30th March: Vamos a la playa!

Wednesday was spent catching up on sleep, emails and jobs, and the only time I left the house was to run some errands in the city. Even on Thursday, I only met my friends for a couple of hours to have a drink in a cafe and plan the rest of the holidays. By the end we had a list of things we wanted to do during the rest of Semana Santa and the Fiestas de Primavera, which take place next week.

This Spring Festival leads on from the celebrations of Semana Santa and is particularly special in Murcia, where two other events are also celebrated simultaneously. On the Tuesday of Spring Week is the Banda de la Huerta, an event completely unique to Murcia, which is considered “el botellón más grande del mundo” (the biggest open-air drinking session in the world). Interestingly enough, the event was first organised by a group of students in 1852 as an attempt at mocking the Murcian huerta people – but nowadays it’s exactly the opposite, a celebration of Murcia’s long-standing farming tradition.

The day begins with a floral offering to the Virgen de la Fuensanta, the patron saint of the city, in front of the Cathedral, after which thousands of people in typical huertano dress accompany the Virgin from the city centre. Whilst the young people gather in the streets for botellón, in other areas traditional little houses called barracas, constructed especially for the event, offer local foods and folk concerts. In the afternoon, the Desfile de la Banda de la Huerta takes place, a huge parade in which crowds of people pour into the city’s streets on ox-drawn carts and floats throwing broad beans, black puddings and bread rolls to the spectators. Dancers, musicians and people in costumes and on stilts create an explosion of colour and music.

Throughout the week there are a number of other processions relating to the Entierro de la sardina (Burial of the Sardine). This celebration was also created by students in the year 1850, who used the sardine as a symbol of fasting and abstinence. In 1900 the procession, which had taken place sporadically since its conception, was revived as part of the Murcia Spring Festival. The Burial, which, as in the pagan tradition, is concluded by the burning of an effigy representing regeneration and liberation, acts as a counterpoint to the deprivations of Semana Santa.

The processions themselves are carried out by groups known as ‘sardineros’, who take their names from the gods of Greek and Roman mythology. The groups each select a Gran Pez (Big Fish) and a Doña Sardina (Lady Sardine) as patrons of the festival. The first procession takes place with the arrival of the sardine from one of the region’s districts and is followed by several others such as the Testament and the Sardine’s Wake, leading up to the grand Burial of the Sardine procession on the final Saturday. There are two processions on this day; the morning parade functions as a prelude to the enormous celebration that will take place that night. The evening begins with a great parade of dance troupes, dragons, giants and brass bands from all over the world, following which there is a procession of floats dedicated to the gods of Olympus, during which hundreds of toys are given out to eagerly awaiting children. The festival concludes with the burning of the sardine at the Old Bridge and a spectacular firework display.

It’s no surprise, then, that we abandoned any plans to go away, since there really couldn’t be a better place for us to spend our Easter holidays. Using our tourist brochures, we planned and wrote down all the events we wanted to attend over the following two weeks, before considering it a job well done, sharing a jar of sangria and calling it a day.

On Friday we started early according to our plan, and met in the city centre to watch a Semana Santa parade. However, I’d failed to take into account the fact that my friends, who lived on the opposite end of town, would be coming in a different direction from me, leaving me cut off on the wrong side of the cathedral by the crowds and the procession. Eventually I realised there was nothing for it but to walk to Plaza Santo Domingo meet them from the other side, which involved darting in and out of the procession, yet again. On the plus side, I was given a fair amount of sweets by members of the procession, who had them stashed in the top part of their bizarre costume to give out to spectators.

After almost an hour, I finally reached the spot where my friends were standing and stood to watch the rest of the procession with them. It was the first time we’d seen a parade all the way to the end and, despite my exhausted feet and legs after almost two hours, it was worth it to see the finale. After all the traditional procession members had gone by with their floats and crosses, they were followed by a lady in black mourning dress and people in costumes just like the court dress of Restoration England – although I have no idea what they were actually meant to represent. Then, to the rhythmic beat of military drums, an army procession followed and performed an impressive drill. It was an unexpected but exciting end to the event.

By the time the procession had finished it was 11.30, so we stopped for a drink at a cafe on the cathedral square before heading to Annalisa’s, who was ill, stopping to get her some water and a magazine on the way. After our visit we went our separate ways, and I spent the rest of the day trying to catch up on the mountain of work which was slowly building up.

We made another early start today, as we’d heard the forecast and had decided to make the most of the nice weather by going to the beach. Not realising that everyone would have the same idea, we almost missed the only morning bus, making it by the skin of our teeth. The journey to Mazarrón was unexpectedly long but worth every second for that moment of stepping out onto the hot sand. Despite the slight wind at times, but it stayed warm all day and we were all ecstatic; it felt surreal and heavenly to be lying on a beach in March. At 4pm we took the coach back to Murcia, revived and happy.

28th March: Semana Santa

At 5.45 on Saturday morning I was rudely awoken by a phone call from someone who I’m sure will be grateful to remain nameless, who then proceeded to come to my flat despite the fact I had to leave for the bus station an hour and a half later. Needless to say, I was not impressed, and said person did not receive the warmest of welcomes.

Exhausted before the day had even begun, I met my friends at the bus station at 7.30 for our seven-hour journey to Córdoba. As is always the way in these situations, despite our exhaustion no one managed to get a good sleep on the journey – and I didn’t manage to sleep at all. On the plus side, we had some good conversations and the time passed quickly. We were so relaxed on the comfortable coach we were almost reluctant to get off when we pulled in at the bus station at just before 3pm.

We’d seen the weather forecast for the following few days so were under no illusions of a nice sunny break, but nevertheless it was fairly disappointing when we emerged into cool drizzle and grey sky. Having realised that our directions to the hostel in fact started from the airport and not from the bus station, we went in quest of a city plan and managed to devise a route of our own. Our first impressions of the place were good; it was a pretty town, if not the slightly larger city we’d envisioned, with lots of cafes, parks and cobbled streets. Not only this, but the high street was home to the obligatory Zara, Pull & Bear, Bershka and Stradivarius, as well as the accessory store Six, which I’d fallen in love with in Germany.

