Hello, everyone! I've got some really good news. I am on my year abroad again apart from the fact that I am actually not. Well, that's to say I am not physically in in another country but I feel exactly as if I were. With the festive season nearing so rapidly and London becoming whiter by day due to the snow I am honestly having a really hard time believing I haven't crossed any borders.
The winter wonderland is everywhere (especially around my university). There is a cafe serving thick, mint, hot chocolate and warm apple juice spiced with cloves and cardamom, opposite an open air ice rink decorated with hollies and mistletoe. Being an almost part-time student I make sure I make the most of this bliss and as much as I abhor the cold I must say: "I adore winter!"
Wednesday, 1 December 2010
Monday, 18 October 2010
Premonitions
I always thought the notion of a premonition is something abstract that only animals can feel. I heard many countryside stories of horses running away, scattering to all four sides of the compass before an earthquake would happen. However, I never had a thought that people area able to have similar feelings and according to me all psychics were fakes. Until 06/07/2005 the night before the London tube bombings.
I was in Croatia at the time enjoying holidays with family and friends. It was 1 a.m. and an eerie feeling of coldness woke me up. I felt as if there was a mini-tornado whirling around me, making every tiny hair on my body stand up and giving me goosebumps. It was a sort of individual light tornado affecting only myself. A few seconds after I felt a strong pressure on my chest, not a suffocating feeling but rather the one of a heavy object laying on your chest and pressing you down. No cold sweat. Just a sinister silence. And then a flash thought appearing in my head. The thought: "Something serious will hit Central London tomorrow morning. Whatever it will be, quite a few people will die". Shivers. Second thought:"Gotta call my parents." I got up, sat down in a pitch black living room with the wireless in my hands turning it on and off. My first, llgical thought was not to call in order not to scare my parents into thinking they have a raving mad daughter. I thought they'd laugh it off and never believe me. But my second, in some way even more logical thought was: "I'm so sure. The feelings is too real not to be true. Albeit they hate the tube with a passion adn never go to Zone 1 during a workday, what if by chance they go tomorrow? It may make a difference whether they'd be alive.
I spent a good half an hour sitting there, switicing the wireless on and off, when I finally cincluded that I won't call not be thought of as mad and hyperblic nad that nothing will happen to them. I went back to bed but I coulnd't sleep that night. I kept tosssing and turning till aorund 6 a.m. when I fianlly fell asleep. Waking up at eight , I quiclky switched on HRT 1 (equivalent of BBC 1) and saw huge, red, bold letters staring at me:" Breaking News: London Underground exploded at 8:25 am today. Fifty dead. dozens injured." My heart skipped, not a bet but two, so I grabbed the phone and called home, nothing. My parents mobiles, nothing. A minite later mum was calling saying both her and dad are OK and that they aren't even near Zone 1. Ii felt a huge load off my chest and felt the luckiest teenager ever.
The same feeling paid a little visit in 2007 when I was on the Clapham train from Richmond. We stooped at Putney for longer than usual. I felt uneasy and when the mini-torndao came I was sure there was murder on the train. I jumped up pretending to be sick so the conductor would open the door. I took the bus home and the feeling didn't cease completely unitl I got into the flat. Six o'clcol news: Gang fight on sos and so train (my one) in coach 4 (I was in coach 5). One deceased.
When mum entered the house she told me that I look pale as if I had seen a ghost. Naturally, I said she was exagarating and that I am pale from the cold.
Someone told me the only people who have premontions of this sort are the ones who had near death or out of body experinces. I was confused. It amde sense but I had nevr had a near-daeth expereince or so, I THOUGHT.
I later found out that being a three monts premature baby, I had died for two minutes before the doctor managed to reanimate me and throw me into the incubator box. I was being born and dying at the same time.
Strange. But then, what else but strange things could be expected from someone whose alias is SIN BARRERAS? LOL
I was in Croatia at the time enjoying holidays with family and friends. It was 1 a.m. and an eerie feeling of coldness woke me up. I felt as if there was a mini-tornado whirling around me, making every tiny hair on my body stand up and giving me goosebumps. It was a sort of individual light tornado affecting only myself. A few seconds after I felt a strong pressure on my chest, not a suffocating feeling but rather the one of a heavy object laying on your chest and pressing you down. No cold sweat. Just a sinister silence. And then a flash thought appearing in my head. The thought: "Something serious will hit Central London tomorrow morning. Whatever it will be, quite a few people will die". Shivers. Second thought:"Gotta call my parents." I got up, sat down in a pitch black living room with the wireless in my hands turning it on and off. My first, llgical thought was not to call in order not to scare my parents into thinking they have a raving mad daughter. I thought they'd laugh it off and never believe me. But my second, in some way even more logical thought was: "I'm so sure. The feelings is too real not to be true. Albeit they hate the tube with a passion adn never go to Zone 1 during a workday, what if by chance they go tomorrow? It may make a difference whether they'd be alive.
I spent a good half an hour sitting there, switicing the wireless on and off, when I finally cincluded that I won't call not be thought of as mad and hyperblic nad that nothing will happen to them. I went back to bed but I coulnd't sleep that night. I kept tosssing and turning till aorund 6 a.m. when I fianlly fell asleep. Waking up at eight , I quiclky switched on HRT 1 (equivalent of BBC 1) and saw huge, red, bold letters staring at me:" Breaking News: London Underground exploded at 8:25 am today. Fifty dead. dozens injured." My heart skipped, not a bet but two, so I grabbed the phone and called home, nothing. My parents mobiles, nothing. A minite later mum was calling saying both her and dad are OK and that they aren't even near Zone 1. Ii felt a huge load off my chest and felt the luckiest teenager ever.
The same feeling paid a little visit in 2007 when I was on the Clapham train from Richmond. We stooped at Putney for longer than usual. I felt uneasy and when the mini-torndao came I was sure there was murder on the train. I jumped up pretending to be sick so the conductor would open the door. I took the bus home and the feeling didn't cease completely unitl I got into the flat. Six o'clcol news: Gang fight on sos and so train (my one) in coach 4 (I was in coach 5). One deceased.
When mum entered the house she told me that I look pale as if I had seen a ghost. Naturally, I said she was exagarating and that I am pale from the cold.
Someone told me the only people who have premontions of this sort are the ones who had near death or out of body experinces. I was confused. It amde sense but I had nevr had a near-daeth expereince or so, I THOUGHT.
I later found out that being a three monts premature baby, I had died for two minutes before the doctor managed to reanimate me and throw me into the incubator box. I was being born and dying at the same time.
Strange. But then, what else but strange things could be expected from someone whose alias is SIN BARRERAS? LOL
Monday, 13 September 2010
Imaginary Car and the Shady Dealer
Warning: Some of you may have a difficult time believing this post but trust me it's ALL pure fact as nightmare-like as it may seem.
As I am about to take my practical driving test in about two months time, my family, instructor and I thought it may be a good idea to buy a manual car in order to get as much road practice as possible in between the driving lessons.
I spend half my free time on Autotrader these days in pursuit of a prefect car. My idea of the perfect car: Nissan Micra, side airbags, air conditioning. I am not fussy about color or gadgets but I am fussy about safety and I really want a Nissan because of it's kawai shape and huge headlights that look like kitten eyes staring back at you (yes, I am cheesy unless it went unrealized).
I saw what then seemed like the perfect car. Nissan Micra, full service history, MOT, etc all in best order. After calling the dealer I found out that the car is in Swindon but I considered it a worthwhile journey.
I arrived at the place and saw no Nissan in the parking lot. After ringing the doorbell an elderly Indian woman clad in traditional attire opened the door and told me her son (the seller) is still sleeping although I came at 12 noon as he told me to. Ten minutes afterward, a tall, skinny man of about 30 came stumbling down the stairs like a drunken bear, silently cursing the buyer and asking me who I am and what I was doing there. When I politely answered him and asked him if I can see the car he looked at me as if I just killed his cat and told me: "What car?" Me:"you know, Nissan Micra, royal blue that I spoke to you about yesterday." Him:" Oh, sorry mate, I sold that yesterday at nine." Me:"And you didn't have the courtesy to call and tell me so I wouldn't have to come all the way from London for nothing?" Him: "Oh,sorry, you know I have many buyers I can't keep track of it all, etc" Me: (thinking): Well, it's about time you learn to if you want to keep you most probably illegal job."
To top off the event he ended up offering me another Nissan, in a very sorry state to make up for selling the one that I actually wanted.
Honestly, the cheek some people have is unbelievable!
As I am about to take my practical driving test in about two months time, my family, instructor and I thought it may be a good idea to buy a manual car in order to get as much road practice as possible in between the driving lessons.
