Nothing is happening whatsoever. Except for the fact it is raining, and I am reading. However, I may be visiting Salamanca on Wednesday. If it isn't RAINING.
Stupid country.
Monday 30 April 2007
The Rain in Spain
Is really starting to grate my cheese. It's MAY. I want a refund!!!! 6 days with like, one pathetic sunny interval which lasted 5 minutes, went away and took about 10 degrees celsius with it and now it's bloody cold. I might as well be in Shoreditch!
Nothing is happening whatsoever. Except for the fact it is raining, and I am reading. However, I may be visiting Salamanca on Wednesday. If it isn't RAINING.
Stupid country.
Nothing is happening whatsoever. Except for the fact it is raining, and I am reading. However, I may be visiting Salamanca on Wednesday. If it isn't RAINING.
Stupid country.
Friday 27 April 2007
Sociophobe Goes to a Party
It happens every so often. Such as when the world rotates backwards and the skies turn orange. But last night, I actually went out.
I was merrily reading something or other on the internet, stuffing my face with cheese and raw garlic (as recommended by a friend, and damn, it's good) and considering winding down for the night. The clock struck 10. Well actually, it didn't because I don't have a clock that strikes, but you get me. I telephoned my friend out of concern because I had not heard from her all day.
"Ahh!" She said, "I was just texting you. There's a BBQ going on with some Erasmus (exchange) students in a flat near you. I'm going and (her flatmate) is already there. Would you like to come?"
"Er..." I replied.
"The hostess is French, but there'll be Spaniards and a few Brazilians, apparently," she informed me. "I have to go to the gym first though," she said. I looked at the clock. It was definitely gone 10pm. I didn't even bother to shake my head in disbelief - I'm used to this nocturnal country now.
She telephoned me again about 40 minutes later to confess she'd failed to get to the gym, but would be leaving imminently for the party. I agreed to meet her at an appropriate landmark, and rushed about trying to 'de-garlic' myself and find some clothes that made me look less like someone's unemployed father.
Then, I did something I haven't done in so long I genuinely cannot remember the last time I did it. I went to someone's house party. I normally avoid such things because it's so much ruder to leave someone's house than a bar or pub. And it is inevitable that I would get to a point where I would want to leave. But as my friend said afterwards, you never know when you're going to meet someone actually worthwhile meeting. I yielded to this truth.
So I entered the room.
Everyone was speaking French, and everyone looked about 12. Someone took my coat, and I tried with all my heart, mind and soul to disappear. My friend went for the wine and I went for the soft drink. I'd had a glass of Martini Rosso before leaving, the end of a bottle of a substance I only really use to keep warm or in case of emergencies. This situation qualified in both categories. However, it has been some time since I last drank and I was somewhat alarmed to feel my arms going numb, so I made a mental note to stick to soft drinks for ever more. Not difficult. I prefer apple juice every time.
I stood like Queen Ackward of The Uncomfortables, back pressed up anxiously against the side board trying to avoid contact with anyone without really knowing why. A short, hairy Brazilian (the three are rather inseparable, I find) had waved at me when I first arrived, and looked like he wanted to make full and fascinating conversation with me. I made sure there was a sofa and at least 4 chairs between him and myself at any one time. This is with no disrespect to him - he was a really sweet guy. I just happen to be psychotic.
However, the blessing was that having emerged myself in the Spanish language of late, I couldn't remember a word of French, and I've never attempted Portuguese. Which meant that I had a 'get out of jail free' card. I never know what to say at these occasions in English. The fact that even if I did know what to say, I couldn't, meant I was free to smile and remain detached to my heart's content. Perfect for me.
"Parles tu francias?" I was asked.
"Un petit peux" I replied, and proceeded to completely not understand anything else the poor girl said. She looked sympathetic and graciously spoke to me in Spanish, so I was able to discover she was from Lille in northern France.
I decided to stay where I was and let the confusion come to me.
"Parles tu francais?" I was asked again.
"Un petit peux" I replied again. This time I followed some of what was said and found myself mysteriously reacting in French. Strange what 5 years of compulsory learning does to your brain, even after 12 years. When I first came to Spain, I would use French words automatically because it was my second language and I defaulted to it regularly, as many of my Spanish students do too, when learning English. Now, it is the other way around.
I was then offered a sausage.
"No thanks it's half past eleven." I said in English with a wry smile, and got away with it.
However, at 11.35pm, I succumbed to the idea of food at such a ridiculous hour. In the midst of attempting to eat, I was joined by two blonde girls.
"Parles tu francais?" They asked, catching me off guard.
"Un petit pois." I panicked. "PEUX" I then corrected myself, spitting food across the room. They smiled politely and went over to the other side of the room. I was presently joined by my friend who was having a ball - she speaks perfect French.
"You OK?" she asked.
I nodded.
"There's French and Spanish so we should get Portuguese soon," she said with scientific detachment, as if awaiting the climax of an experiment.
At that moment the hostess plonked down a glass dish of food onto a glass coffee table for the 3rd time that evening. I shook my head.
"Why is it that in a whole room full of people, I'm the only one thinking, 'ooooh that could have smashed'?"
"Yes, why is that?" She asked as if I'd know. "That's one of the few things you think that I don't."
"Like slamming doors?" I asked.
"Exactly." She said.
"I can't cope with people who slam doors. I want them to die." I said, scowling at my food. "Well, not really, but I do think they should be punished." I smirked evily into my drink.
"I think it means you're meant to be a hermit and you should live in a cave with no loud noises." She announced.
"That'd be great. Or maybe I should live in a Church. Though it would be a bit cold and musty."
"Free mice though." She said, enthusiastically. I frowned.
"I paid £3.99 each for mine."
"Oh." I said. "I don't really want mice."
"Yes, they will eat your cereal. They are rather indiscriminate when it comes to...."
"Kelloggs?" I ventured.
"Precisely." She confirmed.
I went on to tell her about the time my University dwellings were invaded by a fleet of mice and I fled to my boyfriend's house in hysterics. I then pointed out that escaping vermin is not a sound basis from which to go into co-habitation, and that on reflection I would have saved a lot of heartache between myself and my ex if I'd have just called the council. She looked like she didn't know what to say, so I returned to the relative comfort zone of eating my sausage. I forgot, however, that Spanish sausages are not of the gentle 'bangers and mash' variety in England, but are in fact frisky little buggers. I immediately produced a violent splutter which I tried to conceal by giving it a French accent. It's true. I could swear I sneeze and cough with an English accent. It's very embarrassing.
I soon gave up trying to consume things and went to the balcony where a Brazilian was flipping more food on the BBQ (at midnight). He was very nice. He spoke to me for about 20 minutes in Spanish about all kinds of things and I understood everything and engaged myself fully in the conversation. I was beginning to feel vaguely intelligent when a girl approached me and asked me a question in French. At that point I could not remember how to say anything in any language whatsoever and I stared at her like a startled deer.
"She's English" explained the Brazilian (I can't remember which language he said it in.)
"Ahhhh," empathised the French woman.
"Sorry," I said, sheepishly.
I exchanged email addresses with the Brazilian on the off chance that I may need to sleep on his floor one day in the future (and I was shamelessly honest about it - we travellers help one another) and returned to the main room, which had become like a scene out of Eyes Wide Shut. A giant bowl of strawberries had been placed on the table amidst two equally giant bowls of cream. Guests were dipping a strawberry into the cream, placing it in their mouths and passing it to one another. It got more and more decadent as it went on. I found a sofa to stand behind where two guys, clearly a little bit older, were engaged in a French conversation and completely ignoring the action. I stood, hands on my hips, quite transfixed (because actually it was all rather funny and civilized) feeling once again, like someone's unemployed dad, and waited for my friend to remember herself and stop passing strawberries erotically.
By this time it was 1am and I was thinking, 'time to go home' when one of the guests shouted out - where are we going on to? 1am is devastatingly early for Spanish party lovers. However, I saw my opportunity and got myself and my friend away from the madding crowd as we were leaving the appartment block, and on the road home.
