First and foremost, apologies for the lateness of this last post. I started writing this towards the end of my time in the Canaries and managed to finish it but, for some unknown reason, never posted it. The retard that I am. In case you wanted to know, I left Gran Canaria on 1st December 2012 and am now in Hong Kong. I was just browsing through the files on my USB and stumbled upon this little beauty so thought better post this late than never. In case you didn't, unlucky. Here is the grand final of '50 Shades...':
*
Imagine yourself walking along the pier of a beach with velvety golden sands.You are surrounded by beautiful people of all different ages, all smiles and laughter. The sea is as clear and blue as the sky, the calming sound of the waves brushing against the shore is enough to send you to sleep. Then, out of nowhere, a massive tsunami hits and you are washed away into oblivion.
Snap back to reality. It's not a wave, it's beer or some horrid concoction of alcohol which some drug-induced, raving lunatic has just knocked in to me. I don't care though, I'm sufficiently wasted and that's all that matters. La Tomatera, a hangout which is conjoined to a squat, is my new place of interest! It's great, the place is frequented by life-loving, tree-hugging hippies and travelers. Every Thursday the residents of the squat offer free food, made with 'recycled' food (perishable food which has been skipped from bins), offer drinks and have a movie showing. The place does not charge for entry or drinks but encourage donations.
The squat is a construction of complete genius. It's an abandoned 3-storey house with a fully equipped kitchen and bathroom. The top floor is an open balcony where there are beds for people to sleep on as well as a little DL plantation! I'm actually quite envious and tempted to move in because they have full-length mirrors AND... wait for it... wait fooooooorrrrr iiiiiiiiiittttttttt...INTERNET, all things which our 'chic, modern' apartment lacks! All free of charge as well!
There are only two and a half weeks left. I'm at risk of sounding like an old fogey but I can't believe how quickly time is flying by. I'm still battling on with the DL and alcohol-related frenzy which takes place on this island though. In the past few weeks, Giuseppe's Pomodoro has had a mass turnover of employees, by mass I mean 3 people have either left or been fired. Giuseppe has instead 'hired', or for want of a more appropriate word, requested one of his friends from rugby and the wife of the chef to help out. No word of a lie, the last few times that J-Frog and I went the clientele was literally only Italians, the majority of which were male. You'd think that that would entice us in to going more often but these Italians are meat-feasters. Get a sufficient amount of alcohol down them and they're all over any young girl like an unrelenting genital itch. Giuseppe himself has started to show his loco (crazy) side. He comes out with the weirdest and most random shit and has also started to make advances on J-Frog to the point of unhealthy obsession.
Work is same old, same old. Shit, fuck-all to do, except chat with my colleagues and the cleaners downstairs but I love them all so it's totally worth it. J-Frog and I are practically joined at the hip. Not only do we live together and, effectively, see and go out with each other all the time, but we also message each other random crap on Facebook when we're at work ALL THE TIME. We even miss each other when we've been apart for longer than 2 hours. I don't know why I was so surprised when I saw that the last 7 (very long) posts on her wall were all from me! 'Needy' I hear you think. Well, no! I'm not attached, I just feel sorry for her because she has no other friends here! (Only joking J-Frog, kocham cie!)
For the past 2 Saturdays we have gone to La Plaza de Musica where there is live music played by local and national bands, in the bars surrounding the plaza. Our favourite bar is called Mojo, it's brilliant when said in an English accent. Most people get there around midnight and then afterwards there is music until the early hours and by early I mean 4-5am. If the after-party-like cacophony and raucous hoards of ravers are enough to scare you off, you can always go out to the plaza where there are hawkers selling beers for 1€, a dude selling hot dogs and loads of people smoking and drinking. It's a great way to meet new people and do some crazy shit, like run around naked and scrounge free drugs and alcohol.
The tides have turned and the weather is changing. The days are grey and the temperature only reaches a maximum of 21 degrees. But it's so much colder compared to when we first arrived. Central heating doesn't exist here so I have to use 2 duvets. It rains quite a lot as well which seems to be making people a little more gloomy. I guess this is good prep for when we go back to the freezing cold UK...