I spend half my free time on Autotrader these days in pursuit of a prefect car. My idea of the perfect car: Nissan Micra, side airbags, air conditioning. I am not fussy about color or gadgets but I am fussy about safety and I really want a Nissan because of it's kawai shape and huge headlights that look like kitten eyes staring back at you (yes, I am cheesy unless it went unrealized).
I saw what then seemed like the perfect car. Nissan Micra, full service history, MOT, etc all in best order. After calling the dealer I found out that the car is in Swindon but I considered it a worthwhile journey.
I arrived at the place and saw no Nissan in the parking lot. After ringing the doorbell an elderly Indian woman clad in traditional attire opened the door and told me her son (the seller) is still sleeping although I came at 12 noon as he told me to. Ten minutes afterward, a tall, skinny man of about 30 came stumbling down the stairs like a drunken bear, silently cursing the buyer and asking me who I am and what I was doing there. When I politely answered him and asked him if I can see the car he looked at me as if I just killed his cat and told me: "What car?" Me:"you know, Nissan Micra, royal blue that I spoke to you about yesterday." Him:" Oh, sorry mate, I sold that yesterday at nine." Me:"And you didn't have the courtesy to call and tell me so I wouldn't have to come all the way from London for nothing?" Him: "Oh,sorry, you know I have many buyers I can't keep track of it all, etc" Me: (thinking): Well, it's about time you learn to if you want to keep you most probably illegal job."
To top off the event he ended up offering me another Nissan, in a very sorry state to make up for selling the one that I actually wanted.
Honestly, the cheek some people have is unbelievable!
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Poseidon
The Fjor of Lim
On Mondaywe went on a boat trip to the Fjord of Lim located in the Istrian Peninsula. The boat was a tiny, picturesque, almost cartoon like with an effigy of the Viking dragon at the front. It could hold about 15-20 people. The sail started in the city of Rovinj and the boat moved northward. It was super windy and the boat was swinging right left and forwards just like a fairground boat.
This is where the irony kicks in. I NEVER go on fariground boats because I get ultra sick and sometimes start vomiting afterwards. However, somehow, I thought a real boat would be different since a few years ago in Venice there was no negative experiences most probably due to the siye of the boat.
This time it was different. As soon as we got moving the boat atrted bouncing up and down like a Tin-Tin cartoon and my stomach started following in its footsteps. First I felt a kind of rotation in my stomach then the sensation of standing yet moving, later a great dizziness where everything was blurry and a feeling of going to vomit but being unable to. It was a sensation beyond words that I don't wish upon anyone.
Good thing a co-passanger advised me to ist int he middle, lean back, ligt my feet up stomach level, look out and breathe deeply becaause otherwise I would have been sick.
The Fjord is not exactly a rugged, roccky, dramatic Fjord one find in Norway with a thin strip od greyish water running through but rahter a wide expansion fo seawater in between two soft, lush , green hills where there is still a possibility of waves.
I totally enjoyed the trip bugtwouldnot even dream of going on a boat ride longer than an hour ever again. Rottterdam will have to wait till I can pay to go by plane since a boat just simply won't do.
On Mondaywe went on a boat trip to the Fjord of Lim located in the Istrian Peninsula. The boat was a tiny, picturesque, almost cartoon like with an effigy of the Viking dragon at the front. It could hold about 15-20 people. The sail started in the city of Rovinj and the boat moved northward. It was super windy and the boat was swinging right left and forwards just like a fairground boat.
This is where the irony kicks in. I NEVER go on fariground boats because I get ultra sick and sometimes start vomiting afterwards. However, somehow, I thought a real boat would be different since a few years ago in Venice there was no negative experiences most probably due to the siye of the boat.
This time it was different. As soon as we got moving the boat atrted bouncing up and down like a Tin-Tin cartoon and my stomach started following in its footsteps. First I felt a kind of rotation in my stomach then the sensation of standing yet moving, later a great dizziness where everything was blurry and a feeling of going to vomit but being unable to. It was a sensation beyond words that I don't wish upon anyone.
Good thing a co-passanger advised me to ist int he middle, lean back, ligt my feet up stomach level, look out and breathe deeply becaause otherwise I would have been sick.
The Fjord is not exactly a rugged, roccky, dramatic Fjord one find in Norway with a thin strip od greyish water running through but rahter a wide expansion fo seawater in between two soft, lush , green hills where there is still a possibility of waves.
I totally enjoyed the trip bugtwouldnot even dream of going on a boat ride longer than an hour ever again. Rottterdam will have to wait till I can pay to go by plane since a boat just simply won't do.
Seaside Adventures
I am back from the seaside. I can't complain too much about the weather since it did not rain and it looks like our collective plea worked :-). It was quite windy and the sea wasn't exactly "let's play ball in the water" as far as temperature is concerned and I did need a few layers of dresses on the "beach" but other than that it was great.
As it's nearlyy always the case with me there were things worth wrtiting about that happened at the seaside although luckily, nothing of the falling over or getting lost type which I am usually famous for.
As it's nearlyy always the case with me there were things worth wrtiting about that happened at the seaside although luckily, nothing of the falling over or getting lost type which I am usually famous for.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Wheat Embargo
I should seriously stop watching the News. Bread, here in Croatia, and maybe in the rest of Europe, is alredy very expensive due to the Recession. To make the situation worse, Russia, the biggest exporter of wheat in the world, had announced a ban on wheat exports due to the recent fires destrroying many hectares of wheat fields.
This will make the already expensive bread prices shoot upwards together with other wheat products.
I only hope that the Recession will not become the Great Depression like that of the 30s or that of the 80s which caused people in Croatia and all of ex-Yugoslavia to cue up for hours in order to get thee most ordinary articles such as coffee, washing powder,sugar and PETROL (which makes me think what would an OIL embargo look like).
We have already experienced what a gas embargo looks like a few years ago when we were freezing our heads off (since the more appropriate word is inappropriate) ude to a tiff between Yurshenko and Putin. To make the situation more (tragi) comical I happened to be skiing at the moment and spent every evening begging all the forces of good for the tiff to stop and for Putin to switch the gas pipe back on.
I always complain about thhe depressive news until someone brings me back from the clouds and tells me that's pretty much a job description of the News lol.
Advice: Dear world leaders, please try not to settle your conflicts by switching of a pipeline feeding all of Europe with gas.
Hope: We won't need to cue up for bread for two hours only to find out it's gone when it's our turn. Oh, and hopeffully it won't cost 20 pounds.
This will make the already expensive bread prices shoot upwards together with other wheat products.
I only hope that the Recession will not become the Great Depression like that of the 30s or that of the 80s which caused people in Croatia and all of ex-Yugoslavia to cue up for hours in order to get thee most ordinary articles such as coffee, washing powder,sugar and PETROL (which makes me think what would an OIL embargo look like).
We have already experienced what a gas embargo looks like a few years ago when we were freezing our heads off (since the more appropriate word is inappropriate) ude to a tiff between Yurshenko and Putin. To make the situation more (tragi) comical I happened to be skiing at the moment and spent every evening begging all the forces of good for the tiff to stop and for Putin to switch the gas pipe back on.
I always complain about thhe depressive news until someone brings me back from the clouds and tells me that's pretty much a job description of the News lol.
Advice: Dear world leaders, please try not to settle your conflicts by switching of a pipeline feeding all of Europe with gas.
Hope: We won't need to cue up for bread for two hours only to find out it's gone when it's our turn. Oh, and hopeffully it won't cost 20 pounds.
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Collective Plea
I beg everyone and anyone who reads this blog to keep their fingers crossed for the global rain to stop.
Thank you very much
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Back in Blighty lol
:-((((
I left Seville yesterday (hence the sad face). But as the saying goes, "every cloud has a silver lining". My silver lining is that on Monday I'm off to a different country yet again. This time it's Croatia, then Bosnia, then who knows... lol
Due to this whirpool of countries and bearing in mind the fact that I may very likely have to move yet AGAIN for my Masters Degree, is making me change the name of this blog from the now unapplicable "Musings of a Guiri" to "Sans Terre" which is French for "Without Land" or more specifically, without a country. It's how I feel, seriously.
I left Seville yesterday (hence the sad face). But as the saying goes, "every cloud has a silver lining". My silver lining is that on Monday I'm off to a different country yet again. This time it's Croatia, then Bosnia, then who knows... lol
Due to this whirpool of countries and bearing in mind the fact that I may very likely have to move yet AGAIN for my Masters Degree, is making me change the name of this blog from the now unapplicable "Musings of a Guiri" to "Sans Terre" which is French for "Without Land" or more specifically, without a country. It's how I feel, seriously.
