¿Conejita feliz? Bunny of Happiness. Choju Giga

I am a happy bunny.... a choju giga (OK, so this is a hare.)

I've just come back from a lecture at the Japan Foundation on the evolving role of the Japanese woman in the modern world, starting with the Confucius-inspired prescription during the Tokagawa shogunate, right up to the present day. It was all in Spanish, and the speaker talked incredibly fast in order to get through her material in an hour and a half....... and I understood it! I am so chuffed with myself! Major milestone!

And next week, the focus is on the Japanese woman in theatre - Noh, Bunraku and Kabuki. I am so looking forward to that, particularly now that I know that however fast the next lecturer speaks, I'll be able to keep up. ¡Qué día frabojoso! (je je je...)

Acabo de asistir en una conferencia en la Fundación Japón, con una profesora muy lista y llena de entusiasmo, pero quiéne habló a la velocidad de un AVE ¡y le entendí casi todo lo que dijó!

Increíble. ¡Una revelación! Es como cuando, hace dos veranos, acompañé a un grupo de alumnos en una visita guiada en un museo..... en español..... y entendí la mayoría de la información. En conversación, me cuesta mucho a entender la mitád de lo que dicen mis amigos españoles, y estaba un poco aprensiva que no entendería la conferencia, pero fui con dos amigas muy simpaticas, y todo pasé bien. ... conejita felíz...

Es parte del Ciclo de conferencias de Primavera, con la tema de 'la mujer japonesa: mito y realidad.

A lo largo del tiempo, diferentes estereotipos de la mujer japonesa han seducido a Occidente, desde la elegancia de las geishas, hasta la sumisión de Madame Butterfly. Imágenes que han atraído la mirada hacia la mujer japonesa y que han suscitado interés en esta figura. Así, la compleja realidad de la mujer japonesa se ha visto ocultada tras los filtros del orientalismo, por un lado, y del machismo, por otro. Es por ello que se dedica el ciclo de conferencias de primavera a la mujer japonesa mito y realidad.

A través del mismo se ofrece la posibilidad de conocer en profundidad las diferencias y las similitudes entre el estereotipo y la mujer japonesa real, sumergiéndonos en los diferentes enfoques propuestos como son el arte, las artes escénicas, la literatura y el mundo actual.

Me he perdido las conferencias sobre la mujer japonesa en la literatura, y a través del arte (que me interesa mucho - soy muy decepcionada), pero asistí ésta tarde (...en el mundo actual), y estoy esperando a la proxima conferencia, la que trate de la mujer japonesa en las artes escenicas - Noh, Bunraku y Kabuuuuuuuuuuuuukiiiiiiiiiii!

Español y yo

LO QUE ME GUSTA

lino lana hilo seda
mas o menos sea que sea
de tal palo tal astilla
albericoque almohadilla
sacapuntas maravillas
golondrina lavavajillas
amapola albahaca
azucena waka waka
sol y sombra, peral hoz
alcachofa albornoz
nuez moscado mariposa
guapa mono mas hermosa
ruiseñor frambuesa cardo
¡madre! ¡tio! dar un bledo
oropelo gorrión
terciopelo algodón
poco fresquito algo chiquitito pastorcito muy bonito
¡oye! ¡mira! ¡ole! ¡toma!
¡mas que nunca!
¡no es una broma!
echar de menos echar un vistazo
marido cariño besito abrazo

LO QUE NECESITO

Presente de indicativo
Estudio estudias estudia estudiamos estudiáis estudian
Aprendo aprendes aprende aprendemos aprendéis aprenden
Hago deberes haces deberes hacemos deberes hacéis deberes hacen deberes

Imperfecto de indicativo
Escuchaba escuchabas escuchaba escuchábamos escuchabais escuchaban
Leía leías leía leíamos leíais leían
Escribía escribías escribíamos escribíais escribían

Pretérito de indicativo
Lloré lloraste lloró lloramos llorasteis lloraron
Entendí entendiste entendió entendimos entendisteis entendieron
Sufrí sufriste sufrió sufrimos sufristeis sufrieron

Presente perfecto de indicativo
Me he preocupado te has preocupado se ha preocupado nos hemos preocupado os habéis preocupado se han preocupado
He tenido éxito has tenido éxito ha tenido éxito hemos tenido éxito habéis tenido éxito han tenido éxito
He persistido has persistido ha persistido hemos persistido habéis persistido han persistido

Futuro de indicativo
Sudaré sudarás sudará sudaremos sudaréis sudarán
Seguiré seguirás seguirá seguiremos seguiréis seguirán
Me divertiré te divertirás se divertirá nos divertiremos os divertiréis se divertirán

Futuro perfecto de indicativo
Habré llegado a ser bilingüe habrás llegado a ser bilingüe habrá llegado a ser bilingüe habremos llegado a ser bilingüe habréis llegado a ser bilingüe habrán llegado a ser bilingüe
Habré solido ir a intercambios habrás solido ir a intercambios habrá solido ir a intercambios habremos salido ir a intercambios habréis salido ir a intercambios habrán solido ir a intercambios

Pluscuamperfecto de indicativo
Había practicado habías practicado había practicado habíamos practicado habíais practicado habían practicado
Había sabido habías sabido había sabido habíamos sabido habíais sabido habían sabido
Me había sentido como en casa te habías sentido como en casa se había como en casa nos habíamos como en casa os habíais como en casa se habían como en casa

Condicional
Escucharía la radio escucharías la radio escucharía la radio escucharíamos la radio escucharíais la radio escucharían la radio
Vería películas verías películas vería películas veríamos películas veríais películas verían películas

Condicional perfecto
Habría aprovechado museos habrías aprovechado museos habría aprovechado museos habríamos aprovechado museos habríais aprovechado museos habrían aprovechado museos

Presente de subjuntivo
Me encuentre con mucha gente te encuentres con mucha gente se encuentre con mucha gente nos encontremos con mucha gente os encontréis con mucha gente se encuentren con mucha gente
Conozca nuevos amigos conozcas nuevos amigos conozca nuevos amigos conozcamos nuevos amigos conozcáis nuevos amigos conozcan nuevos amigos
Viva feliz para siempre vivas feliz para siempre viva feliz para siempre vivamos felices para siempre viváis felices para siempre vivan felices para siempre

¡Basta ya!

Soy constipada

Guys,

If your new Spanish girlfriend ever uses these words to cancel a date, let your sympathy be genuine, not a blind to frantic mental shrieks of 'Too much information!' and a resolution to refile the poor girl under 'E' (for Eeeewwwwwwww!!!!) in your addressbook just as soon as she puts the phone down.

She's got a cold.

On the other hand, if she rings to tell you she's enstreñida....... oh for goodness sake, haven't you got a dictionary?

Anyway, I am. Constipada. So I am sitting here with a mug of escaramujo con hibisco (not another beetle entry, I'm talking rosehip and hibiscus) wellied up a bit with some honey, a squeeze of lemon, a few cloves and a some cinnamon shavings. Drinking it while it's hot! Meanwhile, I've got a litre pottery wine jug set aside for later, with 3 escaramujo con hibisco teabags in it, plus half a lemon, a stick of cinnamon, maybe a dozen cloves, and a thumb-sized piece of ginger sliced up - oh - and a finger of brandy too (I was going to say slug, but so close to plant references, I worried that it might confuse certain sensitive persons). All topped off with boiling water, and left with a saucer on top to............ develop its potential.......

