Sammy Wandering Abroad

Tag: Andalusia

  • New Year, New Me – Saying ¡Sí!

    New Year, New Me – Saying ¡Sí!

    I retreated home for Christmas last year, welcomed by Lidl’s weekly stock of mince pies – I went from being homesick to almost physically sick; I tried explaining to Mum that they also eat food in Spain, but that didn’t seem to deter her from fattening me up like the honorary Christmas Turkey. Despite not being back in a while, my break at home was short and sweet, much to the family’s dismay (everyone enjoys my ability to clear the entire fridge contents, as well as my inability to not knock over everything in sight).

    Christmas Tree Troll
    Feliz Navidad – Granada, Spain

    Dad had suggested I stay longer than the ten days planned, to get over being the Brit misfit, but I’d reached the point of no return. I need to do this, or I’ll always be stuck. Also it was my year abroad. There was no way I was going to not take advantage of that for New Year’s Eve. So ten days later and six kilos heavier, I boarded that plane, Málaga-bound, with a box of (by then, crumbled) mince pies  – apparently I hadn’t been put off completely – and a new attitude.

    My dad’s sound advice: “If you’re going back, stop stressing. They can’t tell you off for trying can they? Don’t let it ruin your last month there. Enjoy yourself.” And my ever-growing appreciation for the andaluz way of life impelled a change in my mentality.

    “I have about six weeks left here, I want to be fluent, I want to eat tapas and I don’t want to care when people don’t understand me. I want to see things I haven’t seen before, I want to see Spanish things and I want to do Spanish things.”

    So I started saying yes, or ‘sí’ to more things.

    OLÉ - Salobreña, Spain
    OLÉ – Salobreña, Spain

    From the moment I disembarked the plane in Málaga I withheld the urge to revert back to my enemy, the comfort zone, and proceeded to the ALSA ticket office outside, making an enquiry in Spanish about times of buses to Granada. I don’t know if she noticed my accent was off or not, I didn’t notice myself, because after all, who cares? I asked a question and got my answer. Silly little things like that. Why did that ever bother me?

    The sad thing is, it used to scare me.

    Getting back to Casa de Monos was a bit like returning to Uni halls before everyone had gotten back from holidays; a few of us in the building had decided to stay over the New Year period, so a big NYE dinner was organised by lovely Flat 5 Izquierda, which involved lots of pasta, champers, wine, not enough chairs, and a long table of drunk foreigners, myself included.

    After the lovely meal I went to get changed; my friend Chris was dapper in a suit and bowtie, so obviously I felt a sparkly gold sequinned dress and new high heels was appropriate/not OTT at all/well if you can’t go all out for NYE when CAN you?!

    Feliz Año Nuevo
    4 Izquierda Homegirl <3

    I met everyone at the flat before leaving, and we all tottered out (okay just myself and a few of the girls), making our way towards Plaza del Carmen, outside the town hall. Which, by the way, was RAMMO. I can’t express how packed it was. And weirdly we seemed to be the only non-Spanish group. As part of tradition, some of us had brought 12 grapes along, the Spanish custom being to eat a grape for each chime of the bell during the countdown to midnight. I did not remember this unfortunately, although I did remember the champers. Fortunately.

    There were masses of crowds, live music, and a lot of loud conversations. To this day I maintain that whoever was in charge had missed the countdown, because as far as I was aware, there was a fuzzy mumble over speakers in the square, and then everyone began simultaneously screaming and hugging each other. There were also fireworks amidst this madness. Some friends were chucking grapes down their throats, or at each other, while the rest struggled to get all their plastic glasses under the same bottle of trickling champagne (that would be myself included, again). Everyone was having a raucous old time, Jacob even managed to catch the flying cork of a champagne bottle which had popped somewhere in the crowd; I still can’t believe it, and I still keep hold of it for luck!

