Lost in Time and Spain

Bonny: What’s up?

J-Frog (After a 5-day long a tope[1] session and 2-hour siesta): I feel lost in time and space.

Bonny: (Having endured the same fate but without sleep): Well, we are pretty much

lost in time and Spain. [Both laugh] Fancy going out tonight?

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Italy – home of the Vatican City, a copiosity of other attractions, great gastronomy, hot Mediterraneans and chic fashion brands! Why am I talking about Italy? Well… That’s where I find myself now…

Only joking! But I may as well have done! Since discovering our new favourite hangout, which I will call ‘Giuseppe’s Pomodoro’ I’ve discovered a small but very intimate community of Italians most of whom I’ve met through frequenting the wonderful little Italian establishment. ¡Joder! I’m hanging out with more Italians than I am Canarians and learning more Italian than I am Spanish! It could be worse though, I could be learning Fiddish! I’m drawn to Giuseppe’s Pomodoro, not only for the eclectic mix of sociable, good-looking people who go there, but also because the boss is the most chilled-out entertainer I have met in a long time. He doesn’t charge for drinks (not me anyway), has illegal late-night lock-ins and supplies me with the irresistible ‘Devil’s Leaf. [2]’ What a God! Through frequenting GP I’ve also met a mountain of international people who are travelling, working, taking a pit stop, or bumming around. What’s more, I’ve now landed myself a job behind the bar tax-free and all the drinks that I desire!

Over 6 weeks has passed since I arrived on this little island. I now find myself overcome with an overwhelming sense of attachment. I don't want to leave! Right now, I just want to do, see and experience everything in the little time I have left. Fortunately J-Frog is on the same wavelength so at least I have a partner in crime.

Our weekends start on Wednesdays when we go a tope every night until at least 3am. This takes us to Sunday and then there’s hangover Mondays (and Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays) when we go to work, feel sorry for ourselves and then have a siesta before doing it all over again! One example of a typical a tope session happened last Saturday night when the girls: Hannah, J-Frog and I went out and partied until the early hours, ended up at a French guy’s house, smoked the Devil’s leaf and us 3 spending the night. J-Frog passed out first! Hooray I’ve now surpassed her conscious tolerance! We got a taxi home in the morning and were hoping to siesta for the rest of the day to recuperate for yet another night out on Sunday but J-Frog and I found ourselves unable to enter the desirable vortex of dreams. So what did we do? We went back to Giuseppe’s for a nutritious Mediterranean breakfast of beer and wine, followed by dessert round his of the Devil’s Leaf and yet more wine. I have now named Sundays ‘The Day of the Dead’ as that’s how we feel every Sunday after 5 nights of hardcore partying.

Indeed, this buoyant and carefree lifestyle of partying, absorbing the Devil’s leaf, drinking, meeting random but fascinating people and sleeping at weird hours really takes me back to my student days. I really thought I’d left those behind but now at least I don’t have to contend with essay deadlines, meetings and revision.

The most notable personality trait which I’ve acquired here is a far more relaxed attitude. ¡No pasa nada! ¡Tranquila! ¡No hace falta! (Don´t worry, calm down, no need) seem to be the general mottoes here. So why worry when you have mottoes like that? I know that when I return to England (an alcoholic), after my next adventures to Hong Kong, Taiwan, Macau and the North of England (‘God!’ I hear you think, ‘I hope she doesn’t write another fucking blog for those as well!’), I intend to become a ‘real’ person, with a ‘real’ job and career prospects so whilst we’re here in the Canaries where it is sooooo much cheaper to go out, has better weather, it is rent-free, tax-free, you name it then you have to take advantage and just enjoy the experience! (Chung, B. (2012). The philosophy of a great, young mind. The Retarded Land of Bonbon, Pony Book club Inc.)

Over 2 weeks ago, I truly demonstrated my knack for being retarded by pouring hot water into a glass which then exploded over my foot. Luckily I was not scalded and Amma was at home to save the day! She went to our neighbours’ house, who called the ambulance. I was promptly taken to the emergency centre where I received a tetanus vaccine and had six stitches placed on my two deep, bloody wounds. First time I’d ever had stitches! Wooo, what an achievement!