As hot toddies go, all this lacks is a couple of cloves of garlic, but you can't have everything. I'm sure the flat must smell wonderful, but of course, I can't tell.


Soy constipada.

______________________________________________


Un amigo (¡inglés!) cuenta que, una vez, su nueva chica española ha llamado a él para cancelar su cita, por motivo que ella estaba constipada. Él ha creido que 'constipado' es igual como la palabra inglés 'constipated', que significa 'estreñido' en español. Hmmmmm.

Pués, soy constipada, y he preparado un remedio calmado: una jarra de té caliente de escaramujo y hibisco, con miel, un medio limon, un palo de canela, unos claves en grano, unas lonchas de jengibre, y un shot de brandy. Para un 'hot toddy' perfecto , solo falta dos dientes de ajo, pero es domingo por la mañana, llueve, y soy constipada.....





No, this isn't me! Gimme time, though.....

Deberes

Soy profe de inglés, y como profe, se bien que para tener exito en otra lengua, todos los días se necesita hablar, escuchar, leer y escribir. Solo un poco - pero todos los días, o, por los menos, tan frecuentemente que posible. ¡Poco y a menudo! Es un buen consejo, y cuando yo lo de a mis alumnos (¡con grande sonrisa!) ellos suspiran y asenten con la cabeza...... ¡Ai! Qué lío.....

Pero no practico lo que predico ¡como dicemos en inglés! ¿Hay un dicho parecido en español? Estoy viviendo en Madrid trece meses, entonces, hablo español todos los días, pero siempre las mismas frases - para pedir un café, o pagar una cuenta, o dar un saludo al conductor del autobús - y para disculparme mis mal español....

Escucho, pero no entiendo bastante, solo palabras separadas, este verbo y eso sustantivo o adjetivo, no frases enteras: picoteo a las palabras importantes, como una paloma en la plaza, que busca migas de pan entre los huesos de olivas debajo de un mesa.

Leo los reportajes en 'Mi Jardin', y los diseños y instrucciones en 'Labores de Hogar', y los anuncios en '20 Minutos'. Y compro Hola si reconosco las caras en la portada...... a ver... Javier Bardem, 'Pe', los principes de Asturias (y Léonor, y Sophía....) ¡y Angelina Jolie o Matthew McConaughey!

Sin embargo, no escribo nada, nunca, para nada, ¡a nadie! No practico ni la gramatica..... el pasado.... el futuro... aiiiiii..... ni ellos pequeños trucos como aún.... aunque... todavía..... ya........ ¿Claro? Claro....... Ohhhh qué lío....... Y por consiguiente (Tengo mi diccionario a mano.....) no recuerdo jamas las palabras interesantes y utiles los que oígo cada día.

¡Y por consiguiente! continuo a hacer los mismos errores y tonterías cuando estoy hablando; y continuo a hablar español como payaso, agitandome las manos, mientras los hombros suben y descenden como un ascensor, y la boca y los ojos abren y cerran ¡como si yo soy carácter de Warner Bros!

Vale. Voy a escuchar mi mismos consejos. (un suspiro....) Y paso a paso, espero que voy a mejorar. Cuando escribo este blog en inglés, voy a escribirlo también en español. En breve, por supuesto.....

Paso a paso. Poco a poco.

Pasito a pasito. Pocito a pocito.

Pasitito a pasitito. Pocitito a pocitito.

P...........................

I'm going slightly mad

Ask my husband, he'll tell you. That's kind, tolerant and probably slightly terrified husband who looks after me a treat, by the way. This is no tale of sorry misunderstood wife, lonely and unappreciated.

Picture a dog chasing its tail - a happy image. Picture a guinea pig chasing its tail: hmm, girth to length ratio, shortness of tail, narrow field of vision - less happy. Guinea pigs, in my experience, pootle along utterly absorbed in the minutiae of their guinea pig lives, uttering happy musical mweeeeeps as the mood takes them. Is the guinea pig aware that she has a tail? Does she care what it looks like? Nope. Not for her the folly of the hamster, similarly proportioned, and driven by some strange psychological pressure to chase round and round a sodding wheel, for heaven's sake, in pursuit of .................... what, exactly? No wonder hamsters bite.

I think I'm more guinea pig. I do. Got the figure for it. Good range of mweeeeeps. Tail's a bit of a problem at the moment though.

I read an article last month about a family who'd moved from England to France, and were now moving back because it hadn't worked for them. The crunch came when the wife - who essentially had exchanged a full, settled and purposeful life for isolation and a gorgeous view, in a country where she didn't speak the language - discovered she was pregnant. "And in that moment her future unfolded with frightening clarity. If we stayed, she would struggle to understand the midwives and doctors, and once the baby was born she would feel even more cut off."

I sympathised. We really like it here, and we never had any illusions about blending in, but we don't fit yet: not quite tourists, not quite anything specific - we're just here!

For a start, I soon discovered the downside of being an English teacher here: it's the nature of the job that, though you spend hours of every day surrounded by Spanish speakers, since they want to learn English, it doesn't improve your Spanish! Another teacher called it living in a bubble of English. And of course, in the staffroom, we're preoccupied with the complexities of our own language.

Ditto when teachers get together socially: my beloved now knows a lot more than he wants to about the present perfect and the first conditional, and the practical and philosophical differences in meaning between, say, the present continuous in English, and the present continuous in Spanish.

And we find ourselves monitoring our own speech, and that of those around us. Ooops! That was 'since' with a past simple! And I used 'much' in a positive sentence! Madre!

When your first language takes up so much of your attention, it rather dampens your enthusiasm for spending your free time wrestling with the all-important second one. After a dozen years in an Arabic-speaking country, I know that you don't learn a foreign language by osmosis (or not as an adult, anyway) so I have to do the work - but sheesh!

All of which is rather getting in the way of living here, as opposed to being an observer. (Good for yet another expat blog, but.............). I've got email invitations to theatre, talks, discussions and poetry readings, hmmmm..... After a year here, I'm frustrated and impatient with myself.

But the guinea pig thing. (Oh yeah? What was that exactly?) Well, it's like this, see. It's about life, isn't it? You know - a place, a purpose, an identity? I'm what you'd call a late developer. Twice, in Bristol and Bolton, I'd just found my niche, focus, whatever you like to call it, and laid the foundations of life as a young wife, mother, neighbour - when outside factors (a company merger, an economic recession - no, the other one...) necessitated a change of location.

In our years in Dubai, I did lots of interesting stuff, learnt a lot, made friends, and wished, for the most part, that I could go home. This wasn't an option, for a variety of reasons, and I found ways of keeping hands and head busy, and accepting what had to be. I used to wonder if there was a kind of stubbornness there - that all that really lay between me and the contentment that many other expats felt was a carefully disguised sulk at not getting my own way. There's a good little martyr. But I never felt that I had choices, only that I had to do my best to keep up. I'm fairly sure that I'm my own worst enemy. Opportunities missed or wasted, because I was treading water and holding my breath until I found the current that would take me back to my depth. I wish I'd had more gumption, more imagination, more backbone.

