“¿Quieres apresto?”

The view of Granada from the Generalife
gardens at the Alhambra..

After my trip to Granada last weekend to celebrate Mary’s birthday, I must say that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to choose a favourite Spanish city. Who knew that Spain had so much to offer? I’m loath to admit it now, but before I moved here the extent of my knowledge of Europe’s fourth largest country – the language of which I’m merely studying to gain an undergraduate degree in, you understand – stretched only as far as to let me think that the few places I’d visited (Torremolinos, Benidorm and Barcelona) gave a more or less accurate reflection of what Spain is all about: sun, sea, sand and perhaps a smattering of culture here and there... if you look hard enough for it.

How ignorant (or misinformed, to be kinder to myself) I was. In the few short months I’ve been here, I’ve visited Madrid, Valencia, Toledo and Granada and come away from each with culture coming out of my ears. Spain has so much beauty, in so many different forms, that when you stop to think about it it’s truly breathtaking.

A snapshot of the Alhambra
 and its stunning backdrop

This only truly dawned on me when some of my students (I’d been telling them about my latest trip after they’d demanded: “Helen! Talk to us!”) asked me what the best place I’d visited in Spain was. I was stumped. How does one choose between the charming narrow cobbled streets and rustic buildings of Toledo; the delicious paella  and sandy shores of Valencia; the cosmopolitan and cultural whirl of Madrid; the stunning natural beauty of Granada; and, of course, the eternally unique and beautiful Cuenca? The truth is, I couldn’t choose if I tried – I’m just grateful I’ve had the opportunity to experience all these places.

But enough pondering; I must tell you more about Granada! Thanks to its relatively close proximity to Morocco, it’s a city with many Arabic influences, from the shops lining its narrow streets – brimming with ethnic jewellery, elaborately patterned lampshades and richly coloured silk pashminas and harem pants (the latter of which I couldn’t resist when I spotted a particularly comfortable looking purple pair... perfect for lounging around in on lazy days!) – to its Middle Eastern cuisine and, of course, the impressive Moorish palace for which it is famous, the Alhambra.

A typically symmetrical courtyard
within the palace

A glimpse of the snowy Sierra Nevada

Naturally, there was no direct route to Granada from Cuenca, so we gave ourselves a head start by staying in a hostel in Madrid on Thursday night. The next morning, we caught a 5-hour bus to Granada, where we met Mary (the birthday girl) and Krista. On Friday night we had a disappointingly bland meal in a mediocre Moroccan restaurant – with hindsight, it was quite obviously a tourist trap and not ‘the real deal’ – which wasn’t the best start to the weekend, but after a much-needed night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast the next morning to re-fuel, we set off for the main attraction. Having booked tickets in advance, we caught a bus which bounced and jolted its way rather precariously up the steep, winding streets and dropped us off right outside the Alhambra.

Beautiful Granada, as seen from the
palace which overlooks the city

The sun was beating down from a cloudless blue sky, and inside the grounds it was picture-postcard perfect with its manicured lawns and hedges, orange trees, pretty little fountains, carefully arranged flowerbeds and tall palm trees. The palace itself – or palaces, as in reality there are several different buildings and there’s so much to see that it takes all day to do it justice – straddles a hilltop with a cool majestic ease, overlooking the whole of the city, its architectural splendour effortlessly complementing nature’s magnificent backdrop. And what a backdrop it was: in the foreground, tall and slender cypress trees nestled among whitewashed houses with red rooftops; in the background, the rugged snow-topped mountains of the Sierra Nevada, one of Spain’s most popular skiing destinations.   

An elaborately carved ceiling inside
the Alhambra: an example of the
amazing attention to detail

If you can tear your eyes away from the view for long enough to look around the buildings themselves, the attention to detail that awaits you in every floor, ceiling, window, archway and courtyard is extraordinary.  The more you look, the more you realise how meticulously planned every aspect of the palace’s construction was, from its aesthetically pleasing symmetry right down to the elaborate carvings on the stonework.

After five hours, we dragged ourselves away from the Alhambra, our legs and our camera batteries exhausted. On the recommendation of a friend of Mary’s, we caught another bus up to the old town, to the famous district of Albaicín. We timed our arrival perfectly to coincide with sunset, and as we climbed the steps to the packed out Plaza San Nicolas, we soon saw what all the fuss was about. We were confronted with a stunning view of the Alhambra in all its glory, this time from afar. It seemed to be melting away with all the reds and purples and oranges of the sunset, and though it may sound excessively whimsical, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so at peace and in awe of the world as I did in that moment.