We found the hostel fairly easily after walking past it once, finding it tucked away in a little corner. It was an unusual set-up – a sort of long, tiled hallway leading to a solitary desk, and then tiny stairways and passages leading to the dormitories. Ours was, inevitably, up several flights of stairs – just what we needed after dragging our cases up all those cobbled streets. It seemed comfortable enough, and we were quite happy with it until we found out there were only two toilets and one shower in the entire building. Unfortunately, with it being Semana Santa, all the best hostels had been booked up well in advance and the prices had gone up accordingly.

After a quick freshening-up, we headed back into town, stopping on the way for a drink and a bite to eat in a tapas bar. Thinking we’d get a free tapa if we ordered alcohol, we had beer and wine, only to discover that the offer had ended an hour before. The waitress, taking pity on us, brought us over a free bread basket and bowl of chicken and crisps.

Revived after our pit-stop, we followed our tourist map to the mezquita, the main attraction of Córdoba. Only Lina and I were willing to pay the extortionate eight Euro ticket price, so we split up whilst the others went to try out possibly the thickest omelette known to man – it looks more like a cake than an omelette. At the risk of sounding like a history nerd, I have to say that the story behind this mosque-cathedral is actually really interesting. Formerly a medieval Islamic mosque, it is now regarded as one of the most accomplished monuments of Renaissance and Moorish architecture. However, it was originally built around the year 600 as the Christian Visigothic church of St Vincent and was then divided between the Muslims and Christians during the Islamic occupation. In 1236, following King Ferdinand III of Castile’s recapturing of Córdoba, it was converted to a Catholic Christian cathedral and more Christian features were added to the Islamic ones (such as the apse facing towards Mecca) constructed during the occupation. When you visit the building now, it’s a fascinating mixture of Islamic and Catholic features, with its open courtyard, minarets, mosaics, stained glass and gold-plated icons and paintings of Christ.

After having a thorough look around the mezquita, Lina and I walked around the perimeter to get a full impression of the exterior and vast scale of the building. Getting roped in to checking out a flamenco concert hall along the way, we eventually found the others in a picturesque little bar in an open courtyard made of white brick, with vines and flowers along the walls and pillars. They’d found the place in a little side-street and had been lucky enough to come across it during a free flamenco concert, comprising a singer, guitarist and three dancers who, as far as we could tell, were just members of the audience. It was an amazing thing to chance upon and a far more authentic experience than we’d have had in the expensive concert hall.

We stayed in the bar until the music had finished, reluctant to miss anything, before making our way to a couple of tapas bars recommended on the map. We decided on the livelier-looking one and struck lucky again as we were taken into the much nicer restaurant area. There we shared tapas and sangria until it got late and we decided to call it a night.

The next day, we woke up early to get the most out of the rest of our time in the city. However, there only being one shower between everyone, it was much later by the time we actually managed to get out. It was just as well because it turns out that, besides the mesquita, and despite whatever the tourist map might say, Córdoba hasn’t actually got that much to offer. It’s a beautiful little place but you don’t really need more than a day to see it all.

We made a point of seeing almost everything on the map, walking down to the river, seeing the old gate and even visiting the narrowest street in the world (which is a disappointing 74cm wide and not as exciting as you might think). We came across a lot of things by chance, including a Semana Santa parade (the first of many). The palace was worth a visit, offering pleasant views of the city from its towers and some colourful and well-kept gardens to walk around. When we got to the bus station at 6.30 that evening, we felt happy that we’d had a nice relaxed day and seen everything we wanted to.

It was 9pm when we arrived in Seville, and the streets were packed with people returning from the pasos, since it was Palm Sunday. We took an instant liking to the feel of the place with its maze of cobbled streets and narrow alleyways. Ironically, we had a perfect route to the hostel this time, which we couldn’t use since all the surrounding roads were blocked off by parades. Eventually we admitted defeat and stopped for drinks and tapas at a bustling little bar in one of the backstreets, where we stayed until the crowds died down. By this time it was getting late, and when we arrived at the hostel we just managed to plan the following day over cups of tea before deciding to get some sleep.

The next day was our busiest so far, and we must have walked miles. The first place we visited was the town hall, which was surrounded by seating for the parades over the coming week. Nevertheless we were still able to appreciate it, especially from the other side, which opens onto a wide square. Following this, we made our way to the bull ring, walked along and across the river, saw the Golden Tower and walked through the Maria Lusia Park to the Plaza de España. The Plaza de España is a huge arched complex built as the central office for the Ibero-American Exposition, a world fair held in Seville in 1929. It’s a stunning building and the surrounding grounds only add to this affect – especially with the constant coming and going of horses and carts offered to tourists.

As it began to rain we decided to walk the length of the building under the arched promenade until the shower eased off. The weather was so changeable that, emerging into the sunlight, we didn’t think anything of stopping for ice creams. Afterwards, we saw the university and the tobacco factory and stopped off in some souvenir shops before coming across the cathedral. We were all hungry again by this stage so found a cafe slightly off the main tourist trail and stopped for lunch.

We filled the afternoon with a visit to the Real Alcazar, the Royal Palace of Seville. Another magnificent complex of patios and halls, the palace was constructed in 1364 by King Pedro I as his royal residence at the site of a Moorish palace and contains an array of architectural styles, from Mudéjar to Gothic. The original Al-Muwarak palace was built soon after the Almohades, a Moorish dynasty, seized Seville in 1161, but after the Reconquista it was rebuilt and added to in various architectural styles by subsequent monarchs. The top floor is still actively used by the Royal Family today.

When we came out of the palace we noticed that the cathedral square was filling up with people and decided to wait for the next paso. It was a longer wait than expected but well worth the trouble, as we were able to see the procession carrying an elaborate sculpture of the Virgin Mary through the Cathedral and out the other side, accompanied by an enormous brass band playing a powerful funeral march.

As we tried to head back to the hostel the streets became thronged with people, and eventually we had to give up yet again. At one stage we got stuck on a street which was blocked off at both ends by two different pasos, and once we even got caught up in the parade and got swept along amongst all the worshippers in their Ku Klux Klan outfits and black wooden crosses, a terrifying experience I never wish to repeat.

