply download the day´s events. I can´t express how much I LOVE this...I think that when I come home, I think I am going to try to organize dinner parties...hm. We´ll see if it works but I will use this as an excuse (rather than depending solely on birthdays and holidays) to see my friends.

Perhaps because I see how disconnection among people occurs so quickly after we exit university and the convenience of student life that I hope to revert that in some way. I had depended on the ease and chances of ¨running¨into friends to keep in touch, but I realize now how much work it really is to keep friends and I need to make that a goal...who knows if this will work but I am going to stew over it some more. Life is too TOO short to be governed simply by the tasks of the day.

Really! I AM in Spain! Photos from Toledo

2005-09-28T06:44:00.000-07:00

So, since I am not able to post photos, my friend Matthew has given me permission to post his student website of our photos from Toledo, Spain. Just go to this website: http://students.washington.edu/mmvw

click on his SPAIN Page, scroll down and hit the Toledo link. You´ll see me and the other chicas and Matthew in the photos! Yay! If I can find more photos elsewhere I will let you know where to look for them...

Editor´s Note: Thanks to everyone so far who´s written me e-mails about reading the blog! I am quite surprised but really excited that this blog thing is working out! Please feel free to write me comments or send me e-mails and I will try to reply as promptly as I can. Cheers!

Holy Toledo! Graffi artist caught in the act!

2005-09-26T06:05:00.000-07:00

Editor´s note: I apologize for wrong information written on a previous blog. I had said that Segovia was the place where Christopher Columbus was granted permission to explore the New World. Uhm, just kidding folks. Actually, it was in Granada, and I haven´t been there yet.

On the weekend, we took another day trip. Five girls and a new American guy that we met through a friend of mine. First of all, I have to say ¨hats off¨to the guys who have survived day trips with a mob of women. They obviously like the attention or have grown up with sisters and can handle the dangerously high levels of estrogen that circulate amongst us.

We went to Toledo on Saturday, a picturesque city on a hill. I read up on Toledo but I can´t remember what were the reasons why it was so famous, besides the fact that it also has ( follow the pattern here folks) a huge castle, a huge cathedral and a gizillion smaller churches. What made Toledo really neat was that there were synagogues.

Personally, I found Toledo a lot more interesting than Segovia. The roads were even windier, steeper and more confusing. Though I´m directionally challenged, I think I´m alright with a map---but even with the maps on hand, I found that the streets had no rhyme or reason. The only way I can sort of describe the layout of the little town is that the roads look like those maze puzzles you find in puzzle books. Roads turn and bend, start and stop as they please. Once again, we had to plaster ourselves against the walls to avoid becoming roadkill.

Oh yes! I remember now! Okay, for a time, Toledo was the city where Christians, Jews and Muslims all lived, co-existed peacefully. Hence, in some of the religious buildings you will see the influences of the three meet. This is also why you will find mosque-like churches and synagogues. I´m dubious as to whether or not there are still any Jews in Toledo, but they have a Jewish Information center and we went to a museum dedicated to the Jewish way of life here in Spain. There were numerous artefacts, articles of clothing preserved and history blurbs here and there. Unfortunately, everything was written in Spanish and I found myself catching only snippets of words that I understood.

Just hiking up to the city from the busstop was quite an adventure...trying to find the cathedral took some time...as I had explained earlier, I couldn´t tell which way was which. THIS cathedral though was much more impressive, grandiose, elaborate and ornate than the one in Segovia. Let´s just say, ¨BLING BLING¨ of cathedrals. Gold trimmings everywhere, especially at the altar. My goodness. The High Altar decorations were so detailed and fine-lined that it would take eons to study the designs and paintings. The etchings on the metals, the way that they were so fancifully done made no pillar or column boring. Everything was over the top.

There were different exhibits to see...once again, my favourite being all the books and this one section where I could see an Islamic candle holder being placed side by side with a Catholic one, because it reminded me of how they had all once dwelled among one another. The books were fabulously done. The writing was perfectly straight and guilded in gold. There were sometimes decorations around the first letter of the first word on the page.

Goya, a famous Spanish painter, had done a painting of the betrayal of Jesus that was quite interesting. There were tons and tons of paintings of Jesus hanging on the cross and of biblical stories. The one creepy part was going into the basement where they had two life size replicas of Jesus´dead body with the wounds on his hands, feet and in his sides.

Another cool thing was to see the cardinal hats that dangled from the ceiling. Apparently, they hang these red velvet (almost musketeer-like) hats there till they rot/disintegrate...well, these hats will be there for a long time....

The castle was closed..ah, yes until 2007. It was supposed to be reopened this year but actually now it´s not going to be for another two so we didn´t get to go inside. They are turning it into some military museum.

At one point, we went to this one synagogue, it´s the oldest one in Spain/Europe and after having paid, we found out that it was just this ONE ROOM. It was an empty room with nothing in it. Just columns, and an altar at the front. Luckily a huge English tour group was there at the same time, so we bummed the ¨tour talk¨off of them, or else it would have been such a waste because we didn´t know at all what was the significance of that place.

Another meal rip-off. Soon, I´m going to compile a list of foods and drinks that have been disappointing since arriving in Spain. Many things don´t taste as they should or.... I guess I better explain, since being here our group of friends have had quite a few bad food experiences and so we´ve begun to joke about how we need to keep track of all the crazy bad choices we´ve had in food order. Anyways, We were hungry. It was around 7pm, too early for Spaniards to eat, and getting on the late side for us North Americans. Lunch was good, I had paella, which is the traditional rice-baked dish that is characteristic of Spain. There was seafood, chicken and some veggies mixed with the rice. Not bad. For dinner, we walked into this one " restaurant " and ordered pasta. When our pasta dishes arrived, they were served on DESSERT-SIZED plates and extremely salty. I had ordered the seafood pasta entrée and received exactly FOUR tiny shrimps. We had paid 7 Euros ( $10 Canadian! ) for a measly two-bite pasta dish. That was quite a letdown...(sigh) one of the woes of being a tourist and not knowing any better.

One of the best parts of the day was watching the sunset from Toledo. We had stumbled onto this lookout point that I guess wasn´t ¨touristed out¨ and we had a gorgeous view of the castle, the opposing mountains and the winding roads from a far. In my Rick Steves guidebook, he mentioned staying to see the ¨Medieval moonrise¨. Well, I may just have to write good ole Rick and tell him that we didn´t SEE NO moon...we waited till almost half past nine and had to run and catch our bus and still NADA. So....I´m not sure what the deal is, but definitely no medieval moonrise for us.

Overall, Toledo is a wicked city to visit...and especially now when the tourists are fewer (though still in huge droves inside the cathedrals and certain attractions) I highly recommend it as a place to see and experience!
----------------

SO, did I mention that graffiti decorates EVERYTHING here? On most buildings, on all the metro trains,....on everything possible....it´s kind of sad really, because even nice, historical buildings are not spared the bingo dabber felts that attack surfaces viciously in this city. My housemate has been profiling one graffiti artist named ¨Darik¨who only signs in hard places...I personally haven´t noticed the different markings--but the other day, when I was getting off the metro with two other girls, two teenage boys were standing right in front of this open wall space ( Honestly, I think graffiti artists are attracted to blank spaces like dogs are to fire hydrants ) and immediately took out this huge bingo dabber-like marker and signed on it! He handed the marker to his little sidekick so that he could sign as well. This was in BROAD daylight, with television screens monitoring the metro! Hilarious! I was so excited, I almost asked him to sign my arm too....(j/k)

PDAers and Flamenco Dancing

2005-09-23T05:37:00.000-07:00

Obviously the above two topics have very little in common...I had been saving the topic of PDAers for a little while now, mainly because I know it is a bit of touchy subject and also I wanted to build it up a little (hee hee).

Personally, I don´t mind if couples are affectionate in public, ( PDA stands for Public Displays of Affection in case you´re wondering) to a certain degree. I think it´s very normal and can be cute to see. HOWEVER, when people decide that what happens behind closed doors ends up being executed at metro stations, outside a MacDonald´s washroom, waiting in line for a meal at the cafeteria, walking down the street and just trying to cross without having to close my eyes to make it to the other side of the cross walk...I draw the line. My personal safety is at risk. If I have to close my eyes everywhere I go, I might as well not leave the house.

What I´m trying to say is, the locals are EXTREMELY bold in public. It´s like, I can´t go one metro stop or walk 50 feet before I see some couple going at it in some ways. The worse thing is, it´s not just the prepubescent youth, but even the middle aged, well-to-do people in their forties and fifties seen to love hanky-panking in public.

I was hoping that I would get used to it...but honestly, I think it´s made me a little bit agitated...the other day, I was just going up the escalator when the couple in front of me decided to engage in some tactile experimentation. I had to physically, turn around and stand backwards on a upward moving escalator, to not have to watch the scene in front of me, especially since the guy´s hand was roving at my eye level on his girlfriend´s body. I will stop there.

So, if you are travelling to Madrid, I would have to say that this is one of the big differences you´ll notice immediately. Every North American I´ve met has said the same thing.I guess it´s one of those cultural differences, but one that I am not sure I will get used to...there are tons of stories I could recount but I just wanted to rant a little about it.

Okay, I think that´s enough of that.
Now, to change topics....

UNA NOCHE INCREÍBLE A CASA PATAS ( An unforgettable night at Casa Patas )

Just close your eyes for a moment. Imagine a packed, stuffy room with thirty tables and many bodies. Each circular table is covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth with an ashtray and program laid on it. There is light cast on a little elevated stage in the corner. Smoky tendrils from the lite end of dozens of cigarettes rise to the ceiling and disappear into the stage lights....My eyes puffy and red from the smoke....okay okay, so yes it was really smokey...our waiter arrives with a pitcher of sangría. Five of us girls, four Canadians and a Scottish gal are shoulder to shoulder sitting just one table back from center and front stage. (Yes, it pays to make a reservation.)