Monday, 12 July 2010
Woooohoooo!
Dear Spain,
I whole-heartedly CONGRATULATE you on winning the World Cup. Your time has finally come.
(Bows)
P.S Never mind Korea beating at the High Street Store Cup. I still love you lol
Wednesday, 7 July 2010
Seoul vs Seville
If the current high-street shop situation was a game of football the commentary would go something like this:
"Oyusho to the left tackles Mango in the front, oh, oh, oh Zara taken over by Misako, Yestyle running towrds the front, so close... and goooooal! Goal for the Korean team!"
Since I am not an avid follower of football, I can´t judge whether my commentary imitation was a plausible one but one thing that I can attest to, is that South Korean high-street shops have taken over ABSOLUTELY every single nook and cranny of Seville´s high streets.
I remember a certain person a few years ago, complaining to end about all the new Spanish stores cropping up on Oxford Street faster than mushrooms after rain. All I can say now is: "retail revenge" lol because right now the locals are complaning about the new clothing not matching their long established tastes. However, the complainers are only to be found in the 35+ shooper junta. The younger Sevillians have taken to the emerging fashion like ducks to water albeit in some cases like ducklings who can´t swim, judging by all the style copying faux pas that they make. No worries, guys! It´s a new phenomena! You´ll learn eventually.
The main shopping streets are now an explosion of neon pink leggins, watches that serve the purpose of rings, dark denim skirt with collage-like cotton patches sewn on, layers, layers and more layers. Almost every hairdresser now has a half price green and orange dye for the hair tips and canvas shoes are the only ones being sold.
However, like all new things and crazes, including the 80s socks over tights, this one also has it´s fair (or unfair) share of hilarious combinations that just scream "I am new to this".
More of this tomorrow.
"Oyusho to the left tackles Mango in the front, oh, oh, oh Zara taken over by Misako, Yestyle running towrds the front, so close... and goooooal! Goal for the Korean team!"
Since I am not an avid follower of football, I can´t judge whether my commentary imitation was a plausible one but one thing that I can attest to, is that South Korean high-street shops have taken over ABSOLUTELY every single nook and cranny of Seville´s high streets.
I remember a certain person a few years ago, complaining to end about all the new Spanish stores cropping up on Oxford Street faster than mushrooms after rain. All I can say now is: "retail revenge" lol because right now the locals are complaning about the new clothing not matching their long established tastes. However, the complainers are only to be found in the 35+ shooper junta. The younger Sevillians have taken to the emerging fashion like ducks to water albeit in some cases like ducklings who can´t swim, judging by all the style copying faux pas that they make. No worries, guys! It´s a new phenomena! You´ll learn eventually.
The main shopping streets are now an explosion of neon pink leggins, watches that serve the purpose of rings, dark denim skirt with collage-like cotton patches sewn on, layers, layers and more layers. Almost every hairdresser now has a half price green and orange dye for the hair tips and canvas shoes are the only ones being sold.
However, like all new things and crazes, including the 80s socks over tights, this one also has it´s fair (or unfair) share of hilarious combinations that just scream "I am new to this".
More of this tomorrow.
Saturday, 29 May 2010
Journey to exotic lands
Napoleon once said that Europe ends in Spain. When one thinks about it, topographically it does. On the other hand, why Spain? Why not Italy or Greece? A couple of days ago a Scandinavian tourist said it's their first time outside the "First World" (although according to UN Spain is on the same list as Sweden and other Western European countries) and to add icing to the cake an American exchange student last year asked her host family whether there are water closets in Spain or does she need to have extra toilet paper for the outdoor one?
If those questions seem fictional, unfortunately they are not. Many Spaniards are quite rightly, dismayed at those questions thinking how can a country which advanced leaps and bounds after Franco, is the eight economy in the world, has all the modern technology and is one of the leading countries in medical research be considered undeveloped? At first it fazed me but after a while I found the answer.
The "undeveloped" label is not due to appearance and achievements. It's due certain lifestyle characteristics that cannot be found in the rest of Europe.
For example a dance class outside Spain is something done in a studio behind closed doors intended for the people who signed up. However, a dance class in Spain is an open-door (in every sense of the word) shack where it's perfectly acceptable for a regiment of toddlers to wander it and start jumping around, for someone's puppy to wait for them in the toilet and to pay the fees three weeks late. Elsewhere, thirty people clapping and dancing in a circle, blocking trams and bicycles from circulating would be challenged by the city authorities, not in Spain.
Old houses have wooden instead of brick walls and in the summer time it is physically impossible to walk down the main road without getting a multitude of colorful scarves thrown into your face by over zealous street vendors or without tripping over a pistachio and almond cart. Absolutely everything closes for siesta even the banks without needing to since everything is air conditioned and the weather is cooler in general. Siesta is an out dated practice that had value in the days when Spain was much warmer and there was no air conditioning.
Also, being quite skilled at marketing I am surprised that the Spaniards don't use that skill to promote all facets of their culture not just raven haired girls twirling around in flowing red skirts, such as the fictional, world-renown Carmen. Sadly, what the foreigners see will usually be the their only impression of this beautiful and truly rich culture.
Once, a well traveled, elderly British lady answered a question what's the gist of Spain like with a non-nonchalant, chuckling: "it's a bit like India in jeans." I couldn't catch her drift.
Now I do.
If those questions seem fictional, unfortunately they are not. Many Spaniards are quite rightly, dismayed at those questions thinking how can a country which advanced leaps and bounds after Franco, is the eight economy in the world, has all the modern technology and is one of the leading countries in medical research be considered undeveloped? At first it fazed me but after a while I found the answer.
The "undeveloped" label is not due to appearance and achievements. It's due certain lifestyle characteristics that cannot be found in the rest of Europe.
For example a dance class outside Spain is something done in a studio behind closed doors intended for the people who signed up. However, a dance class in Spain is an open-door (in every sense of the word) shack where it's perfectly acceptable for a regiment of toddlers to wander it and start jumping around, for someone's puppy to wait for them in the toilet and to pay the fees three weeks late. Elsewhere, thirty people clapping and dancing in a circle, blocking trams and bicycles from circulating would be challenged by the city authorities, not in Spain.
Old houses have wooden instead of brick walls and in the summer time it is physically impossible to walk down the main road without getting a multitude of colorful scarves thrown into your face by over zealous street vendors or without tripping over a pistachio and almond cart. Absolutely everything closes for siesta even the banks without needing to since everything is air conditioned and the weather is cooler in general. Siesta is an out dated practice that had value in the days when Spain was much warmer and there was no air conditioning.
Also, being quite skilled at marketing I am surprised that the Spaniards don't use that skill to promote all facets of their culture not just raven haired girls twirling around in flowing red skirts, such as the fictional, world-renown Carmen. Sadly, what the foreigners see will usually be the their only impression of this beautiful and truly rich culture.
Once, a well traveled, elderly British lady answered a question what's the gist of Spain like with a non-nonchalant, chuckling: "it's a bit like India in jeans." I couldn't catch her drift.
Now I do.
Saturday, 8 May 2010
Why Assuming makes an ass-of-u-and-me
I've just been thinking while walking down to the shop what the locals have assumed about me from the first two seconds of seeing or indeed, hearing me.
Silly questions top 5 list
1) Are you Chinese? (over the phone) This was in response to me being extra polite when trying to get a refund over the phone (who wouldn't be in that case)Since here it's only "hello" and "thanks", "good afternoon, could I please speak to your manager, sir" came as a bit of a shock and as the Chinese around here are known for top formality, that's what the man assumed I was albeit my accent being nearly Spanish (he said so himself)ROFL So keep in mind everyone, if you say something higher in formality than "hi" and "thanks" you will be considered a Lotus flower
2)Are you 17? This happened about five times already and don't ask me why because it totally eludes me. I wear clothing appropriate to my age, speak and act my age yet I am a sweet seventeen to some. This has: caused me problems: when getting photos for my university ID (you can't be at university yet), when at a bar (may I have your ID), when a guy my age tries to talk to me and then gets a whack around the head from whoever is accompanying him because a guy of 24 shouldn't ask an underage girl out, how dare he.
3) Are you Buddhist/Muslim? Happens every time I am at a restaurant, a buffet or when the residence dining room gets a new cook and I have to say or hand in the "no meat, no alcohol" card. I guess most people haven't heard of vegetarianism as as protect animals cause and don't get that people might have sensitive stomachs.
4)I like playing tennis. Due to my passport I should think
5)I come from a traditional family. Totally not true.