Finding somewhere for dinner was the next challenge; not only did we have to find somewhere offering gluten-free dishes, but we were limited to areas not cut off by parades. On the positive side, we did get to see a lot of the city, including the illuminated Metropol Parasol, a large canopy structure with a length of 150m and height of about 26m, which rests on a handful of large pillars. This modern construction was only opened in 2011 but works surprisingly well in contrast with the traditional architecture of the city.

Almost two hours later we chanced upon a large plaza offering a variety of restaurants and cafes, and after zigzagging its length and breadth, finally found a suitable place to eat. Exhausted, we made our way through two jugs of sangria and some delicious pizzas which may even have been worth the wait.

The next day we weren’t in any rush to leave, as we’d somehow managed to see nearly all the attractions in one day. So, at around 11.30 we hit the high street and checked out some of the shops, before asking at Tourist Information if there was anything we’d missed. Leaving the Tourist Information at a loss about what to suggest, we made our way to the Macarena district (which, disappointingly, has nothing to do with the song). It was further out than we thought, but worth going the distance as we got to see the intricate Basilica and two of the spectacular Semana Santa sculptures. A guard told us that it takes 36 men to carry the Virgin Mary sculpture, and 54 to carry the one of Jesus.

When we’d looked around the basilica we realised it how hungry we were, and after traipsing around looking for a suitable cafe, we finally found one just as the heavens opened. We stayed there for a good two hours waiting out the rain before starting on the long walk back to the centre. The weather was looking really ominous by this stage and, since we were all tired from walking, we decided to find a cafe near the cathedral to stop for a couple of drinks. It wasn’t long before it was time to go and pick up our cases before the paso which would block off our route at 7.30.

Luggage in hand, we waited around a while to see if we could catch the parade, but by this stage a storm was beginning to set in and it didn’t seem a good idea to wait outside for too long, as Annalisa was starting to feel really ill. Instead, we headed to the station where we found a snack bar for dinner, then moved to a cafe until it was time to catch the bus.

The journey back was long and arduous, and no one managed to get any sleep despite the fact we travelled all through the night. When we pulled up in Murcia at just before 8am, we went our separate ways to catch up on some sleep. It had been a fun but tiring few days.

22nd March: End of Term

We passed Wednesday evening drinking and chatting outside the Principe de Gales bar in town, which was already buzzing with the relaxed atmosphere brought by the warmer weather. Our anticipation of summer is increasing every day now with every hint of the hot, clear days and balmy Spanish nights that are to come.

On Thursday I had lectures until midday, when I found myself a bench on Plaza Santo Domingo and read for a while in the sun. As it began to approach 2pm, the sun even became too intense – I could easily have sat there in shorts – and I decided to go back to the flat to get some lunch and cool off. There, I found Giorgos had already returned from his morning observation session at the hospital, and we kept each other company and chatted as usual over lunch.

At 4pm I had another lecture, after which I taught Carmen for an hour, since her brother was at a birthday party. Carmen seems really bright for her age, and shows a real interest not only in learning English but also in the teaching methods I’m using, which is a real confidence boost. This time, we played Guess Who to learn facial features, and did actions, crosswords and spot the difference to learn farm animals. She did really well and didn’t lose interest at all, despite the fact that an hour is quite a long time for an eight-year-old to concentrate for on a one-to-one level.

That evening, the girls came to my place for pre-drinks, and it was all going well until I could feel an illness coming over me again – just as suddenly as it had the time before. I’m almost certain this isn’t drink-related, since it’s only ever happened when I’ve had just a couple of drinks – nowhere near enough to spark this kind of reaction. This time, my friends recognised straight away what was happening and brought me a bucket and some water straight away. Ten minutes later they’d tucked me up in bed and texted Giorgos to let him know what had happened.

The next day, I was half-awakened by Giorgos coming to check on me before he left at 8.30, but fell straight back to sleep until my alarm went off at 9.45. Even then, I still felt exhausted and had to drag myself to the kitchen to get breakfast. I’ve since found out that, despite the fact that I’m usually woken by the slightest noise, I’d stayed asleep whilst my friends were still in the lounge for an hour after putting me to bed, and through Giorgos checking on me when he came back at 3am. This morning, after managing a small amount of food but still feeling terrible, I had to accept defeat and emailed my German tutor, who told me that, luckily, the other girl in my class, Isabel, couldn’t make it that day either – so we would reschedule the class.

I fell asleep on the sofa and eventually woke up again at 1 o’clock in the afternoon to a phone call from Ali, asking me what kind of hoody I’d like. She, Alicia and Annalisa had gone to Espinado campus to buy Murcia hoodies and were fetching them for Lina and me, too. It was at this point that I realised I was feeling much better, and decided to grab a shower and meet the others in the cafe they were heading to on their return.

It was another beautiful day, so it was lovely to while away the hours outside in a little sunny square. The first cafe gave us a voucher for free coffees at another just opposite, which we used up straight away. After a brief stint at the copy shop to print the booking references for our trip the next day, we ended up in Smoöy yet again. By this time it was past 6 o’clock, so we popped back to Alicia’s to fetch our hoodies before going our separate ways.

An hour later, after a drawn-out scour of the shops to find a pink vest-top, I returned to the flat to find Giorgos actually making something other than a bocadillo or pasta. I think he’s making the most of the oven since I taught him how to use it the other day on the phone. It turns out he was making Greek kebab-things to take to his friends’ house, who wanted to try a bit of Greek food. He wasn’t getting on too well, particularly since he hadn’t realised there was a grill function on the oven, so I tried to help whilst making my chilli.

Then there was nothing left for it but to start the dreaded packing for my trip to Cordoba and Seville with the girls. I hate packing because I always feel like I’m going to forget something, and end up spending ages agonising over what it could possibly be. This time, Alicia helped out by putting a kind of ‘packing for dummies’ list on the Facebook thread, which included such gems as ‘underwear’ and ‘shoes’. You would think these things would be self-explanatory, but you can never be too careful with us – especially Annalisa, who seems to forget something every single time she leaves the house. It probably struck Fernando as a little odd when he saw the list when he popped round, but he may just put it down to quirky Englishness. After all, even I have to admit that, as a nation, we do have some fairly interesting idiosyncrasies.

Now the flat is empty again and the packing is done, and all that’s left is to unwind and get a good night’s sleep before my early start in the morning.

