Vive La France! or The Joy of Having a Dishwasher

Apologies for those who've come seeking news on the ups and downs of life in northern Spain. This post is dedicated to a recent trip I took with R (the boyfriend) to France. Ostensibly it was to pick up a ton of goodies my mum had left me there, but, given the 900 km (one way) drive, we turned it into a week's holiday - "Any excuse!" I hear you say, and yes, you are right.

But what the hell, R was in desperate need to escape from work for a while, and I decided that after the last four or five hectic, and increasingly stressful years at the academia I did indeed deserve to lengthen my summer holiday that little bit more before getting serious about the studies. So off to France we went.

Now, I'm not going to regale you with tales of what a fabulous holiday we had, oh no. But what I would like to do is a sort of comparison between my experiences in Spain and our week in France. R, by the way is Spanish, just so you know where his comments are coming from, culturally speaking.

Basically, France is great, as you may have guessed from the title of this piece. The cost of living in Spain having gone up recently (well, it's been constantly and noticeably going up for a long time  - my latest electricity bill included a re-billing for the last quarter of 2011 and the first quarter of this year, the government having decided that we really hadn't been paying enough) we discovered that France was not the extortionate hell-hole we had been expecting and that prices were, in fact, quite reasonable. What's more, some things were even cheaper, including petrol - this despite the fact that French fuel prices include road tax - and many supermarket basics, like natural yoghurts (a staple for R).

Also, R was extremely surprised at how pleasant everybody was. He was amazed by the smiling cashiers in the supermarkets (of which we visited plenty), the friendly and professional waiters and the nice optician who fixed my glasses for me for free.

Posing on"Kitten" Street, if you read Gatines in Asturian - I have reputation to maintain after all.

On top of this, we had a couple of excellent nights out at the neighbours' (French and English) and he thought everyone was brilliant. The village we were in (La Jonchère, in La Vendée) he declared a tranquil haven, adding that, were it to be in Spain, there'd be dogs running around the streets barking and neighbours shouting commentaries across the village at each other.

The only thing R decided wasn't as good as Spain, or better, was the wine, which was fair enough I thought.

As for me, I decided the drivers were much better behaved. In fact, I caught myself going round a roundabout the 'Spanish' way i.e. staying in the outside lane even though I was taking the last exit, and blocking off the poor French person on the inside who'd been doing it correctly - so accustomed am I to the bad roundabout drivers here, it seems, to my horror and shame, that I have become one.

However, the pièce de la resistance of the holiday was the dishwasher. Honestly. I've been washing-up by hand for the last eight years at least, more really if you add all those years spent as a student before coming here to Asturias, and now I had my very own dishwasher. What bliss! Needless to say I took full advantage before coming back home to my sink and Marigolds.

What I will add, is that a week is never going to be enough to see the downside of things wherever you go. The day before we left, we were served in the supermarket by a cashier who paused for a lengthy chat with some friends, leaving us waiting for her to finish before we could get hold of our shopping. When she did deign to serve us it was with not a word of apology or explanation.  And then on the way home I was overtaken by rather impatient van driver who decided that the speed limit wasn't to his liking and/or that he didn't want to be stuck behind a scruffy, Spanish Skoda. Obviously, things aren't perfect in France, as they aren't anywhere, but, to quote a well-known UK ad: What a refreshing change!

Oh, and one more thing - I had good giggle on the way home at passing St. Pee - well, you have to, don't you?

Raelha returns, part III (or is it IV?)

Yes, it's true: I've finally thrown on the Blogger mantle again! Hopefully, this time, it will be more pemanent and regular postings will abound.

And the reason for this reappearance? Well, I am now no longer working at the academia, nor any other academia for that matter, and so have much more time on my hands, not only to write the blog, but to actually go and do stuff that's worth writing about, or at least muse over. And why the sudden change, you may ask? It's all down to a change in plan, that I've been mulling over for the last few years. Long hours at the academia and holidays not necessarily when I needed them were part of it, and since I started doing translations as part of the work there, I realised that I enjoyed the task very much indeed. 

