Orientación.

Orientación. 

Training. 

As mentioned previously I was required to attend a training day in Madrid from Thursday to Saturday; luckily another assistant here with parents and a hire car gave me a lift. The 5/6 hour journey was made bearable in part by company (when you don't know anyone and thus haven't had a full face-to-face conversation in your native language for 1.5 weeks, talking is pretty great. I like talking) but also the views! We drove through green and rugged mountains with small pueblos and deep lakes tucked away in valleys with a landscape which could only be described as Alpine. This was complete when we saw cows with bells around their necks. 

Madrid appeared in all it's old-master glory, when we arose from it's maze of underground roads. The ministry had placed around 200 auxiliaries in the 4 star Hotel Convención; why they wasted money on us when they admitted most state schools have limited and outdated resources is puzzling and worrying. My entrance into the hotel (even before my partner in crime Katherine, a Catalan whizz, arrived) sparked 3 days of English spoken mayhem. 

Naturally tired, I had a lie down, seeing I had 10 minutes before the talk at 5:30 I had a last stretch and woke up at 10 to 6. Rushed down to the foyer, to jump on Katherine from behind and find the meeting was at 6. Then at dinner I dropped an olive down myself and at breakfast when going to get more food, the waiter directed us (only us) to sit outside, on our own. 

Our informative-stimulating-and-busy program began with an hour of the most pointless speeches from each ambassador for the countries participating (Belgium, Australia, UK, Ireland, USA, France, Germany, China, Portugal and Spain itself), basically saying thanks for the program. And don't get me wrong, it's a brilliant scheme with benefits for everyone involved but having someone 'important' tell me that in 5 languages is wasteful. Highlights included the loudest clap and most laughs for the UK rep and a speech so 'American' from the USA it was almost nauseating (power words, patronizing towards Spain as if they're doing a favour for a third world country by teaching them THEIR language). All this at 9 am. 

The day steadily became more relevant but ended with the declaration that everyone needed to open a bank account by Friday 4th October. I believe the assistants who had arrived directly in Madrid before going on to their region to begin were nervously sweating (and uttering curses) more than I was.  

The last day ended with a trip to the Mueso del Prado (free opening hours from 6-8pm!) to see Bocsh's Garden of Earthly Delights, Las Meninas and my favorite painting there:  

   

'Equestrian Portrait of The Duke of Lerma' by Rubens 

Many people had also decided to go out and the Leeds contingent asked us to for predrinks and a trip to a roof-top bar! We accepted, drew similar eyeliner flicks and knocked on the door at 11. No answer. We heard noise further down, so knocked on that door, were let in only to find no-one we knew. We quickly left only to hear 'they should have stayed...'. I decided we should go out anyway, asked at the reception and got told about bar Geografico. So off we went, only to not find it and that everyone we asked didn't know it. So after aimlessly wandering soberly we went to a bar that was a) named after the street and b) apparently only served mojitos. Under my rubric of 'WE'RE GOING TO HAVE FUN' we had a strawberry mojito each, then went back to the hotel bar to find they didn't serve cocktails (to quote the bartender 'ningun cocktail' and ended up having a milkshake (that filled only half the glass) and a hot chocolate). 4 * beverages at 1 in the morning. Went and cartwheeled down the corridor while in a state of mild hysteria about 'HAVING FUN', went to bed, woke up, went wandering, nearly got run over before departing for the North. Enroute we saw a low rainbow, possibly a sign of hope for the impeding teaching, before it poured down, which also caused a skidded broken car on the road. 

I've now found out a) the bar is actually club Geografico and that it serves lots of cocktails, b) the others moved rooms before we gatecrashed some other people's predrinks and c) I have fresher's flu from being around so many new people in a small space. 

But because Katherine was there WE HAD LOTS OF FUN!

¡Reunión!

¡Reunión!

Meeting! 

I have endured and enjoyed several meetings this past week. However, the outcome of my school meetings has led to an easier clarification between them than their long, Spanish, catholic names.

My first meeting with Colegio de la Inmaculada Concepción, run by the Jesuits, involved me arriving at this building: 

It's now known as 'the scary one' (said this was easier didn't I?!)The meeting with my tutor confirmed this. My Spanish was poor and when I wasn't speaking I said 'sí' and nodded a bit too much, even when my inner self was shaking it's head, looking puzzled. I also had forgotten the important ERASMUS forms they had to sign for me (to confirm I haven't lied about my placement)as well as my passport, for some reason they needed the number. My tutor also possessed a bunch of keys the size of melon and proceeded to unlock the majority of the rooms we entered. So far, so reform institute. My tutor seemed welcoming although, after both schools changed my timetable, after emailing me with new times while I was out trying to register with the local government (essential time-consuming bureaucracy) she sent me this alarming one-lined email :

"POR FAVOR, DIME QUE TE SIRVE" 

Politely asking me to confirm the hours when I had a free moment. 