We bumped into some Germans on the way back. This is always a sheer delight. Germans can speak English better than a lot of English people, know about 6000 languages and are generally very clever, I think due to being in education until they're 47, so as well as having someone to translate for you, you can have a darn good conversation whilst taking the piss out of everyone else with our jointly 'invisible to other races' dry sense of humour. We all sang and danced to 'Singing in the Rain' (because it's been raining for 3 days) and then I finally went home and ticked off "Go out at some point" on my list of things to do.
Hurrah.
I was merrily reading something or other on the internet, stuffing my face with cheese and raw garlic (as recommended by a friend, and damn, it's good) and considering winding down for the night. The clock struck 10. Well actually, it didn't because I don't have a clock that strikes, but you get me. I telephoned my friend out of concern because I had not heard from her all day.
"Ahh!" She said, "I was just texting you. There's a BBQ going on with some Erasmus (exchange) students in a flat near you. I'm going and (her flatmate) is already there. Would you like to come?"
"Er..." I replied.
"The hostess is French, but there'll be Spaniards and a few Brazilians, apparently," she informed me. "I have to go to the gym first though," she said. I looked at the clock. It was definitely gone 10pm. I didn't even bother to shake my head in disbelief - I'm used to this nocturnal country now.
She telephoned me again about 40 minutes later to confess she'd failed to get to the gym, but would be leaving imminently for the party. I agreed to meet her at an appropriate landmark, and rushed about trying to 'de-garlic' myself and find some clothes that made me look less like someone's unemployed father.
Then, I did something I haven't done in so long I genuinely cannot remember the last time I did it. I went to someone's house party. I normally avoid such things because it's so much ruder to leave someone's house than a bar or pub. And it is inevitable that I would get to a point where I would want to leave. But as my friend said afterwards, you never know when you're going to meet someone actually worthwhile meeting. I yielded to this truth.
So I entered the room.
Everyone was speaking French, and everyone looked about 12. Someone took my coat, and I tried with all my heart, mind and soul to disappear. My friend went for the wine and I went for the soft drink. I'd had a glass of Martini Rosso before leaving, the end of a bottle of a substance I only really use to keep warm or in case of emergencies. This situation qualified in both categories. However, it has been some time since I last drank and I was somewhat alarmed to feel my arms going numb, so I made a mental note to stick to soft drinks for ever more. Not difficult. I prefer apple juice every time.
I stood like Queen Ackward of The Uncomfortables, back pressed up anxiously against the side board trying to avoid contact with anyone without really knowing why. A short, hairy Brazilian (the three are rather inseparable, I find) had waved at me when I first arrived, and looked like he wanted to make full and fascinating conversation with me. I made sure there was a sofa and at least 4 chairs between him and myself at any one time. This is with no disrespect to him - he was a really sweet guy. I just happen to be psychotic.
However, the blessing was that having emerged myself in the Spanish language of late, I couldn't remember a word of French, and I've never attempted Portuguese. Which meant that I had a 'get out of jail free' card. I never know what to say at these occasions in English. The fact that even if I did know what to say, I couldn't, meant I was free to smile and remain detached to my heart's content. Perfect for me.
"Parles tu francias?" I was asked.
"Un petit peux" I replied, and proceeded to completely not understand anything else the poor girl said. She looked sympathetic and graciously spoke to me in Spanish, so I was able to discover she was from Lille in northern France.
I decided to stay where I was and let the confusion come to me.
"Parles tu francais?" I was asked again.
"Un petit peux" I replied again. This time I followed some of what was said and found myself mysteriously reacting in French. Strange what 5 years of compulsory learning does to your brain, even after 12 years. When I first came to Spain, I would use French words automatically because it was my second language and I defaulted to it regularly, as many of my Spanish students do too, when learning English. Now, it is the other way around.
I was then offered a sausage.
"No thanks it's half past eleven." I said in English with a wry smile, and got away with it.
However, at 11.35pm, I succumbed to the idea of food at such a ridiculous hour. In the midst of attempting to eat, I was joined by two blonde girls.
"Parles tu francais?" They asked, catching me off guard.
"Un petit pois." I panicked. "PEUX" I then corrected myself, spitting food across the room. They smiled politely and went over to the other side of the room. I was presently joined by my friend who was having a ball - she speaks perfect French.
"You OK?" she asked.
I nodded.
"There's French and Spanish so we should get Portuguese soon," she said with scientific detachment, as if awaiting the climax of an experiment.
At that moment the hostess plonked down a glass dish of food onto a glass coffee table for the 3rd time that evening. I shook my head.
"Why is it that in a whole room full of people, I'm the only one thinking, 'ooooh that could have smashed'?"
"Yes, why is that?" She asked as if I'd know. "That's one of the few things you think that I don't."
"Like slamming doors?" I asked.
"Exactly." She said.
"I can't cope with people who slam doors. I want them to die." I said, scowling at my food. "Well, not really, but I do think they should be punished." I smirked evily into my drink.
"I think it means you're meant to be a hermit and you should live in a cave with no loud noises." She announced.
"That'd be great. Or maybe I should live in a Church. Though it would be a bit cold and musty."
"Free mice though." She said, enthusiastically. I frowned.
"I paid £3.99 each for mine."
"Oh." I said. "I don't really want mice."
"Yes, they will eat your cereal. They are rather indiscriminate when it comes to...."
"Kelloggs?" I ventured.
"Precisely." She confirmed.
I went on to tell her about the time my University dwellings were invaded by a fleet of mice and I fled to my boyfriend's house in hysterics. I then pointed out that escaping vermin is not a sound basis from which to go into co-habitation, and that on reflection I would have saved a lot of heartache between myself and my ex if I'd have just called the council. She looked like she didn't know what to say, so I returned to the relative comfort zone of eating my sausage. I forgot, however, that Spanish sausages are not of the gentle 'bangers and mash' variety in England, but are in fact frisky little buggers. I immediately produced a violent splutter which I tried to conceal by giving it a French accent. It's true. I could swear I sneeze and cough with an English accent. It's very embarrassing.
I soon gave up trying to consume things and went to the balcony where a Brazilian was flipping more food on the BBQ (at midnight). He was very nice. He spoke to me for about 20 minutes in Spanish about all kinds of things and I understood everything and engaged myself fully in the conversation. I was beginning to feel vaguely intelligent when a girl approached me and asked me a question in French. At that point I could not remember how to say anything in any language whatsoever and I stared at her like a startled deer.
"She's English" explained the Brazilian (I can't remember which language he said it in.)
"Ahhhh," empathised the French woman.
"Sorry," I said, sheepishly.
I exchanged email addresses with the Brazilian on the off chance that I may need to sleep on his floor one day in the future (and I was shamelessly honest about it - we travellers help one another) and returned to the main room, which had become like a scene out of Eyes Wide Shut. A giant bowl of strawberries had been placed on the table amidst two equally giant bowls of cream. Guests were dipping a strawberry into the cream, placing it in their mouths and passing it to one another. It got more and more decadent as it went on. I found a sofa to stand behind where two guys, clearly a little bit older, were engaged in a French conversation and completely ignoring the action. I stood, hands on my hips, quite transfixed (because actually it was all rather funny and civilized) feeling once again, like someone's unemployed dad, and waited for my friend to remember herself and stop passing strawberries erotically.
By this time it was 1am and I was thinking, 'time to go home' when one of the guests shouted out - where are we going on to? 1am is devastatingly early for Spanish party lovers. However, I saw my opportunity and got myself and my friend away from the madding crowd as we were leaving the appartment block, and on the road home.
We bumped into some Germans on the way back. This is always a sheer delight. Germans can speak English better than a lot of English people, know about 6000 languages and are generally very clever, I think due to being in education until they're 47, so as well as having someone to translate for you, you can have a darn good conversation whilst taking the piss out of everyone else with our jointly 'invisible to other races' dry sense of humour. We all sang and danced to 'Singing in the Rain' (because it's been raining for 3 days) and then I finally went home and ticked off "Go out at some point" on my list of things to do.