The sangría is incredible. Cool and refreshing, I have to remind myself that it´s not just fruit juice. Between sips of sangría, reading the flyer and scanning the crowd, there is an air of excitement and anticipation as we wait for the performance to begin.

Six men, all wearing black, arrive on stage and sit in L-shaped form at the top right hand of the stage. Three face us, three face the left. There are two singers, two guitarists, one flutist, one violinist and one Spanish-drumbox percussionist. The two singers are quite interesting in their look. One has the appearance of a Spanish lounge singer, wide open shirt, chest-hair appearing provocatively, a golden chain with a cross hanging around his neck. The other was what our Scottish friend called "a man and a half". He was BIG. His long curly black hair fell to his shoulders covering an enormous face. He appeared menacing at first, but once he started singing, one just had to close his/her eyes and fall into the intensity and passion of his voice.
His facial expressions are almost pained, like every word that comes out of his mouth was formed out of trial, suffering, heartbreak.

These musicians were incredible. They played with passion, intensity and enthusiasm. The violinist broke one of his bowstrings at one point and I thought that the guitars would have given way at some point too. The guy on the drumbox was absolutely fantastic and together these men really brought a taste of Spain into my heart. For over half an hour, we just listened to the musicians. I wished I understood more Spanish to comprehend the lyrics, but overall, it was probably some of the best Spanish music I´ve heard (not that I´ve heard a lot or am some sort of expert or anything ).

Suddenly, just when you don´t think the flamenco dancer will come, she appears through the curtains and enters the stage. The crowd erupts into cheers. She´s an older lady with jet-black hair tied back and very classic Spanish woman features, dark eyes, sharp nose, AWESOME figure! She was wearing a white dress with flowers embroidered on the front and little tassles, like those found on shawls, that draped off her arms. SHe had three fake roses and a white comb pinned to the back of her hair where her hair was tied.

She stepped out and immediately the first thing you notice is her face. Her face and her hands tell a lot of the story. She looks like she´s in agony half the time, but her expressions were priceless. At first, I thought it was a bit comical, but I realize that this is all part of the performance. She is perfectly in step to the music. Every turn. Every gesture. Every time she throws her arms in the arm in an arch, you see how she is the heartbeat of the musicians.

My favourite parts were whenever the music picked up and every one just went nuts. The dancer´s feet would just hit the floor so fast that my eyes couldn´t keep up, and the musicians were literally melted into their instruments, with sweat dripping down their face and chest. She was an incredible dancer. I´ve seen flamenco on the streets of Toronto before, but those girls were nothing compared to this lady that I saw. She was definitely a pro-star.

Honestly, I don´t think these people dance or play as a job. You can see that they love what they do and they are totally "in" their dance. The dancer changed dresses two other times, and in the meantime, the musicians would play or sing. The guys were awesome and I would have paid just to have seen them alone.

By the end of the two hour performance, I was in awe and satisfied. In my mind I can still see bits and pieces of the performance, the silver shoes worn by the drum-box guy, the delicate tendrils of tassle that flew and fell whenever the dancer moved and how they got caught in her hair, and yet would be able to free themselves at somepoint till the next snagging..., the heeled Mary-Jane like shoes that the dancer wore, her two other dresses: one was a brown suede fitted dress with a little flare at the bottom, the last dress was a spaghetti-strapped black and green polka-dotted thing that also had a black shawl wrap around the waist and lower part of her dress.

Another nice thing was when we were leaving and all the musicians came down and walked around as well. The drum-box guy walked by me and gave me a really big smile! I couldn´t help but smile back sheepishly...I wanted to tell him that I thought they did an incredible job, but I couldn´t string my Spanish words together fast enough. Oh well....What a night, all the same!

Madrid Nightlife, Groceries, Segovia and Pseudo-Hot Chocolate

2005-09-19T04:26:00.000-07:00

Ever woken up at 3am to a guy screaming in Spanish over a loudspeaker with loud dance music blaring in the background? Oh, no? Well, welcome to my life in Madrid.

The term "the city that never sleeps" is a bit understated..it´s more like "the city that never shuts up". I mean this in the most literal of senses, because that´s what it is. At all hours of the day, people are outside, attending festivals, meetings, partying...it´s non-stop. I seem to hear a man on a loudspeaker droning on at the back of head all day...

This past week, there was some sort of Communist gathering that occurred over the weekend. From about 8pm till some unlawful hour like 5am, there would be hundreds of young people hanging out in the plazas listening to people yell out Manifesto....Hail Che Guevara..something like that. It´s kind of brutal when I know the construction guys are also going to start work at 6am. By the time I fall back asleep, I´m gently awoken by the sound of a piercing, thudding drill at work below me.

We went out Wednesday night and usually back home, stuff in bars and clubs all close down by around 2am. Well here....people don´t go home generally till 6am. I am amazed by the noctural stamina of the denizens in this city. The amount of events you could attend are never ending. Flamenco dancing at the metro stop at 10pm? Drum circles in the park? The city only comes alive after 11pm.

Another little thing that makes this place interesting. Some people just have no problem expressing themselves loudly in public when riled up. One evening, we were all hanging out on the terrace of my friends´ apartment when we suddenly hear this loud shouting from below. A woman was yelling something obviously very vulgar and vitriolic at another person. She rounded the corner as we all gathered around the roof to look at the scene below. What made it MOST hilarious is that all the other residents in the other apartments had also come out to their windows and balconies to check it out as well. I felt like I was in ¨Coronation Street ¨ ( that cheesy Brit soap ) where really, all the neighbours come out to see what the commotions about. I couldn´t help but laugh when I saw this shirtless man sitting in his underwear, with his gut hanging out, also lean out to see what´s going on---what a sight!

BUYING GROCERIES, OLD-SCHOOL STYLE

I´m used to buying food from big groceries stores. The one stop pick it all up kind of deal. I decided to be adventurous and go to the local ¨food gallery¨as it is called here and to pick up my groceries through individual vendors. Once again, it´s that whole local community spirit that I love. It´s definitely a dying cultural event. I walked around and looked at all the produce that each shopkeeper had....some only had meats, others only had vegetables. I had no idea what I would even make with the food I bought, so I decided to just approach the shopkeepers that looked the most friendly. I bought eggs and exactly THREE drumsticks from this one stand. I was proud of myself for being able to point and communicate a little. The lady looked at me oddly...probably wondering what the heck was this girl doing asking for exactly three drumsticks.. ( I had shake and bake in mind but they don´t have that here...)

After my first purchase, I milled around and yo-yoed between two different stands for vegetables. One looked cleaner and a little bit more organized with younger workers. The other was an older gentleman who was just surrounded by baskets and up to the ceiling in vegetables. I opted for the second choice because I wanted some substantial conversation. It turned out to be really enjoyable and something that I definitely don´t think we have at home. The guy was hilarious...I´d ask for something like tomatoes. He´d reply by asking me what I was going to do with it..I had no clue how I would prepare my stuff and so he´d show me different kinds of potatoes to make different dishes. Same thing with a salad. I said I was going to make a spinach salad and so he´s telling me how to clean it and boil it, he gave me different kinds of tomatoes and it was just so cool to have a guy not just sell you some vegetables but advise you on how to prepare the food depending on what you were making.

I wish more services back home were like this. In the corporate, cosmopolite society that we´ve evolved into, I feel that the personal touch to service has been completely lost. If anything, I would always go back to this gentleman to buy produce just for the conversation and his helpfulness. Honestly, some of the veggies I bought weren´t in great shape, but I know he wasn´t ripping me off or anything..stuff here in Spain is a lot more natural and less pesticide-covered like the stuff back home, so it won´t look completely red and rosy or stay ¨fresh¨ for two weeks. I simply appreciated his kindness and was thoroughly impressed with his knowledge of how to use and prepare the vegetables.

SEGOVIA : CITY WHERE CHRIS COLUMBUS WAS RELEASED FOR EXPLORATION

Saturday, six of us went to Segovia, a little Spanish town that has been crowned a UN World Heritage site. It really is quite spectacular. I wish I could post photos but I just don´t have access to a scanner and I don´t have a Digie. Segovia is primarily famous for three things : a 2,000 year old Aqueduct, a ginormous Cathedral and Alcazar, the castle that Disneyland designed its own after and the place where good o´le Chris Columbus was appointed to check out the New World. Aye, Aye.

Overall, I mainly enjoyed just being in the little town. The cobblestone roads are impressive, it´s one lane everywhere. Literally, when a car comes by, you have to almost plaster yourself against the wall to not get hit. The city has an almost ship-like formation to it, where the castle sits at the ¨bow¨of the city and the aqueduct would be the butt, or the ¨stern¨. They had a medieval festival going on, so there were people dressed up in 16th century garb. Some guys were playing music with a type of clarinet, drums and other brass and percussion instruments that I can´t name.

The aqueduct is really quite impressive...but I guess it seems so odd, b/c it just sits there and it seems so detached from this modern day period. I wonder how water used to be drawn from this massive structure. It spans probably about two or three big city blocks.

The cathedral took two hundred years to build..we walked in when there was a mass going on. The ceiling is what impressed me the most and I loved the stain glass windows. Since I have zero knowledge of construction and archiecture, I am baffled and awed by how they can build such a grand structure. How do you get the guys to build up these columns and paint in the windows? Did they climb, or have pulleys..? The details in the church were awesome.

The castle, honestly was disappointing. It´s tall and high, but the inside isn´t very big. The ¨royal bedroom¨had a few chairs, and like a double bed. I was expecting this King-sized mother of a bed...the neat thing though, was that the ¨comforter¨ on it, was embossed in gold. You can see the gold thread woven in the red fabric. Most of the other rooms just contained armouries, history and artefacts. My favourite part was looking at the old books that were kept in glass containers. I loved looking at the writing and the font of the writer.

