Aprovechando los Findes

I can hardly believe it myself but it seems three weeks have sidled by since my last post – probably the longest I’ve ever neglected to write for.  My trusty handful of regular readers may well wonder what on earth I’ve been doing. The answer is, unsurprisingly, a lot. So much that I’ve tried and failed to find the time and the energy to sit down and write. I fear I may be suffering from information overload, the frustrating symptom of which is that I’m struggling to recall anything noteworthy or interesting I’ve done in the last 21 days, despite the fact that I know there’s plenty. Nevertheless, I’ll have a go...

I spent the weekend following our lovely trip to Granada having a well-deserved rest in Cuenca. Mary and two of her friends, Haley and Ashly (also language assistants and from the USA) came to stay and we had fun showing them the sights (and bars). Aside from a mild case of food poisoning (I suspect the culprit was a severely undercooked steak I’d had at a restaurant the night before) it was a perfect weekend of relaxation. The weather was glorious and, come to think of it, it was the last real glimpse of spring we’ve seen since.

Yes, here comes my customary English rant about the weather. It has been appalling; cold, windy and rainy. Of course, we’ve had intermittent sunshine and the odd bit of warmth to remind us that the sun still exists, but every time I allow myself to hope that spring may finally have decided to make an appearance, it seems the clouds roll in, bringing a menacing warning with them: “Keep your coats and boots within easy reach – winter’s not done with you yet!”. Okay, so I know the weather is unpredictable wherever you are, and I know it’s only March. But come on, Spain! Your climate is supposed to be significantly superior to that of the old Blighty. I feel almost cheated by how little difference there seems to be!

Snow in March!

In fact, last weekend we even had snow. Yes, snow. In March. IN SPAIN. I was on my way to Madrid by bus when I realised how heavily it was snowing. The countryside of Castilla-La Mancha was covered in a thick blanket of the stuff, and the driver had to slow down as we drove through what seemed to be a small blizzard. As I was supposed to be meeting Hugh in Madrid, I was understandably concerned that the coach might break down and yet again we’d fail to spend the weekend together. Luckily, though, Spain deals with snow much better than England does – no big surprises there. On the journey I saw several snow ploughs and all the roads were clear and safe to drive on. Perhaps Cameron should take a leaf out of Zapatero’s book...

Anyway, political comment aside, I got to Madrid on time and met Hugh at the bus station. We got on another bus to Salamanca, where we were going to spend the weekend. Miraculously, nothing went wrong and we had a lovely time in Salamanca. The sun even shone... a bit.

Salamanca's Plaza Mayor in all its glory
 lit up at night

Salamanca is a beautiful city, most famous for its university (the oldest and one of the most prestigious universities in Spain) and its magnificent Plaza Mayor, which has been voted the best square in Europe in the past. It was built of sandstone in the traditional Spanish Baroque style, and is enclosed by four facades made up of arches and porticos (covered walkways). There are several cafes and restaurants in the square, each with tables and chairs spilling outdoors so you can eat breakfast in true continental style, outdoors, people-watching. Needless to say, Hugh and I did so twice! How very European.

The famous carved stone facade of
Salamanca's university...
can you spot the frog?!

The facade close up... if you look
closely(on top of the skull)
you'll see the lucky frog!

As around 30,000 students study at the university, Salamanca has a friendly, laid-back student vibe. Hugh and I went to see the famous facade of the university. Somewhere amid what seems like millions of intricately carved flowers, patterns, skulls, people, shields and gargoyles, is a frog, cleverly and discreetly carved in among all the other detail. Legend has it that if you find the frog, you will have good luck in your studies and relationships. Of course, finding the frog is deliberately a challenge, and when we arrived there was a gathering of tourists staring intently at the facade, craning their necks, scratching their heads and pointing. We joined them and after a while, much to my glee, we spotted the frog (with a little help from a local man selling postcards, but we needn’t go into that). So hopefully that means I’ll pass my degree and won’t end up a spinster – phew!

The beautiful view of Salamanca
from the cathedral towers

We also did various other ‘cultural’ things, such as climbing the tower of Salamanca’s imposing gothic cathedral, which has to be one of the biggest I’ve seen anywhere. Although I may not exactly be a devout Christian, being inside that building certainly gave me a sense of being something very small and insignificant in comparison to whatever the driving forces or beliefs of the people who spent 220 years lovingly and patiently constructing it were. The sheer size and grandeur of its cavernous naves silently demand your respect and I could almost feel the power exuding from the thick stone walls. It struck me how impressive it is that something as essentially material and earth-bound as a building can evoke such transcendental feelings in human beings.