NO! No, no,no! Nein, nein, nein! I refuse to think like that. I have enjoyed every bleeding moment of my time here since the very beginning and WILL continue to do so until I bloody leave. So bring on more fiestas, more siestas, more DL and crazy, random, freaky antics!
Thursday, 27 December 2012
Monday, 29 October 2012
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
*
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 London
Most of the
Canarians I’ve met here like to clearly distinguish themselves from mainland Spain 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.
Thursday, 11 October 2012
‘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 London
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
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
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 .
[1] With respect to the individual’s request for anonymity, the author is
henceforth obliged to use an alternative name.
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Alcoholiday: Siestas, Fiestas and Spanish men.
Being in
Spain has become an excuse and a reason for ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING! Eating too
much, eating too little, eating at weird times, being come on to by Lesbians
who frequent Erasmus bars, the list is endless. We’ve been promised many
things; most importantly: the internet!!! The other day the housemates and I
were anxiously waiting to get the internet and when we were finally given the
password, lo and behold, it didn’t work. Why? ‘Because we’re in Spain!’ As I
mentioned last time, the concepts of time and urgency in this country is nil.
When someone promises you something the general expectation is that they’ll be
late or won’t do the job properly. Our first oven broke down on the fourth day
in and we were promised a replacement with immediacy. The replacement finally
arrived a week and a half later but broke only a few hours after its first use.
We are still waiting on that puta internet,
a television AND a new oven which was supposed to arrive yesterday. Worry
not though. Why? [Porque] Estamos en España, no
pasa nada. (Because
we’re in Spain, it doesn’t matter.) That’s the current catchphrase in our
household which summarises the Spanish attitude to life in a nutshell.
Despite the
comment about time coming to a standstill, in actuality it is flying by!!!
Already we are in the third week of this programme. Classes finished last
Friday and everyone started their placements today. As much as I complain about
how I dislike academia, I actually really enjoyed my classes. My teacher,
Carlos, was the most enthusiastic, vivacious and encouraging Spanish teacher
I’ve ever had. He explained everything with more clarity than the Atlantic
Ocean, which surrounds this island, and had more patience than a prisoner on
death row. This was due largely to the fact that he had a background in Greek
and Latin. When learning a language it is really important to have a maestro who
KNOWS HIS SHIT and is highly passionate about his job, coz you can guarantee
that learning about verbal periphrases and how to conjugate Spanish verbs in
the pluperfect subjunctive are not the most well-received activities of choice
at 9 o’ clock on a weekday morning!
So far I
like to think that I’ve immersed myself as much as possible in the Spanish
culture. Last week we had a first impromptu night out which ended up with the
discovery of a new and super-cheap Erasmus bar called Camaleón, which serves alcoholic drinks from as little as 1€ per glass! It was here where Rob demonstrated his knack for
getting very drunk in very little time. That night he also got with Nati, a
Spanish local who we can only speculate is actually a lesbian. Don’t know why
though. I, on the other hand, was come-on-to by 3 men. The first was David,
Nati’s friend who claimed he wanted to practice his English with a native
speaker. By this point though I, having drunk around 3 vodka and diet cokes, 3
tintos de verano (a Spanish concoction of red wine and lemonade) and a mojito,
was already deeply embedded in an inebriated stupor. I quickly lost track of
what poor David was saying (in English!) and decided to turn my back to him
midway through our conversation. The second guy was called Juan - I think! He
was a 41 year old – I think - teacher from Las Palmas who started rambling on
about the Spanish crisis. Errr how about no I’m fucked out of my brains and
can’t concentrate so you’re definitely NOT pulling tonight! Now, the third one
was definitely the best! They always say that they save the best for last. When
everyone had had enough we all decided to head home. This guy followed me when
I was outside, had the audacity to place his arm around my shoulder and declare
that he was coming back to mine to follarme!