So we're here, putting into action the plan - such as it was - that sustained us in those final years. Except. I'm adrift. I'm lonely. I have no patience. But I don't know what to do! When we left England, I had a small son, and we left behind a close circle of friends built around the stages of early at-home motherhood - parks and toddler groups, nursery, primary school - that included husbands and neighbours. Life involved playdough, housework, boredom, silliness, common experiences, and a focus - our children and partners, our homelife. Sometimes it was tense, sometimes suffocatingly dull, but it was solid, and we were all individuals working through the same stage.

In Dubai, school was across town, with maids, drivers and buses as an extra layer of insulation, social life was built around shared interests, and the close friends you made generally upped and bloody left. I abandoned knitting and sewing, planted some pots, got a job, joined a choir and a drama society, made dear friends who didn't up and bloody leave - and who blog! - survived a couple of horrendous crises, waved son off to independence in England, learnt some Spanish............. and................... left. But not to go home. (I know, what's home, especially after such a long time?) I miss my friends. I miss my students. I do not want to go back, but I miss being connected to people. I'm working on the networking thing, but I know I come across as a dotty old auntie sometimes, all over-wide smiles, ever-ready apologies, and comic gestures and facial expressions. Maybe I could do silent movies? Street mime? Ah..........!!! Of course........ Living statues! You really need to speak the language to network. What a shame that the babel fish is fiction. Dang!

This week has been grim: tears before bedtime, also before getting up and over meals. Oh woe was me. It had been coming on for a while, staved off by the demands of work, but the moment I took my thumb out of the dike for purposes of having time off, relaxing, and doing what I wanted, the puzzle landed in my lap with all the spitting insistence of a furious street cat. Claw! What was I going to do? Claw? What could I do? Claw! And who with?! Huh? Who?! And what was the point because who was it for and why are we in another country where we don't speak the language so we're bloody foreigners again and it's still hot and the bijou-piso's still too damn small - and are you making excuses and feeling sorry for yourself again?! - and - phphphnnyyyaaaAAARRGGHHHHHHHHH!?!?!?!?! Claw!

And before you lean as far away as possible because you've just realised I'm completely freakin' nuts and you're afraid it might be catching, may I direct you to the title of this post? You were warned. Whoever you are. If you are. (sniff). It's ok. I'm back at work in a week.

Anyway, I fought back with an expensive foray into water colours since I have no space for sewing, and no space to put any finished product (moving to a bigger place some time soon); shopping for my WWOOF trip; practising Spanish; blogging; reading; and attempting - huh! - to write fiction. Ha! Can't do life, can't do sodding fiction either! Claw!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand what it all boils down to is that, for all the fabulosity of new life and adventure in gorgeous capital full of really interesting people, being foreign is hard work, even for people with the advantages of education and choice. Quite apart from the mechanics of shopping, sorting out utilities and reading manuals (even from foreign manufacturere, e.g. neither my Samsung mobile, nor my Nikon phone offer instructions in English), when you're tired and just want to relax, your own language is part of that. And when you want to join in with something local, get to know someone on their own turf - well, there's a language barrier isn't there?

And although I have plenty of acquaintances and colleagues, and I caught up with my sister and sisters in law at Dad's birthday bash, and yes there's the Internet, I miss the friendships I had, and am generally tired of transience. I'm auditioning for a choir next week. I went to a knitting circle on Thursday evening. I found a patchwork class yesterday. My provisional timetable for the coming year (starting October) makes all of these - and Spanish lessons -possible. The timetable may change, but something must pan out. Every mother has to find a new focus after her children move out. Everyone who relocates has to be patient and persistent. Not every couple get to start fresh adventures together after the first big one of building careers and raising a family. The really interesting stuff does take effort, and effort often hurts til you get used to the new rhythms. And if you keep going with this kind of paragraph you can suffocate under the weight of your own platitudes.

So I don't feel at home yet, but I know I'll feel different a year from now. We've come a long way in a year, whatever the shortfall from our hopes - expectations would be too strong a word. New country, new job, starting out again at 50 without the energy and innocence of 20, and empty nest too - our son has just moved into his hall of residence for the first year of his degree course, so I'm going to finish the scarf I started making for his birthday two years ago!

It's been clear for some time that we've returned to Europe in time for a global economic crisis far worse than the one that sent us to the middle east in the early 90s. Which is a bit of a sod really. At least we have a lot less to lose than we did the first time round - when we eventually lost our house. Our son is up and out, and we're doing our own thing. It doesn't mean that I know what I'm doing or where I'm going, but I've had my insanity week, and I think I've worked out my gameplan for the near future.

Meanwhile, my husband has just defrosted our USELESS refrigerator with hairdryer, newspaper, kitchen towels, wooden spoon and carving knife. He's talking about grocery shopping, but I think it would be a kindness to take him out for a beer.

Tonight we're going to see Mamma Mia! again - but in Spanish this time. Working on the language skills, see?

Scrobble

This is doing the rounds again.

I've been looking for it, because it might make some of my students feel better about English spelling!

Fi yuo cna raed tihs, yuo hvae a sgtrane mnid too. Cna yuo raed tihs? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can. I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, maens taht it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are; the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? Yaeh, and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt!

If you're a native English speaker, and particularly if Winnie the Pooh figured in your childhood, with helpful spelling lessons from Wol, you may have only a dim awareness of what a foreigner has to deal with when tackling English as a subject instead of absorbing it organically or cognitively.............. i.e. the way you (and I) did.

We started our language course almost as soon as we were born: watching, listening, imitating the faces and voices around us; notifying the world of our personal requirements and registering outcomes: Dry nappy! Full tum! Squishy warm hug! Let's try that again!!!!!

Meanwhile, everyone signed up as our language teacher, pulling out all the stops to communicate with us: watch people talking to babies, and see how close they bring their faces, how they exaggerate expressions and sounds, just to get the little one's attention and get a reaction.

If parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and favourite neighbours spoke half a dozen languages between them - well - we grew up with a working knowledge of the whole circus, and that magic 'ear for languages' that makes school language teachers sigh with delight. I've met several people who speak three or more languages fluently.

I remember a Swiss family, when I had a summer job as a waitress at Heathrow Airport, who batted the conversation back and forth in English, French and German as they discussed whether they wanted a Danish pastry or a croissant with their coffee or Freshly Squeezed Orange Juice.
(Well of course our juice was freshly squeezed... in Heathrow Airport.... in the early 80's.....). Someone else spoke 6 languages, a former colleague speaks Armenian, Turkish, Arabic, English - and there's a fifth, but I can't remember what it is.
Rudi - in international sales - spoke 12 languages. TWELVE!
They all acquired their gift of tongues through being born into bilingual or multi-lingual families, and proceeded to expand on what they had.