And so, I am retransforming myself into Translator Extraordinare, ta-daa! Unfortunately, it's not as easy as it sounds and I already failed one set of exams this January. Although not due to any general bad practice of mine, nor misunderstanding of Spanish, nor is there anything wrong with my grammar ( I should hope not!). No, what I need to improve is my English. Really. Idioms, fixed expressions, collocations, that sort of thing. Since I've been here so long, my English has started to deteriorate - not too much apparently, but it needs a bit of a boost. (Though I do feel the need to add, for my own ego, that there were also some parts of the exam that I did very well indeed - and that's the examiner talking, not me. Though another also said I need to read up on my contemporary Spanish history! Me! And s/he said it in reference to El Cid, who was around in the 11th century; methinks certain examiners should be improving their Iberian history too.) Hence my scribblings here again. Of course, blogging is always great fun, but now it has a double role: I get to regale you with stories of my life, and enjoy myself in the process (as usual) plus I am also able to practice my written English once more, which has been much neglected and needs improving if I'm to pass these exams. I'm sure, however, that now I'm not so stressed and tired with work, that the task will be a smidgen easier than before.

In the meantime, as well as studying (and for this read: watching English TV series - I've just finished the first series of An Idiot Abroad, brilliant and highly suitable for my current needs, though Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant are damn annoying -  watching documentaries in English, reading books, magazines in English and Spanish, as well as all the translation theory and doing practice translations) I shall still be looking for any translation work I can do since I know I'm pretty good already and can only improve with practice.

Translatordom, here I come!

How a New Year should start

Don't you just love those days when everything feels right and full of possibility? Well today, for me, has turned into one of those: starting with a good one-and-a-half-hour self-defence class this morning, to handing over more of the translation I'm doing on my karate teacher's book, to a food shop resulting in lots of fresh veggies in my basket at home (causing me to contemplate the yummy possibilities there), to a tasty lunch while listening to Eddie Vedder's Into the Wild soundtrack and generally, contentedly experiencing a day when there's blue sky over my mountain and a temperature warm enough to belong to spring.

Of course I'm well aware that I've just had a week's holiday and so am feeling laid back, relaxed and good about myself, though I'm hoping I can carry the mood through the next couple of months when spring really does hit Asturias and my students start behaving like the lambs in the fields round here. In the meantime, I have resolved to keep busy, get out there and do something creative, physical or adventurous as often as possible, and then of course, write about it here.

Happy 2011 everyone, I'm planning on making it a good one.

Can't get enough

In the running for Funniest Moment of the Year in the academia is the translation into English by one of my school pupils of the word cerveza (beer, for those of you who've never had to learn the essentials of the language before a holiday to Spain, or any other Spanish speaking country for that matter). Apparently, if you're desirous of a nice cold pint, you should, upon entering any fine public house, petition the barkeep for Duff.

Homer would be proud.

Raelha buys a car

I have finally become a proud (erm, well, sort of) car owner at the grand old age of 34. Having successfully managed to avoid any automobile purchase before this point it became necessary now that I'm on my own and living halfway up another mountain. The car itself is the same one I've been driving around since I got to Asturias except now it´s officially mine. One thing I am proud of is having successfully conquered the bureaucratic process it takes to transfer car ownership. When we first got to Asturias and bought the Skoda (for yes, it is a not-quite-so-fine example of Czech engineering) the actual process of going to tráfico in Oviedo to put it into the ex´s name was possibly, no, make that definitely, the worst red tape nightmare I've gone through in Spain – though, having dealt frequently with the system, I hesitate to add that I suspect it will retain that glorious title forever. The original purchase was made from an ageing fellow, who appeared jolly enough to begin with and, after us having proffered cash for the vehicle offered to take us into Oviedo himself to guide us in the process of changing over the documentation. As recent arrivals in the country we were more than happy to have a guiding hand, though it turned out that he knew only a gnat´s breath more about it than we did. Imagine traipsing around one government office after another to get hold of all the different documents you have to fill in and hand over to be stamped only then to have to take them to another office for collection, and only after you've taken ten million photocopies of each one. This is the only time where I've actually seen Spaniards queuing up quietly to be seen to in turn, except the fellow we were with seemed oblivious of the system and insisted on pushing in each time, talking loudly at the civil servant who was trying to deal with the person who had actually waited to be seen, and not listening to a word he was told in response. Eventually I figured out what was going on and dragged him across the office floor each time to get our numbered piece of paper and wait in line. All this, of course, instigated sympathetic looks from all and sundry when they realised that we had to tackle the system with him in charge. If only we´d realised before.