The neatest part was probably just walking up the 152 steps to the tower adjacent to the castle. I was a bit claustrophobic at one point, b/c it´s a very narrow and steep stairwell. The worse is, it´s the only stairwell and so people are going up and coming down the same way. It´s pretty crazy...you have to literally stop and smoosh yourself against the wall so others can get by. There aren´t any support structures, so if you fall.....just don´t fall.

At the top of the tower you can overlook the city. The city looks a bit like Napa Valley again, and definitely being in Segovia made it more real for me that I was in Spain. In the afternoon, I went for a walk with one of my guy friends and explored the city a bit. We were trying to get to the other side of the aqueduct and ended up hiking up to parts of the city that were totally away from the touristic stuff. I really liked it, as we saw two guys playing the saxophone in this vandalized ghetto corner of this rundown building.. Beside them was a bunch of boys playing soccer in this neglected looking court. Furtherout, one could overlook the whole town and see interesting buildings built right on the side of the cliff across from us.

Now, the one thing I was really looking forward to doing that day was to drink what I thought was pure chocolate melted into a cup of hot chocolate. Earlier in the day, I had seen this menu where they showed photos of this rich, melted chunks of chocolate in the cup. As the day progressed, I was increasingly fantasizing about drinking this melted Spanish chocolate and so we all went back to this café for an afternoon dose of cocoa. I eyed the menu again and decided that I wanted the one with mint. I was so excited that I was the first to go up the counter and order.

In my mind, I had imagined blocks of chocolate being pulled out, melted and poured, hot and thick as tar, into a steaming mug. As I open my eyes to see this realized before me, the waitress, who was this adorable little thing wearing a yellow uniform, goes to the cupboard behind her and pulls out a...yes, a.... A PACKAGE of ¨hot chocolate¨ with ¨menta¨ (mint) inscribed on the front. I don´t know if my jaw fell away or if I gave any indication of my crushing disappointment, but I tried to hold back a giant sigh. I watched as the girl slowly and meticulously poured the package into a mug, mix it with milk and hot water and pour the whole thing together.

The taste of it made the disappointment greater. It was much too thick...I felt like the liquid inflated and filled out my esophagus when I swallowed it....foamy milk with glorified Carnation-like Spanish hot chocolate powder. Drinking milky air definitely was a sad moment for me.

The sadness, of course passed. It was redeemed by the fact that there are worse things in life than foamy fake hot chocolate....

Musings about mullets, Fat Studies & Calamari Sandwiches

2005-09-13T11:57:00.000-07:00

Monday September 12th , 2005

Everything here just takes time. Whether it’s getting your student card or just trying to sign up for something, the whole process seems to be quite lengthy and drawn out. I’m learning a lot of patience and just to laugh about it when nothing seems to make sense.

Today we went to the Canadian consulate to “check” in. I was really impressed by how fully fluent the Canadian Staff were in all three languages. I especially admired the girl who handled our papers—she had impeccable English and Spanish—speaking without even a hint of an accent. I’d really like to be able to speak like that some day.

Who knows? I suddenly got this idea…if teaching really doesn’t work out for me—maybe I’ll go and work for the Canadian Embassy somewhere in the world. Sounds exotic---but I know that it could end up being just some paper pushing job or it’s freakin’ danger and I don’t know if that’s what I’m cut out to do..but still. No harm in dreaming right?

So today’s entry is more the dronings of a day here in Madrid…what can I say? I feel like I’ve adapted really well…I’m noticing little things—like the fact that a lot of girls here have piercings ( just little studs ) below their bottom lip. I think it looks incredibly awesome on some girls--it just adds to their look quite a bit. I’ve seen some girls with more than one under their lip…it’s like the new “ear” for piercing.

Another thing is the mullet. My goodness. How many mullets have I seen since I’ve arrived..it’s all the rage here—whether they’re curly long mullets or more David Beckham old-school style….guys and girls both have them. It’s beyond countable how many girls I’ve seen sport this look. I’m sure it’s coming to a neighbourhood near you as well.

I had a really strange sandwich today…actually I went adventurous and had this crazy “Menu Del Dia”. Today, I ordered the bocadillo Calamares ( Calamari sandwich ) and literally---they had neatly placed rings of deep fried squid in a long French baguette. That was it. It was probably the most interesting sandwich I’ve ever eaten in my life.

The salad that came before was the Ole—it had tuna, green olives, lettuce, those yucky little onion balls ( I don’t know what to call them but they’re super little and clear almost ), and asparagus. It was definitely an interesting salad…I’m glad I tried it, but I may ex-nay on that in the future.

The dessert that came with it was probably the driest piece of cake I’ve had in a long time. I literally had to take my fork and cut it with the side edge like a knife to get an edible bite.

What I love though, was the coffee. I’ve had it a few times here now—but it’s always just in those little cups and usually it’s a shot of espresso. Today I had it with milk and it was delicioso. I don’t think I could do a shot every day b/c it really does keep me wired for a LONG time.

Started my first Spanish class today. I was totally nervous that I wouldn’t know who I’d meet or if the teacher would speak way over my head…thankfully, I caught the most part. It was really good but I had an extremely embarrassing moment.

I’m sitting next to this girl from Finland. She’s super cool and we get along great—we talk about hanging out already after like five minutes of chat and I ask her what she studies. She tells me that she’s writing her thesis ( for a PhD) in the Social Sciences on women and fat. So, I’m sitting there trying to grasp what it is that she studies…I assume it’s like women’s studies mixed with health and societal views on obesity or something…She tells me that it’s a relatively new field and it’s LITERALLLY, NO JOKE called “ Fat Studies”. I find it absolutely fascinating but I am not sure what exactly she means…

Well, the teacher asks people to introduce their neighbours. Since nobody volunteered except one guy, I decided to volunteer to relieve the teacher of the need to pick on some poor student. Anyway, I get to the part where I introduce my Finnish friend and what she studies…when all of a sudden—the teacher asks me to specify what it is that she studies.

I’m TOTALLY thrown for a loop b/c I don’t know how to answer… so I answer, “las mujeres” ( meaning: WOMEN ). Oh oh. So already there’s a few snickers in the class b/c it sounds bad… “She studies women.”….hm. I make it WORSE b/c the teacher doesn’t understand and so I whip out my dictionary and frantically look in it for “ Fat Studies”. OH MAN. So I end up saying something like, “ estudia grasa” . (She studies fat ). The problem is…my friend is a little bit on the big side—so for me to say this is really horrible…and I felt SOO BAD b/c I was digging myself into this deep hole…I try again and I say, “ estudia las estudios grasos” ( She studies fat studies ) so finally, my Finnish friend interjects by telling the teacher that she is actually in Social Sciences. GOODNESS. I just wanted to crawl in a hole AND DIE. Thankfully, she was still willing to talk to me after that—I apologized…but I felt like dirt b/c it all came out SOOOO BAD.*Sigh* This is why I need to learn Spanish eh? To avoid all those problems…EGAD!

I also met an Italian girl today with the coolest name. I’m kind of excited b/c she might teach me some Italian and I will practice English with her. She told me that she had a buddy learn English in Vancouver and absolutely loved it. It made me really happy to hear good things about B.C. from so far away.

Tangent: Today we met more girls who were from the States who tells everyone that they’re from CANADA! What is this?? It’s pretty crazy if you ask me…

Ole! My first (and probably only ) Bullfight! Plus Prado Museum, Retiro Park

2005-09-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

Sunday September 11th, 2005

I never thought I’d actually go to a bullfight. Honestly, it probably goes against all my values as a person. I just don’t support the torture and killing of anything…especially when it’s held up for public display—and yet, I was also extremely curious b/c it was totally a cultural phenomenon that has been practiced for a long time. I want to UNDERSTAND this activity from the eyes of those who are passionate about it before writing it off from my own cultural-centric point of view.

MUSEO DEL PRADO

Before I get into the bullfight, I went to Museo del Prado—the museum jewel of Madrid. I can understand why…inside it’s filled with spectacular floor to ceiling oil paintings from incredible, fabulous artists such as Velasquez and Goya…my goodness. There’s also this exhibit on right now, that has some really important periodic pieces from REY PLANETA I don’t know to translate it—but you can totally travel back in time by looking at these chef-oeuvres. I wish I could describe the masterpieces. All I can say is…I need to go back. I went with my Canadian girlfriends, but we just breezed through it…I didn’t have a chance to really absorb or just soak in the moment of being in the presence of those paintings…Ah! I just wish I had an art background now! So many of them—I just look at and I have all these questions about the artist, the painting itself, the time period..I always wonder: “WHY this? Why did he choose these colours—why the emphasis on this expression or this person or this position? Etc. etc.

One comment I have is---the EXPRESSIONS on the faces in the paintings and on the sculptures is pure genius. You can literally see the agony, the anguish, the joy, the sadness….all the emotions are so amazing represented in the paintings.

RETIRO PARK

We went to Retiro Park afterwards….and no joke, I must say it is one of, if not THE best park I’ve ever been to in my life. Yes, Stanley Park is great, Prince Edward Island in Calgary isn’t too shabby either---but I’d have to say…Retiro really kicks up the notion of a “park” a few notches. First off, we enter the park through one of it’s many entrances ( the park spans a few blocks in all four directions ) and there’s a live orchestra with a woman singing opera pieces. Her voice is angelic and the crowd is enormous. Public wooden chairs have been set up in a circular fashion below and around the gazebo where the orchestra ( I think it was like full set almost ) and the woman are performing. Families with children of all ages, old and young were gathered for this performance. We managed just to catch the lady’s last song which was Andrew Lloyd Weber’s main piece in the Broadway show “ CATS”. It was interesting to see that at the end, when the opera lady finishes and gets off the stage, a good portion of the crowd will get up from their seats and crowd around to where she is to wait for her and get a chance to speak to her as she walks away towards her exit.