20th March: Nights Out and Days Off

Having finally crawled into bed at 8am that morning, I spent most of Sunday catching up on sleep. When I woke up at 1.30 in the afternoon, I was still exhausted but knew that if I slept any more, I’d never get to sleep that night. During the afternoon I caught up on some emails and reading, eventually leaving the flat at 10.30 in the evening. The darkness seemed more like the cause of a solar eclipse than anything else because, to me, it felt like the middle of the day. The whole thing was very surreal, and when we entered the packed Irish bar celebrating St Patricks’ Day, it felt even more unnatural. We stayed just long enough to meet Ali’s parents, who were in Murcia for a long weekend, and to have a few drinks, before the tiredness hit and we admitted defeat.

On Monday I put my alarm on to try and get back into some sort of sleep pattern, however painful it might be. When I say “put my alarm on”, however, I should clear up that the alarm was on for 9.15, and I didn’t actually get out of the house and go for a run until gone 11. By this time it was boiling hot outside, especially on the new route I was inventing, through the central streets of Murcia. It didn’t turn out to be a particularly successful course either, since I kept getting close to the flat and having to extend it.

In the afternoon I met up with Annalisa and Lina for a picnic in the sun. Having bought a bagful of provisions from Mercadona, we headed to the park by Annalisa’s flat and whiled away the afternoon snacking and chatting. I was more than reluctant to leave at 4.15 to go and teach, and got there only to discover that two of the three boys couldn’t have a lesson that day. Instead, I was left to teach Roberto for an hour-and-a-half. It’s hard enough trying to engage a fourteen-year-old boy for an hour, so this was nigh-on impossible. I just about managed to get through it but was relieved when it was over.

I should mention that, since the Spanish had been up to their usual trick of finding an excuse for time off work, I had no classes that day or the next. Since the Tuesday was El día del padre (Fathers’ Day) and a bank holiday, most of the university classes were cancelled on the Monday too, in what they call a puente (‘bridge’). So, because none of us had classes the next day, we decided to make Monday a big night out. We named it a Greek Night because we were doing a Centurion, but in reality the only things that were vaguely Greek about the evening was the bowl of feta cheese and a hashed attempt at making togas. Despite the absence of things pertaining to Greece, we had a really good night and got back at some time in the early hours the next day.

No one was up to doing much the next day, and I spent most of it sitting in the living room of my flat with Giorgos and Fernando. At 3pm I met the girls outside El Corte Inglés and we went to a nearby park to discuss plans for summer, which was looming ever-closer. Naturally, we didn’t actually manage to decide on anything and ended up in Plaza Santo Domingo (or Smöoy Square, as Ali has affectionately named it) eating frozen yoghurt. It was at that point that we all realised we hadn’t actually done any work so had to spend the rest of the evening catching up.

It was a struggle to get out of bed today, but I managed it in the end and even went on a run as planned. Weather-wise, today was one of those disappointing days, when it looks warm from your window but when you actually get outside, you realise you were being really over-optimistic. The river is also really exposed to the elements, so any tiny bit of wind is magnified and it feels like you have to work twice as hard to run against it. At least it’s good exercise.

This afternoon I had my two translation classes, in one of which we’re now translating into English. This is an amazing confidence boost after feeling like the class idiot during the English to Spanish translations, as now even the teacher is turning to me for advice. I don’t know when we’re going back to translating English to Spanish, so I’m going to try and enjoy this while it lasts.

Now I just have tomorrow and Friday morning to get through until the holidays begin. (The Friday morning lecture is a replacement class for the German one missed on Tuesday, and the Friday afternoon translation class has been cancelled, naturally). I don’t really feel I’m doing enough work to justify two weeks’ holiday, but I’m not about to complain.

17th March: Las Fallas

It’s only Sunday and already it’s a stretch to think back to what I did this week. On Tuesday, the only events of interest were my English teaching with Gregorio and Carmen, which went really well, and a frustrating attempt to book my flights to Peru. I’d actually decided on a perfect set of flights, which, in the space of three hours, went up by three hundred pounds. I was so annoyed and confused about what to do that I had to stay in and Skype my parents about it instead of going out with Giorgos. In the end, my mum agreed to have a ring around for me the next day.

I started off Wednesday with my habitual run before going to the replacement Linguistics lecture at 1. The weather was still disappointingly cold and grey – not to mention ridiculously windy. After my lecture, I met Annalisa, Alicia and some Spanish girls from Methodology to do a language exchange over tapas in San Domingo. Whilst we were there, the weather went from bad to worse in the form of torrential rain and gale-force winds that hurled the outdoor chairs across the square. The open-fronted cafe didn’t provide nearly enough shelter from the chill, but we were just glad to be indoors at all. After a nice lunch and a chat, we all made our way to class, agreeing to do the same thing next week.

That evening, the girls and I met up at Alicia and Lina’s to plan the coming bank holiday weekend, before going out for a couple of drinks at a small tapas bar near university – which turned out to be full of rowdy locals. At around 1am we called it a night, knowing we’d be up late the next day for Marie Angelez’s birthday.

Thursday was more or less filled with lectures and homework, and by the time I’d finished teaching at just after 7, I was exhausted. When I turned up to teach, my pupils and their mother were thrilled to show me Carmen’s outfit for the Semana Santa parade in Murcia the following Sunday – a green cloak and hat in the style of those worn throughout Spain, to which the closest analogy I can give is a Ku Klux Klan costume. I remember when my parents and I came to Spain during Semana Santa a few years ago, not knowing anything about the custom, and being completely confused by the huge parades of people in these bizarre and slightly sinister costumes, which we stumbled across in every city we drove through. I’ve since found out that in Spain, Semana Santa or Holy Week (the week before Easter) is celebrated by elaborate pasos (processions) organized by hermandades (religious brotherhoods), in which wood or plaster sculptures of the scenes of Jesus’ death and resurrection are carried through the streets by penitents dressed in robes and pointed hats, followed by women in black. The procession is often accompanied by a brass band, drum and bugle band or military band playing funeral marches or hymns.