Hurrah.
Thursday 26 April 2007
Generating conversation
I again used the male v female subject to generate some conversation to round off a class, this time with the intermediates.
Which of the following things are more important to a man or a woman?
House work, chocolate addiction, shopping, sex, TV remote control addiction, gossip, sense of direction.
The discussion was more politically correct with this group.
Until...
Female student: "Sex. The men talk, the women do."
I was doubled up laughing for an extremely unprofessional amount of time.
There are many amusing anecdotes I take with me from my classes. One group in Catalunya were doing a problem solving exercise. Student A would announce the problem, and student B would provide a solution. I monitored two rather closely. Without mentioning names, student A was a retired woman, and student B was a retired man, both very respectable and gentle. The following exchange was over heard:
Student A: Oh no! There is a spider!
Student B: Don't worry, I kill it.
Student B: My shoes are hurting.
Student A: Don't worry, I kill you.
Beautiful.
Which of the following things are more important to a man or a woman?
House work, chocolate addiction, shopping, sex, TV remote control addiction, gossip, sense of direction.
The discussion was more politically correct with this group.
Until...
Female student: "Sex. The men talk, the women do."
I was doubled up laughing for an extremely unprofessional amount of time.
There are many amusing anecdotes I take with me from my classes. One group in Catalunya were doing a problem solving exercise. Student A would announce the problem, and student B would provide a solution. I monitored two rather closely. Without mentioning names, student A was a retired woman, and student B was a retired man, both very respectable and gentle. The following exchange was over heard:
Student A: Oh no! There is a spider!
Student B: Don't worry, I kill it.
Student B: My shoes are hurting.
Student A: Don't worry, I kill you.
Beautiful.
Tuesday 24 April 2007
Good for what?
Just a little anecdote which had me chuckling today.
I had my Beginners this morning. I love them all. They're just great. They remember everything I teach them. I don't even remember everything I teach them.
Anyway, so today we looked at the verb To Go and which tense to use in which situation. Once they were using 'I'm going' successfully, I then asked them to give me a fact about the place they were going. I gave them the following examples,
"I'm going to Italy. Italy has very good ice cream. I'm going to Spain. Spain has very strong coffee."
Then I said, "I'm going to England. England has very good...." but I couldn't for the life of me think of what England is good for. But bless them, in perfect chorus they all said, "Tea".
Oooh I did laugh.
Pip pip.
I had my Beginners this morning. I love them all. They're just great. They remember everything I teach them. I don't even remember everything I teach them.
Anyway, so today we looked at the verb To Go and which tense to use in which situation. Once they were using 'I'm going' successfully, I then asked them to give me a fact about the place they were going. I gave them the following examples,
"I'm going to Italy. Italy has very good ice cream. I'm going to Spain. Spain has very strong coffee."
Then I said, "I'm going to England. England has very good...." but I couldn't for the life of me think of what England is good for. But bless them, in perfect chorus they all said, "Tea".
Oooh I did laugh.
Pip pip.
La problema
The problem.
Is me.
I have plenty of time. I just don't use it very well.
I have no idea what happened to yesterday. I'd like to start a campaign to have a 32 hour day, which seems to be the way I am internally. 8 hours sleep, 18 hours meandering, pondering and being perplexed by things. Seriously. I need those hours just to understand why something doesn't work. I need time to have full on emotional reactions to everything before dealing with a problem.
The problem is not problems. The problem is me!
My internal clock is wonky. It's stupid o'clock. I think it's because everything here comes alive at night - people have dinner at 11pm. I don't know how they do it but now that the summer has begun I'm swept up into this temporal disturbance where they literally behave as if there's no tomorrow. How on earth do they get up in the mornings??? Have they developed some kind of gene which allows them to survive with less sleep? Is it the sunlight? Is it the coffee??
Now I'm getting deja vu. Weird. I need some sleep.
Lamo British Bird can't take the pace!
Is me.
I have plenty of time. I just don't use it very well.
I have no idea what happened to yesterday. I'd like to start a campaign to have a 32 hour day, which seems to be the way I am internally. 8 hours sleep, 18 hours meandering, pondering and being perplexed by things. Seriously. I need those hours just to understand why something doesn't work. I need time to have full on emotional reactions to everything before dealing with a problem.
The problem is not problems. The problem is me!
My internal clock is wonky. It's stupid o'clock. I think it's because everything here comes alive at night - people have dinner at 11pm. I don't know how they do it but now that the summer has begun I'm swept up into this temporal disturbance where they literally behave as if there's no tomorrow. How on earth do they get up in the mornings??? Have they developed some kind of gene which allows them to survive with less sleep? Is it the sunlight? Is it the coffee??
Now I'm getting deja vu. Weird. I need some sleep.
Lamo British Bird can't take the pace!
Monday 23 April 2007
FIRED, CANNED, TOSSED ASIDE!
OK. I now know why I lost my job. I received a message as I was walking to the bus stop this morning/afternoon telling me that they're cancelling 2 of the 3 business classes. Well, nice to get notice, ain't it!
Now, I teach at UAH (University of Alcala) in the mornings, and for a company in the afternoons. I have a Beginners class, an Intermediate class and an Advanced class for both these institutions. At the University, I adore my Beginners. They started 2 months ago, and know more English than the Beginners at the company who've been learning for a year. This is possibly because they hardly ever turn up. Also, there's one student in there who should be an intermediate and I can have a conversation with him. The others cannot answer a simple question even after being taught it for an hour. Slight variance of ability (YOU GETTING MY IRONIC ENGLISH TONE???). The more advanced student grasps the lesson and proceeds to translate it into Spanish, thereby completely making me redundant and undoing any learning. Translating does not teach a new language. The same happens with the Intermediate group. There is one with a higher level who gets what I'm teaching and then translates to the others. They therefore learn nothing.
The problem is that they were taught for over a year by another teacher who taught them in Spanish and English. The problem is, this is illegal in what I do. The fundamental thing is to teach purely in English. This is not a problem for my University classes - Beginners, Intermediates or Advanced. It is a supremely more effective way of learning a new language. If I didn't have my other classes to go on I would be worried (that's a 2nd conditional sentence by the way), but I do so I have sufficient confidence not to take this personally (and all my friends and colleagues tell me so too, bless 'em.)
The classes in this company however, do not like it. They want me to translate everything. It means they won't learn anything, but that's what they want. They reach for the bilingual dictionary and stuntly refuse to actively learn. They want a teacher who can translate into Spanish.
SO THEY FIRED ME. FOR SPEAKING ENGLISH. WHICH IS MY JOB.
Being the humanitarians that they are, however (and I remind you, I had an hour's notice for this) they have said that the Advanced class love me and wish to continue. Fortunately, I also love them, or I might be inclined to tell 'em where to shove it.
This is Madrid. There is an enormous shortage for English teachers with an RP accent (Received pronounciation - 'classic' English, think Hugh Grant. No don't, you may be ill.) I've had to turn away work as a regular chore. And they've sacked me, because I'm speaking English and it's too much work for them for me not to translate. When SO many people want exactly that. How stupid are they???
An English TEFL teacher. Sacked for only speaking English. Which is the point of TEFL. If I'd have translated during my training I would have failed the course!
Good job then that all of my other classes are a success. The company was keen to say that it's not because I'm a bad teacher. They just want someone who will teach in both English and Spanish. Because they're lazy.
Well it's OK. I can fortunately manage. I'm only here for another 6 weeks and I can live very cheaply and enjoy my free afternoons. It's a blessing. It's ludicrous, but it's a blessing.
I stood on a street corner with my friend earlier and laughed in pure disbelief for about half an hour.