After the live orchestra, we walk down one of the roads towards this gorgeous fountain made with stone turtles and other cool creatures spouting out water. At the rim of the fountain is a girl dressed in a green fairy-like costume who is performing a kind of mime on stilts. She’s wearing wings and moving her arms in a kind of interpreting dance fashion. She’s got gold and green makeup on, making her look clownish. Whenever someone drops money into her water jug, she does a little PR by shaking the person’s hand or something..usually it’s a child and he/she is almost like, freaked out to be touched by this Tinkerbell on steroids type.

We continue, and this is the part that took my breath away. There’s a LAKE ( I’m assuming manmade ) and in the backdrop, there are two huge stone buildings—that have these large columns—where people can sit and sunbathe..it looks like the temple of Zeus or something---it’s an incredible structure, and in the water are tens of boats with families and couples. I can’t tell you what time warp or place warp I had…but it was just so special. I could only imagine fifty years ago, how many more families were here enjoying this park on a Sunday.

There were a few stands of vendors, but there was also another performer—this time it was a knight looking guy who was spray painted all silver. The scary thing though—was that his eyes and mouth weren’t really sprayed and so they totally changed the face of the guy. Whenever he looked in our direction, he just looked creepy. Anyway, it was cool.
There was also this adorable puppet show. MAN! This would be the perfect Spanish Sesame Street Live in Concert kind of thing. Tons of kids were sitting at the feet of this tall stage that had been covered with a red cloth of sort. The puppeteer totally involved the children and it was so wonderful to see the kids totally mesmerized by this little bird-like puppet who was carrying flowers or what not. The puppeteer was great---his words and sentences often rhymed, and though I didn’t get all of it—the sing-song quality of his speech made it easy to follow.

You can rollerblade, jog whatever you want, in this park. I will definitely have to go for a run here one of these days…it’s just a peaceful, perfect place to hang out for a day.

We got to the Plaza de Toros ( Bulls Stadium ) a few hours early so we just hung out. So, bullfights happen every Sunday. You can buy seats up at the top for as cheap as 1,50Euros or as expensive right outside the ring for 100Euros. We opted for the best of the cheap seats and went for the 3Euros seats, which turned out to be really good.

Before we went in, we were sitting waiting for our German friend and this cute little old Spanish man comes up and sits beside us. He started talking to us about the weather and everything and then he gets into more serious stuff and tells us that he comes every Sunday to watch the bullfights. It’s his passion—evidently. Then, he starts talking about some stuff and I couldn’t understand everything but apparently he was nailed by a bull in the thigh ( he wasn’t a matador, but he worked there ) and so he’s telling us about his scar---and without us even asking –he just pulls up his pant leg and shows us this thigh—this huge scar plus this black-ish looking part that was a rock that had gotten embedded in his leg. We were all kind of taken back for a second—but he was just such a sweet old man…he then began telling us all the dates about the deaths and births ( I’m assuming ) of the famous matadors. We liked him a lot, and my friend gave him a little Canada pin. He was soooo happy! He put it on right away. He then went inside because he had bought the uber-cheap seats and didn’t want to miss the show.

Now this is the part I have the most difficulty writing about. Mainly b/c I don’t want to give play by play all the details…but I know some of you must be curious as to what the heck this thing is.

First of all, we left after the third fight. I found out afterwards that they actually kill SIX bulls each Sunday, not three. I thought three was enough.

Honestly though…after watching this…I’m not quite sure what to think…just like there are some people who think Hockey is an absolutely repulsive sport because of its violence, in the mind of the Spanish, I believe bullfights are one of their greatest pride and joys. I can see how this is something that is beautiful in their culture—a source of pride because it is very special to their country—but I also see that for foreigners like myself and those who really care for the well-being of all creatures…it’s a painfully hard thing to watch and accept.

The whole thing wasn’t as brutal or as gruesome as I thought. I imagined there to be more hacking apart and more blood and even a decapitation Mortal Kombat style or something. But actually—besides the spears, the sword and the blood that is shed—it’s got more of a Stars on Ice appeal to it.

My initial feeling was that of being in the Gladiator movie. Plaza de Toros looks exactly like a Coliseum, with it’s circular setting, the different levels, the concrete seats…the fact that there is a room built especially for royalty—a kind of “box seat” setting. (The matadors give a little bow to this box seat at the beginning of each Sunday ) I can’t imagine sitting there for two plus hours on a hot sunny day. It was already quite hot for us and we were in partial shade. The plaza is quite stunning though—with its red brick and being built in the early 1900s, it’s a plaza with a lot of character. Down below, on the dirt are two large circles, most probably drawn in white chalk that go around the ring.

Four or five junior matadors start the show after the bull is let out. There is an announcer who circles the ring with a gigantic sign that shows the weight of the bull. The bulls aren’t that big. They range between 400-500 kilograms so they’re quite small. I was surprised that they had only PINK waving things ( I don’t know what to call it—a flag? A drape? ). At first I felt ripped off—I had always known matadors to carry red ones, so these pink things seemed like such a joke. They looked like tacky plastic ponchos—the kind you can wrap up and pack into a small ball and wear as a fanny pack.

I discovered that only the “best” matador holds a red drape and is the one who carries the sword. His costume is also the most bling—he wears white with gold trimmings.

These junior matadors tease and aggravate the bull for a while—waving their pink ponchos and then running behind this fence thing. After a while, there is a guy on a horse who stabs the bull right in the middle of its back. Luckily the horses’ have a thick armour protecting them, or else the bull jamming its horns into it would kill it quickly. In the past, many horses have died as a result of this.

They taunt it some more..they wave their pink thing and as the bull runs towards them, the junior matadors hide behind these wooden fence-like things some more.

After it’s been stabbed and bleeding profusely—the juniors take turns throwing two of these long coloured dart looking things and stabbing them into the back near the area where the first stabbing was. By the end, the bull looks like it’s got Rastafarian dredlocks hanging down its back, soaked in blood.

If the crowd feels bored or that it’s going too slowly, they will yell and clap their hands and even whistle. There was at one point, a few times where I found that this bull running through a piece of material was getting kind of repetitive.

The head-Elvis matador comes out at the end and does more fancy moves with his red cape thing—he bends low and swings with the cape in hand and the sword held precisely behind—if he were on skates he would have perfect figure-skating posture. His butt is totally sticking out and he looks like he’s doing a kind of quad hamstring stretch semi-spin.

Apparently these matadors are viewed like gods here. Women find them sexy because of their sequined outfits and tight pants. One thing I find very interesting is that the juniors wear all different colours, blue and silver, green and silver..whereas the head matador wears a white and gold outfit with their pointed hats ( reminded me of Mickey Mouse hats ). Most interesting of all is that no matter the colour of their costume—ALL of them wear PINK –salmon coloured tights! No joke!

What’s so sad is that at the end—the matador, if he’s good—with one swift stab—is able to penetrate the bull’s body with the entire long sword. The first bull was definitely exhausted and weak by the time the first matador finished him off…the other two still had a little more zest to them. The last two matadors weren’t able to penetrate as well as the first one—who left only a little bit of the handle still showing.

Honestly though, after all the taunting and then seeing them stab the bull—I felt queasy. It just really isn’t my thing and I felt quite sad and miserable to see a bull die. I realize, I just don’t like seeing things killed…at all..it’s still a shock to me. To make it worse, one of the juniors always takes a little sword and stabs it right at the top of the bull’s head to ensure total and complete death.

When a bull is dead, they send in three horses and attach the bull to the back of three horses that are decorated with the flags of the municipal of Madrid on the two outer horses and the flag of Spain on the center horse. This trio of horses ceremoniously pull this “heroic” bull out of the ring in a cresent moon formation of travel. The body of the bull leaves a semi-circle in the dirt/sand and workers have to quickly come out and sweep away the blood and smooth the surface for the next fight.

I was feeling a bit uneasy by the beginning of the third and didn’t catch as much..but I guess I can now at least tell people that I sat through not just one, but three bullfights.

As a point of interest, just so you know—the bull’s meat is sold and eaten after fights. The old man we met outside the Plaza de Toros told us that people enjoy eating this meat.

Hmm...post-fight bull meat, anyone?

REINA SOFIA Museum, Cortes Ingles and Natalie Portman

2005-09-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

Saturday September 10th, 2005

It’s strange how it’s only been in the last two days that I’m finding my sleeping patterns are really out of wack. Last night, I was not able to fall asleep until 4:30am. I woke up groggily at 1:30pm this afternoon and realized that I had totally messed up my sleep clock.

Today, the four of us Canadian ladies decided to check out the Museo del Reina Sofia. It’s one of the “Big Three” museums here in Madrid. The Prado is the darling of all the museums, but the Reina Sofia holds its own quite well.

Tip: If any of you will be coming to Madrid and want to check out the museums, The Prado and Reina Sofia are both free every Saturday afternoon after 2:30pm and all day Sunday.

Because the Reina Sofia is smaller, we decided to check it out today. It holds some of the biggest, best works by less well known artists and holds some of the smallest, least-well known works by great artists.

Before heading out, we ate at the local cervezeria again. I found out that’s what it’s called ( Cerveza – beer ) so it’s like a little pub—but kids can come and eat too. The bartender and his wife ( I’m assuming its her—she’s the one who sits at the cashier and keeps track of what everyone orders and deals with the cash ) seemed quite pleased to see us return and with two other girls. Today, the bartender was already talking to me even more like a local, showing me the pork chop that he had in front of him. I didn’t know what I wanted to eat so I told him to make me the pork and I asked from some vegetables ( meaning that there will only be some lettuce, tomatoes and onions ). I really like that cervezeria—it’s very friendly and very local. Back home, I really don’t see any of this ‘localness’. We’ve been overrun by a lot of large corporations that serve us and I miss this sense of communal intimacy of a neighbourhood.