Anyway, after my class, I went back to the flat to cook dinner and get ready to go out. Just as I’d finished eating, Giorgos arrived and tentatively stuck his head around the door to check it was ok for his friend to come in too. I told him that of course it was ok, and was introduced to Fernando from Murcia. Naturally, as soon as we were introduced, he told me how beautiful I was; I really am beginning to think this is just a social norm here. Also, I’m no longer even the slightest bit surprised at being called after down the street on a daily basis, and wasn’t even that shocked the other day when someone came right up to my face in the high street saying, “Oiii, guapaaaa” (“Heyyyy, beautifuuuul”). A few days ago, a couple of lads just shouted “culo” (arse) after me; I wonder how excited they’d have got if I actually did have any arse to speak of. Anyway, before I knew it, Giorgos was wandering off to take a shower, leaving me to entertain the Spaniard, who was already making himself at home showing me his photos on the laptop and sharing half my chair. Good job I’m friendly.

By the time the lads had left, I had to rush to get ready in time to get to Lina and Alicia’s. Once there, we stayed and pre-drank until just after 12, when we headed to Marie Angelez’s house for her birthday. There were already loads of people in the little living room and out on the balcony, and we left for Boutique at just after 2. We stayed there till around 5.30, when Giorgos and his friends and I got bored and went to the park for a while before going to a shisha bar. It was 7.30am by the time we walked home; we saw a few people on their way to work.

The next day I was rudely awoken by a phone call at 11am from Alicia from my General Translation group, wondering where I was; she’d sent me a Facebook message the night before when I was out, asking me to meet the group that day at 10.30am to do our presentation. The last thing I felt like doing was going to university and working on a translation, but I couldn’t let the group down so dragged myself out of bed, pulled on some clothes and went to find them in the library. An hour later, we were done, giving me a few hours to eat and nap before my lecture at 4. That evening all I could manage to do was curl up in bed and watch Harry Potter in Spanish, and I couldn’t bring myself to sit and chat for long when Fernando arrived at 9.

My alarm woke me from a beautiful sleep the next morning at 6.45am, an inhuman hour to be getting up. An hour later, I was waiting with my friends to get onto the ESN (Erasmus Student Network) bus to Valencia. That day was the trip to Las Fallas, a huge celebration in honour of Saint Joseph which takes place every year in the city. The word fallas comes from the Latin fax for ‘torch’, because each area of the Valencian Community (or casal faller) makes a construction called a falla, which are all burnt on the last day of the festival. During the five days of celebration, everyone eats and drinks on the streets; there are long processions of people in traditional dress accompanied by brass bands and continuous explosions of firecrackers and noisemakers. We were amazed and more than a little alarmed to see children as young as four armed with explosives which they were throwing with gay abandon up into the air; more than once, we genuinely feared for our lives. It turns out health and safety isn’t very important here.

We arrived in Valencia not long after midday and, after a big group photo, the whole ESN group walked into the city centre together. When everyone split off, my friends and I found a bench to sit and eat lunch before wandering the streets to soak up the atmosphere and see some of the fallas. Our favourites included a mermaid, a cinema and a montage of Disney characters including The Lady and the Tramp, Aladdin, The Lion King, Bambi and 101 Dalmatians. We had ice cream outside the beautiful cathedral and stopped for coffee near the spectacular town hall. When it was time to find somewhere for dinner, we were disappointed to discover that everywhere had run out of the famous Valencian paella, and had to settle for some snack food in a cafe a little off the beaten track. By this time it was gone 8pm, and we sat in the park together with our drinks for a while before making our way to the ESN botellon (outdoor drinking) at 10.30.

It was still too cold to be drinking outside, if you ask me, but thankfully my fingers were kept alive by my trusty bear gloves. We were joined by some of Alicia’s French friends from class, and were happy chatting and playing games until we ran out of drink. By this time it was approaching 1am, and in Spain, shops stop serving alcohol at 9pm – so it was a bit of a fool’s errand, to be honest. We had no idea where we were when the fireworks display started at 1am, but we weren’t going to miss it in the vain search for drink, so stopped where we were.

All the traffic had been stopped for the festival, so we joined the big crowd of people standing in the middle of the road to watch the event. As I sat on the road crossed-legged, gazing up at the sky, I became aware again of how amazing life is, and how lucky I was to be experiencing all these incredible things.

When the display had finished, Alicia and I made our way back to the others, who by then had given up waiting and gone in search of some toilets. After a few minutes they returned and we went to a bar for a while to get warm. When it was time to look for the coach home, which was leaving at 4am, we bumped into a couple of guys who started to try and talk to us. We made our excuses and turned away, but a few minutes later they came over again, and I couldn’t help saying, “Oh, no...” Offended, one of the guys tried to grab our interest by saying that his friend was a tenor. It sort of worked, because I before I could stop myself it the words, “I’m a soprano!” were out of my mouth. Then, when they asked me to prove it, instead of saying “I don’t care if you believe me or not” I accidentally said, “I don’t care if you love me or not” – at which they hugged me and called me a “true Spanish woman”. We managed to make our excuses again but must have bumped into them at least once more before we eventually found the meeting place. Then, while we were waiting for the coaches to arrive, we decided to try out Cossack dancing – and who should turn up, but the two guys again. I can only imagine how odd we must have seemed, but they just said, “So, did you find your bus?” The fact that I answered “No” just as Alicia said “Yes” can’t have helped matters.

Eventually, at 4am, the coaches pulled up on the other side of the roundabout, and we dragged ourselves over to them. By the time we got there, our coach was already almost full and we couldn’t get any seats together – which was less of a disaster than we originally thought, since we were all out like a light from the moment the coach set off until it pulled up in Murcia three hours later. I can’t describe the feeling of exhaustion, cold and hunger that I experienced getting off that coach and dragging myself back to my flat. It had been a great twenty-four hours, but now all I needed was my nice warm bed.

12th March: Does Anyone Actually Do Any Work Around Here?

The next day I woke up refreshed after a good, long night’s sleep, ready for the student party at Espinado campus. Since it was a gorgeous day, Giorgos and I went out for coffee in Plaza San Domingo, and by the time I met my friends at the tram stop at 2pm, it was sweltering – far too hot for the jeans I was wearing.