Silly questions top 5 list
1) Are you Chinese? (over the phone) This was in response to me being extra polite when trying to get a refund over the phone (who wouldn't be in that case)Since here it's only "hello" and "thanks", "good afternoon, could I please speak to your manager, sir" came as a bit of a shock and as the Chinese around here are known for top formality, that's what the man assumed I was albeit my accent being nearly Spanish (he said so himself)ROFL So keep in mind everyone, if you say something higher in formality than "hi" and "thanks" you will be considered a Lotus flower
2)Are you 17? This happened about five times already and don't ask me why because it totally eludes me. I wear clothing appropriate to my age, speak and act my age yet I am a sweet seventeen to some. This has: caused me problems: when getting photos for my university ID (you can't be at university yet), when at a bar (may I have your ID), when a guy my age tries to talk to me and then gets a whack around the head from whoever is accompanying him because a guy of 24 shouldn't ask an underage girl out, how dare he.
3) Are you Buddhist/Muslim? Happens every time I am at a restaurant, a buffet or when the residence dining room gets a new cook and I have to say or hand in the "no meat, no alcohol" card. I guess most people haven't heard of vegetarianism as as protect animals cause and don't get that people might have sensitive stomachs.
4)I like playing tennis. Due to my passport I should think
5)I come from a traditional family. Totally not true.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Cinderella and the Fairy Godmother
Feria is here. One of the main symbols of the Feria is women dressed in Gypsy flamenco skirts and dresses, roses or cloves adorning their (depending on age and marital status)and men dressed as caballeros, in black suits and sombreros.
Everyone I know has a Feria dress but me due to the fact that they bought it in January or earlier for 80-90 euros and that's second hand (new range from 200 euros onwards). While everyone was discussing their dresses and flower colours I felt like Cinderella with no dress, no accessories and no fan. "Oh well", I thought to myself, "not everyone has a dress in this town, it's not the end of the world".
After lunch, I went to a workshop and realized how WRONG I was about the "not everyone has it" notion. Not everyone had it but 99% of the people on the street did. I sat on a bench, waiting for the bus, looking at everyone with a puppy gaze wishing a dress would just appear before me. To add to the ironies and peculiarities of the wheel of fortune two of my acquaintances who have complete dress sets are stuck home with flu. Now, you may think why not just borrow theirs? I would, if I wasn't a size 8 and they a 10-12. So i sat there wishing I could just rent or something, anything when an elderly woman, around 70 years of age, clad in a formal navy suit and wearing a bun. She had an air of a thirties schoolmistress, formal and put together. She asked me for the time, I responded, we exchanged a few words and she made a comment about how beautifully the passer by women were dressed. I said: "I wish I had a dress" more in a thinking aloud manner only to hear "you can still have one" as a response.
"How?" I asked I cannot afford a 300 + euro dress.
"Can you afford a 30 euro one?" she asked raising her brows
"Yes". I said sheepishly, not guessing what she was hinting at
"Well, you shall have a 30 euro one. My daughter-in law bought a dress last year, early in the year, and managed to get pregnant soon after, so of course, she couldn't wear it and dumped it in my flat, complaining how she'll never be a size 8 anymore and told me to give to charity. (I suppose I was a Feria challenged charity case this time) Would you have it?
My eyes lit up. "Yes, of course."
The woman got up and came back in three minutes carrying a HUGE bag with not only the dress but ALL the complements that go with it as well (earrings, necklace, little combs and a clove for the hair all blue and white to complement the dress)
My eyes went three times their size. Speechless. I handed over the thirty euros and thanked her about 6 times wishing her all the best.
She took her bus, I stayed waiting for mine. I am now looking at the dress and thinking when I'll wake up!
Friday, 16 April 2010
The funniest day ever on all kinds of levels
Yesterday, on the 15.04.10 was the most Andalusian (read disorganized, weird)day so far this year.
First of all there was the hugest anti-Bologna demonstration so far with 10 meter banners, activist speakers, drums and a live band in the front yard which managed to get all the security guards out and running, due to which, 3/4 of my seminars were canceled. Today was no different.
After I bought my ticket to Jerez (I have an Asian Culture Association congress there this weekend) I saw the CRAZIEST French band playing all sorts of music on their electric guitars including parodies of flamenco. The band consists of 4 middle-aged and one elderly man in dreadlocks and one 30-something woman ALL dressed in hot pink suits which reminds of an Abba- Tetes Raides cross breed of a band. As if this wasn't enoguh they also pulled 3 girls (including myself) up onot a box with wheels and paraded us through the entire Avenida de la Constitucion. To make things more fun, all of a sudden it started pouring down with rain and when it lessened the band stared playing the BEST sirtaki ever on their electric guitars. One other woman and I started messing about pretending to dance the sirtaki with 50 other people gathering around to watch and eventually proceeding to join in! Literal dancing in light rain! LOL
To top the day off, I received an e-mail from my home university that my exams do NOT count one little bit towards my final grade due tot he fact that I am not an Erasmus or another convention student but an independent candidate. How brilliant (sarcasm at tits highest)
First of all there was the hugest anti-Bologna demonstration so far with 10 meter banners, activist speakers, drums and a live band in the front yard which managed to get all the security guards out and running, due to which, 3/4 of my seminars were canceled. Today was no different.
After I bought my ticket to Jerez (I have an Asian Culture Association congress there this weekend) I saw the CRAZIEST French band playing all sorts of music on their electric guitars including parodies of flamenco. The band consists of 4 middle-aged and one elderly man in dreadlocks and one 30-something woman ALL dressed in hot pink suits which reminds of an Abba- Tetes Raides cross breed of a band. As if this wasn't enoguh they also pulled 3 girls (including myself) up onot a box with wheels and paraded us through the entire Avenida de la Constitucion. To make things more fun, all of a sudden it started pouring down with rain and when it lessened the band stared playing the BEST sirtaki ever on their electric guitars. One other woman and I started messing about pretending to dance the sirtaki with 50 other people gathering around to watch and eventually proceeding to join in! Literal dancing in light rain! LOL
To top the day off, I received an e-mail from my home university that my exams do NOT count one little bit towards my final grade due tot he fact that I am not an Erasmus or another convention student but an independent candidate. How brilliant (sarcasm at tits highest)
Saturday, 13 March 2010
Seville under (re)construction
If anything can be more of an obstacle (this time in a literal sense)than the freezing six degrees Celsius and the thankfully, now gone-by rain, it must be the facr that literally half the town is dug up in construction, re-construction and preparation for the various upcoming festivals.
This, as it mainly occurs in the centre along affects us centre-dwellers the most as it makes the bus journeys to yoga and flamenco impossible. In addition to this, walking to university now takes 45 instead of 20 minutes and hearing the lecturer is a real skill due to all the drilling, hammer thumping and water coming out of hose pipes! Got sprayed twice already due to not being careful!
The third rant,is, although inapplicable to the trouser-wearing (or at the very least non micro mini wearing) brunette like myself are the people re-constructing Seville with their piropeo (flirty comments). A few of my acquaintances are already unwilling to pass through the centre due to all the cat-calling and "you so pretty" comments whizzing around. I told them in a most possible well meaning manner to ignore them and felt like advising them if they hear "so pretty" once more, to retort with "unlike yourself"but decided against it as it is not courteous and possibly dangerous. On second thoughts, hair dye and a pair of jeans are a much easier option. LOL
This, as it mainly occurs in the centre along affects us centre-dwellers the most as it makes the bus journeys to yoga and flamenco impossible. In addition to this, walking to university now takes 45 instead of 20 minutes and hearing the lecturer is a real skill due to all the drilling, hammer thumping and water coming out of hose pipes! Got sprayed twice already due to not being careful!
The third rant,is, although inapplicable to the trouser-wearing (or at the very least non micro mini wearing) brunette like myself are the people re-constructing Seville with their piropeo (flirty comments). A few of my acquaintances are already unwilling to pass through the centre due to all the cat-calling and "you so pretty" comments whizzing around. I told them in a most possible well meaning manner to ignore them and felt like advising them if they hear "so pretty" once more, to retort with "unlike yourself"but decided against it as it is not courteous and possibly dangerous. On second thoughts, hair dye and a pair of jeans are a much easier option. LOL
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Five reasons why I HATE rain
1)The puddles- why if you are well equipped with Wellies one may say? It's not the splash-friendly, let's play type of puddles that I hate. It's the 5 drops of water ones due to which I managed to get a bruise today albeit wearing super non-slip footwear
2) Worms- absolutely disgusting with a capital D. Just imagine walking or should I say, stunt-walking through various puddles and mud mounds only to catch a few slimy, muddy, moist worms sliding over your shoes [bleurgh]
3)Umbrella Aikido- All is well while walking on on one of the stretchy boulevards but once you get into the narrow. winding, cobblestone streets of the old town, that's where the challenge begins. Having to close your umbrella every two steps so you wouldn't have someone's eye out while simultaneously watching out that the same doesn't happen to you does not make the journey pleasant, take my word for it!