For example, I now know the tobacco store lady and will probably go and see her if I need stamps or a pass. There was also a super nice man who sold me an electrical adaptor for my discman. His dad (this cute little old Spanish man) stands by the door and opens it to let people in. I just LOVE the fact that I will be able to get to know people on this block in a little way.

Okay. That was a “small” tangent. On the metro, a Latina girl asked us for directions. I don’t know if we look local enough, but it turns out she was an architecture student from Argentina. I told her to come with us b/c we were going in the direction…and then as we talked I found out she was going to the museums too, so I had a chance to talk with her the whole way and she explained some things that were important.

Spanish-wise, it’s been good. Everyday, I find as many opportunities as I can to practice Spanish and talk to people. I don’t know why I feel so at ease in this city, but I really have been able to just approach people without feeling nervous and it’s been really surprising how effortless it’s been to make friends and converse with people. People here are incredibly friendly and easy to talk to. I don’t know if I keep just saying that—but I think that my personality finds its home very quickly here.

So with the Argentinian girl, the five of us found our way to the Reina Sofia. We had to put our purses through a monitor and then we could enter. The Reina Sofia building is a more modern building with glass elevators that face out from both sides of the main entrance. Inside the building though, one can tell that it’s still an old building that has also been refurbished over the years.

It was nice to have the Argentinian girl be able to explain some words to me and to talk about some things. What I wish though, is that I had more of an Art background. I absolutely love Art, everything about it—but I don’t know much about its history…painters and their backgrounds, the periods in which they created their works—these are all mysteries to me.

When I look at paintings, I wish I knew more about their creation—in order to be able to better appreciate them. I will also have to go back to the Reina Sofia. Museums in general can be totally overwhelming. Your senses get saturated and bombarded rather quickly. In every which way you look, there are paintings, sculptures, statues…you don’t even know where to start.

Museums definitely cannot be rushed and should never be done in big groups. It’s such a personal experience and everyone sees Art differently—that you can’t really share it while it’s happening. You can talk about it later---but while you’re actually in a museum, I totally think you need to enter in with the right mindset or else you can easily pass them all by without appreciating anything.

I loved these black steel 3D mask-like structures. They were absolutely fantastic. Just the detail and the creativity involved in making them---one was the face of an “arlequin”, which is kind of like a jester/joker of sort who always had half of his face smiling and the other half was always sad. The metal work done on this one piece was stunning.

Now it makes me want to study history a bit more to understand where these creative works stemmed from. In all, I got to see the Dali, Picasso, Miro, Solana, Jean Gris etc. most of the exhibits on the second floor. ( There are two floors dedicated to all the works ).

There were a few paintings that I found particularly powerful and moving. The first one was of a woman who was lying horizontally across her bed, facing the painter. She was wearing a yellow dress and had dark features. There was a book open in front of her and she was just looking ahead. The room was painted quite dark and you can’t really see the background. Just staring at this piece made me wonder what that woman was thinking at that time---what she did, what was going on at that time in her world. It was a dark piece, but I connected with it in some way.

The second piece that wowed me was one of a Catholic priest and four other people ( non-clergy ) sitting around a table. Just looking at the painting and seeing all the little details from that time period, their clothes, the little ornaments—all of it made me feel like I had stepped back in time. This was a rather large piece that took up quite a bit of room. The priest looked authoritative; his robes were black and heavy. The painting emitted an intense feeling...This piece was obviously done in a time when the Church dominated society and peoples lives were deeply affected by religion. I wondered what it would have been like to be living in that time as well.

The third painting that really caught my attention was one of a hanging/execution in a plaza here in Madrid. It was from the 1800s and the details on this painting are indescribable. I don’t even know how to explain it..but when I close my eyes after I see this photo—I can imagine myself standing there with those people watching this take place. I TRULY was taken back to another time period when I looked at this painting. One can see the kind of hats men wore in those days, there was a carefully painted tree that stood among the people, the buildings were ones that I had just seen earlier in the day—and the painter had really managed to capture that moment with the way he painted the sea of black hats and heads that surrounded the plaza to watch the execution. Surprisingly, the execution/guillotine thing was a bit hazier than the rest of the painting. I wonder what made the painter do it like that—but perhaps it wasn’t even so much the execution itself as it was the atmosphere that the painter was trying to capture.

There were other more light hearted pieces like Miro’s work—that looks like little kids squiggles and interesting shapes—I would love to have an eraser ( like the ones they sell there ) with one of his paintings on it. Salvador Dali’s minor pieces were here too, and I quite enjoyed seeing his crazy work. Unfortunately, his most famous painting of the melting clocks is apparently in Florida. ( I asked one of the museum workers where it was )

All in all, about two hours later and we were quite exhausted by the sensory overload.

Now, the coolest thing about being in a place like Madrid is that you never know who you might run into. ( I am hoping to go to a Real Madrid game later on in hopes of seeing Mr. David Beckham in the flesh to take a picture for my sister…) I was just walking into the women’s washroom when a petite girl with a shaved head walked out. I gasped quietly as she turned the corner and disappeared because I realized right away that it was Natalie Portman! I had recently seen her in one of those moviestar magazines where they had talked about her shaved head---so when I saw her face I knew immediately that it was her. For a moment, I thought about chasing her down just to talk to her—but when I thought about it again, that would have been one of those lame-cheesy “OH, I love your work” garbage conversations and I realize that if I was in her place---unless I truly loved her work as an actress, I should just leave her alone so that I am not hassling someone just for my own two seconds of glory.

Heading out from the Reina Sofia, there was a really cool jambaye session where people who were protesting against poverty---fighting against poverty had set up a sort of presentation on the steps. They were playing their jambayes, there were a few clowns and jugglers, and huge stands with lots of information talking about fighting poverty in Spain. I thought this was a pretty neat idea to talk about poverty. There was also lots of paper taped up to the wall where people could write their ideas on how to deal with poverty.

Before heading home, we went to the Corte Ingles—this massive block of buildings that sell a lot of “North American” and big name brands stuff in Spain. It’s kind of like the…Bay/Eaton’s but even ritzier of Canada. We went in to find their cosmetic counters looking like the spitting image of the ones we find at the Bay back home. Women wearing swirly pink silk shirts in tight black skirts stand around to help you in a super lit space. I found MAC make-up for the same price in Euros as it is in Canadian dollars. Downstairs from this Corte Ingles is a supermarket where you can find pretty much all the “North American” goodies like Peanut Butter, Cereal and stuff that isn’t found in most local grocery stores elsewhere—or if they are, they have only like one choice. Here in the Supermercado Corte Ingles, you can buy all the Kellog’s, Cheerios, Corn Pops that you want.

Honestly though, I don’t really like this area of Madrid---it’s overwhelming touristy and the amount of people walking around seems to double. I guess I also hate appearing like a tourist and so I am really glad that we live on the outskirts of downtown, though not suburbs of the city.

On our way home, I saw the most shocking thing. We were just about to get on the train and decided not to b/c it was packed to the max with people---when I see two teenage guys jump between the trains and were hanging on to the connecting parts between the train sections! It was like seeing 1930s Hobos who jump from train to train or like an Indiana Jones moment---but this was just a couple of young guys who were ( in my opinion ) really stupid and foolish to do this…honestly…those trains go at high speeds and if anything happened—if either of them fell off---it would be straight to their deaths. It is like hanging on outside one of the train sections on the Skytrain, or strapping yourself to the top of a plane or something. However, they probably thought this was a brilliant idea---one of them saw how shocked I was and gave me a mischievous smile and waved. *Sigh* Chicos locos! Crazy boys!

My Fancy Spanish "Hot Dog" and Stinky Fish

2005-09-13T11:51:00.000-07:00

September 9, 2005

Well, I’m finally sitting down and using my “flatmate”’s computer here back at home. I’m glad because I just had my first run-in with the local “stinky fish”. (Note: This is a term for creepy men that I first used in Senegal five years ago.)

Today was a local holiday…though few people seem to know what it is. I asked the guy who served us at the local bar/restaurant what it was, and all I caught was something about Sunday, a saint, and the fifth of May. It has been four days since I arrived, so I figured I would go get groceries. Hmm…just kidding. Because of this local holiday, everything was closed except for bars and restaurants, internet cafes and mom and pop shops on the corner. I talked to a little old lady on the street who told me that I wouldn’t have any luck till tomorrow. Go figure eh. The day I really want to buy groceries and there’s nothing open.

Now, being on a tight budget, my flatmate and I started walking around looking for a local joint to get a bite to eat. Since arriving, I’ve been trying to get used to the way Spanish people live and eat.

Honestly, it’s a little mix of everything I’ve experienced in Africa and Latin America with some North American sprinkled in. Spanish stores are only open from about 9 in the morning till about 1 in the afternoon. Everything shuts down for a good three, four hours before anyone comes back and then they’re only back for a couple of hours. So it was really brutal that the past few days, we were running around the university and couldn’t really get to the stores in time to buy food…and then today—when I finally had some time…everything was closed. Ah well, it’s all part of the experience.

Now, this was probably one of the highlights of my day. We walked into this bar/restaurant ( I never know what to call them b/c they seem to do a little bit of both ) and I noticed that they served baguettes or “pan” ( bread ) with different meats etc. We sat down on the stools around the bar like how all the people on “Cheers” used to sit and Woody (Harrelson, sp?) would be bartending from the middle. There were kids there with their moms, and couples coming in for just an early afternoon coffee and people sitting in for the tapas. I watched as the bartender worked his magic, dishing out ice, pouring drinks and serving food. He was an older guy, with a silver helmet of hair that looked somewhat godfatherish to boot, and he was slick. Definitely a master of his trade.