Now, I teach at UAH (University of Alcala) in the mornings, and for a company in the afternoons. I have a Beginners class, an Intermediate class and an Advanced class for both these institutions. At the University, I adore my Beginners. They started 2 months ago, and know more English than the Beginners at the company who've been learning for a year. This is possibly because they hardly ever turn up. Also, there's one student in there who should be an intermediate and I can have a conversation with him. The others cannot answer a simple question even after being taught it for an hour. Slight variance of ability (YOU GETTING MY IRONIC ENGLISH TONE???). The more advanced student grasps the lesson and proceeds to translate it into Spanish, thereby completely making me redundant and undoing any learning. Translating does not teach a new language. The same happens with the Intermediate group. There is one with a higher level who gets what I'm teaching and then translates to the others. They therefore learn nothing.
The problem is that they were taught for over a year by another teacher who taught them in Spanish and English. The problem is, this is illegal in what I do. The fundamental thing is to teach purely in English. This is not a problem for my University classes - Beginners, Intermediates or Advanced. It is a supremely more effective way of learning a new language. If I didn't have my other classes to go on I would be worried (that's a 2nd conditional sentence by the way), but I do so I have sufficient confidence not to take this personally (and all my friends and colleagues tell me so too, bless 'em.)
The classes in this company however, do not like it. They want me to translate everything. It means they won't learn anything, but that's what they want. They reach for the bilingual dictionary and stuntly refuse to actively learn. They want a teacher who can translate into Spanish.
SO THEY FIRED ME. FOR SPEAKING ENGLISH. WHICH IS MY JOB.
Being the humanitarians that they are, however (and I remind you, I had an hour's notice for this) they have said that the Advanced class love me and wish to continue. Fortunately, I also love them, or I might be inclined to tell 'em where to shove it.
This is Madrid. There is an enormous shortage for English teachers with an RP accent (Received pronounciation - 'classic' English, think Hugh Grant. No don't, you may be ill.) I've had to turn away work as a regular chore. And they've sacked me, because I'm speaking English and it's too much work for them for me not to translate. When SO many people want exactly that. How stupid are they???
An English TEFL teacher. Sacked for only speaking English. Which is the point of TEFL. If I'd have translated during my training I would have failed the course!
Good job then that all of my other classes are a success. The company was keen to say that it's not because I'm a bad teacher. They just want someone who will teach in both English and Spanish. Because they're lazy.
Well it's OK. I can fortunately manage. I'm only here for another 6 weeks and I can live very cheaply and enjoy my free afternoons. It's a blessing. It's ludicrous, but it's a blessing.
I stood on a street corner with my friend earlier and laughed in pure disbelief for about half an hour.
Thursday 19 April 2007
More words (because I love them)
As a child, I was brought up irreligiously. Every now and again, my mother would lead me to where a scruffy poster was stuck to the wall (or the door of the study, not quite sure). It was the Desiderata. However, this particular copy was not accredited to Max Ehrmann. At the bottom it said, "Anon, found in St Paul's Church circa 1692". I can't quite remember the specifics as the scroll is in an attic in England. Fascinating though. There is one difference between that and Max Ehrmann's version. The penultimate phrase was, "Be careful" not "Be cheerful". (Having looked into this, there appears to be a question mark over this. Wikipedia has some insights.. )http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desiderata
My mother stood me by this prose and brought my attention to certain sentences. In particular I remember her pointing at the last instruction, "Strive to be happy". "Because it's not easy - it doesn't just happen," she said. When she was diagnosed with cancer, between treatments and before the illness became too debilitating, she went on a European 'classical music' cruise. She brought me back a small laminated pocket sized version of the Desiderata which I carry with me to this day. Where ever they came from, these words have truth. Deep truth. And I recommend them!
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs;for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love;for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
I prefer 'be careful'. Be cheerful sounds a bit superficial!
My mother stood me by this prose and brought my attention to certain sentences. In particular I remember her pointing at the last instruction, "Strive to be happy". "Because it's not easy - it doesn't just happen," she said. When she was diagnosed with cancer, between treatments and before the illness became too debilitating, she went on a European 'classical music' cruise. She brought me back a small laminated pocket sized version of the Desiderata which I carry with me to this day. Where ever they came from, these words have truth. Deep truth. And I recommend them!
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs;for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love;for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
I prefer 'be careful'. Be cheerful sounds a bit superficial!
Words of Comfort
I have recently found myself struggling with what appears to be a common dilemma for creative people like me. Following my dream or being 'realistic'. After everything I've experienced in life, I really don't see the point in the latter. I'm going to die. Don't know when. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe aged 89 surrounded by family. Maybe I'll trip over my shoe lace, land in a puddle and drown. I don't know. But I know about death and mortality. I know I don't fear mine. I fear losing people I love, but I deal with this by living life day to day as far as possible and making sure that those I love know I love them. What else can you do? The important things in life are usually the things you cannot control. I don't believe in security - I think it is an illusion. The only constant in the universe is change. Therefore, how can anything be secure? I don't mean to be negative or down in the mouth about this fact - quite the contrary. I find it liberating. People seem to spend so much of their time desperately seeking security - in love, in finance, in anything. Perhaps by accepting that nothing is secure or forever, you can forget about those pursuits and take a deep breath. What's stopping you from acknowledging this very moment? Are you in pain? Are you trying to avoid the niggling voice in your heart by distracting yourself with food, work, TV, anything? You are who you are now, in all your splendor, so why not take a moment to enjoy it? Look at the room in front of you. What is in it? Favourite books? Some cards from a recent birthday? What song is playing? Is there a mess? Does it matter? Can you pay attention to you, just now, in this moment, without worrying about all the things you have to do tomorrow? Someone said to me some time ago, "Don't worry about the future - the future takes care of itself". I'm fully aware that is easier said than done, but once you've survived, again and again and again, you KNOW it to be true. There really is only now.
“It’s in the present that lies the secret: if you pay attention to the present you will be able to enhance it.”- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist.
It is hard to keep my head in the clouds and at least one foot on the ground. I could settle for tip toeing about the place, looking up at the stars. I might look daft, some people may think I'm complete nuts, but I don't care because they don't have to live my life, I do. And I want to enjoy it.
On the subject of what it is and what it means to be a 'creative' type, I've nicked the following from my friend's blog because it is so relevant to both of us.