    Balcony view of Plaza del Carmen
    Plaza del Carmen, minus crowds, fireworks and chaos

    As crowds began to disperse (WHERE’S THE FIESTA AT?), we got our group together and walked along the Paseo de los Tristes, stopping by the car park near the bridge for a mini ‘botellón’, Spanish for pre-drink, only they don’t do it to binge, shocker! After copious amounts of tinto were washed down, we headed upwards (with the hills of the Albaicín it is an almost vertical journey) to Camborio, not before stopping at the bridge for a moment to find out group straggler’s whereabouts (F.Y.I this is you, Carys). I remember having a lovely time, receiving a free glass of (more) champagne, a new year hat, or some kind of souvenir, and dancing till my shoes left my feet (literally they were so sore I am never wearing heels out  the same day I buy them again. Ever.) I also cringely remember completely losing my footing on the way out, and tumbling in spectacular fashion, contents of bag spilling across the cobble-stoned street. I got up with what dignity I had left (none), realised I didn’t care, and walked to the taxi rank.

    It was 7am when I arrived back at my cave of a bedroom (the shutter was down and no alarm was being set). I woke up in the afternoon, decided I wanted to make the room stop spinning/drink all the water in the world/go for a Chinese, but mainly the last one, so rounded up the troops and expressed how much a good oriental meal complete with many prawn crackers would solve all our hangover problems right now.

    Throwback of me and Cartman NYE before
    Throwback of me and Cartman NYE before

    Home or away, seems I’m still that English girl who craves Chinese food after a night out, but I’m not sorry for it. I had a good time with good friends, and a night to remember, which definitely cost me less than the New Years Eve prior to that (no doubt it was great, but  left me more than £100 out of pocket and queuing outside Charing Cross McDonald’s for a Big Mac). That is a good start to the year in my eyes (not counting the hangover), and I was looking forward to making more memories before leaving for Italy.

    As destiny would have it, on returning to Granada, I messaged Sole, and she replied on New Year’s, saying how she was back at home, in Ronda.

    “You should come here for Los Reyes Magos”

    Why not.

    “¡Sí!”

    next stop, Ronda.
    next stop, Ronda.
  • Uni Life Part 2: Becoming Andaluza

    Uni Life Part 2: Becoming Andaluza

    Valentine’s Day last year, my heart was left broken. Granada had me completely enamoured, under its bewitching charm and in a state of enraptured stupor. The city, it’s people, and of course, the tapas, had me so fazed I sometimes (more like every day spent there) forgot what I was supposed to be doing (talk to any Erasmus student and this seems to be the norm). Uni had been tough, yes ** don’t worry this is a rant-free zone** but I had reached a point (FINALMENTE) where I actually felt not even Spanish, but Andaluza. Whether Granada approved or not, I considered myself an honorary Andalusian, not a tourist. The city had an overwhelming power to make me feel I just needed to be part of it. This sounds incredibly cliché and perhaps portrays me as a little obsessed, but it is what it is. Go there and you’ll find out.

    Town stroll with my Irish girl
    Vista

    For me, the transformation from being naïve foreigner to feeling like “THIS IS HOME” was incredible. Outside of classes I realised what was helping me most to improve language (and therefore mood); making a genuine effort to integrate.

    Trying to attain a clear Castilian accent was dropped for liberally slurring words – aka my attempt at speaking andaluz, although at times I’m pretty certain I did not have a clue what I was trying to get across. Staring became less of an annoyance and more a way of life. It’s just people being curious I guess. When you live in such a vibrant place why wouldn’t you want to look at the things around you? Uncertainty over how to approach social situations within a different culture was overcome by abandoning that innate British feeling of awkwardness. Want something? Go and get it. Problem? Sort it out, or get over it.

    Stop worrying. Relajate.

    Andalusia is loud, open, unique and alive in character, all admirable traits its people also possess. A selection of whom, if it weren’t for their kindness, friendship, and patience, my Erasmus stay would not have been as enjoyable as it was.