Maybe I was high off the vaccine but my first thought after this horrific ordeal was not what would become of my foot, or any other preoccupation regarding my general health, but what this injury would deter me from doing. Again, the ‘Canarian’ God smiles upon my Bonny face for I was still able to continue with my normal routine AND go to Maspalomas and various other trips during my recovery. I am thankful for this. If my injury had deterred me from going to Maspalomas, I wouldn’t have been able to rub sun cream over the back of a naked, fat, middle-aged pervert who was blatantly following me and J-Frog as we strolled along the nudist beach. (You may laugh but this DID actually happen, and who else would it happen to but me!) Ah! I feel that this occasion calls for a perfect subjuctive+conditional perfect clause in Spanish: Si la herida me hubiera impedido ir a Maspalomas, no habría podido echar crema solar sobre la espalda de un señor desnudo, gordo y de mediana edad, quien luego nos siguió por la playa nudista hasta que paramos, él se detuvo y dejó de perseguirnos.

I received no sympathy from J-Frog, who just stood there and laughed, and have since discovered that the Oriental ladies in Maspalomas are hired to give massages so this dude was probably just confusing innocent little me with one of them! Just my friggin’ Canarian luck!

As we go out more, more drunken sayings between J-Frog and I seem to be developing. They’re brilliant, but the sort where you have to be there to find them funny. Here are a few examples:

Italian Guy: Succumb? That sound errr dirty, like suck and cum.

Bonny: Succumb. Suck and cum… That’s OK, that’s like ‘assume’ to make and ass of you and me.

J-Frog: Bonny, is that a chewee-chewee? (referring to chewing gum)

Bonny: No!... (runs sneakily away)

J-Frog: Ohw! You know I’d always give you my cheese! (For those of you who don’t know, I have a dangerous addiction to cheese. Put a bit in front of me and it’ll be gone in less than a blink of an eye.)

J-Frog: I was a genius, until I found sex, drugs and rock n’ hole.

Bonny: Yeah that’s where we are now, stuck in a hole!

J-Frog: (After our wonderful liquid breakfast on Sunday) I feel dead!

Bonny: That’s OK. It’s Sunday. Sunday’s the day of the dead.

J-Frog: URANUS!

Bonny: What?!

J-Frog: I knew there was a planet with sexual connotations!

(After spilling drink on her chest) As I said, my tits drink more than me.

J-Frog is also an expert at what and what not to mix with alcohol. Get this:

Bonny: Is it safe to take paracetamol when you drink?

J-Frog: No. It’ll destroy you from inside.

It’s strange; J-Frog and I are slowly but surely turning into each other. She has started eating blocks of cheese at a time, speaking Chinese and not leaving food leftovers. Shit man, she might even start eating apple cores soon!

I have starting drinking more and doing all nighters’, the last few times we’ve been out, I’ve managed to stay conscious far later than she’s been able to and I’m now starting to pick up a few useful Polish words!

As for work, p’ah?! I laugh in the face of this terminology. I finished all the tasks assigned to me ages ago and cannot be bothered to ask for more.

I love it though and am in no way discontent! Last week I shadowed three tours in the museum which were first given in Spanish and interpreted, by yours truly, into English which got me out of the library and up in action!

As well as taking long walks throughout the day I also spend copious amounts of time in the staff room where I speak to the cleaners. They are called Lydia, Carmen and Cale. With them I get to practice A LOT of Spanish, especially colloquial Spanish. They’re great company and there’s always laughter, banter, dancing and allsorts going on there. Cale is particularly fascinating! He’s a 42-year old homosexual who cleans at the museum during the day, is a designer-decorator by afternoon and a professional dance teacher by night. We have sooooo much in common! We both love dance, dressing up and theatrical make-up and loads of other stuff. On my ‘breaks’ we talk about LOADS of stuff: sex, relationships, dance forms, his love of London, men, dressing-up, etc. I sometimes spend my breaks having a bit of a jiggle with him too! He loves talking about his boyfriend and their ‘themed weeks’ where they select a country and everything they do that week has to be related to the chosen country. So that means dressing up in that country’s fashion, speaking the language, eating/cooking food from that country. You get the idea.

Most of the Canarians I’ve met here like to clearly distinguish themselves from mainland Spain, the majority of them consider themselves Canarians and not Spaniards. Last week I even saw a political demonstration from a Canarian Separatist party who want to make Gran Canaria a Muslim island. I guess it makes sense when you consider that the Canaries are geographically closer to North Africa and have different fiscal, political, etc systems. The way they speak is closer to Latin American Spanish than the Spanish spoken in the mainland.

At first when I started meeting natives of the island and they introduced themselves to me as ‘Canarians’, I used to think that there was absolutely no need to be so pedantic but then again it’s the same for me when people assume, yes they make an ass of themselves and me!, that I’m from China and I have to specify that ‘my parents’ are actually from ‘Hong Kong’ which is separate from China. This phrase ALWAYS follows the classic:

New person: Where are you from?