4)General tetchiness- people say Spaniards are tetchy with a short fuse and all that jazz. Not true! However. the same statemnt with a "when pouring with rain" becomes true in an instant! People honking at each other for no reason, nearly punching each others in the face over parking spaces, screaming at the students in their class for no pasrtiualr reason :-( (the last one affects me lol)
5) Dripping umbrellas with the TOTAL absence of 'Wet Floor' signs. I think this one speaks for itself!
2) Worms- absolutely disgusting with a capital D. Just imagine walking or should I say, stunt-walking through various puddles and mud mounds only to catch a few slimy, muddy, moist worms sliding over your shoes [bleurgh]
3)Umbrella Aikido- All is well while walking on on one of the stretchy boulevards but once you get into the narrow. winding, cobblestone streets of the old town, that's where the challenge begins. Having to close your umbrella every two steps so you wouldn't have someone's eye out while simultaneously watching out that the same doesn't happen to you does not make the journey pleasant, take my word for it!
4)General tetchiness- people say Spaniards are tetchy with a short fuse and all that jazz. Not true! However. the same statemnt with a "when pouring with rain" becomes true in an instant! People honking at each other for no reason, nearly punching each others in the face over parking spaces, screaming at the students in their class for no pasrtiualr reason :-( (the last one affects me lol)
5) Dripping umbrellas with the TOTAL absence of 'Wet Floor' signs. I think this one speaks for itself!
Saturday, 20 February 2010
A Lost Little One
This post would most probably appeal to my mother if she actually read the blog since I´m going to reveal some news in a form of a nursery rhyme for (intended, but whether it will be achieved is another question altogether) comical effect.
My inspiration:
There's a worm at the bottom of the garden
And his name is Wiggly Woo
There's a worm at the bottom of the garden
And all that he can do
Is wiggle all night
And wiggle all day
Whatever else the people do say
There's a worm at the bottom of the garden
And his name is Wiggly Woo
The news:
There´s a small stray at the bottom of my window
and his name is Snuggly Moo
There´s a stray at the bottom of my window
And all that he can do
Is wander all night and wander all day
in warm, mild sun and the pouring rain
No matter what anyone may say
There´s a stray at the bottom of my window
And his name is Snugggly Moo
An his name is Snug Snug Snuggly
Snug Snug Snuggly, Snug, Snug, Snugly
Moooooo!
Not too creative, I know but at least it got the news across that there is a stray puppy wandering up and down my street and I feel immensley sorry for it with only a wall to shelter itself with in the rain and no food. As you may guess, I am feeling tempted to take it in or help in some sort of way, but HOW? Here they are really terrible with shelters around here with the overcrowding and harsh treatment (PETA´s sources) and besides I don´t know any of the shelters´phone numbers nor whereabouts. Oh, I soooo want to take it in now that I have a flat to myself and a small patio/terrace area.... Oh, fantasies, fantasies...
Or maybe not (since the receptionist is at the other end now hehehe :P)
The poor creature resembles the one above in the auburn shade.
Friday, 19 February 2010
Subservience? Really?
Some people never fail to amaze me. EVER
I finished the university day happy to bits about getting a good grade for my hardest subject that term. Feeling somewhat overwhelmed and tired from the shock and getting four new subjects, I sat on the bus on the way to the yoga class, earphones plugged, listening to some relaxing instrumentals when a woman, seemingly in her early thirties gave me a gentle tap on the shoulder in order to ask me if the seat next to me is free (it was but my bag was on it) I moved the bag and welcomed her to sit next to me.
We started talking about things, mainly of tourist interest since the woman was a fellow English-speaking tourist (albeit not from England) when, suddenly my interlocutor fell silent, staring into the distance. I turned around thinking maybe I offended her by suggesting she should visit the Alcazar or something :) so I asked her what happened and she replied nonchalantly: " Nothing, just staring at the eye candy opposite us."
Me: "What do you mean by that?" (although I fully understood the dictionary meaning and connotation of the term. Oxford dictionary definition: something visually pleasing yet without use)
Ms. Tourist: "You know, one of them guys whose only purpose is to be looked at."
Me: "How do you know him?"
Ms Tourist: [Equally nonchalant tone] "Oh, I don't know him."
Me: :) I was frappe (French word describes the shocked feeling better than English in this case)
[in the most polite detached tone while thinking “you superficial weirdo] Well, how do you know he “serves only for looking at” if you’ve never met him. [ in an ultra joking tone] Oh come on, give him a little credit, for all you know he might be a fantastic person, father and husband with a PhD. (as a side note the man didn’t even have the blingy, I-am-so-great aura to him, dresses casually and acting like any other passerby)
Mrs Tourist: [in a nearly Janice from Friends like tone lol] Oh-my-God! When did subservience come back into fashion?
Me: What subservience?
Mrs Tourist: “You know, treating men like Kings. Defending them.
Me: [puzzled look] Silence. No comment. Suppressing to lol
Mrs Tourist [smiling, changing the subject and focusing back to me] So, where is that Alcazar of yours?
We chatted for a few more minutes before my entertainer had to get off at the second stop [I have to travel five] As we said goodbyes, I sat there staring and really thinking.
My first thought was how do people come to think basic respect, the desire to give everyone a chance before they prove otherwise and the notion that there may be more to someone than their appereance is a form of subservience? I mean huh? According to my faithful partner the dictionary
Respect : Willingness to show consideration or appreciation.
Subservience: Obsequious; servile.
Very different things.
My other thought was to what extent is society and human nature (well at least that of some humans) fixated on appearance and physical beauty that they manage to not even consider there may be something beyond it in a person lucky, or in this case unlucky enough to have good genetics.
The last thought was the one of me as a subservient girl-next-door which nearly made me giggle to myself. Everyone that knows me knows that I supporter gender equality to the 't' or in case to the 'e' (hehe) and am an active person, least likely to stay at home.
I finally got off the bus and into my yoga class for a session of “subservient” movements. Bowing down into the Child’s Pose is the pinnacle of subservience. Right? :)
I finished the university day happy to bits about getting a good grade for my hardest subject that term. Feeling somewhat overwhelmed and tired from the shock and getting four new subjects, I sat on the bus on the way to the yoga class, earphones plugged, listening to some relaxing instrumentals when a woman, seemingly in her early thirties gave me a gentle tap on the shoulder in order to ask me if the seat next to me is free (it was but my bag was on it) I moved the bag and welcomed her to sit next to me.
We started talking about things, mainly of tourist interest since the woman was a fellow English-speaking tourist (albeit not from England) when, suddenly my interlocutor fell silent, staring into the distance. I turned around thinking maybe I offended her by suggesting she should visit the Alcazar or something :) so I asked her what happened and she replied nonchalantly: " Nothing, just staring at the eye candy opposite us."
Me: "What do you mean by that?" (although I fully understood the dictionary meaning and connotation of the term. Oxford dictionary definition: something visually pleasing yet without use)
Ms. Tourist: "You know, one of them guys whose only purpose is to be looked at."
Me: "How do you know him?"
Ms Tourist: [Equally nonchalant tone] "Oh, I don't know him."
Me: :) I was frappe (French word describes the shocked feeling better than English in this case)
[in the most polite detached tone while thinking “you superficial weirdo] Well, how do you know he “serves only for looking at” if you’ve never met him. [ in an ultra joking tone] Oh come on, give him a little credit, for all you know he might be a fantastic person, father and husband with a PhD. (as a side note the man didn’t even have the blingy, I-am-so-great aura to him, dresses casually and acting like any other passerby)
Mrs Tourist: [in a nearly Janice from Friends like tone lol] Oh-my-God! When did subservience come back into fashion?
Me: What subservience?
Mrs Tourist: “You know, treating men like Kings. Defending them.
Me: [puzzled look] Silence. No comment. Suppressing to lol
Mrs Tourist [smiling, changing the subject and focusing back to me] So, where is that Alcazar of yours?
We chatted for a few more minutes before my entertainer had to get off at the second stop [I have to travel five] As we said goodbyes, I sat there staring and really thinking.
My first thought was how do people come to think basic respect, the desire to give everyone a chance before they prove otherwise and the notion that there may be more to someone than their appereance is a form of subservience? I mean huh? According to my faithful partner the dictionary
Respect : Willingness to show consideration or appreciation.
Subservience: Obsequious; servile.
Very different things.