The bloody cheek! Luckily Josh was on hand to offer his useful aesthetic
services. I quickly walked to the other side of the unassuming Josh and told
the Spanish guy that Josh was my boyfriend, which seemed to put him off. Thank
God! I’ve now designated Josh as my ‘pretend boyfriend’ on nights out. Josh is
6’2”, proper hench and has the look of someone you wouldn’t want to mess with.
He also comes from ‘uddersfield which means ‘e’s well ‘ard! No, it doesn’t
really. It just means he speaks Spanish with a Northern twang! Yes, it’s good
to have someone who looks like they’ll protect you from the meat-hungry eyes
and wandering hands of those greasy, Spanish sweater monkeys! We made it home
at around 3am and still made it in time for class at 9am the next day. Well, I
did anyway.
Other cultural
excursions where alcohol has not been the main component, have also taken
place. Last Thursday we went on a school trip to Agaete, a nearby mountain town
in the Northwest of the island. The town itself is tiny but we got some
spectacular views from the mountain and the trip made a nice change from Las
Palmas. On Sunday Hannah, Galina, Will and I took a little trip to Teror,
another quiet mountain town, located in the North of the island. Again, not
really much to do here. The town has a Church, a few museums, most of which
were closed as it was a Sunday. However we were able to enjoy the hustle-bustle
of the Sunday market which sells everything from arts, crafts and hand-made
jewellery to local chorizo. We stayed here for a few hours and took some photos
before heading back to Las Palmas.
Things are
still going swimmingly well within my household. So far so good, except last
week when Joanna decided to stink the fridge out with her fucking smoked
salmon! We girls spend most of our time together moaning about how bored we
are, or in mine and Joanna’s case, complaining about Spanish people. We’ve decided that, considering Spain is in
deep economic shit, they are a lazy bunch of so-and-sos. On more than three
occasions have we seen signs displayed on the front of shop doors saying
‘closed [for an extended period of time + due to whatever reason]’. The best
one we’ve come across so far was one stating ‘esta tienda está cerrada para un descanso personal’ (This shop is closed for a personal
rest.) The fact that the shop owner didn’t even bother to make up an excuse (was
obviously too lazy to do so) was enough to propel us in fits of hysterical,
gut-wrenching laughter.
So what do the Spaniards do to maintain
productivity and sustain the economy? Well, from what we’ve seen they spend
their time sunbathing on the beach, out drinking at bars, frequenting
nightclubs and eating tapas, or if you are a Spanish male, sat outside visually
molesting foreign girls (namely us), wolf-whistling and making crude comments. Yes, I’ve had every type of endearing
nomenclature hurled at me from guapa (beautiful),
to chinita bonita (beautiful Chinese
girl), to puta (God, how did they
know?!). Usually it is taken in good
jest but when the culprit happens to be a fat, dribbling, sweaty old excuse for
a man, I just want to tell him to ‘get a wife! And if you’ve already got one
(God help her!) then get a life!’ (See, that even rhymes).
Spaniards are
a very scatological race of people, using expletives in their everyday-language
like there’s no tomorrow. It’s always Joder
(fuck) this and coño (c***) that. In my attempt to be
more Spanish, I often address my beloved housemates as coños and greet them in the mornings with a delightful joder.
Last Friday
saw an end to our classes and this was, of course, a cause for celebration. As
the ETS lot have received a lot of complaints from the neighbours about noise
pollution, we decided that the best method of pre-drinking was to go out on the
street and do it. Bring on the botellón! So there we
were, practicing the antics of our pre-legal drinking age years and having a
whale of a time. That night I got absolutely fucked and ended up passing out at
a club. Thankfully nothing bad happened as Hannah and Joanna managed to get me
home safely, but not before I chundered up my bodyweight in what the boys
describe as an ‘orangey, liquid mess.’ Hannah begged to differ, saying that it
was more ‘yellow and eggy.’ (Thanks for analysing my sick guys!) Joanna couldn’t
handle her sexual frustration any longer (2 weeks is a long time for some
people, you know?) and ended up having ‘sex on the beach’ (T-Spoon (NOT
Vengaboys), 1997) with a random Spaniard. Obviously he wasn’t one of the lazy
ones. Hannah and I have since imposed a sex ban on Joanna for the next two
months. If she should fail, she must run naked in to the sea the day after the
offence. If she should succeed then Hannah and I must do it on 25th
November 2012. A written contract has been signed and dated by us three as
proof of this bet.