Buuuutttttttt..... if, by an unkind accident of fate, you didn't happen to be born at 23 Babel Towers, and were therefore denied the delights of Japanese, Croatian and Uzbek nursery rhymes with Auntie Polyglot, never had the chance to try Lingo Dancing or make a Blue Peter Thesaurus Rex glove puppet on rainy afternoons................... then you need A Course of Evening Classes to Unlock your Latent Potential, Liberate you from Linguistic Limbo ....... etc. etc. etc.

Just be grateful that the language you'll be signing up for won't be English, arguably the most complex language in the world when you take into account the wealth of synonyms and homonyms, and the extraordinary elasticity of its spelling and pronunciation rules, based as they are on successive linguistic invasions, transplants, grafts, modifications, fashions and developments. In English, the exception doesn't prove the rule - it is the rule! (More or less....)

Here's a website that takes a stab at rationalising things, with its Introduction to Absolutely Ridiculous English Spelling. Admirable.

Of course, this is American English, so the pronunciation guide doesn't quite work for British English, and isn't so hot on Strine or Saaf Efrican either. Actually, neither does the spelling guide....

Ah well, it didn't bother Wm. Shaksper, so why should it bother us?

Lift....... occasionally off

I've been reading Habibi's blog. I know we're married, but you know how it is.......

Anyway, now that I've stopped laughing, I just have to make sure everyone knows how to pronounce

ASCENSOR..........

Babel revisited

I have a 'beginner' student. In fact, my 'beginner' has a handful of English words, has previously worked with self-study materials, and, as a Spanish speaker, effectively knows the English alphabet, and finds many English words familiar. (This is a mixed blessing, as the Spanish actual doesn't mean actual, and you can't call a spade an espada... etc!)

There are plenty of other English learners whose languages have completely different roots, and whose systems of writing don't function, or look, like alphabets. In any country, you might expect most classes to be monolingual, whether the students are adults or children. For the teacher, this has advantages and disadvantages when it comes to speaking and listening, but has to be a plus when it comes to teaching reading and writing skills. At least it gives you a common starting point, even if it's how to hold a pen, rather than a brush!

Where do you start in a school where 30 different races speak 28 different languages?

Where you have 'so many different languages being spoken, some children may be the sole speakers of their language'? Good grief!

I am full of admiration for the staff of Drove primary school, who have developed a programme to work with the realities of a transitory immigrant population. We hear plenty about what happens where integration fails. Someone has taken a good look at the needs of a neighborhood where 'Pupils come and go as their families move to Britain, then in and out of the area as they get established in the country', and done some serious work on meeting the essential educational and social needs of a generation. Bravo.

HappyHappyHappy

Recent discovery: MyHappyPlanet.

No, I am not experiencing a Helly Kitty meltdown. It's a language exchange site. Perfect for someone who lives in the centre of Spain, but never seems to have opportunity or leisure to work on her Spanish!

MyHappyPlanet has elements of blogging and social networking. You choose a user name and password, fill in an unintrusive language profile, and - that's it really. It's in its Beta version, and a bit fiddly to navigate, but repays the time it takes to work out its little quirks. I signed up as a fluent English speaker wanting to learn conversational Spanish, and did a search for fluent Spanish speakers interested in improving their English. After trawling about 1o% of that particular database, I sent a smile (friend request) to several Spaniards and Latin-Americans based in Spain, and a couple of people in Latin America.

The next day, I spent several hours online, writing to those who had smiled back - basically doing a mailshot. Serious Spanish homework and - I hope - the start of a penfriend network.

It's my goal to be fluent in two years: an arbitrary goal, perhaps, but really no more than an extension of the effort we make whenever we move into a new area and set about making the transition from outsider to part of the neighborhood. One thing I learnt in Dubai is that if you operate in an English enclave, even though it's cultural rather than physical, you do not absorb the language of your host country by osmosis, and you remain an outsider.

I don't know if its possible to become fluent in another language in two years, while holding down the day job, but it's a goal that keeps me focused. For me, fluency - not just the token acquisition of a few phrases - is essential. One can get by - even in Madrid - with English and a few Spanish phrases, but I don't want to merely get by. I want to live here, read the novels and newspapers, go to the theatre and cinema, join in. And that's going to take some effort. Hence the mailshot. After this, as with Facebook, I can pop in and out as I have time. Let's just see what comes of it.

And it's fun. I had some lovely replies in Spanish and English - plus corrections of my letters. There are several communication options, including online chat and Skype, but they're not practical for me while I'm working unsocial hours. However, since several of my contacts are based here in Madrid, there is the appealing option of going for lunch or a coffee sometime, when we're ready. Once I've sifted out the axe murderers, of course!

Here's a sample (without corrections) of this week's deberes:

¡Hola!

Cómo hablar a un desconocido...........? Tenemos un objetivo común. ¡Bueno! ¡Eso es! ¿Qué tal?

¿Has habido un bueno fin de semana? Hoy hace mucho frío en Madrid. ¿Hace igual en Barcelona? He visitado Barcelona hay dos años. ¿Es una ciudad guapa, no? Tengo una amiga querida allí.

Sin embargo, hemos (yo y mi marido) venido a Madrid porque ello es el capital, y porque es mas fácil por nuestros a aprender castellano, que castellano y catalán. ¡Claro!

Es muy posible que, despues de dos años aquí, vamos trasladar cerca de Tarragona, pero ahora, nuestra prioridad es a disfrutarnos de todo que ofrece Madrid, ¡y mejorar nuestro español!

Esta tarde, hemos visitado el Museo Arqueológico. Me interesan las artes de muchas edades y civilisaciones, y el exposición de Los Etruscos es excelente - bronce, piedra, oro - yelmas, joyerias, tumbas - todas tan guapas. Un otro fin de semana, deseamos mirar la reconstrucción de las cuevas de Altamira.

Pues ¡hasta luego!

Buen Fin de Semana

I'm halfway through a long weekend. Last week, we had Thursday off, and last month we had the 12th, but I feel less spoilt than relieved by this humane spread of public holidays. The past three months have been so interesting, so stimulating, so delightful, so satisfying. At the same time, between new country, new job, new people and new language, it gets tiring!

It all got a bit much on Thursday morning, and I had a rather weepy conversation with Habibi - he wasn't weepy, I might add, just quietly practical: yes, it gets a bit much sometimes, but we've covered all the bases, and we've nothing to worry about. What I needed was a decent night's sleep, and - ideally - a long weekend to cool my overheated brain, and generally chill.

We had this conversation while strolling through the neighborhood - my choice, as I'm less likely to snivel if distracted by the necessity of watching where I'm going and not making a show of myself. We wound up in a little side street cafe, where a film was playing unnoticed on TV. After a while (The TV was sited over Habibi's shoulder.) I registered that the protagonists had taken off their clothes and started doing things of a highly personal nature - not exactly washing behind their ears, you understand. Around the cafe, various other people noticed, watched for a bit with all the interest of cows chewing a stem of grass, and then went back to their conversations, or to gazing over their coffee cups. Fresh from the Middle East, we were a little more distracted, but not much. I almost felt sorry for the actors - all that psyching yourself up for a Nude Scene, and for what? Of course, it might have been different with the sound turned up.......