Bonny: I’m English.

New Person: [Brief pause and a look of confusion and disbelief] But where are you really from? China? Japan? Korea? Philippines?

Bonny: [More staunchly] I’m from England, but my parents are from Hong Kong.

Ah well, no pasa nada! I know it’s something that I’m going to have to deal with for as long I keep meeting new people, unless I move to Hong Kong of course where hopefully they’ll all just assume that I’m a native.

As for the bet, Joanna lost and will be running into the sea naked tonight at 9pm! Phew!

That will be all. Ciao for now.

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[1] To go all out, extremely, completely

[2] Those of you who know me well enough will understand this terminology which was used in my student days. Those of you who don’t will just have to ponder on its meaning. 

‘My name is NOT Pony or Naomi and my boyfriend is NOT Clyde!’

I am now in my third week of working in the library of La Casa-Museo de Benito Pérez Galdós as a translator. The tasks which I have been assigned are improving the English Google-translated version of the museum’s brochure, which I finished in 2 days, so I am now translating it from Spanish to Chinese. The hours are long and the money’s terrible! Joke! My hours are 09.30-14.00 from Monday to Friday and it’s an unpaid internship, so blurgh! The translations themselves ought to take hardly any time but I’m making them last as long as possible, mainly because there is no deadline and I am left to my own devices. In reality, work is a really good opportunity to check my emails, surf the net, go on Facebook (much to my own aversion), take super-long walks and chat to my colleagues for much longer than I ought to. Just the other day I went out for a walk, lost track of time and ended up taking 40 minutes! When I got back, Ana, the very chirpy woman who sits behind me chatted to me for a while before asking me if I’d been on a break and if not, then I should go and take one! I like Ana, she’s a massive ‘foodie’ and loves anything sweet! She spent a good hour, in my first week, talking to me about her trip to London and how much she loved cupcakes there. She knows all the famous cupcake companies and all the best places (in London, of course) where you can get them. It’s good practice for my Spanish though.

There is a place near our apartment called Cien Montaditos, which we frequent most Wednesdays when you pay 2€ for a beer or tinto de verano on its own, or the same price for the same drink AND a montadito (a small baguette with any filling of your choice). As you may have been able to fathom there are 100 different types of montaditos. All you have to do is go to the counter to order your drink and montadito and give your name. They then give you a receipt and you have to wait for your name to be called. Last Wednesday, J-Frog[1] (her nickname in Polish is Zaba which means ‘frog’) showed me her receipt where her name was written ‘Yoana.’ I proceeded to look at mine and written in four clear, capital letters was the word ‘PONY!’ Naturally everyone burst out laughing, myself included, but what I thought would be a transient joke has actually turned in to something more permanent. Amma now calls me Pony, or Bonbon, but mostly Pony. When we went on a yoga trip at the weekend, I introduced myself to some people who also thought that I’d said Pony. This, of course, served to fuel Amma’s Pony-calling fire.

Due to our different working hours, Mikey is no longer able to give me weekly ballet lessons. This I have compensated for by trying out a whole host of other dance forms and physical disciplines. Last week I tried out something called Biodanza, but it really was not for me. The whole focus was on relinquishing stress and ill-feeling through creative dance, then reflecting on your thoughts and feelings and those of the others who are dancing with you, by placing your hand upon your heart after every dance. Far too profound for my liking! Last Friday I had my first class in Kundalini Yoga. Not what I expected at all! Here the focus is on breathing loudly and chanting mantras to expel any stress, and cultivate the spiritual awareness of the self in order to remain calm and help others. This class was followed by a two-hour reflection about how Kundalini has helped each individual. Amongst some of the comments made were: ‘Kundalini has helped me find the real me’, ‘Before Kundalini I was sad and dissatisfied but I’ve been on a spiritual journey and found my true self’, ‘When I went on a Kundalini retreat I could feel my sexual organs pulsing in time with Mother Nature’s heartbeat’… You get the general gist. It’s a bit too sensual and emotive for my liking but hey, the classes are free so I may as well take advantage. Afterwards Amma, Camilla (her Italian friend who was lodging with us for a few days) and I were invited to a yoga meet which took place on Saturday evening at El Roque Nublo - one of the most famous landmarks of Gran Canaria, situated over a 1000km above sea level. We were driven there by Hector, one of the yoga instructors, who parked up at the bottom of the mountain. We had to hike around 40 minutes to get to the actual monument. After we arrived we had to wait around for other yoga participants to arrive, which gave me precious time to enjoy the spectacular views, meet new people and be at one with nature. From there you could see Tenerife, El Hierro, as well as enjoy panoramic views of all the nearby towns. Really, it was AMAZING! The yoga class lasted over an hour and was followed by a short course of meditation. Afterwards we had dinner on the mountain and froze our asses off when Hector decided that he wanted to chant for longer. We arrived back in Las Palmas at around midnight and were absolutely knackered. Though the strenuous activity and the fresh air made me feel like a million dollars the next day.