I casually looked at the menu and tried to order something that I thought would be ‘local’, “local” hopefully meaning something European like proscuitto or something. I read the one for “ Baguette Aleman” ( German ) and it was like Frankfurt sausage, tomato, cheese and some sauce. So we ordered two and I was sort of surprised when the bartender pulls out a bottle of ketchup and a bottle of mustard and places it in front of us.

We continue to people watch, seeing more people sit down, order drinks and tapas. Here in Madrid, when you order a drink, the drink order allows you to get these little snack size dishes of food like calamari, mussels, cured ham and cheese bits etc. These are what they call “tapas”. So if you ordered a few drinks, you would also have your fill with yummy food. ( I haven’t tried this yet b/c I think it would be more fun to do an entire tapas run with a group of friends where you go from place to place to eat different tapas and have different drinks ).

Suddenly, the bartender whips two sandwiches on the table…and it was my flatmate that commented that it was a hot dog inside our baguette. I peeled the top part of the baguette away from the cheese to find that my so-called exotic German sausage was nothing more than a glorified hot dog wiener that had found its home in a French baguette instead of a sesame seed bun from Superstore. The only tomato I got on this baguette was the red liquid from the ketchup bottle. Unless they say something like “rodajas de tomate” anything else just means ketchup! *Sigh* So much for my eating local! All in all, the pan was good and you know you are eating in a local place because everyone throws their garbage on the floor. No joke. I felt guilty pleasure surge through my arm as I tossed three crumpled up napkins onto the floor to join their fellow serviettes underneath the barstool.

What hit me hard today was the fact that not having easy access to a phone or to the internet really does make my life here quite frustrating, and blatantly apparent that I am not at home.

Calls here in the city are ridiculously expensive. For not even a one minute call, it can cost you from 75centimos ( about $1.10 Canadian) to 90centimos (more than $1.30 Canadian ). Usually you’re just saying “Hi, I’m sorry I’m late…” and then you’re cut off. I experienced this a few times already and have wasted many a centimos on trying to figure out stuff. Apparently, it’s much cheaper to buy a phone card to make local calls. It’s so weird to think that there’s so much time constraint on making calls and they’re expensive…now I understand why my European friends don’t understand how in Canada you can have four hour conversations with people on the phone...it would cost someone their day’s wage or something to talk like that here.

I head over to my buddies’ house—the two other Canadian girls from Alberta and we hang out on the terrace drinking some Mahou and looking at family pictures. I realize it’s pretty cool that we’re sitting around talking to a German guy, an Icelandic guy and two Americans. It’s neat to see the world come together on the third floor of an apartment in somewhere Madrid.

Okay…skip to the stinky fish. So, it’s the first time I went home by myself on the metro since I’ve been here (usually I’m with a group of people)…it was about 10:30pm, so it wasn’t super late or anything, but I was kind of in a zone trying to figure out how to reach my friend with a calling card that just seemed to like to talk at me but not let me talk….so I didn’t realize that I had gotten on the wrong train and was heading further north instead of south to go home.

This was probably the first really big “tourist” moment for me. We stopped at Plaza de Castilla and I remained on the train. I thought that my stop, Quatro Caminos ( Four Ways ) would be the next one. I see everybody get off, but I just assumed that it was a popular stop. THEN I see people turning back and glancing at me funny. One of the security guards suddenly comes over and briskly signals at me to get off. Sheepishly, I realize that it was the last stop on this line. As I get off, he says, “ Ultimo” ( Last ) so I realize that I was definitely in the wrong direction. It was nuts, b/c I had taken this metro line so many times now in the last four days, I didn’t realize how I could have gotten on the wrong one.

I was walking away trying to figure out what I did when a Spanish man approaches me. I thought he was trying to ask me a question when in fact he was asking me if I was new in town or new in using the trains. I said yes. I kept walking, thinking he was just trying to tell me that it’s okay that I was the idiot who stayed on the train—but instead he kept walking with me and actually started asking me other questions.

Warning bells started going off in my head…I got flashbacks of my time traveling in Africa and Peru…the moment a guy starts asking you what nationality you are, what’s your name…it’s time to book it out of there. I told him my name was “Lucy” and kept walking.

Unfortunately, it took me a while to get rid of him b/c he thought he would show me the right “stop” ---when in fact he took me directly to the wrong one..I quickly pulled out my calling card and said that I needed to call my friend. This was my saving grace b/c he was starting to tell me that he wanted to come with me and get to know me and that’s when I started to play really dumb and “no comprendo” ( I don’t understand ). I hurried over to the nearest phone and began trying to call my friend. He finally left when I just pretended that everything he said from that point was not getting through to me and I waved him away good-bye when it looked like he was going to stay to wait for me.

Madrid is no different than any other city, so I don’t think this is something that will happen all the time, but it was just ironic that I had only happened to be alone for no more than twenty minutes before this occurred! Ah!

MAHOU, Swallowed Credit Cards and Chueca

2005-09-13T11:49:00.000-07:00

Thursday, Sept 9 2005

Today was one of those days when you know you’re in a new environment because everything takes twice as long to accomplish. In the first five hours of my day, from about 11am-4pm, the only thing we managed to accomplish was to change traveller’s cheques, eat lunch and pay the first month’s rent.

Talk about inefficient. Spanish banks are hilarious in that they remind me of developing country banks. They are only opened five hours a day, from 9am to 2pm and not opened at all on weekends. I don’t know how anything gets done around here. M and I get in line to change our bills and immediately the security guard directs us to another desk even though I had just told him what we’re doing. The lady at that desk points us in the direction of an opposing desk, and as I walk towards the man at the other desk, he asks me what we’re doing and quickly redirects us back to the line we first stood in.

I get to the counter and the lady doesn’t even bother trying to change my cheques. I may know very little about banking, but I assume that if they are at the till, they should have an idea. So I ended up being booted over to M’s line so that the guy can do both of our transactions. Unfortunately, this teller seems a little…confused. He TOTALLY reminded me of the traffic controller with the fish bowl eye glasses from “Hot Shots” the movie ( Spoof on “Top Gun” ). He looked at the cheques weird and he didn’t seem to know how to process them or anything. A younger woman ( definitely his supervisor ) came out and impatiently told him what to do. At this point, I was worried that we wouldn’t even be able to change our money. M and I stood there for a good half hour. What should seriously take no more than ten minutes, took three times as long. By the end, I was just relieved to get out of there with my Euros.

Now, back on the train we head out to a more downtown central part of Madrid. The MOMENT we stepped out of the metro station and stood in the sunlight, I was shocked by how much more touristy the area was. There were a lot more travelers, people wearing honking big cameras around their necks and foreigners staring at maps ( us included at one point ). I didn’t realize how less touristy our living area was ( but I’m really glad about this ).

This area close to Puerta Del Sol is really beautiful though. This is when we walked around and saw the amazing architecture that characterizes much of Western Europe. We saw the Prado Museum from a distance, and I admired the classic balconies that decorated many buildings.

Signs are really hard to see though. There are no street names written on posts that hang across a traffic lane like the way it is in North America. Most of the names of streets are written on plaques that are glued to the corner of the side of a building, or the signs for streets are written on very short posts that would easily be missed by the slightest carelessness.

With so many cars, people, movement all around, and the streets not really being structured in a way that makes sense, the four of us girls had an interesting time trying to locate our rent’s head office.

On the way, we ran into T, an Icelandic guy who was also at our Erasmus Orientation meeting from the day before. We recognized each other and he immediately hung out with us because he was also looking for a place to rent and didn’t have any set plans.

Finally finding our rent’s office, we went out to eat. In Spain, the largest meal is at lunch, which usually starts at 1pm and goes till about 3pm. To save money, it’s best to find restaurants that serve the “Menu de dia” (Meal of the Day ). For about 7Euros, you will get an appetizer like a salad or mini pasta, then your main meal and a dessert, followed by a drink or a coffee. It’s not a bad deal at all. We went to a restaurant that served a pretty good Menu de Dia. It was honestly, the first real meal I had in Spain. Before this, I had only been eating granola bars.

Finally we trucked back to the university to find out which Spanish class we would be in. There are many different levels, from Iniciacion ( no Spanish background at all ), to four different elementary levels, an intermediate and an advanced. I was put into the third level of elementary Spanish. Though I’m looking forward to this class, I’m really hoping that I will be challenged to speak better. I know I can get by, but there seems to be a lot more basics that I haven’t mastered. None of my friends are in my class, so hopefully I’ll also be really forced to speak more Espanol.

We met up with our American friend P, who took us back to the heart of the city, Sol. This was probably the neatest part of the day as he took us through the plazas downtown, the Corte Ingles and a lot of other sites that I will have to write about when I go back to really study them well.

The best part of today was when P took us to Chuerna, a very “rainbow” part of town and we sat outside, in one of their plaza squares, and had drinks. I had my first “Mahou” beer—the local favourite, and it tasted a lot like the Granville Island brew back home. Not bad. What was so awesome was that this was a huge outside patio where tons of people sat outside, talked with friends and people watched. On all four sides, we were surrounded by these old buildings with tons of balconies where people could also just look out or sit out and watch us down below. I marveled at the cobblestone roads everywhere and how people of all ages, sizes and shapes just meandered around this plaza. I felt like I was on the set of “Mission Impossible” ( at the end when Tom Cruise is sitting outside ) or yeah…like any European movie with an outdoor terrace. It was unreal. I thought that at some moment, someone would just yell ‘CUT!” and the buildings would roll back and I would find myself only at Universal Studios or something.