Outside, there was real entertainment: the tail end of a shouting match between a man and a woman; and a window display to die for: a scattering of bright autumn leaves, and heaps of beautifully made chocolate leaves, chestnuts and acorns, and chocolate-dipped walnuts. Mouthwatering artistry!

From there, I went off to my Spanish lesson, children's English classes in two schools and two adult classes back at base. The first children were as good as gold, and I was proud of them: they're a lively bunch, and its taken some doing to get to that level of concentration and involvement. Let's see if we can continue like this! The second group, an after-school class, and usually pretty focused - were completely hyper at the prospect of a long weekend starting as soon as they got out of class. Ah well.

The adult classes are - naturally - quite different in nature. I find that being a Spanish learner adds an extra dimension to being an English teacher. The challenges that my students face in mastering English are mirror images of the challenges I face with their language. They, of course, are considerably more advanced in English than I am in Spanish, so I have yet to deal with the grammatical and idiomatic points that they are wrestling with now. On the other hand, while they struggle to first hear, and then reproduce English vowel and consonant sounds, like our long 'a' (plate, spade), soft 'sh' and crisp 'ch', I am making a total hash of the lisped Spanish 'c' and 'z' which are somewhere betweenEnglish 'th' (thought) and 's' (sought!). It's a good job I prefer vino tinto to cerveza!

It's ironic that, as a resident here, I have the advantage of total immersion in the language I want to learn; but as an English teacher, I operate in my first language for most of my waking hours, and I can't even take it for granted, because of the need to explain and model it for my students. Not much comfort blanket there!

Out and about, of course, mundane tasks and conversations, and the radio, posters, shop signs, street signs and newspapers of my environment- provide one long practice exercise. Between the particular demands associated with each language, it does get tiring.

I have no complaints though - oh no. I am intrigued by this process of becoming bilingual - as I aim to be, eventually. I love the day-to-day contact with the people I meet in shops, cafes and classes. I get a tremendous buzz out of understanding snatches of conversation and lines from songs.

Anyway, it's the weekend now, and I'm enjoying it!

Lingua Longua

And here is the one I prepared earlier....

on November 1, 2007

Today it is the Day of the Dead persons, and a holiday here in Spain. To celebrate, I have remained in the bed up to 1 in the evening, and then, two more hours, with my tea, my book and my portable computer. Good what to being idle as this one!

Yesterday in the night, I have gone away of working to 9.45 in the night, and have taken the Meter to Nuñez of Balboa, and a concert in The Celtic Cross.

At the stations, I have seen many young people in suit of holiday, garment in fantastic style: layers and black wings, brilliant perukes, and makeup of fantomas, devils, or clowns of circus. In the platform to Alónso Martínez, the people have smiled, or you have ignored him. Then, when the train is ‘ carried out his entry in the station ’ the cars have contained other devils and angels, all in holiday.Then, I have found with Habibi to N of B, y we have gone to the bar, where we have enjoyed friends and strangers – it has been equal. Many people, music, laugh and conversation on other conversations and more laugh. Two birthdays – quite he has sung. We have gone away late.

When we have gone out of the Meter for 1 of the morning, we have found many groups of young people who there are his proper holidays small in the piazza next to our flat. Has wanted to have left: why to try of sleeping across so noise?, but I have made too cold, and we is a little tired one. We have gone to bed, and have got up twelve hours later.

This evening has been clear and has done of good weather. So, we have gone for a slow walk, elevated place the trees, the buildings, and the people of the quarter, and have eaten in one of few snack bars that have been opened today. Then, another walk, a coffee in the kind ambience of historical Commercial Coffee. And the return to the house.

Olay.

Muchos gracias to Im Translator. (The feeling may not be mutual: Guys, before you sue, let me make it clear that I haven't done the past tenses - or much else - yet - so IT'S ME, NOT YOUR EXCELLENT PRODUCT!!).

I've signed up for their free service. You have been avisado.....

Lingua Spanca

Habibi put my last entry into a translation site. The result is probably an accurate rendition of my Spanish......

On November 2, 2007
I have returned to work for the last day of the week. It is a bridge for someone, pués we profés have not asked all the pupils to wait in the classes. It is clear that many people they have gone away to his village, to visiting his parentes for the holiday. A girl has said to me that it has gone to San Sebastian, and other one has gone to Jeréz. In end, I believe that 50 % I have come today.

For the midday, I have gone shopping for a vacuum cleaner to hand and a book of grammar. It has seemed to me that the whole world is habid the same idea, because El Corte Ingles has gone very crammed. I have dyed my heat and I am duelida them chirp also: I have not liked at all.

It is not true: I have loved the autumnal colors and different textures of the corners of gantes and averages. I have had success in Hearth: the electrical appliances are so expensive here! - but I have had to go away to nine House of Books in C. Of Orense for my book. What villain to feet!

But what good shop also. I remind to myself from my first visit to Spain that the Spanish take his free time seriously. Every Court English in cualqiera ciudád supports a plant of books and of material for the fine arts. Madrid has dicenes of bookstores, where he can buy the new books, to segundomano and ancient, and rest and to drink a coffee at the same time. There are also so many small haberdasheries, linens and hardware stores, big shops of textiles, specialists in handmade wools, florists who sell the cactuses and bonsai for the minuscule flat and plants and flowers in baggage for the balconies.

And then, there are the promotions and campaigns of the ayuntamento and the government, to encouraging and supporting the arts, and after cheer up citizens to be enjoyed the museums, the theater etc. Books to the Street in the Meter, The Summers in the Street from June until September, The Night in Target in September, the Autumn festival, and the current one ‘ we invite You to the Meadow ’. Quite for the big life - for everything.

We go to the Meadow this end of week.

Yup - that about covers it. ;)

Another over-ambitious diary entry

El 2 de noviembre de 2007

He vuelto a trabajo para el último día de la semana. Es una puente para alguien, pués nosotros profés no hemos preguntado cuantos alumnos a esperar en las clases. Claro que mucha gente se han ido a su pueblo, a visitar su parentes por la fiesta. Una chica me ha dicho que ha ido a San Sebastian, y otra ha ido a Jeréz. En fin, creo que 50% he venido hoy.

Por la mediodía, he ido de compras para una aspiradora a mano y un libro de gramática. Me ha parecido que todo el mundo ha habid la misma idea, porque El Corte Inglés ha ido muy atestado. Me he tenido calor y me he duelida las pies tambien: no me he gustado nada.

No es verdad: me han encantado las colores otoñales y texturas varias de las rincones de gantes y medias. He tenido éxito en Hogar - ¡los electrodomesticos son tan caros aquí! - pero me he tenido que ir a la nueve Casa de Libros en C. De Orense para mi libro. Qué malo a pies!
Pero qué tienda buena también.

Me recuerdo desde mi primera visita a España que los españoles toman su ocio en serio. Cada Corte Inglés en cualqiera ciudád mantiene una planta de libros y de material para las bellas artes.

