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 25^th 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!

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.