My other thought was to what extent is society and human nature (well at least that of some humans) fixated on appearance and physical beauty that they manage to not even consider there may be something beyond it in a person lucky, or in this case unlucky enough to have good genetics.
The last thought was the one of me as a subservient girl-next-door which nearly made me giggle to myself. Everyone that knows me knows that I supporter gender equality to the 't' or in case to the 'e' (hehe) and am an active person, least likely to stay at home.
I finally got off the bus and into my yoga class for a session of “subservient” movements. Bowing down into the Child’s Pose is the pinnacle of subservience. Right? :)
La Chica Turca (Turkish Girl)
:) :) :) exactly describes my first reaction to what I am going to tell you about.
I got home after a long day of bureaucracy chasing in order to finally get my loan, notify the university about the second part and reserve a place for an upcoming fflamenco workshop. After a positively delicious :) dinner, I jumped onto my bed, stretched out comfortably, switched on the telly which left me mouth agape for about half a minute :)
First image is a decently dressed flamenco singer with messy hair and I thought: "Oh, wonderful some flamenco to finish the day" when a split second later a young boy aged 15 and weighing about 20 kilos shoots onto the screen, almost loosing his trousers with a gold chain heavier than himself. This boy is a budding Spanish "rap" star named with an inmemorable name. Nothing says rap and powerful more than stick-thin under-age boy being weighed down by his chain while a housewifey woman old enough to be his mother dances in the background behind an "orientalist" or more like, household curtain. You are thinking ridiculous, right? Wait, there's more to come.
This the scenario but what really got me laughing, and I mean shaking uncontrollably with laughter and waking my flatmate up, were the lyrics. It doesn't sound half as hilarious in English but you'll get the gist. Here goes:
Yo, [50 Cent beat] beautiful Madonna (Mother Mary), pretty like a dove
impressive and the best
you totally control me (she would do she's 12 years older lol)
are you just playing with me or what
you don't forgive do you, snaky dancer
her laughter is like silver, she can't stop kissing me (read kissing me good night)
I'm so happy you are with me (so the social services don't take me away since I'm under 18)
my beautiful Turkish girl
... [to cut the story short]
your midnight hair reflects the moonlight
you speak six languages, so seductive (usually when I think of foreign languages seduction doesn't come to mind but now I'll keep the viewpoint, might come useful :) )
you are joyful, peeking from the corner
my Turkish queen [Ghost Town oriental sound]
So as I was laughing till my stomach hurt and I was getting seriously out of breath (medically serious lol) my flatmate in a mumbling voice:"what's going on, have you gone off the tangent?"
Me: Turn on channel 5 and you'll know what's going on."
Flat mate: (turns the TV on) starts laughing uncontrollably while saying jokingly "it's your fault if I can't get up tomorrow at 7."
All I have to conclude form this episode is it's good to laugh and have a piece of advice for Mucho Muchacho. When you go visiting your bretheren across the Bosphorus the next time, and 'fall for' the women there please make them your age, otherwise you'll land someone in jail! :)
I got home after a long day of bureaucracy chasing in order to finally get my loan, notify the university about the second part and reserve a place for an upcoming fflamenco workshop. After a positively delicious :) dinner, I jumped onto my bed, stretched out comfortably, switched on the telly which left me mouth agape for about half a minute :)
First image is a decently dressed flamenco singer with messy hair and I thought: "Oh, wonderful some flamenco to finish the day" when a split second later a young boy aged 15 and weighing about 20 kilos shoots onto the screen, almost loosing his trousers with a gold chain heavier than himself. This boy is a budding Spanish "rap" star named with an inmemorable name. Nothing says rap and powerful more than stick-thin under-age boy being weighed down by his chain while a housewifey woman old enough to be his mother dances in the background behind an "orientalist" or more like, household curtain. You are thinking ridiculous, right? Wait, there's more to come.
This the scenario but what really got me laughing, and I mean shaking uncontrollably with laughter and waking my flatmate up, were the lyrics. It doesn't sound half as hilarious in English but you'll get the gist. Here goes:
Yo, [50 Cent beat] beautiful Madonna (Mother Mary), pretty like a dove
impressive and the best
you totally control me (she would do she's 12 years older lol)
are you just playing with me or what
you don't forgive do you, snaky dancer
her laughter is like silver, she can't stop kissing me (read kissing me good night)
I'm so happy you are with me (so the social services don't take me away since I'm under 18)
my beautiful Turkish girl
... [to cut the story short]
your midnight hair reflects the moonlight
you speak six languages, so seductive (usually when I think of foreign languages seduction doesn't come to mind but now I'll keep the viewpoint, might come useful :) )
you are joyful, peeking from the corner
my Turkish queen [Ghost Town oriental sound]
So as I was laughing till my stomach hurt and I was getting seriously out of breath (medically serious lol) my flatmate in a mumbling voice:"what's going on, have you gone off the tangent?"
Me: Turn on channel 5 and you'll know what's going on."
Flat mate: (turns the TV on) starts laughing uncontrollably while saying jokingly "it's your fault if I can't get up tomorrow at 7."
All I have to conclude form this episode is it's good to laugh and have a piece of advice for Mucho Muchacho. When you go visiting your bretheren across the Bosphorus the next time, and 'fall for' the women there please make them your age, otherwise you'll land someone in jail! :)
Only at the University of Seville...
1) In theory there are 25 classes per week but in practice only 5 due to strikes, Bologna protests, "urgent" staff meetings and never ending colds and viruses because of the monsoon winters perfect for viral spread
2) Two out of the five daily classes are in the classroom, three in the cafeteria
3) Your "Latin Roots of Spanish" lecturer lectures literally wrapped in a rug, in three layers of clothing, shivering with fever, sneezing and coughing, lips twitching with cold, in a tiny classroom. Thank Heavens for daily doses of Sambucol, oranges and garlic.
4) Your semester finishes before it even starts because there is a week-long strike, demonstrations and you have the misfortune of being ion the biggest campus therefore the thrifty psychologists, economists, lawyers and other mid-term exam sitters INSIST they use your rooms instead of just renting one in the Town Hall like the rest of the world
5) You are still completing the first semester subjects due to the lack of classes two weeks into the second term when suddenly they announce your second term is stopping for the next 3 WEEKS, only two weeks into its running. :)
6) You are in 5th and final year of the "Theory of Language" class and people go "huh" at the mention of Umberto Eco, Mark Halliday or Noam Chomsky. :)A bit like final year Physics students raising their eyebrows at names like Stephen Hawkins or Albert Einstein
7) Absolutely ALL your resources are online including etymological dictionaries, historical maps, home tasks and projects and reading lists. Either that or you have to photo copy them as the library wouldn't allow "fragile" books out. (Fragile here means more than 10 years old). Definitely something you'd love to hate
8) Your biggest class contains 8 people (all foreigners) due to 95% of the reading list being in English (usually Harvard Press) and the locals barely know enough English to order a beer.
9) You have the impression of attending the Spanish Riding School by the number of 'boots over jeans' outfits. One day you don such an outfit yourself and do not even realise till you get home because that's all you see
And last but not the least...
10) You actually LIKE the food in the cafeteria :)
2) Two out of the five daily classes are in the classroom, three in the cafeteria
3) Your "Latin Roots of Spanish" lecturer lectures literally wrapped in a rug, in three layers of clothing, shivering with fever, sneezing and coughing, lips twitching with cold, in a tiny classroom. Thank Heavens for daily doses of Sambucol, oranges and garlic.
4) Your semester finishes before it even starts because there is a week-long strike, demonstrations and you have the misfortune of being ion the biggest campus therefore the thrifty psychologists, economists, lawyers and other mid-term exam sitters INSIST they use your rooms instead of just renting one in the Town Hall like the rest of the world
5) You are still completing the first semester subjects due to the lack of classes two weeks into the second term when suddenly they announce your second term is stopping for the next 3 WEEKS, only two weeks into its running. :)
6) You are in 5th and final year of the "Theory of Language" class and people go "huh" at the mention of Umberto Eco, Mark Halliday or Noam Chomsky. :)A bit like final year Physics students raising their eyebrows at names like Stephen Hawkins or Albert Einstein
7) Absolutely ALL your resources are online including etymological dictionaries, historical maps, home tasks and projects and reading lists. Either that or you have to photo copy them as the library wouldn't allow "fragile" books out. (Fragile here means more than 10 years old). Definitely something you'd love to hate
8) Your biggest class contains 8 people (all foreigners) due to 95% of the reading list being in English (usually Harvard Press) and the locals barely know enough English to order a beer.
9) You have the impression of attending the Spanish Riding School by the number of 'boots over jeans' outfits. One day you don such an outfit yourself and do not even realise till you get home because that's all you see
And last but not the least...