After a hot and crowded tram journey and a painfully long uphill walk to the top of the campus, we finally found the party – and it was huge. It was meant to be an economics party but people had come from different faculties all over the city. To get in, we had to wait in an enormous crowd for what seemed like forever under the blazing sun. Finally, we escaped the throng and made it into the fenced-off area, which was lined with make-shift gazebos leading up to a risen stage, and heaving with yet more students.

I don’t know where the rest of the afternoon went; we drank, ate our huge plates of free paella, sat in the sun and danced in front of the stage. At one point we managed to be part of a massive Murcia Harlem Shake (hopefully we’ll be on the official video). When the beer ran out and the party stopped at 7, it felt like no time had passed at all, and none of us wanted to leave. It was lucky, then, that a few hours later we were meeting up again and going out.

We were flagging by the time we met up again at mine at 10.30, but we made it to the club despite it all, and ended up having a really good night, especially as there were a lot of us since Alicia’s friends were here. It was still warm when we left the club at 5.30, and it felt like the summer was finally on its way.

The next day, we all had a much-needed lie-in and a relaxed day. It was sunny again, so after going into town, I joined Giorgos and a couple of his Greek friends for drinks outside the university. In the evening, I met Ali, Annalisa, Lina and Alicia for drinks, but didn’t stay out late as we planned on getting the most out of our Sunday.

So, the following morning we all set out for Cartagena, a coastal town around forty minutes from Murcia. After seeing the Roman amphitheatre and most of the town, we settled down for an 11-Euro lunch comprising nuts, bread, sangria, three courses and coffee. It was good food, too, made all the better for the fact we were able to eat it outside on the sunny square overlooking the dock.

Then we just had a few hours to fill before our bus home, so decided to make the most of the weather and take the tourist boat out into the bay. An attempt had been made at making the tour educational with a bilingual voiceover explaining the history of the dock, but we were happy just to be sitting on a boat on a sunny day. The trip ended with a typical highlight: the discovery of a local Smöoy.

On Monday, I started the week with my routine run down the river, which was surprisingly hot considering it was only 10 in the morning. After that I had my linguistics class at 1, following which I popped into Mercadona with Ali (the theme tune was playing, much to our delight) and came back to the flat. I spent the afternoon chatting to Giorgos and getting some work done, before it was time to go to teaching at 4.45.

Teaching went well that day as all the boys had something prepared they wanted to go through, and even little Guillermo managed to keep up his concentration for most of his lesson. Yes, I do realise that saying ‘little Guillermo’ sounds a little odd... But who knows, maybe the Spanish think calling your child Thomas is strange?

That evening, none of my English friends were going to Tandem for various reasons, so it was just Giorgos and me. We met one of his Greek friends, Vicky, on the way, and at the bar, I was introduced to their Italian friends. They couldn’t wait to try out their English on me and seemed really friendly, but after a while I decided that it was probably about time I tried out some of my foreign languages. I actually ended up speaking to a lot of different people – including a very camp Filipino who had, for some unknown reason, put himself on the German table, despite the fact that he spoke no German whatsoever. He also insisted that I guess his country of origin, which put me in a pretty awkward position, considering the fact that I find it difficult to differentiate between most of the countries in Asia. Nonetheless, I managed to avoid creating any international incidents and left having tried out two of my three languages and met some lovely people.

Today, I had German Civilisation which, as usual, began half-an-hour late. This Spanish system is really ridiculous; my class next week, as well as my linguistics class, has been changed due to a bank holiday on both Monday and Tuesday next week. No wonder this place is in a recession!

7th March: The Family Comes to Visit

Once again, I’ve neglected my blog this week, but this time I have a legitimate excuse. My parents and my nan arrived on Monday evening and I’ve been with them practically every second, so I’ve barely had access to my computer, let alone time to write my blog.

Not that I regret any second of it; we’ve had a really nice few days together. The problem is that the hotel they were staying at is actually quite far out of the town centre and miles away from where I live, so I’ve ended up essentially gate crashing their hotel and staying in my nan’s room. Not only that, but since they’ve come all this way to see me, I think it would be quite selfish of me to just leave them to their own devices, so I’ve spent all my free time with them.

So, on Monday evening, after teaching Mariluz’s three boys, I braved the rain and walked to their hotel to meet them – not having realised quite how far away it actually was. Of course, I’d printed off the directions from Google Maps in advance, but since there were only a few instructions, I had assumed that it was fairly nearby. I hadn’t imagined that it was on a dual carriageway out of town. Nevertheless, after using my failsafe method of asking for directions at every stage of the journey, I arrived there in one piece and even fairly dry, thanks to the umbrella Mariluz had given me. By this time, they were still only just getting onto the motorway, and it was forty minutes later before they finally arrived.

It was lovely to see them all again after what, I then realised, had been such a long time. It was somehow surreal to have them here; in this place that already felt quite familiar to me, but was so foreign to them, everything felt almost out of context. It’s difficult to explain, but at any rate, I was incredibly glad to see them. Everything had been moving so fast here that I hadn’t realised how much I’d been missing them.

Anyway, since they had had such a long day and it was now getting on for half-past-nine, we decided just to eat at the hotel that night and save the nice restaurants for the other days. We were all so pleased to see each other and had so much to catch up on that we stayed in the restaurant long after everyone else had drifted off, ordering coffees just for an excuse to sit there talking for longer. When it was finally time for me to go, my parents ordered me a taxi, which came almost instantly. Feeling content after a long but enjoyable day, I sparked up a conversation with the driver which continued until we got right to my door.

The next day was Tuesday so I had to be in at 9am. Typically, however, the German lecturer didn’t turn up until half-past, so I was glad I’d been a little late myself after putting the washing out. When the lesson finished at 11, I had a phone call from my mum to say they were at the Espinado campus – despite the fact that I’d warned them that this was at completely the other end from the campus I was at. Recognising that they would have little chance in finding La Merced on their own, I suggested meeting at the Corte Inglés on Gran Vía, the main road which is signposted everywhere. I waited there for a few minutes before realising they weren’t going to find that either, and rang again. I ended up walking to about five different locations before eventually giving up and telling them I was not going to move from the spot where I was, where they could pull in and pick me up, and we could be on our way. Five minutes later they appeared, all smiles and waves, and I jumped in the car. Who would have thought such a simple task could be so complicated? It turns out Murcia is not really the place for cars.