The Alhambra at sunset, as seen from the Plaza
San Nicolas in Albaicín

That evening, I made it my mission to seek out a decent Moroccan restaurant to satisfy our still-present craving for Arabic food after the previous night’s letdown. Having read several encouraging reviews online, I decided on a restaurant called Arrayanes, which was so authentically Moroccan that it didn’t even serve alcohol (!). Thankfully, the food was exquisite and even my concerns about the lack of booze were put to rest when we discovered the delicious homemade lemonade with fresh mint. It was so good to eat houmous again – practically a staple for me back in the UK, but unsurprisingly difficult to locate in Cuenca – and the chicken tagine with lemon and olives also went down a treat.

All six of us 

So, that was my magical weekend in Granada! Unfortunately since then things have somewhat gone downhill for me. After the warm sunny weather in Granada, the temperature dropped dramatically almost as soon as we got back to Cuenca; we even had some snow! As a result, I came down with a sore throat and a cold on Tuesday and had to take the rest of the week off work. Elena very kindly took me to the doctor on Thursday, who confirmed that I didn’t have tonsillitis (for once) but told me I needed to rest, drink plenty of fluids and ‘stay away from other people’. Revolutionary stuff...

I’m still feeling pretty rough, so the last four days have consisted largely of sleeping, staring into space, sneezing, coughing, drinking various different liquids and eating chicken noodle soup and cornflakes. The most sociable thing I’ve done all week was cooking a 3-course Valentine’s Day dinner for some of the girls on Monday, as all of our significant others are elsewhere in the world and it seemed silly to sit in our respective houses alone when we could be enjoying each other’s company. 

Natira, Sara and Jaclyn about to
tuck into my romantic Valentine's feast

Since then, the highlight of my week has probably been a trip to the dry-cleaners, where panic set in when the woman asked me: “¿Quieres apresto?”, to which my answer was inevitably “¡¿Qué?!” as a baffled expression formed on my face. After this, she assumed I couldn’t speak Spanish (it’s somewhat disconcerting when one doesn’t know a very technical term and as a result one’s whole ability to speak a language is dismissed), I explained I could but wasn’t familiar with this particular word, and she proceeded to explain that it was a treatment that they used on coats such as mine, and would cost me an extra €1.30. Still not altogether clear on what it actually was, but keen to rescue myself from further embarrassment, I hastily agreed, thrust the money at her and made a swift exit.

I told Ana of my ordeal, and after consulting several different dictionaries (most of which rather vaguely defined ‘apresto’ as ‘preparation’), we finally came across the word I was searching for. So, next time you take your coat to a Spanish dry-cleaner and are offered ‘apresto’, you will now be able to nod smugly for you shall know that they are asking you if you would like ‘starch’. It’s okay, no need to thank me now...

¡Hasta luego! 

A Medio Camino

Sitting here with the aid of a good old English cup of tea and a square (or five) of chocolate, you’d think the words would simply flow forth with ease and arrange themselves on the page in front of me to form this blog. Indeed, you’d be forgiven for assuming that after a blog-free fortnight – light-years for someone like me, who usually suffers from the writer’s equivalent of verbal diarrhoea – I’d be writing positively reams and reams.

As it stands, however, although I’m sure lots has happened and I should have a backlog of amusing anecdotes to pepper this post with, I’m somewhat drawing a mental blank. So forgive me if what you’re about to read proves to be more of a stream of consciousness than chronological story-telling.

The truth is I’m in a contemplative frame of mind right now. While enjoying the feeling I’ve reached a point where I’m the most content and settled I could ever be in a place that’s not ‘home’, I’m also all too aware of the fact that I’m halfway through my placement already. It saddens me to think that in just under four months I’ll have to pack up my bags and leave my cosy little mundo español. When that day comes, I’ll be leaving not only a city and country which I’ve grown to love, but with it my amazing readymade little group of international friends, all the relationships I’ve built up with my teachers and students, and of course the 3-day weekends, regular sunshine and free tapas with every drink which I’ve become so fond of!

The flipside is that in my efforts to make the most of my year abroad, I’m so busy that I’m constantly tired and have begun to panic that I’m not dedicating enough time to my Spanish. Of course, one’s rate of progress in learning a language has never been a quantifiable thing, but when left alone with my sometimes unnecessarily self-critical thoughts, my mind starts working overtime, torturing my conscience with notions of how much better my Spanish ‘should’ be by now. Nonetheless, I’m trying a new tack of ignoring my negative thoughts and telling myself I’m doing the best I can, which I really am; so take that, self-deprecating psyche!

And while I’m aboard the positive thinking train, I suppose I should tell you about the amazingly lovely weekend I just had in Cuenca with Hugh, who finally managed to make it to Spain – an achievement in itself, as those of you who remember his two ill-fated attempts to visit me before the Christmas break will know.