The second school looked more child friendly with paint hand-prints and inspiring words (paz, esperanza, amor...peace, hope, love) along the playground wall. My tutor spoke English to me without me even asking, printed off my timetable for me and even the cleaning staff were happy to meet me. And less locks. El Colegio Virgen Mediadora is now 'the nice one'. 

And just to make things even more confusing and prep-filled, I am teaching secondary level at the 'scary one' and primary level at the 'nice one'. But I have Fridays off and no work after 4 on Thursday; WIN!

Techo.

Techo. 

Roof.

The Spanish phrase 'los sin techo' refers to homeless (or roof-less) people. But as of 24th September I am no longer a homeless immigrant, I'm a immigrant con techo. I have found a flat in the L'arena area, which is considered the main student area in Gijón which centres around La Fabrica del Gas, a plaza with fountains. I am about 10 minutes walk from the sands of the Playa de San Lorenzo, around 2 minutes stroll from my beloved emus, and most importantly for my far-flung amigos, 7 seconds from the post office.

There I am!

I'm sharing a 6th floor flat (thankfully there's a lift) with 2 chicas, one student and 1 graduate. My next project is subtly integrate myself with them in the hope of reaching the university expected level of fluency and achieving  the socially acceptable title of amiga, rather than that-girl-wholivesnexttothekitchen. They have been welcoming and very helpful, which I am most grateful for. Especially as I fear one of my schools now believes I am mentally deficient as well as lacking degree-level Spanish. 

However, I was heartened to discover that my room contains no less than 15 cupboards, 10 draws and 33 shelves. Definitely enough storage to contain any woes I may possess.

And yes, I was sad enough to count them all... 

And if anyone's wondering where the bed is, it conveniently falls out of the wall. 

Yes, I have a 'cama de 90', a bed which travels 90 degrees every night just so I can sleep. Although during the day I do fear it will spontaneously fall (asleep) on me. 

I will be, however, spending Thursday and Friday night in Madrid for an induction. Well, it's paid for, in Madrid, there'll be people I actually know and I'll get fed; of course I was going to go.

Mejor.

Mejor. 

Better. 

Last night I attended my first fiesta! La Fiesta de San Mateo is a week long affair with (mostly free) concerts, children's activities and theatre events, culminating in an epic fireworks display in el Parque de Invierno. Having heard about it from the ERAMUS Facebook group a few hours before, at 9pm I stood in the giant cola (queue) for the bus and was lucky to get a seat on the 3rd one to arrive. The streets were lit up with strings of lights (like Christmas!) and las calles were rammed with people. I watched Tamara, a singer from Sevilla, and the electronic set by Kresy (both I highly recommend). The fuegos artificiales (fireworks) were spectacular; fireworks always make me feel simple and childlike amazement, they're the epitome of transient beauty for me. And the noise sounded like Oviedo was about to be reduced to rubble. 

The fiesta also emphasized how much better Spain is than Britain, in regard to society. It's probably in part to do with weather, but the Spaniards are incredibly socially and family orientated. Just walking round Gijon, it seems that everyone knows each other; clusters of people on every street looking at babies in prams and chatting, old ladies walking arm in arm (linking arms is a very common social gesture here) and despite the 'recession', every bar and cafe I walked past tonight was full. Families are often together, 2 or 3 generations larking around, while teenagers are nearly always huddled with their own (and skateboards); it's all so sociable. (My foreign-ness aside) it makes me feel a little more isolated in the social jungle here, but it's wonderful to observe people who have such a togetherness and love for company. 

I feel like an awkward distant relative visiting a large family, an observer waiting to be included. At the same time it reminds me of my own family (including the ever thought-of home-fam, my friends). 

I haven't even been here a week... 

Pato.

Pato.

Duck. 

Even though I've only been in Gijón for 3 days and spent around 70% of that time (not including sleeping) being lost, usually when trying to return from locations Google Maps helped me reach, I think I have discovered my favorite place.

Parque de Isabel La Católica, in L'arena area in the North-West of the city. 

This is not just an average park, it's even better than a theme park (oooooh I said it). It has a lake, not 1 but 2 play-parks, not that I go on them, I may break something, and it has AN AVIARY! 

Yes birds, lots of birds, or if you're Hitchcock, the birds! If you suffer form ornithophobia do not continue, there will be pictures. 