It was another grey day and we didn’t have any great ideas for places to visit, so decided to keep my nan happy by going to Nueva Condomina (which happened to keep me happy too, of course). So, my poor dad, after driving all around Murcia, including about seven times around the Plaza Circular roundabout, was now driving towards what, for him, must have been like driving into his impending doom: a huge shopping centre in the middle of nowhere, with no prospects of escape.

Having said that, he was incredibly patient and simply disappeared whilst my mum, my nan and I put our shopping expertise to the test. We clearly haven’t lost our touch; I came away with a T-shirt, two blouses, two pairs of jeans and the most gorgeous jacket, all for my birthday which is still six weeks away. Then we met up with my dad again and went for lunch at a Murcian restaurant, where my nan ended up with the most bizarre ‘ham toasty’ any of us had ever seen. To top it all off, for dessert we went to Smoöy.

By the time we came out of Nueva Condomina it was pouring with rain again, so we decided to treat my dad to a trip to the CD shop we’d seen on the way in – which turned out to have nothing he wanted anyway. After that we set about what should have been an easy little visit but turned out to be an epic mission: finding Carrefour Planet. Half-an-hour later, after getting lost and driving up and down the same route a brain-numbing amount of times, we eventually found it. The rain was torrential by now so on the plus side, it wasn’t like we were missing out on a nice day.

The Carrefour Planet shopping experience wasn’t what I’d hoped for. I’m one of those weird people who actually really quite enjoys supermarket shopping, so the prospect of trying out this enormous one had been genuinely quite exciting. I have to admit, though, that this place really was too big, and I just ended up overwhelmed, wandering the aisles listlessly and trying to make sense of then obscene amount of choice. We were also served by the slowest and moodiest checkout woman known to man, who, when I tried to exit through the wrong double barrier, insisted that I must not, leaving me stranded in some kind of supermarket isolation pen for naughty customers, unable to either leave the supermarket or to go back inside. Eventually I made a break for freedom whilst she wasn’t looking.

After I’d escaped the isolation pen and we’d stocked me up with as much food as I could possibly need for a long time, we tried to drop it off at my flat and stop for a cup of coffee. However, since there were no parking spaces to be found, we ended up dropping the shopping off, picking up my overnight stuff and running back down to the car before heading back to the hotel. There was just time to freshen up before going to a lovely Italian restaurant on Plaza Romea.

On Wednesday we woke up to glorious sunshine, so decided to go straight into Murcia town centre. This time, I knew a good place for us to park which was less than ten minutes’ walk from my flat. We were able to drop off the mini suitcase full of things that they’d brought for me from the UK and collect the few items I could do without that they could take back, before heading back towards the centre.

We stopped for a drink in the blissfully sunny square in front of the town hall, and then went on to the cathedral. After that, it was up to me to be the tour guide, so I took them around all the pretty little streets and squares I thought they might like. We ate lunch in the Plaza de las Flores, where my nan ended up with yet another meal with only a tenuous link to the name ‘ham toasty’. There was time to wander around a little more, go into some shops, and find a place for dinner that night before I had to go to my lecture at 4.

As soon as my second lecture finished at around 7.30, I set off to meet them at the restaurant we’d agreed on in Plaza San Juan. However, since I was a little early, I had time to meander there slowly and look for a new notebook in a couple of chinos on the way. When we met at 8, the restaurant we’d chosen still hadn’t opened, so we went to one across the square which seemed just as nice. We weren’t disappointed; we were presented with beautiful Murcian food, exactly what I’d wanted my family to experience.

We had wine with our meals again, after which we moved on to the nearby sidrería with the most peculiar cider-pouring method I’ve ever seen. My dad, who had expected a nice pint of cider, was presented with a tiny little glass he was expected to prop up in a little cradle underneath a cider tap. Needless to say, his bafflement was quite amusing, particularly since the waiter didn’t consider this method at all out of the ordinary. It’s funny having my dad here to point out all the bizarre habits the Spanish have, which I’ve begun to take as normal. The siesta thing really gets to him; as far as he’s concerned, the reason the Spanish are stuck in a recession is because they sleep for half the day.

Anyway, we ended up having a really fun night, which ended with me staying at their hotel again.   The next day I had to be at my lecture for 10 (although it turned out, the lecturer had messaged us the night before, changing it to 9 – classic Spain) so everyone got ready early to drop me in. After my lecture, which finished an hour earlier due to the last-minute timetable change, I talked to my presentation group and we started making preparations for the work we were going to have to present in around six weeks’ time. Then I had a few hours to get a bit of work done before my lecture at 4.

That day, as the day before, I had to give a group presentation – typical, on the one week that my family was here. However, it was good to get them over and done with in a way, and they went better than expected. After my lecture, I went to teach for an hour, before hurrying back to get ready for 8pm. Unfortunately, there had been a mix-up in communication and my family hadn’t realised when and where we were meant to be meeting – and not only this, but my phone was refusing to make or receive any calls, or send any texts. Eventually, I managed to get through, but by this time it was gone 8.30 – really late for my poor nan to eat.

Since everyone, particularly my nan, was tired and hungry, we didn’t search long for a restaurant and ended up at a little place on the cathedral square, which wasn’t the kind of place my nan is used to but served nice food. Afterwards, since we were reluctant to say goodbye, we moved on to a cafe on one of the side streets and had a round of drinks, before getting a taxi back to my place. Unfortunately, when I asked the taxi driver to wait, I forgot to mention that he needed to wait for my mum to come upstairs and come back down, and somehow my dad and nan didn’t realise what was going on until they were all the way back at their hotel. So, after already going through one emotional goodbye, my mum and I had to do it all over again when I walked her to the taxi rank.

After insisting I didn’t want any more taxi-related mishaps that evening, I walked back to my empty flat with a hollow feeling in my stomach and a lump in my throat. The idea of being alone that night was almost unbearable, but try as I might, my phone just wouldn’t let me get through to anyone. In the end, I snuggled up in bed and comforted myself by watching The Little Mermaid in Russian. I told myself the next five weeks would fly by and before I knew it they would be here again.