    Sole had been on the Erasmus programme in Rome the year before, and knew the whole deal with being the newcomer; taking pity on ‘la pobre’/the poor girl, she taught me that it is okay to make mistakes and that ‘people stare because they’re stupid. Stare back.’ Okay so maybe people should be a bit less obvious with their curiosity…Preach! Being a student of the ‘Facultad de Medicina’ in Granada, she was into fundraisers (they all go on a big holiday at the end of term), which meant serious socialising. I tagged along to a few, which consequently meant drinking enough sangría to become fluent. And you know what, I think it worked. Eventually. I can’t thank this girl enough for being so welcoming, and giving me the chance to understand what it really means to be Spanish, to be andaluz.

    Pásame la botella
    Learning the lingo

    Through friends of friends I also had luck in finding an intercambio partner, Cristina, who was studying education at Granada. To my surprise, she and her group of friends had found difficulty in coming across a native English speaker to practice their language with, which is weird, because a few English people I knew had had the exact opposite problem “SPANIARDS? WHERE DO YOU FIND THEM?”

    Going for un café and tapas with them was a novelty at first.

    ‘Okay more of them are joining. Cool, this is good. Making friends. Oh my god. They’ve started speaking to each other. Woah. That’s fast . What did she say? Okay nope yeah didn’t get that. Okay she’s repeating what she said. Yep. Got it. That definitely was NOT Spanish. Okay coffee is here, good. I don’t drink coffee. Smile. Look like you’re part of the conversation. MUY BIEN’

    The more I met up with them, the quicker they clocked on when I just wasn’t comprehending, and respect to them, they actually strived to make me understand, and speak, and learn how to roll my bloody R’s. Which is apparently my go-to for making Spaniards laugh.

    Yes, I am certain this is only supposed to serve one
    Yes, I am certain this is only supposed to serve one

    By Christmas I was drinking coffee every morning, I was often late to class (okay fine I have always been THAT person), and there was nothing better than tostada andaluz to start the day – I will have my toast drenched in olive oil, covered in tomato pulp and sprinkled with salt, por favor. Being in the ‘queue’ at the Mercadona delicatessen no longer struck me with a chilling fear and I just did not care that everyone at my perfect gym was so tanned-toned-fit’n’ready; ONE DAY I SWEAR. UN DÍA. Instead I did my thing like los andaluces; ate some tapas, enjoyed what was around me, shouted for my order and learned to say yes more.

    I also napped more, obviamente.

  • Uni Life Part 1: The UGR Misfits

    Uni Life Part 1: The UGR Misfits

    So as you would have already realised from previous posts, university life in Spain was not all it was cracked up to be. In fact, aside from having a decent café with Alhambra beer on tap, I do not have many positive things to say about my time spent in la facultad de filosofía y letras, University of Granada.

    The best bit
    Faculty Fail

    Teachers seemed to be either condescending or just plain mean. I know what this sounds like. *Stupid English girl thinks studying is difficult* Fact is, you’re on your own, and sometimes it can get to you.

    “Do you understand?”

    “No”

    “You need to tell me if you don’t understand”

    I’ll just keep my hand up for the whole lesson then.

    ***

    “So is there somewhere I can find notes for this lesson online? I tried to understand, but I’m finding it a bit difficult to keep up with this class.”

    “I don’t like using the internet, [F.Y.I THIS INCLUDES EMAIL – I’m not joking.] but you can ask your classmates for their notes”

    Yes Miss, I will go up to one of the Spanish classmates I’ve never spoken to before and: “HIYA LOVE, MIND IF I COPY YOUR NOTES? GRASSY ARSE”

    Italian class was the absolute worst. Picture the scene. I’m sat in the front row, with three other English Erasmus students (or la colonia Britanica/The British Colony as Miss so endearingly named us). The prof talks specifically to the other side of the class (Spaniards): “Samantha is the only one going to Italy next semester”. She then turns to face me, with a glare that screams ‘What are you even doing here?’, before delivering a line so pretentious, and laced with what I would have interpreted as sly bitterness: “Please, don’t tell them you studied it here… I’ll deny it.”