10) You actually LIKE the food in the cafeteria :)
One letter is a world of difference
Small things matter. Especially whe it comes to konwing the ins and outs of a foreign languae. Evn more especially fi the lanage happens to be Spanish. Spanish slang happens to have a lot of taboo words similar to food. Tke heeed to the follong episode:
I dediced to met up with a couple of ex flatmates for a tapas dinner. Arriving a few minutes late tobe Spanish and fashionable :) I found th flatmates all rolling around with laughter. When I asked what the issue was one of them promptly informed me, with a straight face that another flatemate managed to order a baked male orga rthaer than chicken. How? Smply by turning a masculine common noun (escuse the linguistic terminology) into a feminine common noun. PollO (chicken) to PollA (male ORGAN). The girl who ordered went red and the waitress was laughing her head off (good thing it wasn't a waiter). Once, on a travel forum I read about an exchange girl who went into a Madrid bar and ordered a polla sandwich on ly to be met with the rsponse:"Sorry I am married, (pointing to his ring) can't be done." Needless to say, the poor girl was completely puzzled (what's chicken have to do with marriage after all). A similarly embarasssing effectt can be acieved by ordering a churrA (same as polla) instead of a churrO (traditional dessert). So ptential visitors get your gender right before trying out your Spanish!
Profanities can also be said by grammatical mistakes and literal translation. For example hacer el polvo is to dust your apartment whereas echar polvo is to go for a quickie. Tener calor (literally to have heat) is to feel hot but ser caliente is to look hot (sexy) and estar caliente is to be aroused. Once someone told teir bank manager "estoy caliente" and a sixty year old British woman who retired to Alicante stated that one of the reasons she picked Spain as her retiremnt spot is that "los espanyoles son muy calientes" (what se wanted to say was warm, friendly, but ended up saying sexy).
So remember: detail, detail, detail and beware of false friends. Preservativo is NOT a food additive in Spanish!
I dediced to met up with a couple of ex flatmates for a tapas dinner. Arriving a few minutes late tobe Spanish and fashionable :) I found th flatmates all rolling around with laughter. When I asked what the issue was one of them promptly informed me, with a straight face that another flatemate managed to order a baked male orga rthaer than chicken. How? Smply by turning a masculine common noun (escuse the linguistic terminology) into a feminine common noun. PollO (chicken) to PollA (male ORGAN). The girl who ordered went red and the waitress was laughing her head off (good thing it wasn't a waiter). Once, on a travel forum I read about an exchange girl who went into a Madrid bar and ordered a polla sandwich on ly to be met with the rsponse:"Sorry I am married, (pointing to his ring) can't be done." Needless to say, the poor girl was completely puzzled (what's chicken have to do with marriage after all). A similarly embarasssing effectt can be acieved by ordering a churrA (same as polla) instead of a churrO (traditional dessert). So ptential visitors get your gender right before trying out your Spanish!
Profanities can also be said by grammatical mistakes and literal translation. For example hacer el polvo is to dust your apartment whereas echar polvo is to go for a quickie. Tener calor (literally to have heat) is to feel hot but ser caliente is to look hot (sexy) and estar caliente is to be aroused. Once someone told teir bank manager "estoy caliente" and a sixty year old British woman who retired to Alicante stated that one of the reasons she picked Spain as her retiremnt spot is that "los espanyoles son muy calientes" (what se wanted to say was warm, friendly, but ended up saying sexy).
So remember: detail, detail, detail and beware of false friends. Preservativo is NOT a food additive in Spanish!
Damnation of the Doors
20 December 2009
When one thinks of opening a door turning the key in one direction and pushing outwards comes to mind.
NOT in Spain! In central Seville the doors are Louis XVI era while the locks are of state of the art, ultra modern type. Those two polar opposites combined with rusty keys equals a plethora of problems. Apparently, you have to first pull the doors towards you, insert the key only 3/4 of the way, turn it in-out-in ever so slightly until the key turns and then instead of pushing the door you pull. Phew, there!
This sounds complicated in general, imagine doing it at 3 o'clock in the morning after 2 hours of dancing at a house gathering, feeling tired and light headed (and I don't even drink) with pins and needles in you feet from wearing high heels. As one might guess, my Pandora Box opening didn't quite go to plan as the rust on the key got glued to the inside of the lock, unable to go in either direction or get out. So, as my last resort I rung a random bell, heard footsteps approaching, and a profound voice: it's OK just get the key out I'll open!" Me:"As if that's possible!" Pushing the doors with all my energy, and pulling in the key, I blinked suddenly and found myself flying through the door cartoon style from the force of the pull and grabbing someone's arm for dear life! Lifting my head to apologize I encountered a smiling, perfectly proportionate face with hazel puppy eyes, pouting, smiling lips and a stray wave of jet black hair across the forehead.My expression: :) (for being clumsy) and then :) you can guess why. Of course, I apologized thrice over (in a variety of languages) due to causing inconvenience and was met with a typically andaluz "no problema". I love this place! Spaniards are owl people anyway with streets full up at 12 pm on a Wednesday. Entering my room I quickly reflected upon the episode thinking why does it always rain on me? :) Whenever I encounter a handsome face I am either wearing black from head to toe :) (very rare), am soaked to the skin with my dress clinging onto me, hair disheveled :) or am almost falling over at 3 in the morning! :) indeed!
When one thinks of opening a door turning the key in one direction and pushing outwards comes to mind.
NOT in Spain! In central Seville the doors are Louis XVI era while the locks are of state of the art, ultra modern type. Those two polar opposites combined with rusty keys equals a plethora of problems. Apparently, you have to first pull the doors towards you, insert the key only 3/4 of the way, turn it in-out-in ever so slightly until the key turns and then instead of pushing the door you pull. Phew, there!
This sounds complicated in general, imagine doing it at 3 o'clock in the morning after 2 hours of dancing at a house gathering, feeling tired and light headed (and I don't even drink) with pins and needles in you feet from wearing high heels. As one might guess, my Pandora Box opening didn't quite go to plan as the rust on the key got glued to the inside of the lock, unable to go in either direction or get out. So, as my last resort I rung a random bell, heard footsteps approaching, and a profound voice: it's OK just get the key out I'll open!" Me:"As if that's possible!" Pushing the doors with all my energy, and pulling in the key, I blinked suddenly and found myself flying through the door cartoon style from the force of the pull and grabbing someone's arm for dear life! Lifting my head to apologize I encountered a smiling, perfectly proportionate face with hazel puppy eyes, pouting, smiling lips and a stray wave of jet black hair across the forehead.My expression: :) (for being clumsy) and then :) you can guess why. Of course, I apologized thrice over (in a variety of languages) due to causing inconvenience and was met with a typically andaluz "no problema". I love this place! Spaniards are owl people anyway with streets full up at 12 pm on a Wednesday. Entering my room I quickly reflected upon the episode thinking why does it always rain on me? :) Whenever I encounter a handsome face I am either wearing black from head to toe :) (very rare), am soaked to the skin with my dress clinging onto me, hair disheveled :) or am almost falling over at 3 in the morning! :) indeed!
Wa-shin Powder
Friday, 11 December 2009 at 21:52
:) Hiiiii-ya!
I remember being fascinated by the fact that the Chinese invented gunpowder in my Year 7 history class. It opened my eyes to the richness and early roots of the Chinese society.
Today, however, I realised that we all have different talents and inventions for a reason. The inventor of gunpowder should have really stuck with gunpowder and not have dabbled in washing powder. Today's story will elaborate why.
Nearing the end of my first semester as a guiri I have a load of clothes washing to do so I decided to go to a nearby tienda china and buy some powder. Half an hour before my venture I mentioned it to my flatmate that I am off to buy some washing powder. She said:"Cool, just don't get it from the Chinese shop, if you hold life dear. Pleaaaase go to the supermarket." Typical andaluz concoction of mistrust mixed with a dash of xenophobia, I thought. I also didn't fancy going to the supermarket by a ten minute bus ride when I had the tienda china right across the zebra crossing.