4th March: Another Relaxing Weekend

On Thursday the weather wasn’t much better but we decided it was probably about time for us to man up and actually go out for a drink. The day was a standard Thursday; our linguistics lecturer turned up twenty minutes late; my translation lectures were as normal. So, the only remotely interesting event to tell of that day was a meet-up for a few drinks in Revolver with Ali, Alicia, Lina and Lina’s brother.

On Friday I had a replacement lecture for German, since it had been cancelled on Tuesday. In all honesty, it was a bit of a waste of time once again, as the lecturer hadn’t had time to prepare anything for us and the videos didn’t work properly. After the lecture, I headed straight over to Alicia’s, where we were meeting to book our hostels for our trip to Cordoba and Seville during Semana Santa (holy week).

Then I just had a couple of hours to go back to the flat, have some lunch and get some work done before my lecture at 4, which finished early since it was a theory class. I then had half-an-hour to wait before meeting my Methodology group at 6 to work on our version of the translation we would have to present during next week’s class. When they came and fetched me from the library entrance, it turned out they’d already done a fair bit of it whilst they thought I’d been in my lecture. We only had to work on it for another half-an-hour before we’d finished and I could go home.

That evening started out quite disastrously but we managed to salvage it. The reason for this unfortunate beginning was that Annalisa had suffered yet another stroke of bad luck and had had her phone stolen in the shopping centre that afternoon. She’s already had loads of problems with her Internet, lost her bank card and lost her voice, but losing her Blackberry was just the icing on the cake, the poor thing. Anyway, because of this, she and Alicia, who had been with her at the time, were running ridiculously late and didn’t make it to mine for pre-drinks until 10.30, when we’d planned to leave for Badulake at 11.

Lina and her brother arrived just afterwards and we decided to stay in for a bit longer, eventually leaving at just after 12, in time for the 50 cents shots. Luck was in our favour then, for once, as the barman decided to give us our first round for 25 cents anyway (the prices were meant to be 25 cents from 11-12, 50 cents from 12-1, etc. etc. I have no idea how this is legal).

So, we ended up having a good night after all, which only got better when we managed to make a very useful friend: the man who runs the snack stall outside the club. Not only did we get free pizzas and bocadillos (sandwich baguettes), but we ended up going behind the counter and serving customers, which we were disproportionately excited about. We probably ended up deterring more customers than we brought in, calling out “PIZZAS!! BOCADILLOS! COMPRA TUS BOCADILLOS AQUÍ!” at the top of our voices to any unsuspecting passer-by.

Nevertheless, we did bring in some customers, two of whom happened to be German and working for the illusionist we were going to see the next day. In retrospect, telling them that I speak “quite good German”, forgetting that I was quite tipsy and had spoken barely any German over the last few months, was probably not the best idea. Fortunately, they still seemed impressed and asked me if I’d lived in Germany. I was just about to try and secure us backstage passes for the illusionist show when I was dragged off to Boutique by my friends.

The next day was our usual lazy post-night-out day, so we decided to while away the hours browsing the Ikea showroom and choosing the decor for our future homes. After that we went to the shopping centre, Nueva Condomina, for our Smöoy fix, and to get some cosmetics and toiletries. Then we just had time to get back and grab some dinner before heading out to the illusionist show.

The show, which was on at the same theatre that we had been to the last time, was a variety show of different illusionists, musicians and a clown. It wasn’t something I’d usually have thought to go to, and for this reason it was a really interesting change. Some of the illusions were really impressive, and the cello duet playing popular tunes were particularly good too.

On Sunday, we decided to actually stay in and get some work done during the day, before meeting up for drinks in the evening. We ended up going to a tapas bar, followed by yet another Smöoy, and then another bar for sangria, before calling it a night.

3rd March: A Bizarre Episode

I’ve just realised I’ve forgotten to relate a particularly interesting event which really deserves a mention. It must have been a couple of weeks ago now, but on a certain Tuesday evening, half-an-hour before I was due to leave to meet my friends, there was a knock at the door, and I heard Giorgos talking to a Spanish woman. So, knowing Giorgos’ limited grasp of Spanish might make this situation a little difficult, I went to help.

It turned out it was our neighbour from the flat above, Carmen, who had come to ask for our help in opening the door of the flat above her for an elderly lady who had fallen and couldn’t get out of the flat. Since Giorgos didn’t really have any idea what was going on, I went up with Carmen myself and gave the door a go. We were using some sort of credit card, and I decided that a bit of male strength might help the situation so went back down to Giorgos and sent him to have a go whilst I quickly ran to the toilet.

During my short absence they somehow managed to get the door open, but the problem that followed was not something neither Giorgos nor I had prepared ourselves for. There in the doorway, sitting bewilderedly on the floor with her legs straight out in front of her, was one of the fattest old women I have ever seen. She insisted she couldn’t get up. Giorgos, being a medic, naturally got me to ask if she were injured or ill, or if there were in fact any reason why she was sprawled across her hallway. But both she and Carmen assured us that she was perfectly unharmed; nevertheless, we would have to pull her up.

What happened next was truly bizarre. Imagine the scene; me, a confused Greek and an agitated Spanish woman all grabbing onto this fat old woman in the doorway and trying to drag her to a standing position, while she was refusing to make any effort to move herself, not even bend her knees. It was all so surreal that Giorgos and I were struggling to keep a straight face. At one point, he just turned to me and said simply, in his Greek accent, “This is hilarious.” I had to turn away for a few seconds to regain composure.

In the end, after trying every which angle and sliding the fat old lady along the floor onto the open landing by the banister, to no avail, we decided to call the police. Why Carmen insisted on calling the police, and not the considerably more appropriate ambulance or even the fire brigade, baffles me to this day, but I didn’t feel in any position to argue.

Then, as if things weren’t already strange enough, Carmen tried to get me to phone the police using the phone in her flat; I have no idea why she thought getting an English person to explain this bizarre scenario to the Spanish authorities. Anyway, I managed to convince her that I probably wasn’t the best person for the job and she phoned them herself. I just had chance to confirm with Carmen that they were on their way before I had to run out and meet my friends. I managed not to laugh all the way down Gran Vía, before I saw them and, much to their confusion, completely cracked up, not managing to regain full composure for a good five minutes.