Next you discover that the stamped road tax form that the seller has to present is not in his possession and he has no idea of where he last saw it, necessitating a further journey to a separate government office half-way across the city (why they don´t just group them all together is beyond me, I suspect it´s all part of one big joke to brighten up the lives of the poor souls who work in these dreary places day after day: “no, I´m very sorry sir, we don´t deal with that here. You need to go to the Office of Let Us See Just How Far We Can Push You Before You Turn Red and Steam Pours From Your Ears located in Taking The Piss Street, it´s not far away, honestly” and then time how long it takes you to get back, tomato-faced and exasperated. It quite often happens that when you do finally find your way to the second office they have no idea what you´re on about and send you down the corridor (if you´re lucky), round the corner to the next building (if you´re not so lucky), or all the way back across the city (if you´re damn unfortunate) where they realise in the original office, that oh yes, we do have that form here after all and I don´t know who you spoke to before but we can sort that out right here and now. Arghhh. And then, finally, when you´ve paid all the taxes involved and photocopied everything apart from your bumcheeks, worked off all of the last week´s meals travelling around the city and made your way back into tráfico, papers in hand, eyes gleaming with the knowledge that you´re finally on the winning track, they tell you that the ID you have is the wrong one and that even though it´s valid to buy a house you need a proper resident´s ID to buy a car, which, after a trip to the main police station, you realise takes a matter of months in itself to acquire.

So, after the hassle of buying the car the first time, and yes, all of the above really did happen, with perhaps a few name changes here and there, I was determined not to undergo such a painful struggle this time around, especially considering that, despite the lack of embarrassing seller it would involve traversing the city with the ex, who was never a very patient man. So, a week before I nipped to tráfico had a quick chat with those at the information desk and prepared all the documents I was told I´d need beforehand, plus photocopies, and communicated to the ex what he´d need to bring. Perfect, I thought, nothing can go wrong, and nothing did. It were as if someone was making up to me all that I´d had to go through the previous time. Even when it turned out, in the treasury department, that I was missing a photocopy of a form that hadn´t been mentioned on the information sheet given to me in the traffic department, the guy behind the desk, when I asked him where the nearest place to photocopy, on discovering that I was only missing the one, took the sheet from me and photocopied it himself! At no extra charge!!! Believe me this never happens. I was in a fine mood, floated all the way to tráfico where there was no queue at all, handed over all my documents and hey presto, the car was officially mine.

I even managed, after some rather persuasive talking, to get insurance from Línea Directa (yes, we have Direct Line over here too, and the little red phone with wheels on the ad) for over €100 less than the ex had been paying, despite not having any no-claims bonus whatsoever, a fine coup on my behalf.

Anyway, this all happened in October, though I’ve been waiting since then for an Internet connection at home, having also moved house. More on that later, oh and wish me luck with my very first MOT (or ITV as it’s called here) in a couple of weeks’ time.

Not laziness this time...

...nor business that´s keeping me from penning more posts. I´ve been ill *cough, sniff, splutter*, and my computer has decided it is too, for the second time this month. I hope it´s not terminal.

Raelha´s first concert for almost five years

Actually, make that concerts, or rather one huge festival jam packed full of concerts. Yes indeed, I spent last Thursday, Friday and Saturday swaying, jigging, jiggling, rocking, dancing, bouncing, pogoing, arm waving and singing my heart out in Bilbao. A full three days of Supergrass - always excellent, and coincidentally my last concert in the UK before coming to Spain; The Ting Tings - surprisingly talented as well as being lots of fun; Asian Dub Foundation; Primal Scream; The Editors; Placebo; Jane´s Addiction - best sound and general entertainment of the whole festival, though they also win the ´worst dressed´ prize for the guitarrist´s flared leather trousers; Fisherspooner - my first taste and upon reflection, I like; Chris Cornell - wow; Depeche Mode - I still have ´It´s No Good´swirling around in my head; and others. Basically, sign me up for next year right now!

I´d forgotten how much I missed the entire festival experience, apart from the three-days-camping grungy feeling which, no longer being a manky student, I attempted to avoid this time with baby wipes, spray-on deoderant and finally a trip to the shockingly cold showers when it all got too much.

And no, I didn´t forget to take my camera, but rather forgot to charge the battery beforehand.