Of course, I ended up buying the powder, a strange greenish, mass reminiscent of UFO space dust. I thought tienda china here sold cheaper quality cheaper price home brands like everywhere else but it turns out they sell actual Chinese powder imported straight form Beijing. I put the washing in the machine all according to instructions and went for a little afternoon siesta. One hour later I come into the kitchen with a :) expression on my face which quickly turned to this :) and then this :) aaaaaaaah (scream) which made my flatmate run promptly to the kitchen saying "are you OK are you OK?" with a flustered look on her face thinking I'd fallen or something (which knowing me wouldn't be unusual). And then it sunk in. The ENTIRE kitchen was flooded with foam or should I say foamded. I mopped the mess up, apologized, what else could I do. Thankfully, no clothes was ripped, damaged or anything of sorts. My flatmate was sweet about it saying "ay, no problema" (I love that here nothing is ever is a problema) but then told me off for buying the powder. She:"Listening not you strong poing is it?" I was like "errr...." The best part is that I actually heard her but brushed it off as mistrust when as I found out later, she had the same experience and THAT'S why she told me not to buy the powder there (something to do with the powder type being incompatible with Spanish water,something blah, blah technical). Whow!
All is well that ends well. Good thing I sealed the day by buying a pair of Ying-Yang earring to lift the mood! :)
:) Hiiiii-ya!
I remember being fascinated by the fact that the Chinese invented gunpowder in my Year 7 history class. It opened my eyes to the richness and early roots of the Chinese society.
Today, however, I realised that we all have different talents and inventions for a reason. The inventor of gunpowder should have really stuck with gunpowder and not have dabbled in washing powder. Today's story will elaborate why.
Nearing the end of my first semester as a guiri I have a load of clothes washing to do so I decided to go to a nearby tienda china and buy some powder. Half an hour before my venture I mentioned it to my flatmate that I am off to buy some washing powder. She said:"Cool, just don't get it from the Chinese shop, if you hold life dear. Pleaaaase go to the supermarket." Typical andaluz concoction of mistrust mixed with a dash of xenophobia, I thought. I also didn't fancy going to the supermarket by a ten minute bus ride when I had the tienda china right across the zebra crossing.
Of course, I ended up buying the powder, a strange greenish, mass reminiscent of UFO space dust. I thought tienda china here sold cheaper quality cheaper price home brands like everywhere else but it turns out they sell actual Chinese powder imported straight form Beijing. I put the washing in the machine all according to instructions and went for a little afternoon siesta. One hour later I come into the kitchen with a :) expression on my face which quickly turned to this :) and then this :) aaaaaaaah (scream) which made my flatmate run promptly to the kitchen saying "are you OK are you OK?" with a flustered look on her face thinking I'd fallen or something (which knowing me wouldn't be unusual). And then it sunk in. The ENTIRE kitchen was flooded with foam or should I say foamded. I mopped the mess up, apologized, what else could I do. Thankfully, no clothes was ripped, damaged or anything of sorts. My flatmate was sweet about it saying "ay, no problema" (I love that here nothing is ever is a problema) but then told me off for buying the powder. She:"Listening not you strong poing is it?" I was like "errr...." The best part is that I actually heard her but brushed it off as mistrust when as I found out later, she had the same experience and THAT'S why she told me not to buy the powder there (something to do with the powder type being incompatible with Spanish water,something blah, blah technical). Whow!
All is well that ends well. Good thing I sealed the day by buying a pair of Ying-Yang earring to lift the mood! :)
A Cheesy Poem
Tuesday, 1 December 2009 at 20:02
This is a tribute to a little, fluffy dog I shared a house with up until yesterday. Her name is Hana and she's totally sweet.
Why you make my day
You make my day because you are one of a kind
A super special pet
with a face of a dog
and a character of a cat
You make my day when we are out in a field
and you lift my spirit when
you sleep like Garfield
You move like a Siamese
Although you are Havanese
you do as you please
without taking heed
to my every single need
that's what I find you special
you are not slavish like a dog
yet are more attached than a cat
which is my formula for a perfect pet
You make me want to scream
when you pinch my ice-cream
you wake me up every single morning
with your scratching, yawning and moaning
yet I don't seem to mind because I know it's you style
and you make me laugh for about a mile
When we play you don't fetch the ball like an ordinary dog
yet you roll in the mud like a little hog
you jump on sofas, cupboards and coffee-tables
you listen to my fables and warm my tummy on a painful; day
when I come home you stand up and wag your tail
Now that we are apart
I see you in every plush toy
looking for joy
every furry fuzz
reminds me of your buzz
but no need to worry
and be sorry as I will
visit every Friday
and have a fantabulous day
This is a tribute to a little, fluffy dog I shared a house with up until yesterday. Her name is Hana and she's totally sweet.
Why you make my day
You make my day because you are one of a kind
A super special pet
with a face of a dog
and a character of a cat
You make my day when we are out in a field
and you lift my spirit when
you sleep like Garfield
You move like a Siamese
Although you are Havanese
you do as you please
without taking heed
to my every single need
that's what I find you special
you are not slavish like a dog
yet are more attached than a cat
which is my formula for a perfect pet
You make me want to scream
when you pinch my ice-cream
you wake me up every single morning
with your scratching, yawning and moaning
yet I don't seem to mind because I know it's you style
and you make me laugh for about a mile
When we play you don't fetch the ball like an ordinary dog
yet you roll in the mud like a little hog
you jump on sofas, cupboards and coffee-tables
you listen to my fables and warm my tummy on a painful; day
when I come home you stand up and wag your tail
Now that we are apart
I see you in every plush toy
looking for joy
every furry fuzz
reminds me of your buzz
but no need to worry
and be sorry as I will
visit every Friday
and have a fantabulous day
A Totally Disorienteed Day!
Thursday, 19 November 2009 at 20:16
On Monday I woke up and started walking to my university as usual. I didn't complete the action because half the city was cut off by yellow tape which scaredy as I am, made me think that something serious happened. And something serious did happen! A Hollywood blockbuster was being filmed five minutes away from my house When I told my classmates about it they were like wow you so lucky you have a movie being filmed right in front of you! Me:" Big deal, so Kidman and Cruise are here and I sure as anything won't be able to siesta today due tot he ear popping noise of the car chase scene." Class: general shocked look
On the way back I witnessed a GP doctor's strike, an air hostesses protesting and all the pharmacies being closed 2 hours before siesta time. Top notch situation for the flu season! Being unable to fo to the bank due to the movie hype I arrived home only to find my host family having a joint screaming session at the telecom technician who came to fix our dodgy internet and land line connection. Well, not exactly a joint screaming venture; more like: the brother shouting at his sister, sister leaving and the mother sounding like a banshee to the technician! As if that wasn't enough I had the surprise of the day waiting for me in my room. A 10 foot long cable coming down from the neighbor's window as a temporary internet solution! This of course only meant I couldn't close the door properly during the freezing nights AND had the street lights glaring directly into my eyes. Cue: Improvised sleeping mask!
I went to sleep when it started to get cold due to the cable-door being ajar so I decided to change into the warmer pajamas and this was when I did my two left feet move of the day. I hooked the jammies onto the sleeping mask, flailed my arms for a while,then pulled the jammie top down trapping my hair between the pj's and the improvised sleeping mask, which made my head tilt back, which in turn made me fall off the bed at 2 o'clock in the morning!! Wonder what sound I made... Fall&bass lol And to make matters worse this happened only about half an hour after rolling over while sleeping, directly into the wall and waking myself up!
What a 
PC Blasee
Sunday, 15 November 2009 at 14:55
While on the Island I constantly hear about how PC obsessed we are and how you can't say anything any more. Well, I bring the good news to all the PC dodgers out there. Spain has started a new niche in their tourism industry. With all the beach,booze and boobs tourism spiraling down and the property market in tatters due to La Crisis, a very sought after and cost-effective type of tourism is currently on the go. Behold the... PC blase tourism! It is meant for everyone and anyone who hates PC due to the fact that this country has absolutely NONE of it. Stereotypes are not only around but are taken more seriously than the Constitution. In this town all the Americans are either dumb, easy or both and are guilty of their mere existence, the British are exceedingly revered despite the beach,booze and boobs lobby giving us a bad name in Ibiza but most surprising of all is the general warm feeling towards the newbies on the EU wagon: countries from the former USSR. The topic of dating closely reflects those stereotypes. If you happen to say you are French girl you are viewed as the complicated haute chic, in case you are American it is considered lucky not to be force snogged on every corner of the street (exaggerating) but somehow if you are "blessed" by looking like you hail from the former USSR you are mistaken for the icon of the Virgin Mary . Honestly, I am sick and tired of getting special treatment for being something I am not (shoot, I wish I didn't look Russian coz I'm not) and of being percieved as a happy-go-lucky, baby loving, coffee maker in desperate need to marry, get a visa and have multiple children! To the rare breed of English-speaking Spaniards reading this blog remember this: "my house is a mess, babies annoy me and NO, I don't know how to make coffee since I find it revolting! So stop persuading me to meet your mother!
Sorry about that. It was my rant for today. And remember: to escape the grey clouds of foggy PC come to the land of sunny, sangria and zero etiquette!
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