It was really good company and nice to be able to hang out outside. I wished we had more TRUE outdoor patios back home, where it isn’t heated lamps and fake greenery that hang from the walls. ( I understand that this is impossible in Canada---don’t worry. Just wishful thinking ) The weather was fantastic, and we sat there and watched the sky grow dimmer, but the lights around the plaza grow brighter. What was an interesting thing was that there were lots of blind people around the plaza. I don’t mean this in a derogatory or negative way at all—but more in a curious and fascinated sense. M counted 13 different people, all with canes and who either circle or come through the plaza, sometimes alone, but often in pairs. LITERALLY, the blind leading the blind. They would often be arm in arm, walking side by side, their canes swishing rhythmically and simultaneously from left to right. I found this very cool how it really BLOWS that expression of the blind leading the blind as a negative thing right out of the water. ;)

We had an interesting situation afterwards when we tried looking for a place to eat “dinner” ( yes, at around 10pm is standard dinner time here in Spain ) and our Icelandic friend decided to try to take money out from a local ATM. To his misfortune, his card got swallowed up by the machine. The amazing thing was, two Spanish girls were standing behind us and one of them immediately stepped in to help us. She was incredibly kind; she used her own cellphone to call a whole bunch of different numbers to speak to the operator for us---knowing that none of us spoke Spanish fluently enough to try to deal with something as serious as credit card loss and she stayed to make sure that our friend would be able to get a new card. It was kindness like this that just makes me hope that when I return to Canada, and no matter where I am—that I will go the extra mile for others---b/c that’s what people remember. When we tried to leave the girl and her friend some money after all their work, they refused adamantly. I was incredibly impressed by their selflessness and true sincerity in helping us.

Our last stop for the evening was a little joint called Bar Julio where we ate bocadillos ( little sandwiches with meat in them ) and drank some red wine mixed with coca-cola—apparently, a very popular drink here. It’s funny how something like this doesn’t already exist in N.A.

Coming home it was past midnight, and to my shock, was surprised to see entire families still out with their kids. Children were running around the little square right by our apartment, laughing and chasing each other. This would be a rare sight in Canada, to see young boys and girls still up after midnight roaming the streets with their friends, or hanging out with parents in a plaza.

Spanish Test and University Admin. Gong-Show Day

2005-09-13T11:48:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, September 7 2005

Ah...So, as most of you may know, I arrived in Madrid with very little knowledge of what I would be teaching here. Well, after today, I can certainly tell you that my time in this city will be very interesting.

I didn’t realize till later on in the day, during my Orientation, that the university of Complutense, my exchange school, has about 100,000 students. A university that has a student population close to the size of Abbotsford. Craziness. No wonder why in the morning, when M and I took the metro to the university to the faculty of Filologia ( Philology ) we asked a girl on the street if she knew where it was and she didn’t. It was obvious that she too was a student—so at that time, I was a bit puzzled by her answer.

The next two girls we approached and asked in Spanish immediately responded to us with, “ Do you speak English?”. Turns out that these were two Lithuanian girls also going to take the same exam as us. Thankfully, these two girls were smart and had scoped out and found the campus and the office the day before. Honestly, were it not for these two girls, I don’t know if we would have ever made it to that exam on time. We quickly became friends!

At the exam, I was overwhelmed by the number of students as well as the nationalities present. I saw Swiss, Italians, French, and mostly Germans. I managed to have an opportunity to talk to a few people and they were all from the German contingency. It hit me that back home, I didn’t have as many opportunities to meet so many different cultures in one shot. There were probably at least 300 hundreds there.

The exam itself was pretty hilarious…I knew that it was only a placement test, so I don’t know what will result from this. There seems to be an extreme continuum of people who speak Spanish from not one word, to a high level of proficiency. We’ll see what my results are tomorrow.

Later on in the day, after a nightmarish time of trying to find our Education Faculty ( you have to take the metro to another station where there are more faculties situated---this is how big the university is ) we finally met our coordinators and other Education Erasmus students. Our Spanish coordinators had done nothing more than send us an extremely vague and general e-mail about the day’s proceedings. There was no specific room numbers, just a general faculty name and a time. We wandered the halls for a good half hour looking for room numbers that seemed to start and stop randomly. Finally calling the coordinator from a payphone—he actually told me to ask the secretary where his room number was! I was shocked that he couldn’t even tell me this himself! Honestly, if I didn’t speak any Spanish and had been all alone—I would have been so frustrated. Luckily, M and I were together through this.

Meeting the two other Canadian girls was really exciting---just being with other fellow maple syrup pouring, salmon eating, Alberta cow chewing folks just made the transition in this new city a bit easier.

However, after we meet with our coordinators, we discovered that the schools here don’t start till October. They also expected us to speak more Spanish. Hence, from now till the end of the month, our only goal and purpose is to see Madrid and the surrounding areas ( Toledo and Segovia ) and LEARN SPANISH. We were all pretty shocked. We thought we would have more going on---but it seems that the university administration is just set on us speaking Espanol/Castellano as much as possible. They didn’t seem to care too much about courses and what we’ll teach or anything…they emphasized ESPANOL. When I realized that this time in Spain would be very little teaching---mainly a lot of observing and “theory”…I began to focus then, on what the coordinators want---to speak Spanish. I am determined to master as much as I can before leaving this country.

Lots of other stuff happened, but after the long day at school and running around trying to understand what we were suppose to do—and absorbing the fact that this month we’ll be taking an intensive crash course on speaking and learning Spanish…we set out from the university and headed to each other’s apartments.

The only sort of crinkle in our day was that there was this older Spanish man on the metro who started yelling at us in Spanish to go home ( as in swim across the Atlantic kind of home )…we all ignored him when we clued in that what he was saying wasn’t very nice…even all the other people on the metro looked embarrassed. We knew he was talking bad about us speaking English…and he kept calling us “ratas”. When I went home and looked it up in the dictionary, it meant “rats”. Hm.

Otherwise, everyone has been incredibly kind to us. Today we got free photocopies of our passports from the Spanish guy who owns the copy shop around the corner from our apartment. He was joking with us and one of the guys who works for him is Sri Lankan, so we were able to talk with him in English and he told us about how he had relatives in Canada.

Overall, I think Canadians are extremely well-treated no matter where we go. In talking to my American friend, he seems to have a lot more trouble traveling, though he really loves being American—it has been difficult due to the aggressive US Foreign Policy. He was the first guy I’ve met who has told me that he has thought about sewing Canadian flags on his gear. He also told me that he has actually met other Americans who have ordered the “Canadian Kit” and stitched the flags on! I find this quite hilarious!

Welcome to Madrid...You´re on your way to Barcelona!

2005-09-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

September 6, 2005
I definitely had an intense initiation into Spain and the Spanish language. I had a hassle-free flight from Vancouver, an endurable three-hour layover in London till I was getting ready to board the plane to Madrid.

I was sitting inside the gate boarding area waiting to board when an elderly Latino couple walked up. I moved over so that the gentleman could sit with his wife. He thanked me in Spanish and so I responded in Spanish. My first two words of Spanish in…a long time. Still in England and already the Spanish language cranks had to be turned in my head. He then proceeded to start talking to me. Thankfully, I still remember some basic stuff. They were Ecuadorians coming to Madrid to visit family. The most ironic-though-I-don’t-believe-in-coincidences-thing, is that they ended up being the ones I sat next to on the plane. I had had a great seat partner on the AC flight, so when I saw the old couple get on and stop in my row, I grinned. I really had the chance to speak a little bit, but I was sooo jetlagged by this time—it was 2am Vancouver time and I had been awake for about 24 hours already...that I completely passed out on those fold-down tray tables. The couple was so worried that I was sick that they kept asking me if I was okay.

I arrived in Madrid and passed through Immigration without any problems whatsoever. Honestly, after what I see when I work at the Vancouver airport—I was stunned to come to Spain, walk up to the counter, hand the guy my passport and declarations card—see him barely even look up at me, look down at my passport and stamp it and hand it back to me without saying a word. I was hoping for at least a “ would you like fries with that?” or SOMETHING.

After retrieving my luggage ( no problems there ), I stepped out to see a Madrilena (meaning local girl ) look right at me with my name on a piece of paper. With quick introductions, she whisked me off to her car.
As we start talking ( in English ) we exchange stories about travel and I was beginning to relax a little—she tells me that she doesn’t actually know where I live and that if she can’t find it again today ( b/c she couldn’t find it yesterday either when she dropped off my fellow Canadian teacher ) that she was going to drop me off somewhere to take a taxi.

At first, I was kind of puzzled and also confused why she didn’t just pull out a map and we could figure it out….to this day, even as I write this—I don’t think that she really had a lot of common sense…we seemed to have circled the airport on the highway for a bit..and then after a while it became obvious that she was driving out of town heading in the direction of Barcelona…so I pretty much got the first scenic tour of Madrid’s surroundings.

My first impression of Madrid is that it reminds me of California, particularly in the Napa Valley region. This area of Spain is quite dry, with patches of what looks like desert-like conditions. It’s a nice dry heat here, so I wasn’t dripping in sweat or anything upon arrival. There are lots of rolling hills and I was able to take some pretty cool pictures from the plane of interesting landscape. So Madrid is kind of like a European Napa Valley with more buildings.

Honestly, I guess I was expecting Madrid to be more overwhelming like Paris with more ancient buildings, or kind of like a New York with more skyscrapers. In reality, Madrid is probably more low-key ( in terms of buildings and stuff ) than I thought. I guess I was just expecting to see either tons of huge buildings with lots of overcrowding or something.

Madrid is massive though. The population is twice that of the Lower Mainland. As the girl who picked me finally found her way towards Downtown, I was immediately struck by how psycho the drivers and traffic were. This is the part that reminded me of developing countries. Cars were weaving aggressively through traffic, moped (scooter-motorcyles) riders who I thought were all going to be killed would scooch right in between cars at the last minute. I seriously thought that we might not make it either, with the way cars just cut each other off. Luckily, cars are smaller here and there are not nearly as many SUVs around.

Madrid also reminds me of Hong Kong in some ways…with the little streets, the noise, the busyness, even the smells. It was a European Hong Kong.