The enormous cathedral

On Sunday, after having crammed in as much culture as we could stomach (including a little jaunt on the mini tourist train, which moved so quickly that it was comical, lurching violently around corners so that it almost felt like we were going to fall out; the only photos we managed to take were a blurry mess!) we headed back to Madrid. There, we enjoyed a tasty feast at a Japanese restaurant – one of my ultimate treats when I’m in the capital is oriental and Indian food, as it’s hard to come by in the comparative modesty of Cuenca – and stayed in a very plush 4* hotel which we’d booked at a bargain price several weeks earlier. On Monday morning I caught the AVE (the high-speed train system linking several major Spanish towns and cities, into which little old Cuenca was incorporated just before Christmas) back to Cuenca for the first time. At 300km/h, it feels like you're gliding through the air and is a modern wonder compared to the horrors of Spain’s Regional trains which take about three times as long and feel as if you’re sitting in a tin can and being shaken vigorously. In just 51 short minutes I was back in Cuenca and ready for the working week ahead of me. A thoroughly civilised way to travel!

Mary, Jaclyn, me and Krista in fancy dress for
Carnaval in Villarrobledo

In keeping with the theme of telling you about my weekends, that brings us almost up to the present. The weekend just gone was a very intense, party-orientated one. On Friday night (already with rather sore heads from the night before), Jaclyn and I set off for Villarrobledo to visit Mary and Krista. Although it’s a small and relatively unremarkable town with a humble population of around 26,000, it is famed in Spain for its Carnaval celebrations. Carnaval is a festive season in Spain, immediately before Lent, in which many towns and cities host several days of colourful parades, live music and entertainment and the streets and squares are filled with people in fancy dress, drinking dancing and generally having a good time.

Some places make a much bigger deal of it than others; Cuenca isn’t one of them, but Villarrobledo is. When we arrived, the town was in the throes of preparing for its second to last night of a solid week of partying, and the atmosphere was electric. Jaclyn and I hadn’t been organised enough to procure fancy dress costumes, but we managed to fashion our own outfits out of a few odds and ends that Mary and Krista had lying around the house.  I was a flamenco dancer, dressed all in black with a scarlet feather boa, red tasselled shawl around my waist, my hair scraped back into a bun and lashings of dramatic black eyeliner and red lipstick to complete the look. I even gave myself a beauty spot with the eyeliner, which I thought looked ridiculous at first, but gradually it grew on me (pardon the pun) and even got me several compliments... Shame it’s not real, then!

An example of the wonderfully
creative fancy dress costumes
at Carnaval!

The festivities went on all night and the heart of the action took place under a huge marquee in the main plaza. As I looked around, I realised the effort and creativity people had put into fancy dress costumes was awesome. Everybody, young and old, had gone to the trouble of dressing up, and the standard was truly brilliant. 

The impressive homemade
Chinese dragon

The outfit that Mary and Krista, along with several of their friends, had made was no exception; it was an enormous Chinese dragon, its body a tubular shape made innovatively from collapsible laundry baskets, disguised by swathes of red and green silk. Each laundry basket had a hole cut into it for a person’s head to fit into, so that once inside the dragon you weren’t able to see anything except a row of heads in front of you! There were spaces for at least 10 people (all dressed in kimonos), including the leader who, unlike the others, was able to see where he was going through a small slit which was the dragon’s mouth. It was really impressive and attracted many an admiring stare from other partiers. Although I’d had nothing to do with the making or wearing of the costume (apart from a brief stint with my head in one of the head holes out of curiosity) I felt a sense of pride, especially when we won a prize for being one of the best costumes that night! Granted, all we won was only a few loaves of bread – the prizes were hardly serious – but that didn’t detract from the glory one bit...

The Chinese dragon in action

The next day, I caught a train to Albacete for yet another night of partying. This time, it was for my university friend Jenny’s birthday. After copious amounts of punch, vodka jelly and homemade guacamole we eventually headed out at around 3am(!). Suffice to say, I didn’t get to bed till 6.30am and had to be up at noon to catch my train back to Cuenca, feeling predictably fragile and sleep-deprived. All in all, it was a draining weekend but well worth it.