Madrid tiene dicenes de librerías, donde puede comprar los libros nuevos, a segundomano y antiguos, y descansar y tomar un café al mismo tiempo. Hay tambien tan muchas pequeñas mercerías, lencerías y ferreterías, tiendas grandes de tejidos, especialistas en lanas artesanales, floristas quienes venden los cactuses y bonsai para el piso minusculo y plantas y flores en maletas para los balcones.

Y entonces, hay los promociones y campañas del ayuntamento y el gobierno, a fomentar y apoyar las artes, y a animar las ciudadanos a disfrutarse de los museos, el teatro etc. Libros a la Calle en el Metro, Los Veranos de la Villa de junio hasta septiembre, La Noche en Blanco en septiembre, el Festival de Otoño, y el actual ‘Te invitamos al Prado’. Todo por la gran vida - para todo.

Vamos al Prado este fin de semana.

English: =D YouTube La Noche en Blanco

Deberes (Homework)

We've started Spanish lessons, and got to El Preterito Perfecto. So here's the homework - all in the present perfect, and heavily reliant on the dictionary, but never mind! (Short version: we went out last night. It was fun. We slept in today in celebration of The Day of the Dead - great excuse for a public holiday - and then went for a walk. Wild.)

I did try a proper blog earlier, but something went awry, hence default homework entry. Also - my Spanish is finally starting to resemble a language instead of a linguistic lucky bag............... phew............. So, never mind the howlers, here's my best shot.

el 1 de noviembre de 2007
Hoy es el Día de los Muertos, y un día festivo aquí en España. Para celebrar, me he quedado en la cama hasta 1 por la tarde, y entonces, dos horas más, con mi té, mi libro y mi ordenador portátil. ¡Qué bueno a holgazanear como éste!
Ayer noche, me he ido de trabajar a 9.45 por la noche, y he tomado el Metro a Nuñez de Balboa, y un concierto en The Celtic Cross. En las estaciones, he visto muchas jovenes en traje de fiesta, vestido de estilo fantastico: capas y alas negras, pelucas brillantes, y maquillaje de fantomas, diablos, o payasos de circo. En el andén a Alónso Martínez, la gente ha sonreido, o le has ignorado. Entonces, cuando el tren he ‘efectuado su entrada en la estación’ los coches han contenido otros diablos y angeles, todos en fiesta.
Luego, he encontrado con Keef a N de B, y nosotros hemos ido a la barra, donde hemos disfrutado con amigos y desconocidos – ha sido igual. Mucha gente, musica, risa y conversación sobre otras conversaciones y más risa. Dos cumpleaños – toda ha cantado. Nos hemos ido tarde.
Cuando hemos salida del Metro a 1 de la mañana, hemos encontrados muchos grupos de jovenes quienes han sus propios fiestas pequeños en la piazza cerca de nuestro piso. Hemos querido quedarse – ¿por qué intentar de dormir a través de tan ruido? , pero he hecho demasiado frío, y nosotros hemos estado un poco cansada. Nos hemos ido a la cama, y nos hemos levantada doce horas mas tarde.
Esta tarde ha estado despejado y ha hecho de buen tiempo. Pues, hemos dado un paseo lente, miranda los arboles, los edificios, y la gente del barrio, y hemos comido en una de las pocas cafeterías que han sido abiertas hoy. Entonces, un otro paseo, un café en el ambiente amable de la historica Café Comercial. Y la vuelta al casa.

......... I might try that again when I can talk about the past properly! The band was Sí Sí Riders, a light-hearted Elvis cover band fronted by the gloriously extrovert singer Jeff Hogan. It was a wacky night out, with umpteen of us crammed into a tiny Scottish bar, with punters in Halloween dress having to sidle discreetly round the band to get to the loo, and stopping for a bop on the way back. Great fun. And these guys could really play. Lead, bass and drums doing serious justice to classic rock & roll and R&B. Estupendo! In fact, some of them play in other groups and line-ups. Check out bassista (!) Dave Mooney's other band, named for it's singer and writer Garrett Wall, on MySpace. I'm going to get down to their next gig. My ears might have stopped ringing by then.

Hacer de Compras

Grocery Shopping

Phrasebooks are great for holidays.

You walk into a cervecería, give the camarero a big sonrisa (:D) open your libro de frasos at Page 2, and point to the fraso, Dos cervezas, por favor.
El camarero rewards you with an authentic flamenco stare down his handsome Spanish nariz ( :<\ ), and ¡Olé! Roberto es su tio. (Except that, in Spain, Pepe es su tio - and María es su tia, while we're doing cultural notes.) Three hours and several pages más tarde, full of bocadillos, paella, tapas, pinchos and vino tinto, you write a cheque in the air, and are rewarded with a small circular dish bearing the latest news on the exchange rate. You sort through various denominations of billetes in pretty colours, and a pocketful of unfamiliar silver, brass and copper, and then beam a happy ¡Hasta luego! at el mundo at large, and continue on your way in search of new pages. ¡Qué bueno! Well, three weeks into our sojourn aquí, we've done Page 2 lots of times. ¡Qué bueno! Of course, we've also gone off text. First there was shopping for food, because you can't eat out alllllll the time. The Mercado is across the road from us for fresh fruit and veg, meat, fish, eggs, cheese and bread; and all around us there is every kind of shop, like a street in a children´s book: grocer, bakery, charcutería ('deli' doesn't cover it), shoe shop, hardware store, chemist, book shop, stationer, fabric shop, wool shop, clothes shop, health food shop, farm shop, toy shop, plus gym, salon de juegos (games arcade), and lots of cafeterias and cervecerías, also sidrerías, pizzerias and purveyors of Döner Kebap. And that's just around the corner. (I was going to say 'walking distance', but everything's within walking distance: one of the pleasures of being here is being able to walk everywhere, and we do.) In Dubai we have shopping malls. In Britain we have Tesco superstores. Here, where everyone lives stacked three or four deep above a shop, in buildings over a century old, finding space or getting planning permission for a mega-mall or whopper-market which would increase efficiency and profitability (for the owner of said WHaM) and denude a neighborhood of everything but estate agents, charity shops and antique dealers by day, and graffiti artists and piss artists by night – oh, and involve rehousing four households (and 4-12 registered voters) for every 50m2 of retail space... well... I think we're safe for a while yet. Whoo! First rant in Spain! Gonna be an anarcho-conservative, libero-fascist greenie! Anyway, I've always enjoyed food markets – the fragrant heaps and pyramids of colour, the orderly variety of fish and seafood, cheese and bread; the different types and cuts of meat; the range of preserved goodies: salt- and smoke-cured meat, all ages and stages of cheese, salted fish, and pickled olives; and eggs of all colours, sizes, and parentage. On my first visit to the Mercado I was in my element, even though it was a Monday, so most of the stalls were shut after the busy weekend trade. In my new orange espadrilles, and with my natty new shopping basket with the blue and green striped lining (spot the newcomer doing New Life in Spain!) I trotted round reading labels and notices, watching and listening to other shoppers, and thumbing back and forth and back again through my diccionario. It took lots of smiles, mime and pointing, but I did manage to hacer de compras en español and €s. The first surprise was that they wrap everything in waxed paper; the second that they assume you want a plastic carrier bag for everything, even though most shoppers have shopping bags or wheelie-bags. And there was I with aforementioned natty basket. Oh well, I was buying fish and meat anyway. Where our market at home features Lincolnshire potatoes, here we have gallego (Gallician) poultry and eggs (fresh turkey any time, not just Christmas and Thanksgiving), granadiño and Iberian hams, and embutidos (sausages) ibéricos. I think that in this context, ibérico/Iberian simply means Spanish, rather than imported, though there are special pork cuts and products which you would not find outside Spain. (And if you've ever seen a vacuum-packed lardon, basically a 10x8x5cm lump of white fat trimmed with bacon for contrast, you'll understand why!). After a dozen years in a Muslim country, it's a little overwhelming to find myself in Pork Central. While Dubai’s supermarket chains – apart from the French ones – carried pork lines, we were paying for food miles and the privilege of access to haram products, which put the British (best!) beyond our budget, leaving bland and additive-packed American brands - or South African bacon which tasted good, but more or less vapourised on contact with grill or frying pan..... Hmm.... a little disconcerting. And what is the point of turkey, beef or soya bacon? So I skipped it. Apart from the black pudding. That worked! Here, there's pork everywhere. Suckling pigs smile adorably from window displays, in a dead sort of way, like cheerfully philosophical Babe wannabes; and ‘jamon’ legs hang in rows in cervecerías, cafés and restaurants, the current one propped on a special stand, ready for slicing for your lunchtime tostada or bocadillo (and, once, a discarded one in a skip, trotter pointing skyward – a little unsettling until brain processed glimpse and established that this was neither part of a plastic mannequin, nor the beginnings of a police enquiry). When not sliced and packed, pork looks so human…..