In other
news, there is no swing dancing scene in Las Palmas which has put me in great
distress. Instead I have started taking private ballet lessons with Mikey,
another lad on the vocational side of the programme. So far, so good but I
didn’t realise how taxing it is as a dance form. I’ve had 2 lessons and each
time I have come away with aching abs and painful hips!
I started placement
today in La Casa de Benito Pérez Galdós – home of the renowned Spanish writer,
novelist, playwright and poet. The museum-house is located in La Triana, an area within the
beautifully preserved old town which is often brimming with tourists and chic
Spaniards. When I found out that I was going to be working here as a
translator, last week, I was over-the-moon. This kind of thing is
right up my street so I got super-excited about it. The first day, however, was
tedious and uneventful. I turned up to work and my supervisor had been called
away to an important meeting. He’d left a message with only one woman, Ana, who
was the only one to know that I was meant to be there. She gave me a quick introduction
to my colleagues, then gave me 3 books on Pérez Galdós to read and left me to my own
devices. So there I sat, in the library for 3 hours educating myself on the man
and his works. At least I had a computer and free internet to hand. As much as
I want to avoid Facebook, sometimes it just calls to be used. Especially when
one has no internet at home!
Wednesday, 12 September 2012
50 Shades of Spain pt. 1
Once again,
I find myself in the sweltering, summer heat of August, on an island to which,
until now, I have not ventured. Where am I? Las Palmas de Gran Canaria in (but
not technically in) Spain. Is it
August? No, it’s September, autumn in most other European countries, but in
Spain anything’s possible. Temperatures here reach 40 degrees by day and the
sun is hot enough to roast a pig faster than you can say: ‘Jamon Serrano!’
I am here on a 12-week programme with the European Training
Services. Various people have asked me exactly what this traineeship will entail
and what it is that I’ll be doing. Good question. I had - and still have -
absolutely no idea. I just dressed it up by saying that it was an internship
for the EU, not strictly a lie seeing as I did find out about this programme
via the EU website. At the interview for this, which was held in a tiny, sleepy
town called Lichfield, all I gathered was that I would be enrolled on an
all-expenses paid 12-week holiday, I mean traineeship which included a 2-week intensive
Spanish course followed by 10 weeks of work experience. (For anyone who wants
to know, Lichfield is a cathedral city, civil parish[2] and district in Staffordshire,
England. One of eight civil parishes with city status in England, Lichfield is
situated roughly 25 km north of Birmingham.
In 2008, its population was estimated at 30,583 and the wider Lichfield district at 100,700. (Thank
you Wikipedia!)There are also 2 train stations.) I’d never heard of the place
until I got the interview except that Lichfield is written on some packets of
condiments that you find at social functions and Little Chef outlets. (Bonny’s
trivia!)
On the way here, I had the pleasure of meeting the other 9 participants
on this programme. We are 3 boys and 7 girls, all graduates with different
backgrounds, from different parts of the world and UK. Having only been sent
some very unflattering passport photos of each other and in contact via an ETS facebook
group, our introductions were of the sort reminiscent of freshers’ week. Where are you from? What did you study? What
were you doing before this? All in all everyone seemed to hit it off really
well. I was relieved to find out that none of the others knew what this ETS
thing was. One of the possibilities raised was that we would be going to Spain
to be sold as sex slaves and that ETS actually stood for Erotic Training
Services! Well, I’m not opposed to that if it guarantees me employment in a
country ‘up to its balls’ (hasta los
cojones) in economic recession! Furthermore, it just so happens that ETS in
Spanish stands for Enfermedades de
Transmision Sexual (STDs in English).