In other news, everything is progressing nicely on the school front. Although I still find teaching infuriating at times – I probably always will – and lack the passion I feel would be necessary to turn it into a career, I feel I’ve proved to myself that it’s something I am not only capable of doing, but capable of doing reasonably well. I’m not the best teacher of all time, but I certainly don’t think I’m the worst either. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve taught my classes about the English education system and typical British food. Both topics were received with a surprising amount of interest by the majority of my classes, which made me feel quite patriotic! When I was talking about the full English breakfast, one girl put her hand up and said, quite seriously: “I thought English people didn’t like mushrooms?” Well, I was stumped. What does one say to that? Although it was a massively generalised and largely unfounded statement, I welcome any sort of comment and it’s rewarding when the students are actually engaged and comfortable enough to participate.

Outside of school hours, I have also adopted another language exchange class (I already have one in school with a teacher, Juan). I met Myriam at mine and Jaclyn’s weekly yoga class. She heard us talking English and asked if we were interested in practising our Spanish, as she wanted someone to practise her English with. Jaclyn didn’t have any gaps in her busy timetable, but I decided I could squeeze in a weekly hour-long meeting with her. So, every Thursday we meet at a coffee shop and speak for half an hour in Spanish before switching to English for the remaining half hour. I really enjoy it, and listening to Myriam speak is very good practice for me as she’s from the south of Spain and therefore has a very different (and admittedly much more difficult to understand) accent. The first time we met we were both visibly nervous but thankfully we hit it off straight away so conversation flowed naturally. Much to my amusement, during our first session Myriam kept saying enhtusiastically: “¡Hablas de puta madre!” which is a rather crude way of saying she was impressed by how well I spoke Spanish. For those of you who don’t know, puta madre would translate roughly as ‘mother f**ker’ or ‘holy sh*t’, but is commonly used as a high compliment in contexts like these. I suppose it’s similar to when we say ‘sh*t hot’ to mean something good in English. Unfortunately I still feel like anything but when it comes to my speaking skills, but nevertheless I appreciate her kind words for giving me a confidence boost!

¡Hasta luego! 

“¿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! 

La Tierra de la Paella

To those who have been eagerly awaiting my blog and wondering why it didn’t appear on Friday as usual (and there are tons of you out there, aren’t there? Come on, humour me), I apologise – but better late than never, as they say!

In my defence, I was up at the crack of dawn on Friday morning to catch the first coach to Valencia, so my designated blog-writing slot – i.e. sometime on a Friday afternoon when I’ve been festering in my pyjamas for the best part of the day – was otherwise occupied.

A lovely weekend was had by all in the city famed for its paella and oranges (both of which we sampled, naturally, albeit that the latter was in the form of juice and mixed with alcohol – but more about that later).

An example of Valencia's futuristic architecture

Valencia was everything I’d hoped for and more. Sunshine, palm trees, stunning architecture, delicious food and of course, the beach were just what the doctor ordered. Any remnants of the stress and downheartedness I’d felt the previous week were swept away on the brisk sea air – it may have been sunny but it certainly wasn’t warm!

Dubbed ‘La Ciudad de las Artes y Ciencias’, Valencia is known for its impressive complex of innovative, futuristic-looking buildings and sculptures, one of which houses the world’s largest aquarium. At 20 Euros each (including young person’s discount), the entrance fee seemed fairly substantial, but luckily it was worth every cent.

One of my more impressive attempts
at photographing a shark in the aquarium

Not having been to an aquarium for what was probably over a decade, I was transported back to that feeling of childlike awe and excitement at being surrounded by seemingly magical underwater creatures that are so close you could almost touch them. Regardless of age, I don’t think the novelty of having a shark or stingray swim inches above your head while you’re standing in a glass tunnel can ever wear off. As well as literally thousands of species of fish, there were sharks, Beluga whales, seals, sea-lions, walruses, penguins and dolphins.

The dolphin show

Indeed, a personal highlight was the dolphin show, which delighted me beyond words. As the eight lithe, sun-kissed dolphin trainers in wetsuits frolicked around with their fishy friends, surfing on their fins and being tossed playfully into the air, looking as happy and carefree as I think a person ever could, I had an epiphany: if being a journalist doesn’t work out, surely this is what I’m destined to do!

On Saturday evening, we sought out a restaurant recommended to us by our hostel which specialised in paella, only to find it was fully booked for the rest of the evening. Unwilling to take no for an answer, I suggested we sit at one of the tables outside on the restaurant’s patio, which was of course deserted on account of the chilly January night air. The waiter’s simultaneously amused and appalled expression was a sure sign that he thought we were mad foreigners, but nevertheless he decided to humour us. In fact, he dragged over four patio heaters, leaving one at each corner of our table and putting them all on full blast, so we were surrounded  a pleasant (if slightly overwhelming) wall of heat.