On Monday I tried another class of yoga which was far more suited to my taste. It was more ‘orthodox’ (to put it nicely) and had a really calming and relaxing atmosphere. The teacher was also very helpful with regards to my posture. One thing that put me to shame though was the realization that the majority of the participants, who are over 40, were more flexible than me! Oh well, practice makes perfect. Yesterday I tried a class of Bollywood dancing and it was SOOOOOOO FUN! Also, it’s much cheaper than the ‘orthodox’ yoga so I’m definitely considering taking that up.

With regards to my social life it’s still desenfrenada (wild) as hell. I went out most nights last week, be it to pasarmelo de puta madre (have a fucking mental night), to play beach ball, or just to take a walk. 

J-Frog and I have stopped frequenting Camaleón as we wanted a new place of interest. We found one last Wednesday called Soul Kitchen, which I was invited to by 2 Finnish girls that I’d met at (ha, you guessed it!) Camaleón. On Wednesdays they have live music and Sunday is their international social night. Last week I went to both nights and met lots of new international people who are all travelling, studying, or bumming around. I introduced myself to various people and it seems that when they hear the name Bonny, it tends to conjure up the name Clyde. Most of the guys there took the piss out of me by saying ‘Oh so you must be married to Clyde’, or ‘Do you have a boyfriend called Clyde?’, ‘You ought to marry a Clyde.’ (How about I marry a Clyde Tyler and that would be amusement at my expense for life!) The night culminated in J-Frog and I on the beach with 3 German guys, the 2 Finnish girls, some Italians and Luca, the owner of Soul Kitchen. We sat there playing guitar, singing songs and drinking heartily. I’ve since taken a liking to Luca, he’s a lovely old soul who never takes note of who has ordered what and ends up charging people too much, too little, or as was the case yesterday asking the customer for an offer! Luca himself is drunk or high most of the time so if you were to walk out without paying, as Hannah did the other night, he wouldn’t even notice. His waiter, Gustavo, is even fucking worse! He gets pissed and walks home talking absolute shit, and thinking that he’s the fountain of all knowledge. I would just have taken full advantage of their fecklessness, but Hannah being the honest soul that she is asked me to go back the next day and give him the money. God knows how they even manage to make any profit! We went again last night and an Israeli guy, Itai, who I’ve met several times thought that my name was Naomi and proceeded to call me that for the rest of the night despite the fact that I’d corrected him every time.

So far the no-sex bet is still on but J-Frog is almost verging on the point of breaking. The other night, when we were all nicely drunk, with three dashing Germans, one of whom J-Frog was getting on especially well, she even offered to run in to the sea naked in dubious foresight of what the future may hold! As a loyal and trustworthy friend, I persuaded her against it for various, practical reasons. Firstly, Hannah wasn’t there to witness it. Secondly, she would have been doing it with other people, so would actually save herself from the humiliation of doing it alone. Thirdly, she might actually pull through and win the bet. She’s done well so far!

So what lessons have I learnt from the aforementioned experiences? Firstly, that pronunciation has never been my forte, or most of the people that I’ve met don’t actually care about names, and secondly that I am audacious, *ahem* miserly, enough to walk out of a small-time establishment without paying, but hey! at least my infallible logic and loyalty as a friend compensates for that. ¿Verdad?

Oh yeah, we finally got a new oven last week but lo and behold the mains cut out every time you turned it on so we couldn’t use it for another week. This week someone came to fix it and so far, so good. Only thing is the nobs are in reverse order so you have to turn them to the left, instead of right, only one of the nobs has numbers AND the higher the number the lower the heat! That’s Spain for you though! At least we have a working oven… For the time being.

That’s it for now folks but join me next time for more fun-filled frolics in the Canaries!

Lots of Love,

Bugs BonnyPonyBonbon Naomi and Clyde.

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[1] With respect to the individual’s request for anonymity, the author is henceforth obliged to use an alternative name.