After a 4 hour plane journey we
finally arrived in Spain. Now, you know that you’re in Spain when you arrive on
a Saturday and it turns out randomly to be a bank holiday and you cannot make
head nor tail of shops’ opening and closing times. Only here do 50-year-old,
wrinkly, sexually frustrated men wolf-whistle and shout guapa (pretty/gorgeous/beautiful) at young, beautiful girls as
though they have a chance in hell of bedding them and only here do people lose
all concepts of time and urgency. Except of course when they do have to make an effort i.e. when they
have to protest (so quite a lot) or when they are food shopping at 11am on a
Sunday!
We were met at the airport by Orlando, our host for this
programme, taken to our accommodation and given a mini tour of the local area.
When I found out that the flats would be divided in to same-sex flats, my heart
sank. I’m obviously no misogynist; but I’ve always lived in a mixed-house and
found that to be the best option. I view myself as more of a ‘ladsy’ girl: I
like banter, especially of the sexual or vulgar kind, hate talking about
make-up and girly stuff, and have always believed that combined oestrogenic
tension under one roof always leads to fallouts and estrangement. So evidently
I just need to grow some balls and suck it up!
The reality
though could not be further from the truth. I am now living in a new, modern
apartment with 3 other girls: (Joanna, Hannah and Amma) and there is PLENTY of
banter! We are all very open and easy-going people with lots of stories to tell.
The flatmate who has made a massive impression on me and with
whom I share a very unique sense of humour is Joanna. Joanna is Polish. Enough
said. (Joke!) Her life is a comedy of errors that would make for a brilliant
smash-hit comedy. Not only did she turn up to the airport late and hungover,
but she was the only one of us who was charged for overweight baggage. What of
this? Well, when you count the 9 pairs of heels and 30 summer dresses that comprised
her suitcase you start to wonder what exactly goes on in her head. So far we
have spoken about very personal things, namely: sex, relationships, men,
Latinos, Scousers, Geordies, men and men. And sex. Last night, after a few drinks with the rest
of the group, we shared a very endearing moment together, where we were both in
which we both squatted in front of the open fridge eating cheese and consoling
ourselves that it was because we were pregnant!
Hannah, funnily enough, I knew of
and recognised, but had never actually spoken to, from Secondary and Upper
school. Small world eh?! We saw each other again at the interview and exchanged
a few brief words there but I honestly didn’t think I’d end up on this
programme so just resigned myself to the fact that I probably wouldn’t be
seeing her again. My heart leapt when I saw her name on the list. It’s always
nice to have some fresh, young, Suffolk/Cambridgeshire blood to add in to the
mix. So far we’ve been reminiscing about our old school friends who we’re still
in touch with and whether or not we know this or that person.
I met Amma at Lichfield and ended up
spending the entire day with her there. Now I am sharing a room with her. She
is unbelievably easy to get on with and very perky which makes life a lot
easier. I should hope that we’ll still be on speaking terms by the end of this
course, or more to the point that she has not killed me in my sleep. That
happens in Spain y’know?! Here, anything goes.
Of the others there is Rob, who
became engrossed in the sexcapades in of 50
Shades Darker and ended up reading 80 pages in 2 hours! Since then he has
become the group joke (and inspiration for the title of this blog) and has
demonstrated an encyclopaedic knowledge of SATC and Gossip Girl. He lives with
Josh and Will who both went to Manchester Uni. Then there are the other girls:
Leanne, who is Irish and likes potatoes, Joanne, owner of “50 Shades Darker”,
Galina – a Bulgarian with a very interesting Scottish-American English accent.
I had to wake up at 6.30am today for
a short placement test, which consisted of a 5-minute casual conversation after
which I was placed in B2, the highest level. Considering I’ve been studying the
language for 8 years I was actually hoping to be placed at the bottom level so
that I could shock and impress my peers. That, unfortunately, was not to be, so
I guess not everything is possible in
Spain.
Hope you
enjoyed reading this brief (ahem, not!) introduction my new life in Spain. Join
me next time for more fun-filled, sunny dramas in the Mediterranean.
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