The delicious Paella Valenciana

He obviously secretly found our wacky foreign ways charming, as he was soon engaging in friendly banter and laughing along shyly with our raucous cackles as he served us exquisite Paella Valenciana (with chicken and rabbit, as is traditional) and some of the best wine I’ve ever tasted. He even knocked a few Euros off our bill and gave us free shots at the end of the meal. It’s certainly good to have friends in high places...

As well as paella, we felt obliged to try the famous Agua de Valencia (referred to briefly earlier on), which contrary to what its name insinuates is most definitely NOT water. A potent mixture of orange juice, champagne, gin, vodka and sugar, it looks as harmless as straight-up orange juice and slips down just as easily too. But appearances can be deceptive – you have been warned!

Agua de Valencia: not as innocent as it looks!

On Friday night, we went to a bar that Corinna (who’d been to Valencia before) said she’d enjoyed. It soon dawned on us it was a gay bar when we found ourselves among the only women in the place, surrounded by suspiciously well-dressed, well-groomed men shaking their hips enthusiastically to the likes of Rihanna and Katy Perry. A hilarious night of flamboyant onstage dancing with a gaggle of gays ensued, and we had so much fun that we went back there the next night. Krista was particularly popular with our new friends, and found herself surrounded by her adoring fans – each waiting for their turn to gyrate theatrically with her to delighted applause from their peers – for most of the night.

So, that was our weekend. A roaring success as ever! Apart from that, here’s a brief round-up of the week’s news:

Last Monday, Jaclyn and I went to our first Spanish yoga class, which was an interesting experience to say the least. As if following instructions in another language to do things like stick your bum in the air or waggle your tongue about (I kid you not) isn’t surreal enough, everybody else there seemed to think it was the most normal thing in the world, which only gave us the urge to giggle more. Stifling our laughter was a gargantuan task in itself, not least when somebody broke the meditative silence by letting off a rather loud fart.

Luckily at this point we were lying face down and could therefore bury our faces into the yoga mats to stop ourselves from howling with laughter. Despite the trials and tribulations of keeping our childish senses of humour suppressed, we both enjoyed it and plan to continue going on a weekly basis.

On Thursday, I met with Marta, a Spanish woman who lived in Liverpool for a year (and still visits regularly, as her boyfriend lives there) for the first time. A teacher at my school had put us in contact so we decided to meet for a drink. As well as the Liverpool connection, we discovered other common ground such as our shared love of curry and Yorkshire tea and, perhaps more remarkably, the fact that she is a journalist and has been to Paraguay (neither of us had ever met anybody else who’s been to Paraguay). It really is a small world...

In terms of school, I’m starting to feel more comfortable and am getting back into the swing of things. Although I still feel there’s a lack of guidance as to what’s expected of me, I’m starting to feel more confident about probing the teachers for more information so that I can plan ahead and be more prepared for my lessons.

It was good to see all my private class students again, and I was particularly touched when it transpired that the two sisters I have on a Wednesday (aged 11 and 12, the daughters of a teacher at my school) had enjoyed the ‘Who Am I?’ game that I’d played with them so much that they’d played it again on their own. Best of all, they’d played it in English! Well hallelujah, perhaps I’m actually getting somewhere...

¡Hasta luego! 

¡Bienvenidos a 2011!

Long time no see, my dear readers! It feels strange to be sitting in front of my computer in Cuenca again typing my blog. Christmas and New Year went by, as usual, in a dizzying whirl of family gatherings, soirees with friends, big meals, too much alcohol, not enough sleep and general merriment. Being back in England after three months of la vida española was like slipping into a particularly comfortable and worn-in pair of old shoes: familiar, reassuring and very satisfying.

Predictably, it was all over just as quickly as it had begun, and I found myself on the Stansted Express at 5 o’clock in the morning, sleep-deprived and emotional, wondering if I’d accidentally been leaning on the fast forward button for the past two and a half weeks.

After a frustratingly delay-free – albeit long and tedious – journey (why is it that whenever I’m desperate for a smooth run something goes wrong, yet when I wouldn’t mind an impromptu strike to buy myself a few more days in England, everything runs like clockwork?!) I arrived in Cuenca dazed and disorientated, wanting nothing more than a good night’s sleep. And so, of course, insomnia ensued.

My body seems to have no problem with letting me sleep during daylight hours, but at night? Forget it. I knew my first week back after the festive period would be no mean feat, what with the inevitable January blues and withdrawal symptoms from all things English, but I must admit nothing could’ve prepared me for just how bleak it would be.