I was having a gander (!) in the park while waiting for a flat viewing, having turned up early thanks to my written, strict instructions, when a peacock appeared. On a wheelie bin.

I then proceeded on to find the biggest and fullest bird cage I'd ever seen, complete with 2 layers of grids to protect fingers and beaks. there were green parrots, rainbow coloured pheasants, a white peacock (looked like a snow queen) and many other multi-hued feathery things. Following the sound of crowing I peeped round the side to see an open topped enclosure; with emus!

For anyone, like me until recently, who hasn't seen an emu, they look a bit like a dinosaur who's hiding under a 70's feathered carpet. they stand and stare quite a bit as well. But they are cute. 

There was even a baby one in the bird cage. 

I think they're also cleverly compact-able and funny when they lie-down. 

I had another stroll around today and reached the lake. It was duck and swan galore. They had white and black swans (I'd never seen a black swan before), geese, big white ducks, standard British looking ducks, big grey ducks, big brown ducks and I swear I saw a mandarin drake as well. 

At the information board an English couple were discussing the birds they'd seen and, having noticed a white lump in the tree, I asked them what it was. I was congratulated on spotting an egret.  

And to end on a non-duck related note in my favorite place, I saw my first ardilla roja: 

Confusión.

Confusión.

Confusion. 

I have arrived, safely deposited in Gijón, tucked away in my hostel room. 

I have also arrived in a state of confusion.

I was confused when at Stansted airport my case only 20 kg, instead of the dreaded 27. 

I was perplexed when 2 buses pulled up at the airport and the herd I had gained shelter with (read clung onto) got on it. Which to choose?! (I chose right and ended up here instead of Oviedo.) 

I was puzzled when the receptionist gave me a key and pointed outside of the reception a few doors down the street. Then, when inside the building 'down the street', I was confounded to find no hostel rooms at all, only flat entrances. 

After a big panic in a very small lift I made it to the 1st floor and to my room. Who would have though that habitación 104 meant room 4, floor 1?

Then once in the hostel, I couldn't get out. I was baffled to not be able to open the door, luckily a couple came in after 3 minutes (they must have been confused; why was this person lurking behind a door?), releasing me. 

The receptionist said I just had to pull the handle down (harder obviously). She must have been not only be confused but concerned about me, being alone in a foreign country. With doors. 

After all that, I have also spent 4 hours getting joyfully lost and confused around the streets and doors of Gijón.

However, the main thing that confuses me is why there is a lemon in the draw in my room.

  

Idiota.

Idiota .

Idiot.

The definition of which can be seen as one who is too preoccupied with other year abroad issue that one forgets to check that Easyjet does in fact require you to print off your own boarding pass after checking in online. Your printer is also out of ink and as it's a Sunday nowhere in your small town offering such services is open. You proceed to trail round half the neighbors in you cul-de-sac accompanied by your mother and Larry (the cat) to find everyone else's printer is also broken, forcing you to drive to W H Smiths to spend £30 on a black cartridge to print a single page thus relieving your (and more importantly your mother's) deep stress and anxiety of even getting to the 'abroad', never mind the whole year.

Suffice to say yesterday as a victim of my own stupidity, disorganization and circumstance was stressful. 

BUT I'M PACKED! I leave today to stay with someone nearer Stanstead (thankfully there are such people and Dad just happens to know one) as Easyjet are not only the only company that fly to Asturias but they only fly from Stanstead. So many 'only's can only mean it's an exclusive privilege, surely....   

¡Hasta luego hogar!

¡Hola!

¡Hola! 

Hello! 

The year abroad I never thought would happen, it appears, is very much happening. So I've decided to honour my uncertainty, fear and slight excitement by starting my first blog. 

I study English and Spanish at Leeds University, but for this year I'm being a British Council English Language Assistant. Basically, I go to a bilingual school, help the teacher (who I'm hoping will also help me) to help the kids.

I'm not sure I like children. 

Good job I picked Primary school as my 'age preference'. 

But I'm sure I like Spain.

Despite picking one of the wettest, coldest regions as my 'area preference'. 

That's right, ASTURIAS here I come! 

   

There I'll be, sandwiched between Galicia and Cantabria on the Bay of Biscay in Green Spain.

My city is Gijón, right on the coast, the largest city (but Oviedo is the capital).

During my last 5 days in England I'm hoping to (other than sorting my suitcase/life/fiances) find out more about The North. I've never really looked into Northern Spain before, like many others, my perception of Spain has been quite a southern to central one. However, that was one of the reasons I chose Asturias to, as my Mum would say, "try something different".