Tidbits for Creatives from a great website, The Artististic Connection. http://www.sandysarttales.com/connection.htm
THOUGHTS FROMTHE ARTISTIC CONNECTION
The following passages are words of wisdom from Natalie Goldberg, poet and author of Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within. They are not exact quotes. Sandy lifted passages that she felt important and paraphrased others. Also, she changed some words from“writing” to “create” or “art,” to connect the collaborative mediums of words and paint. She recommends this book for artists of every kind. Her favorites are marked with an asterisk. Her own remarks and thoughts are written in italics.LONELINESS: Artists spend a lot of time alone creating. Being an artist in our society makes us lonely. (p. 105)Art is communication. Taste the bitterness of isolation, and from that place feel a kinship and compassion for all people who have been alone. Use loneliness. Its ache creates urgency to reconnect with the world.(p. 141) Loneliness always has a bite, but learn to stand up in it and not be tossed away. Creating art can be very lonely. Use it. Reach out of the deep chasm of loneliness and express yourself to another human being. (p. 140)To begin creating from our pain eventually engenders compassion for our small and groping lives. Out of this broken state there comes a tenderness for the cement below our feet, the dried grass cracking in a terrible wind. We can touch the things around us we once thought ugly and see their special detail, the peeling paint and gray of shadows as they are—simply what they are: not bad, just part of the life around us—and love this life because it is ours and in the moment there is nothing better. (p. 107)Anything we fully do is a lone journey. You can’t expect anyone to match the intensity of your emotions or to completely understand what you went through. You are alone when you write (paint) a book (a picture). Accept that and take in any love and support that is given to you. (pgs. 169-170)Years ago, on PBS Radio, I heard Saucer of Loneliness, a science-fiction radio play by Theodore Sturgeon, wherein a small flying saucer buzzes a lonely woman to deliver its message-in-a-bottle. “There is in certain living souls a quality of loneliness unspeakable, so great it must be shared as company is shared by lesser beings. Such a loneliness is mine. So, know by this, that in immensity, there is one lonelier than you.”BE BRAVE, TRUST YOURSELF: If they knock you down, you get up. If they knock you down again, get up. No matter how many times they knock you down, get up again. (p. 108) Don’t listen to doubt. It leads no place but to pain and negativity. Instead, have a tenderness and determination toward your art, a sense of humor and a deep patience that you are doing the right thing. (p. 109)Even when no one can quite understand what you are talking about, trust the energy behind your art. In life we have to be crazy, we have to lose control, step out of our ordinary way of seeing, and learn that the world is not the way we think it is. (p. 128)Give yourself tremendous space to wander in, to be utterly lost with no name, and then come back and speak. (p. 130)CONNECTING WITH YOUR ART: We have trouble connecting with our own confident creative voice that is inside all of us, and even when we do connect and create well, we don’t claim it. There seems to be a gap between the greatness we are capable of and the way we see ourselves and, therefore, see our work. (p. 154)It is not as important for the world to claim our work as it is to claim it for ourselves. That will make us content. We are good, and when our work is good, it is good. We should acknowledge it and stand behind it. (p. 156) All artists, at some level, want to be known. That’s why they create. In knowing who you are and creating from it, you will help the world by giving it understanding. (pgs. 145–146)YOU WILL SUCCEED IF YOU ARE FEARLESS OF FAILURE. (p. 67)
My little saying is 'faith, not fear'. Whatsoever your faith may be or how it manifests itself, I find faith in one's self is a good place to start. If you find that difficult, have faith that the universe is unfolding as it should. If you've ever taken a risk, or mysteriously landed on your feet, you will know what I mean. If you've never taken a risk.... try it.
“It’s in the present that lies the secret: if you pay attention to the present you will be able to enhance it.”- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist.
It is hard to keep my head in the clouds and at least one foot on the ground. I could settle for tip toeing about the place, looking up at the stars. I might look daft, some people may think I'm complete nuts, but I don't care because they don't have to live my life, I do. And I want to enjoy it.
On the subject of what it is and what it means to be a 'creative' type, I've nicked the following from my friend's blog because it is so relevant to both of us.
Tidbits for Creatives from a great website, The Artististic Connection. http://www.sandysarttales.com/connection.htm
THOUGHTS FROMTHE ARTISTIC CONNECTION
The following passages are words of wisdom from Natalie Goldberg, poet and author of Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within. They are not exact quotes. Sandy lifted passages that she felt important and paraphrased others. Also, she changed some words from“writing” to “create” or “art,” to connect the collaborative mediums of words and paint. She recommends this book for artists of every kind. Her favorites are marked with an asterisk. Her own remarks and thoughts are written in italics.LONELINESS: Artists spend a lot of time alone creating. Being an artist in our society makes us lonely. (p. 105)Art is communication. Taste the bitterness of isolation, and from that place feel a kinship and compassion for all people who have been alone. Use loneliness. Its ache creates urgency to reconnect with the world.(p. 141) Loneliness always has a bite, but learn to stand up in it and not be tossed away. Creating art can be very lonely. Use it. Reach out of the deep chasm of loneliness and express yourself to another human being. (p. 140)To begin creating from our pain eventually engenders compassion for our small and groping lives. Out of this broken state there comes a tenderness for the cement below our feet, the dried grass cracking in a terrible wind. We can touch the things around us we once thought ugly and see their special detail, the peeling paint and gray of shadows as they are—simply what they are: not bad, just part of the life around us—and love this life because it is ours and in the moment there is nothing better. (p. 107)Anything we fully do is a lone journey. You can’t expect anyone to match the intensity of your emotions or to completely understand what you went through. You are alone when you write (paint) a book (a picture). Accept that and take in any love and support that is given to you. (pgs. 169-170)Years ago, on PBS Radio, I heard Saucer of Loneliness, a science-fiction radio play by Theodore Sturgeon, wherein a small flying saucer buzzes a lonely woman to deliver its message-in-a-bottle. “There is in certain living souls a quality of loneliness unspeakable, so great it must be shared as company is shared by lesser beings. Such a loneliness is mine. So, know by this, that in immensity, there is one lonelier than you.”BE BRAVE, TRUST YOURSELF: If they knock you down, you get up. If they knock you down again, get up. No matter how many times they knock you down, get up again. (p. 108) Don’t listen to doubt. It leads no place but to pain and negativity. Instead, have a tenderness and determination toward your art, a sense of humor and a deep patience that you are doing the right thing. (p. 109)Even when no one can quite understand what you are talking about, trust the energy behind your art. In life we have to be crazy, we have to lose control, step out of our ordinary way of seeing, and learn that the world is not the way we think it is. (p. 128)Give yourself tremendous space to wander in, to be utterly lost with no name, and then come back and speak. (p. 130)CONNECTING WITH YOUR ART: We have trouble connecting with our own confident creative voice that is inside all of us, and even when we do connect and create well, we don’t claim it. There seems to be a gap between the greatness we are capable of and the way we see ourselves and, therefore, see our work. (p. 154)It is not as important for the world to claim our work as it is to claim it for ourselves. That will make us content. We are good, and when our work is good, it is good. We should acknowledge it and stand behind it. (p. 156) All artists, at some level, want to be known. That’s why they create. In knowing who you are and creating from it, you will help the world by giving it understanding. (pgs. 145–146)YOU WILL SUCCEED IF YOU ARE FEARLESS OF FAILURE. (p. 67)
My little saying is 'faith, not fear'. Whatsoever your faith may be or how it manifests itself, I find faith in one's self is a good place to start. If you find that difficult, have faith that the universe is unfolding as it should. If you've ever taken a risk, or mysteriously landed on your feet, you will know what I mean. If you've never taken a risk.... try it.
Wednesday 18 April 2007
Mejor estar sola que mala acompañada
Better to be alone than with bad company.
How very true!
Today I ran a class teaching different expressions for generalizations and specific statements. In order to create a discussion, the subject to be discussed was the different characteristics of men and women - i.e. In general, women wish their husbands were more helpful. In general, men think about sex more than women. This is the subject that the course book uses and I was unsure about it, but today I felt it would be entertaining. And it really was.
My students (all men) were saying that in their experience the woman is unable to read a map. I explained that I have lived alone, travelled alone and worked in a job which requires reading maps (I used to travel around the UK frequently, visiting Higher Education conventions to recruit students and promote the university I worked for.) I said that I am a good driver and I'm not only proficient at reading maps - I enjoy it. I suggested that the dynamic of having a Spanish husband in the car may well make me feel like handing the map to him. But through necessity, I rely on myself. At which point they both reflected on several stressful journeys with their wives and said solemnly,
"Mejor estar sola que mala acompañada."
I agreed and felt sorry for them, inwardly enjoying my terminal singleness and its benefits.
However, as far as sexism is concerned, the gentlemen determined that Spanish men are no way near as bad as Italian men for having a certain attitude towards women. I cannot comment because I've only met Spanish men. And they have always been gentlemanly (compared to the creatures in the UK, which isn't saying much).
We then read a passage of text about how 6 women and 6 men were 'tested' with multi-tasking. These 'guinea pigs' had to make coffee, toast some bread, take a phone message, wash up and pack a briefcase within ten minutes. Apparently, with one exception, the men were all worse than the women. I looked up at the guys. One was frowning intently at the text and pondering. The other looked at me with big eyes and horror on his face, and with the utmost sincerity said, "diez minutos????". Awww. I told them that is pretty much how I start every day!
We then looked at a group of words and had to 'generalise' about which ones would be more important to a man or a woman. These words included; sex, chocolate, shopping, sport, TV remote control addiction, expressing feelings, sense of direction.