A big fat dollop of exhaustion combined with the tail-end of a nasty cold and a dash of homesickness resulted in full on Back to Reality Syndrome. It hit me like a ton of bricks, culminating in an excruciatingly embarrassing mini breakdown in the staffroom on Wednesday morning. Luckily, I don’t think many people saw, but nonetheless I couldn’t wait to get home, close my blinds and curl up in bed where I could humiliate myself no further. I took the rest of the week off school and cancelled all but one of my private classes. There was only one thing for it: I needed some ‘me time’.

And, touch wood, it seems to have worked. I’ve made it through the week and not only that, but the proverbial fog has lifted and I’m starting to feel more like my usual happy self. Of course seeing my lovely friends last night for vino and tapas in our favourite bar, Quinto Pecado (just for a change), followed by generous amounts of homemade mojitos courtesy of Jaclyn’s flatmates definitely helped. In fact, this week has made me realise just how many people care about me here in Cuenca, and for that I’m overwhelmed with gratitude.

Anyhow, enough about my fleeting brush with depression. On a cheerier note – and because I’m aware I haven’t got much to talk about what with having spent most of my week in bed – I spontaneously booked flights to Australia on Monday! Yes, to celebrate the end of my placement in Spain and maximise my free time before having to go back to the stresses of final year university life, I’m jetting off to Oz on June 17^th with Becky, a friend of mine with whom some of you may recall I hitch-hiked to Budapest in March last year. And that’s not all: after cruising down the east coast (which I’m aware is currently almost entirely under water, but let’s not talk about that right now) for one month  we’re then going to New Zealand where we’ll spend another month before returning to UK soils. I’m incredibly excited to say the least!

In a similar fit of spontaneity (it must be my new ‘thing’ for 2011...) the girls and I have organised a trip to Valencia next weekend. Sun, sea and world-famous paella would surely be enough to banish even the worst case of January blues. Rumour has it that today in Valencia it was 28 degrees and people were sunbathing on the beach (although, as Elena put it, ‘obviously just foreigners’!).

In fact, it is uncharacteristically warm for this time of year and today in Cuenca was no exception: nearly 20 degrees, brilliant sunshine and not a cloud in sight. I met Elena, one of my teachers, for a stroll along the river to blow away the cobwebs and pump myself full of endorphins (something which my dear mother will no doubt be delighted about). A spot of shopping in the rebajas (sales) and the Chinese pig-out that followed were the icing on the cake.

Well, my New Year’s resolution is to keep these posts short and sweet, so here is where I shall leave you.

¡Hasta luego! 

"Rodolfo el Reno de la Nariz Roja"

Following the dramas of two weekends ago, my week in France miraculously went off without a hitch. Okay, so I arrived in Aix-en-Provence sleep-deprived, disorientated and almost completely deaf in one ear (the plane’s descent had wreaked havoc with my poor ears, which were already congested from the cold I was getting over), but was nevertheless deliriously happy to have defied those nasty air traffic controllers and made it out of Spain.

And what a charming place to escape to it was. Aix has that quaint, dinky, distinctly French feel to it, with its cobbled streets, little squares with fountains and abundance of tasteful (i.e. pricey) boutiques with enticing window displays. Add to that a plethora of alluring restaurants, cafés, bakeries and crêpe stalls, and you’ve got yourself an upmarket shoppers’ paradise. In comparison to Cuenca, where I feel positively rich, I felt like a pauper in the midst of all this glitz and glamour.

A very Christmassy Aix-en-Provence

However, it looked and felt considerably more festive than Cuenca, which was a bonus for my Christmas-loving self. Everywhere we went twinkling fairy lights adorned the trees, fountains, shops and buildings, and the continental Christmas market – each stall a little wooden shed with fake snow on its roof – and children’s carousel made the place feel like a winter wonderland. A smattering of snow and it would’ve been like a giant Santa’s grotto.

So, like any self-respecting food-lover and shopaholic, I spent the week doing what I do best: spending far too much money and eating far too many Nutella crêpes. It was lovely to have a change of scene and even lovelier to see Anna. We whiled away the evenings catching up on each other’s news, watching Christmas films and drinking cheap wine (as well as, on one memorable night, some very syrupy crème de cassis, snaffled from her landlord’s booze cupboard). On my last day, our friend Tom who’s living in nearby Nice came to join us and we spent the day in Marseille. Although I liked it, as a big city (second only to Paris in size, apparently) it inevitably lacked that small-town charm which Aix does so well. 