    ***JAJAJA***

    Just the motivation one needs. Was it really necessary?

    Sad as it is to admit, it gave me a tougher skin, because the one thing used to mark me out as the dumb English girl became my strongest form of defence.

    So right after Ms Jumped-Up Prof had sassed me out in Spanish, I broke into my London accent and openly ranted about her attitude problem to a friend.

    Oficina de relaciones internacionales/PLEASE SIGN THIS FORM SO MY UNI CAN SEND ME MONEY
    Do those timetables make sense to you? NOPE me neither

    It’s silly, it’s childish and I should probably get over some old lady humiliating me in front of people I’ll most likely never see again. But at the time it was all I had to go on, and it led me to become unfazed by the notion of being misunderstood. Going to class became a lot easier when I stopped caring so much about what other people thought and whether or not I was saying the right thing. I also came to learn that I was not the only one struggling. Aside from us Pompey lot, most Erasmus students (not just from the UK) were finding it challenging, or at the very least frustrating, to study in the faculty.

    November left me feeling stupid, poor and fat (frustration had been taken out on the tapas). University attendance pretty much matched my mood. Needless to say, when first semester was done, I was SO. DONE.

    Dobby loves her beer
    Home-time
    Rebels

  • Bienvenido a Granada

    Post-reckless retail splurge and I found myself struggling to distribute all my things into two suitcases, a handbag and my rucksack; back to square one with a bus journey ahead of us. 

     Just stepping foot in Granada there is a noticeable difference in the air of this place; a sense of calm envelops the city, with its undeniable wealth of history, quintessentially Spanish characteristics and a landscape of unparalleled beauty.

    La Alhambra, Granada
    La Alhambra, Granada

     Pulling up to my building in a cab, I feel I’ve made the right choice in terms of location (Hallelujah!). In a bid to become as ‘española’ as possible, I am currently residing in a sizable flat overlooking the city’s distinguished Plaza de Toros, in a neighbourhood literally dotted with tapas bars (as in one on every street/ corner/square meter of the area), which themselves create a buzz during lunchtime and late evening alike; a constant hustle of food, drink and Andalusian conversation.

     At the time of writing this blog, I have been in Granada for just over a fortnight, and it’s been a surreal blur of adjusting to late nights/early mornings/non-existent midday’s.  There are some things that I’ve become certain of whilst being here;

    1.  I will not go hungry (so Mum and Dad, stop panicking)
    2. If you want to buy something on Sunday, forget it, you can go without for one day.
    3. The Spanish are not lazy for incorporating ‘siesta’ into their working day – have you TRIED doing anything at that time of day in this heat??
    4. TAPAS. My bank balance and waistline approve.
    5. Customer service is not priority, so it’s up to you to holler at the waiter/sales assistant – if you want something done, do something about it.
    6. They like to stare – coming from where I’m from this is an alien concept – not here though; get used to it, the whole up-and-down staring thing.
    7. Don’t expect anything to be done immediately; the ‘mañana’ concept, that’s taken seriously.  Don’t worry though, it will get done, it’s just ASAP has less of a meaning here…
    8. I need to learn to slow my pace. Being programmed to London-time is not helpful in the slightest; here there is nothing important enough that requires walking more than 2mph; so keep calm and stroll on.
    9. The Spanish don’t do tips. It felt uncomfortable at first; not leaving 10% of the bill, almost as if I were pulling a ‘dine-and-dash’, but I checked with the natives, it’s the done thing here.
    10. Don’t go to the hairdressers expecting exactly what you asked for. Yesterday a friend and I left la peluquería, bewildered and looking like two 16 year old Spanish chicas, ready for our first prom.