Finally after almost an hour of driving in circles and then heading out to Barcelona, she decides to take me to a part of downtown that she knows so that I can take a taxi. Thank goodness I had changed some currency into Euros or else I would have been in big trouble. She gets out and we haul all my luggage out and she hails a taxi. She explains to the guy that I don’t really speak much Spanish and so he takes my stuff and I get in
I say bye to the girl but I was certainly feeling nervous---not having a clue where I was or where I was going.

I was hoping that the taxi guy wasn’t taking me for a bunny trail…but it turned out okay. He took out a map book to locate where I was. When we got to where I was living he tried to explain to me that he wanted me to get out and call my place. I was really confused by this point. I didn’t have a phone number to call and I didn’t have a phone on me. Turns out, because of the construction around my area, he wasn’t able to drive in and didn’t know where along that street I was living on.

By this point, I was at a loss. I hadn’t been given much instruction from the Spanish contingency here so I had no clue what to do. Thankfully, miraculously, we found the back road and the taxi circled around and found the entrance to my apartment.

We stopped and he unloaded all my luggage on the sidewalk. I paid him and he left. As I stood there, staring at my building I had NO idea what to do. Thank goodness again for that piece of paper that the girl gave me with the buzz number or else I would have been left standing on the front steps for who knows how long. I buzzed and M answered. I was soooooooo happy to hear a familiar voice, you can’t imagine. Relieved and grateful, I waited downstairs for M to let me in.

My apartment building is an older building that has been renovated and probably refurbished as well. Inside, there were marble looking tiles on the ground and a heavy iron door that takes a bit of practice to open properly. When M arrived downstairs, I was greeted with another interesting obstacle.

There was no elevator.

We lived on the fifth floor.

I looked at all my stuff. I was soooo glad that I packed “light”…well, lighter than what I would have packed originally. I had one luggage on wheels, a large travel pack, a backpack and a purse. We had to leave the luggage downstairs and make two trips because it was a good seven or eight flights of stairs to get to our apartment building. If I don’t have buns and quads of steel by the time I come home, I don’t know when I EVER will.

Upon entering our apartment, I was impressed by the mirror that decorates our entryway. It’s a large gold-guilded mirror that sits on top of an armoir/entryway table that faces the door. If I ever have my own place with an entryway as such, I definitely want a mirror like that. It really adds flavour to the apartment.

Our view from the apartment is interesting as well. We have tons of construction going on out back ( I have to wear ear plugs during the week day nights now b/c they start work at an ungodly hour ) and so the view is that mainly of big diggers and construction guys as well as a main highway. Past the construction is quite nice though, lots of trees and greenery in the distance. The noise level is incessantly high and so I have to keep my windows closed most of the time if I want some semblance of tranquility. I’m really glad that I’m not here during the summer though, when it’s unbearably hot…otherwise, I might suffocate to death in that room trying to catch some sleep----

The noise here totally reminds me of Hong Kong. Madrid is a city that never sleeps. There are people out on the streets at all hours of the day. There’s so much going on.

After I dropped off all my stuff, M and I went to go get our monthly metro passes, knowing that we would be doing a lot, if not all, our traveling by metro. I really like our neighbourhood—it’s still in the city but not quite downtown. There are these cool little plazas where tons of seniors just sit around on the benches and talk and look at people. There’s always so much going on around our corner. There are a lot of local food shops, stores and pretty much you could probably find most things on the strip we live on.

I had arrived at an hour where most things were closed for the afternoon, so M and I just had a nice stroll down the street window-shopping and getting used to the city.

It probably still hadn’t hit me that I was in Madrid yet…but I was beginning to notice the differences. For one thing, the sideways are narrower in the sense that there are lots of trees planted along the sideway, most oftentimes without a grid covering the area where they’ve been planted. So, if you’re not careful, you can easily step into the tree planted part and drop a foot or so. This has happened to me several times already, when I’m not paying attention and I’m too busy talking—I end up almost falling because of the non-gridded tree area.

Also, there’s lots of dog poop everywhere. It’s kind of this—well, “ when you gotta go you gotta go” kind of deal. You REALLY have to watch your steps on the streets or else you’re going to come home with some interesting……

Other little things that are pretty cool—the light switches. Back home we have those little skinny things that you flick up and down..some houses may have the more rectangular white things that you push. Well here, they have these funky squares that you push up or down. They are just a lot easier to push and I definitely prefer them to the white flicky things that we’ve got back home. One of my Canadian buddies told me that she wanted to buy some to bring back and install in her house.

On the front door, there’s also this gigantic knob that sits low on the door. I call it the “belly button” knob. You have your regular door handle that is usually closest to the left or right middle part of your door ( depending on which side you’re opening from ) but here in the apartments there’s also this extra large gold KNOB that is drilled three-quarters of a way down on the door. I am not sure what it’s for…but I’m going to find out.

Another huge difference is the amount of walking I’m doing here. Wow. There are very few overweight people in Madrid. But I can see why. Even though the food is quite heavy ( cheeses, mayonnaise galore—ack, I’ve had to really scrap it off some of the sandwiches they’ve made me ) people walk everywhere. It’s great. Exercise is all part of living. Fabuloso. And the eight flights of stairs, plus all the stairs in the metro can’t hurt eh?

I love Madrid´s Metro!

2005-09-13T11:42:00.000-07:00

I’m going to tell you about the metro. This is probably one of the things I love most about Madrid. Honestly, the subway system here in Madrid puts ALL of ours in Canada to shame. When you first look at the network map of all the train lines they have, it looks super complicated and crazy. It kind of looks like a spider web with a lot of extra webbing in some places. There are 11 train lines, each marked with different colours and showing every single stop along the way as well as showing all the connecting points of different lines.

I don’t think I’d ever have to own a car here if I had access to such a fabulous transportation system. There are lots of buses that run as well, but I personally find the metro to be efficient and easy to understand.
Why? They PUT SIGNS EVERYWHERE. At every corner in the maze of connecting, there are signs that show all the stops and all the different colour lines if you head to the left, right or straight. IT’S SO CLEAR. You wouldn’t get confused at all.

Though I’d have to say that I might suffocate in the summer on the metro—lots of the trains here don’t have AC, but otherwise it’s great. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the convenience of being able to hop on and off stops and get to where I need to without the hassle of having to park, or deal with above ground traffic.

An adjustment I’ve had to make is that some trains require you to manually open the doors, whether from the inside or out. The first day, there was always tons of people around to do it so I never even noticed-but by the second day, I started seeing that you either had to push a button or lift a lever to be able to get on or off the train. I definitely almost had a “tourist” moment when I stood in front of the door a couple of times and forgot to push the button or lift the lever.

The story about the metro I’m going to tell you shows a little of the strange practices here that I am beginning to understand that are all part of “ESPANA”. ( Spain ).

M and I hit a metro stop to buy monthly passes. I go up to the ticket counter to ask for the monthly pass. The woman starts speaking rapidly in Spanish and gesticulating with her fingers like she’s smoking. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t a smoker and I didn’t want cigarettes, but she kept on gesturing—till M realized that she was actually telling us to go to some “estancos” to buy the pass. We figured out that the estancos were tobacco shops.

We went back to a little mom and pop 7-11 type of store where we had bought water to talk to the Chinese storekeeper. She had been really helpful earlier and we had conversed a little. Anyway, I had to laugh because I wasn’t expecting to be speaking Spinese or Chanish (Spanish-Chinese ) here in Spain! The storekeeper’s boyfriend’s Spanish was too good so we ended up speaking Mandarin and a bit of Spanish to figure out where the estanco was. It’s amazing how a little bit of language here and there can get you places.

So we arrived at the estanco to find that we needed a photograph of some sort to get our monthly pass. After having walked all the way to this tobacco shop we had to walk all the way BACK to the metro to take our photos and then COME BACK to the tobacco shop for the pass. Finally, after all the walking and two trips in each direction, we finally got our passes.

What I don’t understand is WHY they don’t just sell both the passes and do the photos at the same place??? The estancos are usually not even close to the metro stations so people really have to run around just to get a pass. For us, it took about an hour just to walk back and forth to get this done. Ahhhh Bienvenidos en Espana!

Explaining “ Penniless”

2005-09-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

Let me explain first off, that this was not written tongue in cheek. It is the truth of my stay in Europe…though it sounds fantastic that I am living abroad—it is actually quite stressful b/c I am on a super tight budget…so keep in mind that as much as I am experiencing as much as I can here—it’s kind of like “ see Europe on 11Euros a day”…so that’s the kind of student life I am having over here.

Also, I would like to maintain the anonymity of the people I meet and who I am with. You will notice that I never write out their names but I simply write their first initial. I think it’s important to respect people’s privacy so the only names you’ll see will either be mine or of the places and buildings that I see.

Stuffed Suitcases

2005-09-04T22:22:00.000-07:00

Here I am...10:30pm and still packing. How typical. If anyone has ever seen me pack...it tends to be refugee-style twenty minutes before the bus/plane or whatever leaves. I think I'm a packing-adrenaline junkie.

My living room floor has been attacked by ziplock bags, Canada stickers, and piles of...hm.

Feelings are mixed. I can't believe I'm going, I can't believe I'm leaving.

I guess the biggest struggle I have right now is not with shoving four seasons into two pieces of luggage, but trying to make sense of my own heart and why I am leaving right now. I KNOW that I'm suppose to be going....but I feel like the timing is so rushed...so off.

Having just finished PDP, I had hoped for a good year of hanging out with all the peeps and seeing as many people as I can. Having come out of being a student-teacher recluse, I was looking forward to being my normal socialite self again...ahhhhhhhhh.....leaving for eight months is not what I expected.

But it's once in a lifetime right? When will I go again? Who knows...so much can change in a year.

I've come to realize that I need to practice what I preach. Always talking about "living each moment to the fullest"..this is one of those times. I gotta just suck it up and go.

Anyway. So this is the night before the day of.