"For men, I think sex!" declared one of them very seriously.
I sat back and admired his honesty, as he proceeded to give a list of 'statistics' saying that heterosexual couples may have sex 10 times, lesbians 2 times and gays 50 times. Times per what (a month, a year, a decade, a day) I've no idea but I understood what he was trying to say. Not sure if there's the remotest truth in this but MY GOD it was funny.
At the end of the day, as long as they're speaking English, they can say what they want. Even one student, who I thought was giving details of a lovely white beach in south-east Spain. I suddenly realised, as he continuously tried to modify what he was saying (after gaging my incomprehension) that he was actually giving me tips on where to go for white communities. I couldn't believe it. I left England to explore different communities! And apart from anything else, compared to Senorita Invierno, this guy is practically black! Mind you, compared to me everyone is. I have the complexion of a milk bottle. But really, for someone with skin the colour of 'cafe con leche' as my Spanish friends happily describe themselves (though I suppose olive-skinned may be more appropriate) it seems strange that he prefers 'white' communities. Never mind.
My students could be plotting world domination and I'd just have to be delighted that they were doing it with correct grammar. Though in the light of recent events I suppose we must all be vigilant. Just awful.
On a lighter note, I was explaining to my classes this week that the theory is the world language will most likely be Chinese in a few hundred years. They looked a bit concerned. I took the liberty of teaching some basic phrases to get them started (so not in my contract!) and said, "Hey, it could be worse, it could be Catalan!".
They loved that. The idea of Catalan being the language of the Terran Empire. Absurd.
How very true!
Today I ran a class teaching different expressions for generalizations and specific statements. In order to create a discussion, the subject to be discussed was the different characteristics of men and women - i.e. In general, women wish their husbands were more helpful. In general, men think about sex more than women. This is the subject that the course book uses and I was unsure about it, but today I felt it would be entertaining. And it really was.
My students (all men) were saying that in their experience the woman is unable to read a map. I explained that I have lived alone, travelled alone and worked in a job which requires reading maps (I used to travel around the UK frequently, visiting Higher Education conventions to recruit students and promote the university I worked for.) I said that I am a good driver and I'm not only proficient at reading maps - I enjoy it. I suggested that the dynamic of having a Spanish husband in the car may well make me feel like handing the map to him. But through necessity, I rely on myself. At which point they both reflected on several stressful journeys with their wives and said solemnly,
"Mejor estar sola que mala acompañada."
I agreed and felt sorry for them, inwardly enjoying my terminal singleness and its benefits.
However, as far as sexism is concerned, the gentlemen determined that Spanish men are no way near as bad as Italian men for having a certain attitude towards women. I cannot comment because I've only met Spanish men. And they have always been gentlemanly (compared to the creatures in the UK, which isn't saying much).
We then read a passage of text about how 6 women and 6 men were 'tested' with multi-tasking. These 'guinea pigs' had to make coffee, toast some bread, take a phone message, wash up and pack a briefcase within ten minutes. Apparently, with one exception, the men were all worse than the women. I looked up at the guys. One was frowning intently at the text and pondering. The other looked at me with big eyes and horror on his face, and with the utmost sincerity said, "diez minutos????". Awww. I told them that is pretty much how I start every day!
We then looked at a group of words and had to 'generalise' about which ones would be more important to a man or a woman. These words included; sex, chocolate, shopping, sport, TV remote control addiction, expressing feelings, sense of direction.
"For men, I think sex!" declared one of them very seriously.
I sat back and admired his honesty, as he proceeded to give a list of 'statistics' saying that heterosexual couples may have sex 10 times, lesbians 2 times and gays 50 times. Times per what (a month, a year, a decade, a day) I've no idea but I understood what he was trying to say. Not sure if there's the remotest truth in this but MY GOD it was funny.
At the end of the day, as long as they're speaking English, they can say what they want. Even one student, who I thought was giving details of a lovely white beach in south-east Spain. I suddenly realised, as he continuously tried to modify what he was saying (after gaging my incomprehension) that he was actually giving me tips on where to go for white communities. I couldn't believe it. I left England to explore different communities! And apart from anything else, compared to Senorita Invierno, this guy is practically black! Mind you, compared to me everyone is. I have the complexion of a milk bottle. But really, for someone with skin the colour of 'cafe con leche' as my Spanish friends happily describe themselves (though I suppose olive-skinned may be more appropriate) it seems strange that he prefers 'white' communities. Never mind.
My students could be plotting world domination and I'd just have to be delighted that they were doing it with correct grammar. Though in the light of recent events I suppose we must all be vigilant. Just awful.
On a lighter note, I was explaining to my classes this week that the theory is the world language will most likely be Chinese in a few hundred years. They looked a bit concerned. I took the liberty of teaching some basic phrases to get them started (so not in my contract!) and said, "Hey, it could be worse, it could be Catalan!".
They loved that. The idea of Catalan being the language of the Terran Empire. Absurd.
Tuesday 17 April 2007
Apocalyptic Weather
I went to bed early last night to ensure I would wake up feeling harmonious after a good night's sleep. I was a bit surprised when the alarm went off at what felt like 2am and was not a drill but quite genuinely 6.30am. However, the anger, shock and despair of this fact was enough to bring me to full consciousness more or less immediately and I was awake and ready for life. I was even OK with it.
I then switched off the alarm clock (which is my mobile phone) with a glare. The contraption asked me if I wanted to turn the phone on. In my blurry disgruntled haze I selected 'yes'. What a mistaker to maker. Two SMSs. One from my friend who's started smoking again due to the 'b*stard boyfriend', and one from a family member. I replied to my friend and advised that re-starting smoking is bad. Quit the boyfriend and get back on the wagon to avoid cancer. Then I moved on to my family member. Who managed to phrase something so badly (and that's generous because it wasn't phrased badly, it was just bad), that my fairly manageable grumpiness then became...... Greek. As in tragedy, not salad. You know when you do something and you anticipate or expect a certain negative response from a family member? You know that if they actually come out with that response it may just kill you? You've dreaded that moment for weeks. You've avoided that moment for weeks. You go to some length to soften the inevitable. You draw courage (from somewhere) and confront the issue, nipping it in the bud. All seems settled for a while and you begin to think, "I was hasty. I was unfair. I shouldn't have expected such a response because, actually they're being fine." And then... BINGO. The worst possible thing she could have said. In a text message. First thing in the morning when A) It's too early to call that person and B) I have to teach.
So with this dismissive, insulting guilt trip to start my day, I decided to fight it every step of the way and attempt to re-balance myself.
I stepped happily out of my front door into the rather nippy yet sunny morning. "Thank goodness it has begun to warm up in the day" I thought to myself.
After my first class of 3 hours, (bloody long time. and is it OK to tell off a student for continuously answering their mobile phone in my lesson when they're 30 years older than me? Grrrrrr.) I stepped back out in the 26 degree sunny day and thought, "Really must get myself some sun glasses" and imagined having the kind of figure where you can actually wear a bikini without feeling like a mangled corpse. I popped home, tried to phone the offending person, having sent two SMS replies both which stated quite clearly that I love her very much, but I'd appreciate it if she didn't send/write things like that to me. Couldn't get through on the telephone. So I cried for an hour which didn't help and I went back to my mental image of the mangled corpse. (Self esteem, ain't it great!). It will blow over. She hit a nerve. Not difficult. With our personalities it's the equivalent of a bumble bee in a playground. The scary bumble bee never means it but the children will cry.
I then went merrily on my way to my second 3 hour stint (really bloody long time. Is the verb 'to go' that difficult???) at a local company. When I left at 4pm, I thought, "Ooooh, those clouds look nasty" (bit like me, grouchy old cow). I waited for the bus, hoping that after yesterday's random downpour at the same time that I wouldn't have to repeat my action of getting on the wrong bus and staying on it just to keep dry. (I had ended up in the wrong side of town, but the sun was out by that time so I just walked home.) It stayed dry, I got on the right bus home, and got off it.