Hugh and me on the Puente San Pablo - short sleeves
in February!

He arrived on Friday afternoon after a taxing day of travelling, so we went out for a decadent (i.e. high-fat, high-calorie!) dinner at Foster’s Hollywood, an American restaurant here in Cuenca, with all of ‘the regulars’ (Jaclyn, Corinna and Natira) as well as a few others. I should probably mention at this point that we’ve acquired a few new English-speaking friends in the form of Robby, Kate and Erica – all of whom are from the States and are teaching English at the university here – and Sara, who has only been in Cuenca since the beginning of January and is working as a language assistant like us. For the benefit of those of you who remember Lydia (the girl from Liverpool with whom I planned to live with at the beginning but who made a swift exit after deciding Cuenca wasn’t her cup of tea), Sara has come to replace Lydia as the language assistant at the school in question for the remainder of the academic year.

From left to right: Sara, Natira, Hugh, me, Robby,
Jaclyn and Kate

After a long deep sleep brought on by a steak-induced food coma, we emerged from my cave-like bedroom to discover Saturday was a glorious day: sunny, cloudless and unseasonably warm. Naturally, a physically demanding uphill trot to the old town ensued, and when we reached the top we rewarded ourselves with tinto de veranos (a fruity summertime drink similar to sangria) on the roof terrace of a bar overlooking the whole of Cuenca, followed by a delicious lunch of morteruelo (a typical Cuencan dish made of game and eaten with bread; a bit like paté but better), chorizo and patatas ali-oli.

In keeping with the emerging theme of eating and drinking – after all, Spaniards themselves admit that to celebrate special occasions, both are done in abundance – that evening we ate at a restaurant called Nazareno y Oro which had been recommended to me for its excellent food. Needless to say it didn’t disappoint, although we made the schoolboy error of arriving at 9pm; of course the place was deserted, as no self-respecting Spaniard would even entertain the thought of having dinner much before 10pm! Nevertheless, it was a novelty to have the place to ourselves for the first half hour or so, and we were thoroughly impressed by the €26 set menu. It included a degustación de entrantes (an impressive parade of about six surprise starters – including goat’s cheese, stuffed peppers and fried eggs with sautéed potatoes – after which the thought of there still being two more courses to come was mildly alarming), a main course (typically carnivorous choices of steak for me, ribs for Hugh), a dessert, bread, wine and water. Now that’s what I call value for money!

The glass-like River Júcar at dusk

After stuffing ourselves to the gills, we waddled over to Quinto Pecado to meet the rest of the gang. One thing led to another and we somehow ended up partying until 6am, happily being plied with free alcohol from my friend Marta who is a student in my adult Alojamiento class at San José and works behind the bar in a club at the weekends.  

Sunday was unsurprisingly a write-off in terms of doing anything productive, although we deigned to crawl out into the harsh light of day at around 5pm to meet Elena, the Head of English at San José, for a coffee.

All too soon Monday came and Hugh set off for London again, leaving me feeling rather deflated and post-weekend-ish.

Still, things at school are great at the moment and I’m enjoying my private classes too, despite feeling too exhausted to really give anything 100% at the moment. I’ve been teaching my classes at school about the British Royal Family, which has been amusing to say the least. In case you’re interested, the only members of our monarchy known by most Spanish teenagers are the Queen, Prince Charles, Camilla Parker-Bowles and Prince Harry (the last of whom is known largely for his good looks, at least among the squealing giggly female varieties). Prince William (or Guillermo, as they refer to him) was recognised by some, although I sensed that his popularity paled in comparison to that his little brother’s. Poor William – he can’t help that he looks increasingly like Charles, can he?! Of course, Princess Diana (or Lady ‘Dee’ as they pronounce it) often came up too.

My homemade family tree designed to elicit family-related vocabulary from them (by showing them the diagram and asking things like ‘how is Peter/Simon/Jessica related to me?’) went down a treat. Somewhat disappointingly, my proud revelation that my grandmother was named after a small Spanish town was received time after time by a roomful of blank faces. Clearly Torla is a very small town...

Yoga continues to be a valuable source of relaxation, although thus far it hasn’t helped me to put my erratic sleep pattern to bed (pardon the pun) as I’d hoped. As well as helping to improve core strength, respiration, balance and stability I also feel I’m getting a 90-minute Spanish lesson thrown in for free! Not that being told to contract and release my cervix in unison with deep inhalations and exhalations while sitting cross-legged and meditating is something I’ll necessarily need to repeat in Spanish in the future, but you never do know...

¡Hasta luego!