But – it is the Spanish meat, dating back to the centuries when the majority of Spaniards lived in poverty and – like the rural poor in most countries – kept a pig for meat. And – I suppose - ate every last scrap, however inventive they had to be to make it palatable. Also, in periods of religious intolerance, a leg of ‘jamon’ hanging in your window was insurance of a sort.

Last year I was introduced to a very Spanish cheese. It has no name, as far as I can tell – just your común o jardín queso - but it's made from the milk of cabra, oveja y vaca (goat, ewe and cow) and comes in three ages: tierno (young), semi-curado, and curado. Habibi's not impressed, but I enjoy all three. As with all cheeses, refrigeration makes it bland, but with August temperatures of 26-36º, I don't really want it lurking in a corner, plotting my overthrow, so it lives in the fridge, but gets three or four hours freedom before meals.

Anyway, when I got home from the Mercado (and the horno/pastelería/confitería bakery/pastry-shop/sweetshop), I put everything away, made myself a coffee, spread the printed waxed wrappers on the table and pulled out the diccionario again. Which is why I can spout merrily about embutidos and the like.

One thing. When I was little, my Grandmère had a quince bush, and used to make quince jam, which I adored. When I saw quince last year (in the French hypermarket Géant, in Ibn Battuta Mall, in Dubai!) of sugar, I pounced. I had to look up quince on the Internet to find out how to cook it, and I duly followed the instructions, which involved an improbable quantity of sugar. Result. Inedibly sweet muck. Vile.
So, when I saw tarte de membrillo in the local horno/pastelería/confitería-bakery/pastry-shop/sweetshop, I bought one.
Any Beano readers reading this? No? Dandy?……… Do you remember Dennis the Menace/Minnie the Minx/Desperate Dan’s reaction to revolting food? It went as follows: Grrrroooooogh!
If and when I find fresh membrillos – I mean quinces - I'm using half the standard sugar quantity. Ha!

One for nzm

How about some Catalan? (I think it's Catalan!) Don't worry, he translates. Count this as a postscript to Bloggers' Day. A newsy, philosophical, humorous site. And check out his survival links!

And while I'm here (3.10 a.m. OMG) I've been meaning to mention that ever since I started Spanish, I have had interference from the French I learnt at school, and the Italian from a course of evening classes that Habibi and I took when we got married - for da honeymoon in Sorrento. And I mean interference, just like the mess between radio channels.

The first Spanish phrase I learnt was 'Vamos a España'. 'Let's go to Spain.' It could hardly be any simpler, could it? But I'd open my mouth to say this, and out would come 'Andiamo a España.' Which is fine. If you're Italian. I wouldn't mind, but the Italian course lasted a couple of months, twenty years ago - which was also the last time I was in Italy. I get French, too, in more demanding situations, though when I've been in France, it has generally taken three days for my French to kick in.

I've talked to other foreign language learners, including our head of French, who speaks French, English, Russian, Italian and Spanish (!!!!!) and they all recognise the experience. Habibi never realised how much Italian he knew until he started Spanish!

My theory is that there's a file in our brains labelled 'Native Language' and another labelled 'Foreign', and until you get really fluent in a second (or third) language, they stay in a jumbled heap in the 'Foreign' file, which is opened by adrenaline. The only comfort is that in addition to 'Speech' this file also contains 'Loud Voice', 'Wild Gesticulation', 'Funny Faces' and 'Embarrassment Bypass'. It's good fun, actually, in a mentally exhausting sort of way. :D

I once met a man who spoke twelve languages fluently. His grandparents and parents had married foreigners, and yet were a close family who spent a great deal of time together, so he grew up speaking one language to one, another to another, and so on, and then expanded his range at school and university. I had a waitressing job at Heathrow, and remember a Swiss family: the wife and children told the father what they wanted in French and German, he gave me their order in English, and they evidently all understood all three languages. I have a friend who speaks Arabic, Armenian, English, Turkish and Spanish. Wow. But don't most people out here speak two languages? It's too easy to be lazy if you're a native English speaker.

The reason I got anxious about retaining my Spanish now that I'm no longer in a Spanish environment, was that for three mornings after I got to England, I would wake up thinking in Spanish. It was very slow, sleepy Spanish, but of course it meant that I was really beginning to assimilate the new language. However, by the end of the week, all I had left was 'muy bien'; and any attempt to speak Spanish produced French! 'Foreign'. Damn.

In our family, my maternal grandmother was a Bretonne, my grandfather was English, and my mother spoke only French until she was five, when the family decided to speak only English at home, to help her and her sisters progress at their London school. So that was that, until, in her 70s, with a French daughter-in-law and grandchildren, Mother went to classes in French Conversation, to enable her to converse with her new and lovely extended family-in-law. All her French came back - with the phrasing and idoms of seventy years ago! She's going to France for a visit this month. Great anticipation!

4.20! Bed!

No te preocupe

Aprendí tanto en esas dos semanas del curso. ¡Pero ya he olvidado tanto en dos semanas de hablar inglés!

Estoy tratando ser sensata, y no me preocupar, pero estamos nos preparando trasladar a España en diez meses, y no puedo hacer nada sin mi libro de texto y mi diccionario español. ¡Así, yo me preocupo!