At this point, and I mean literally as I stepped off the bus, the heavens opened, there was a blinding flash and the loudest noise I have ever heard in my life crashed through my sleepy Spanish town and I almost hit the floor. Hail storm. It's such an inadequate title. The opposite of an onomatopoeia. The sky went charcoal as white, frozen balls came at me from all angles, as well as torrential rain. The claps of thunder and vivid flashes continued. I tried to run but I haven't done it since 1986 and my knees wouldn't work. A nice old man in a doorway offered me his umbrella as I dashed past him and I said "no gracias" thinking, there's LIGHTNING and I don't need a metal conductor right now. I ran across a road, ignoring the red man and glaring at people in their warm, dry cars who looked put-out and swore at the person making them wait in their warm, dry cars for an extra 5 seconds while she ran desperately (lurched) out of the lightening thunder and hail storm and up to the relative safety of her flat.
What's going on??? Is God angry with me or my family member? Do I need to sacrifice a chicken? IT'S SPAIN. I'M MEANT TO BE ON A BEACH. IF I WANTED RAIN I WOULD HAVE STAYED IN ENGLAND. Which, incidentally, is currently experiencing lovely, sunny days of 26 degrees in a freak good-weather front that has lasted for about two weeks.
Maybe I'm being punished. Does self flagellation include eating excessive amounts of doughnuts? I mean, it's gotta hurt, at some point. Maybe if I punish myself with doughnuts I won't have to suffer this weather. Only problem is, doughnuts live a mile away and it's hailing (on all frequencies, damn it!)
It's a bit Jane Eyre. In the book, the weather reflects the emotions and what-have-you of Jane Eyre. Am I a hail storm today? I thought I was more of a drizzling grey afternoon with the occasional gust of wind. Of course there is a chance that the weather has nothing to do with me whatsoever and that nothing I'm thinking or feeling is in the least bit important, and it's just a geological thing. You mean I'm not at the centre of the Universe? Oh. (Phew. What a relief. I can stay in my corner, grumbling. Yay!)
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
I then switched off the alarm clock (which is my mobile phone) with a glare. The contraption asked me if I wanted to turn the phone on. In my blurry disgruntled haze I selected 'yes'. What a mistaker to maker. Two SMSs. One from my friend who's started smoking again due to the 'b*stard boyfriend', and one from a family member. I replied to my friend and advised that re-starting smoking is bad. Quit the boyfriend and get back on the wagon to avoid cancer. Then I moved on to my family member. Who managed to phrase something so badly (and that's generous because it wasn't phrased badly, it was just bad), that my fairly manageable grumpiness then became...... Greek. As in tragedy, not salad. You know when you do something and you anticipate or expect a certain negative response from a family member? You know that if they actually come out with that response it may just kill you? You've dreaded that moment for weeks. You've avoided that moment for weeks. You go to some length to soften the inevitable. You draw courage (from somewhere) and confront the issue, nipping it in the bud. All seems settled for a while and you begin to think, "I was hasty. I was unfair. I shouldn't have expected such a response because, actually they're being fine." And then... BINGO. The worst possible thing she could have said. In a text message. First thing in the morning when A) It's too early to call that person and B) I have to teach.
So with this dismissive, insulting guilt trip to start my day, I decided to fight it every step of the way and attempt to re-balance myself.
I stepped happily out of my front door into the rather nippy yet sunny morning. "Thank goodness it has begun to warm up in the day" I thought to myself.
After my first class of 3 hours, (bloody long time. and is it OK to tell off a student for continuously answering their mobile phone in my lesson when they're 30 years older than me? Grrrrrr.) I stepped back out in the 26 degree sunny day and thought, "Really must get myself some sun glasses" and imagined having the kind of figure where you can actually wear a bikini without feeling like a mangled corpse. I popped home, tried to phone the offending person, having sent two SMS replies both which stated quite clearly that I love her very much, but I'd appreciate it if she didn't send/write things like that to me. Couldn't get through on the telephone. So I cried for an hour which didn't help and I went back to my mental image of the mangled corpse. (Self esteem, ain't it great!). It will blow over. She hit a nerve. Not difficult. With our personalities it's the equivalent of a bumble bee in a playground. The scary bumble bee never means it but the children will cry.
I then went merrily on my way to my second 3 hour stint (really bloody long time. Is the verb 'to go' that difficult???) at a local company. When I left at 4pm, I thought, "Ooooh, those clouds look nasty" (bit like me, grouchy old cow). I waited for the bus, hoping that after yesterday's random downpour at the same time that I wouldn't have to repeat my action of getting on the wrong bus and staying on it just to keep dry. (I had ended up in the wrong side of town, but the sun was out by that time so I just walked home.) It stayed dry, I got on the right bus home, and got off it.
At this point, and I mean literally as I stepped off the bus, the heavens opened, there was a blinding flash and the loudest noise I have ever heard in my life crashed through my sleepy Spanish town and I almost hit the floor. Hail storm. It's such an inadequate title. The opposite of an onomatopoeia. The sky went charcoal as white, frozen balls came at me from all angles, as well as torrential rain. The claps of thunder and vivid flashes continued. I tried to run but I haven't done it since 1986 and my knees wouldn't work. A nice old man in a doorway offered me his umbrella as I dashed past him and I said "no gracias" thinking, there's LIGHTNING and I don't need a metal conductor right now. I ran across a road, ignoring the red man and glaring at people in their warm, dry cars who looked put-out and swore at the person making them wait in their warm, dry cars for an extra 5 seconds while she ran desperately (lurched) out of the lightening thunder and hail storm and up to the relative safety of her flat.
What's going on??? Is God angry with me or my family member? Do I need to sacrifice a chicken? IT'S SPAIN. I'M MEANT TO BE ON A BEACH. IF I WANTED RAIN I WOULD HAVE STAYED IN ENGLAND. Which, incidentally, is currently experiencing lovely, sunny days of 26 degrees in a freak good-weather front that has lasted for about two weeks.
Maybe I'm being punished. Does self flagellation include eating excessive amounts of doughnuts? I mean, it's gotta hurt, at some point. Maybe if I punish myself with doughnuts I won't have to suffer this weather. Only problem is, doughnuts live a mile away and it's hailing (on all frequencies, damn it!)
It's a bit Jane Eyre. In the book, the weather reflects the emotions and what-have-you of Jane Eyre. Am I a hail storm today? I thought I was more of a drizzling grey afternoon with the occasional gust of wind. Of course there is a chance that the weather has nothing to do with me whatsoever and that nothing I'm thinking or feeling is in the least bit important, and it's just a geological thing. You mean I'm not at the centre of the Universe? Oh. (Phew. What a relief. I can stay in my corner, grumbling. Yay!)
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
Tuesday 3 April 2007
The Land Of Having One Thing To Do
Last weekend, my English friend and I discussed why it is that the Spanish never seem to be in a rush, and how it is that everything moves so slowly.
For instance. I try to do everything ever in 2.4 hours to get it done to reach that perfect moment of completion as soon as possible. Because THEN I can relax. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow. Work first, play later. Savoury, then dessert.
Spain is the other way around.
They start their day with dessert (everything here has sugar. Fresh orange juice is served with a sachet of sugar. And breakfast is a pastry. With sugar. And a coffee. With sugar). So they bypass the serious savoury route and cut to the chase.
Then, they perhaps discover that something needs to be done. They decide to do it tomorrow.
However, the day will inevitably come where they do have to take care of something. For instance, they might have to go to the bank. That is their one thing to do. And they will allot a day for such an activity.
When I have to go to the bank, which seeing as I still don't have my pin number is quite often, I try to fit it in between various classes, going to the post office, picking up my dry cleaning, having something to eat, doing some photocopying, getting my groceries, making 5 phone calls and meeting my intercambio (exchange student). I therefore allot 7.5 minutes to taking care of the necessary business in the bank.