Anna and me in Marseille

My visit went by in a whirl, and before I knew it I was embarking on the long journey back to Cuenca, wishing that the following week would just hurry up and happen so I could go back to England. Of course, wishing one’s time away is never a worthwhile thing to do, but I’ve reached the point where I’m not only excited to come home for a couple of weeks, but impatient. The wonderful thing about being away from home is that not only do you learn to love a new place with an entirely different culture, but you truly begin to appreciate your own little corner of the world. I miss my family and friends, of course; but I also miss good old English roast dinners, fry-ups and bizarrely, Marmite.

Despite being somewhat disenchanted with the idea of having to go back to work for a week and a half between my little French vacances and my Christmas break, I’ve had a brilliant week. I had great fun teaching my classes about British Christmas traditions – such as Christmas crackers, kissing under the mistletoe and carol singing – typical Christmas food and how Christmas Day is celebrated in my family. The students, nosy as they are, particularly enjoyed being shown photos from Christmas 2008 of the family all sitting around the table wearing our paper crowns! The personal highlight for me, however, was hearing them all sing along to ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’ and ‘Jingle Bells’ when I played it to them on YouTube. One class even gave me a round of applause at the end of the lesson, which touched me.

By Wednesday I’d given my Christmas presentation six times, and was positively brimming with festive cheer. What better way to channel it than to attend my first Christmas dinner of the year? The impressive Hostelería department at San José had laid on a complimentary 3-course pig-out for any staff interested (which was, of course, about 90% of us!), with the students catering to our every need, all in the name of practice for their course. Clad in black and white waiter gear and looking very professional, they milled around with trays of wine, beer and canapés in the bar area before inviting us to go through to the dining hall and take our seats at the meticulously decorated tables. The starter was a divine vegetable and prawn lasagne, followed by a sumptuous main course of chicken with raisin stuffing, homemade apple sauce, potatoes and gravy. By dessert time, I felt as though I were bursting at the seams, but somehow managed to find a spare corner in order to sample the blueberry cheesecake and fresh pomegranate.

Christmas lunch at San José

The red wine and champagne were flowing throughout, and at the end of the meal we were brought coffee and traditional Spanish Christmas sweets, before a hearty sing-song session during which each table took in turns to belt out a variety of Christmas classics. They were all in Spanish and sung at a ridiculous speed, of course, much to the amusement of my fellow diners as they watched me struggle through each verse, my eyes trained on the tongue-twisting lyrics in front of me. Some of them couldn’t even keep up, so I had no hope!

Yesterday, however, I think my busy lifestyle and lack of sleep had finally caught up with me. I woke up feeling rundown and exhausted, and although I eventually managed to  drag myself out of bed and get dressed, I soon realised I was in no state to go to work. Having never called in sick before, I didn’t know the procedure, but decided Elena was the best person to contact as she’s essentially ‘in charge’ of me at school. She didn’t seem to mind at all, and was very understanding, telling me to go back to bed and sleep. Nevertheless, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt –as I always have on the rare occasions in the past when I’ve phoned in sick – which is why usually when I’m ill I struggle through if I possibly can. On this occasion, though, the thought of having to teach four classes while feeling like that was unbearable.

With hindsight, it was definitely the right thing to do. I slept like I’ve never slept before and woke up feeling like a new person! I think I was momentarily struck by a case of end-of-term fatigue, which gives further reason to why I’m so eager to get back to England.

Speaking of which, with all being well (and yes, I’m talking to you, Spanish air controllers and you, snowy weather – behave yourselves!) I shall be back on British soil on Wednesday evening.

Last night, Corinna, Jaclyn and I happened upon some other English-speakers (Americans, of course – it seems I am literally the only English person in Cuenca!) in our favourite bar, El Quinto Pecado. They are also here as language assistants, but are working at the university and have been here for over a year. It’s strange that we’ve never met them before, really!

Tomorrow, Jaclyn, Corinna, Natira and I are heading to Albacete for a spot of Christmas shopping. Mary is going to meet us, and after spending the day there we’re going to go back to Villarrobledo, the small town where she and Krista live, and stay the night at their flat. On Sunday, we’re planning on having our very own language assistants’ ‘Christmas Day’, complete with Christmas dinner and presents; a perfect way to round off our fantastic first three months in Spain.

Well, the next time you’ll hear from me will be in 2011, so until then... ¡Feliz Navidad y Próspero Año Nuevo!

¡Hasta luego!