Hice un proyecto para ayudarnos de estudiar, leer, escuchar y hablar todos podemos aquí en Dubai. En mi instituto, hay unos estudiantes españoles y de Hispanoamérica: y ellos han acordado amablamente a hablar español conmigo cada semana. Espero mi marido puede participar también. Además, cuando estábamos en España (No hicimos ni el pretérito ni el imperfecto. Argh! ¿Dónde estan el diccionario y las tablas gramáticas?! ¡Me disculpo de mis errores!) - cuando estábamos en España, yo compré periodicos, revistas, y también unas novelas familiares, en traducciónes españolas (Mata un ruiseñor por Harper Lee, Los buscadores de conchas, por Rosamunde Pilcher, Canción de navidad por Charles Dickens – ¡Y Pies de barro por Terry Pratchett par Habibi!).

Haremos nuestro mejor. (No hicimos el fururo tampoco......) Tenemos diez meses hasta julio 2007.

Por fin, conozco unos estudiantes estranjeros, por ejémplo de Corea, quien llegaran en este país sin hablar árabe o inglés, sólo su propia lengua, pero ellos estudian inglés y en el mismo tiempo estudian todos sus otros sujetes en inglés. Y tienen exito. Estupendo! No sé cómo arreglárselas. Sin embargo, si ellos pueden hacerlo, nos podemos también. ;)

Entrada 2

Still no bag, but if you tried the hotel link, I expect you didn´t get far either. Recontacted Manchester and hope for best. No dratted salary yet either. Should have landed Thursday. Not penniless, but like things tidy! Grrr.

En route for Alcazaba yesterday, accidentally found Museo Picasso. Have realised that with every teeny calle (cay-ye - my street map is a plano callejero) marked, Centro Historico looks bigger than it is. Stopped for lunch at Laperia deli-bar, but exhausted and grumpy so back to hotel. Much better after snooze.

Back to Museo just after 6. Gorgeous building, very well spaced and lit, and very interesting collection. 85 pieces donated by P´s son & daughter-in-law. Saw my first 'live' Picasso in Barcelona last year, and was totally thrilled with the pottery he did in his 90s. Definite case of world's most famous artist saying ok - done it all - now for some fun! Goats, bulls, fish, men, women, with all the vigour and clarity of a child's work (up til he starts being told to stay inside the lines....sob!) but infused with an artist's skill and a grown man´s knowledge of the long artistic heritage of the mediterranean.

The Malaga collection is mostly paintings and drawings, with a few pots, some lithographs and some lino prints. Very well mounted: no ornate frames, just free hanging within plain wood frames (Ikea!) with non-reflective glass that's only noticeable when you wonder and check. Picasso makes me want to draw. He makes it look so easy, but also so essential - everyone HAS to draw! How can anyone NOT draw! That's how alive his work is. It's as if he's in every drawing, still making it, and you're in there with him, watching him make it, seeing the model, the room. Even his jokes - I get an impression of a wicked individual sometimes - the Grand Old Man of art putting down something silly and mischievous, just to see if we'll dare laugh, or feel compelled to rub our chins, and blether on in deep seriousness about the line, the composition, tidah-tidaah-tidaaaa. It's a JOKE!!!!! Wicked.

Rapid fade-out again. Not wearing a watch this summer, and the long light evenings are confusing after Dubai's sunsets which always make me think of a tennis ball plopping over a net. Two minutes' peachy aftermath and lights out, that's your lot thank you and goodnight!

So, to the cafe, for an iced tea, freshly made. Took glass to table and spotted GARDEN. Oh, the garden. Oh my. It has to be one of the most beautiful, most perfect little treasures in the whole wide world. A courtyard, paved and with four steps down from one level (tables and chairs) to the next, with big ceramic pots of geraniums in rows on each step, and a long narrow rectangle of quietly bubbling water that brought pigeons and sparrows in ones and twos for time out from the business of flocking around tourists. Miniature orange trees in pots. Natural hessian blinds, black wrought iron, plain windows, cream exterior walls bars. Conifers and vines. Bells from the church. Voices from the street. A secret garden of tranquillity.

Restored, I went to the archaeological site excavated below the building. The Phoenicians founded Malaka (uhuh) in the 7th century BC. The more I see and read about the Phoenicians, the more I realise our debt to them. They had a tremendous impact on Asia and Europe, and their influence is all over Jordan and probably Syria and Iraq too. Artists, traders, farmers, chemists. And where does our Roman alphabet come from? Begins with a Ph!

Back for more Picasso, until informed that the Museum would be closing in 15 minutes. Great restraint in the bookshop: postcards only, and no, I won't be sending them! 9 o'clock.

Essay in mediocrity at Cafe Tren: some kind of plastic cheese and oragano toasted on tinned tomato. The bread was crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside, but did not compensate. However, the chocolate con ron was very sweet, smooth, thick and delicious before bed, though I don't believe the 'ron' bit for a second.

This morning, I took camera and video camera and went out at 8.30 to beat the heat - er yeah, that really worked...... Walked to the port, along Paseo del Parque, and up, up up 1116 metres to Gibralfaro. Met an old man near the top, and had one of those funny conversations you can only have when neither of you speaks much of the other's language, and you know you'll never meet again, but you've taken a shine to each other. We compared our knowledge of each other's language, and of French, and talked in a mix of all three about Malaga and our school experiences and what I'm doing, with lots of sign language and exaggerated facial expressions, and louder and louder voices. It was brilliant, and we were totally delighted with ourselves and each other. Then he went back to his newspaper and the view.

I went back to climbing that darn hill. Surely fortification was unnecessary: any soldier who made it to the top could be felled by the flick of a finger. Gaaaaaah! Tremendous view, though, even on this muggy morning. Didn't actually go into Gibralfaro. Very hot and all outdoors except for a military museum which doesn't interest me. Bought bottle of orange and mandarin juice (yum) and got the bus down. Stopped to photograph a wedding (It was fun!) and then walked to secret entrance to ascensor (LIFT - oh THANK you!) to Alcazaba.

Alcazabar is beautiful. The stonework is handsome, the rooms are surprisingly small (Al cazabar means a fortress palace) but high celinged, white and airy, and the architecture is Islamic. It was a very enjoyable experience to wander through this foreign but familiar place, appreciating the cunning use of space and water that turned a defensive structure on quite a limited footprint into an enchanting labyrinth that drew the eyes and the feet to one courtyard and outdoor corridor after another, all beautifully paved and planted, and designed to catch and divert every breeze. Finished films and batteries! I am so glad I went.

So, that was my morning. I´ve been here in the a/c for a couple of hours, and it´s about time to get out there again. Back to the hotel, fingers crossed for my errant bag, but not really hopeful today. I explained to the manager's father last night.

"Avion de Dubai a Istamboul, dos bolsas. De de Istamboul a Manchester, una bolsa! Questo (indicating clothes) es todo!"
"Solo?"
"Si!"
"Aahhhhhh..."

Actually quite pleased with my Spanish. Very messy but getting by. And I´ve bought a copy of Holá, and have been reading the local free newspapers. Nouns and verbs very similar, though this can be misleading, and I've got enough of the useful little words to make sense of quite a bit. Tiring though, and my lips move!