A Spanish person decides that the pressing activity is to go to the bank. They therefore go to the bank. That is their one thing to do for that day.
"What did you do today, Juan?"
"I went to the bank."
And the reason for this? If you go to the bank, you will fall into a time warp where everything slows down to the extent where you almost forget not only why you're there, but also who you are and why you're bothering to stay alive. Two hours later, you may well have completed your task. You CANNOT just decide on the spur of the moment to go into the bank and 'quickly' withdraw money, or ask a question. If you go into the bank, there is no telling when you will come out again, if you will come again, and that if you do, you'll be the same person you were when you first entered. It is therefore imperative that you wake up, put on nice clothes, and allot the entire day to going to the bank. Only with that mentality will you survive the time warp scenario.
Example. My friend Becky who is my equal when it comes to thinking "Ah - must just pop in to the bank and....etc". After all we are English and used to a normal temporal experience. She 'popped in' to rectify a problem with her card with only 5 minutes to spare (first mistake). She queued up (Second mistake. Survival of the fittest theory would dictate she has 5 minutes to live). She eventually spoke to the nice lady behind the counter and asked to talk to someone who could help. The lady pointed vaguely at an area of the bank where 3 men were. After a little more probing, my perhaps overly polite English friend discerned who she needed to speak with. She approached the counter where a gentleman was on the phone. In Spanish, he was explaining to the person on the phone that "te quiero" (I want you literally, or liberally, I love you.). He was also doodling. Becky was right in front him. He continued to doodle. He wrote down a telephone number, which included the numeral 8, which he then proceeded to give a smiley face and spikey hair. He continued to say, "Si, te quiero" to the person on the phone. Becky sighed (in UK English this translates as 'FOR F*CK'S SAKE' and his changed his tone to present a more professional image. He then continued to give various facial expressions and hair styles to the remaining numerals he had scribbled down, by which time Becky gave up and went to work.
The same can be said of the post office. I went there at 5pm (in Spain the opening hours are 8am-2pm, 5pm-7pm more or less). At 5.20pm it was explained to me that Paulo would be along shortly but he was just having a coffee. The Spanish people in the queue behind me smiled and nodded and began to fidget with whatever they had in their hands, obviously content to wait for Paulo and his coffee fetish. I telephoned my friend in a bit of a temper, and he informed me that I have to understand that I'm in a country where it takes 30 minute to BUY A STAMP. And that's when it occurred to me.
Spain is a temporal disturbance.
No-one in their right mind would attempt to complete more than one such task in one day because it is impossible. Here, they don't try to get everything done to reach that moment of completion, of peace and perfection. They do not aspire for something so distant. They relax now, and worry about everything else tomorrow. Mañana, mañana.
Stressed out English people (and I suspect Americans) who desperately need to have everything done right now, will be sent here should St Peter reject them. You either slow down, or you leave the country in floods of tears.
But also, should you have an extra curricular activity, it will be the one thing you do. Becky just joined the gym. It is now assumed that she will go every night because it is what she does. Her friend has a baby. That is what she does. I want to go to Salsa class. But it will not understood that I also attend Spanish classes, give private lessons, prepare for my lessons, write blogs and stories, design and edit videos, as well as running a flat long distance.
It is the land of having one thing to do.
I'm beginning to like that idea. Why do we try to cram so much in. The more we do, the faster time goes. The only destination is death. So why hurry???
These guys have got it sussed. Slow down. Live right now. Worry tomorrow. I will not succumb to eating pure sugar for breakfast, however.
For instance. I try to do everything ever in 2.4 hours to get it done to reach that perfect moment of completion as soon as possible. Because THEN I can relax. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow. Work first, play later. Savoury, then dessert.
Spain is the other way around.
They start their day with dessert (everything here has sugar. Fresh orange juice is served with a sachet of sugar. And breakfast is a pastry. With sugar. And a coffee. With sugar). So they bypass the serious savoury route and cut to the chase.
Then, they perhaps discover that something needs to be done. They decide to do it tomorrow.
However, the day will inevitably come where they do have to take care of something. For instance, they might have to go to the bank. That is their one thing to do. And they will allot a day for such an activity.
When I have to go to the bank, which seeing as I still don't have my pin number is quite often, I try to fit it in between various classes, going to the post office, picking up my dry cleaning, having something to eat, doing some photocopying, getting my groceries, making 5 phone calls and meeting my intercambio (exchange student). I therefore allot 7.5 minutes to taking care of the necessary business in the bank.
A Spanish person decides that the pressing activity is to go to the bank. They therefore go to the bank. That is their one thing to do for that day.
"What did you do today, Juan?"
"I went to the bank."
And the reason for this? If you go to the bank, you will fall into a time warp where everything slows down to the extent where you almost forget not only why you're there, but also who you are and why you're bothering to stay alive. Two hours later, you may well have completed your task. You CANNOT just decide on the spur of the moment to go into the bank and 'quickly' withdraw money, or ask a question. If you go into the bank, there is no telling when you will come out again, if you will come again, and that if you do, you'll be the same person you were when you first entered. It is therefore imperative that you wake up, put on nice clothes, and allot the entire day to going to the bank. Only with that mentality will you survive the time warp scenario.
Example. My friend Becky who is my equal when it comes to thinking "Ah - must just pop in to the bank and....etc". After all we are English and used to a normal temporal experience. She 'popped in' to rectify a problem with her card with only 5 minutes to spare (first mistake). She queued up (Second mistake. Survival of the fittest theory would dictate she has 5 minutes to live). She eventually spoke to the nice lady behind the counter and asked to talk to someone who could help. The lady pointed vaguely at an area of the bank where 3 men were. After a little more probing, my perhaps overly polite English friend discerned who she needed to speak with. She approached the counter where a gentleman was on the phone. In Spanish, he was explaining to the person on the phone that "te quiero" (I want you literally, or liberally, I love you.). He was also doodling. Becky was right in front him. He continued to doodle. He wrote down a telephone number, which included the numeral 8, which he then proceeded to give a smiley face and spikey hair. He continued to say, "Si, te quiero" to the person on the phone. Becky sighed (in UK English this translates as 'FOR F*CK'S SAKE' and his changed his tone to present a more professional image. He then continued to give various facial expressions and hair styles to the remaining numerals he had scribbled down, by which time Becky gave up and went to work.
The same can be said of the post office. I went there at 5pm (in Spain the opening hours are 8am-2pm, 5pm-7pm more or less). At 5.20pm it was explained to me that Paulo would be along shortly but he was just having a coffee. The Spanish people in the queue behind me smiled and nodded and began to fidget with whatever they had in their hands, obviously content to wait for Paulo and his coffee fetish. I telephoned my friend in a bit of a temper, and he informed me that I have to understand that I'm in a country where it takes 30 minute to BUY A STAMP. And that's when it occurred to me.
Spain is a temporal disturbance.
No-one in their right mind would attempt to complete more than one such task in one day because it is impossible. Here, they don't try to get everything done to reach that moment of completion, of peace and perfection. They do not aspire for something so distant. They relax now, and worry about everything else tomorrow. Mañana, mañana.
Stressed out English people (and I suspect Americans) who desperately need to have everything done right now, will be sent here should St Peter reject them. You either slow down, or you leave the country in floods of tears.
But also, should you have an extra curricular activity, it will be the one thing you do. Becky just joined the gym. It is now assumed that she will go every night because it is what she does. Her friend has a baby. That is what she does. I want to go to Salsa class. But it will not understood that I also attend Spanish classes, give private lessons, prepare for my lessons, write blogs and stories, design and edit videos, as well as running a flat long distance.
It is the land of having one thing to do.
I'm beginning to like that idea. Why do we try to cram so much in. The more we do, the faster time goes. The only destination is death. So why hurry???
These guys have got it sussed. Slow down. Live right now. Worry tomorrow. I will not succumb to eating pure sugar for breakfast, however.
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