It would probably be wise...

...to begin where I left off: on the topic of football. But first, I'll give my boring story an ounce of context. (Scroll if you like pictures)

Like the rest of Europe, Spain is undergoing extreme austerity measures and the high levels of discontent have been demonstrated by fortnightly protests all around the country.  The current government of Catalonia, an economically strong and independent north-east part of Spain, has decided to push for independence and to attempt to form its own country. In an attempt to ride the wave of recent discontent with the Spanish government in Madrid, the president of the government in Catalonia brought an election forward to yesterday on the promise that if he won he would draw up a referendum for independence.

Ok, back to football. Metres away from where I live in Valencia is one of the best hotels in town and when the top teams come to play, they are privileged enough to stay there. En route to my run, I walked passed the hotel and saw the FC Barcelona bus getting ready to take the players to one of the stadiums. Pretentious old me saw this fantastic opportunity to gain a sight of one of the strongest symbols of Catalonia on a potentially very important day for the region (winning the election). So I stood there amongst the other punters expecting, like always, immediate entertainment and staring at the bus driver because I knew that when he got on, the players would get on. I have to be honest and say that if it were not for the blown-up pictures of the superstars on the bus, I would have no clue who I was expecting to see (let alone their names). I waited and waited and soon convinced myself that I had wasted enough time already so I might as well keep waiting. Eventually when the door was opened and the players walked out, I was able to confirm that they looked very much the same in real life as they do on their blown-up equivalents on the side of the bus, only smaller. It also made me realise what a bizarre life they lead, being wooed, cheered and clapped on to a very common form of transport that me and you often use in the guise of a megabus. By 8pm the polls for the election had closed and within an hour it was confirmed that Artur Mas' government had failed to win an absolute majority in the election which meant two things 1) An independent Catalonia is unlikely to happen 2) Pretentious old (and cold) me had wasted time standing outside a hotel.

Before I left from England I had a look at my family tree and was hurt/grateful to see that one of my maternal ancestors' life was summed up by the short one-liner "struggled to grow a beard". This confirms that my inability to grow a full beard is not just down to my freak lack of testosterone, but also due to my beard-deficient gene pool. Nonetheless, I decided to take full advantage of Moviembre and to attempt to grow the best 'bigote' and 'barba' possible. With growth well under way, my diverse range of 100% English Erasmus friends and I headed to Barcelona for a weekend. Quite unexpectedly however, after no more than 5 hours in the city, I started speaking to a man named Daniel and he made me instantly realise that I should probably give up on the beard and moustache growing and leave it to pros like him.

There were two particular highlights from my time in the Catalonian capital. The first was a trip up to the highest point in the nearby mountainous area of Barcelona in search of an unrivalled view of the great city below. This mountain is called Tibidabo and if you are nearby I urge you to go, it's awesome. There's a small Catholic church at the top of the hill surrounded by the rollercoasters and rides of Barcelona's oldest amusement park and it is a really bizarre blend of 'religion n rides'. This is a photo I took from the very top of the church of the sprawling city below and you could easily see why I rate this place.


Secondly and somewhat more interestingly we took a train to Sant Cugat, a town north of Barcelona, to see Els Castells. This is a tradition most accurately explained by seeing and I've uploaded to YouTube a video (where my flatmate makes an opinionated cameo), do look at it first

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7lE5adZb4Y

On the day we went there three 'teams' dressed in different colours (orange, blue and green) took it in turns to create the most daring and dangerous towers in front of the spectators below. We were quite oblivious to the origins and rules of this tradition that takes one year of training to perfect, but it is easy to watch and get absorbed by the stress of seeing wobbly towers with monkey-like kids climbing over 10m high to complete it. This is quite a funny photo I took of a slacker, the laziest man on earth, not even trying to pretend he is exerting the slightest fraction of effort.



Being an Erasmus student still has its perks but I'm starting to realise the downsides too. First and foremost, you are unlikely to be on any official class registers and have to write your name in biro beneath the printed Spanish names which therefore immediately signals you as an alien for the rest of the unit. If you are so lucky to be printed on the document, it is most unlikely that you will be like all the other students and have a photo of you to accompany your name (a.k.a name to a face). Instead, your face will be determined for the year as a question mark and each time you sign the document to prove your attendance your question mark face will stare back at you, grinning. Secondly, you have to come to terms with the fact that senses of humour differ and when you bring in the element of a language barrier, it becomes necessary to invent a fake laugh to share with your colleagues in response to a hilarious joke that you completely did not understand. I'm pretty good at this now. Lastly, you have to come to terms with the fact that despite however hard you try to socialise there is always someone who will forget you and will force you to introduce yourself again. For those that like the Mighty Boosh, this is like Howard and Gideon.

A recent return to the UK confirmed my whole purpose of being here when in the Valencian airport I was able to aid a grown-up married father of two to order a burger. Clearly my Spanish is improving a little...

Laters

The people have spoken...

....and after substantial demand (one person asking why I had only done one post and the other whether or not I had a blog) I am writing another post for my dedicated fans. I have not been updating periodically for a couple of reasons: 1) I have better things to do 2) I now have things to write about 3) My fans have spoken. I am well, I am alive, I am happy, I am not alone and if that is all that you care about you can stop reading here.

Thanks for continuing. Valencia is a cool place with lots of things to do and things to see. Some say (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-19682049) that it is a useless and poor city with nothing going for it anymore. This may be true to a degree but once you look beyond Paul Mason's fantastically optimistic view of the world, you will see that it's a pretty good place to be spending a year with a bucket (€2500) of free cash.

University is well under way now and the work load is ever-increasing but it is all very manageable once you realise that the difficulty level is the same as a translated first year in England. I am still pretty baffled by the timings here. Every time that you want to buy something in a shop, it is shut. Nightclubs kick off around 0300 and lectures start at 0830. Dinner time is 10pm. It took a while to adjust to but I now feel that, although I'm sleeping far less, I'm getting far more done.

I bought a padel racket the other day and hope to get out on court soon. Padel is a Spanish sport which is an exact mix of tennis and squash (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KORFX7LdFE) and it is quite popular here. I called up Christina a few weeks ago to book a lesson and when I turned up to my lesson she kindly told me that it was full and that she would call me on two days later to rebook. When the day came I waited and waited and waited for her to call but she never rang and my Padel dreams were shattered. Three weeks on, I've finally picked myself up and I'm ready to get on the court again and prove to Christina what I'm made of.


I'm getting my exercise dose from running along the river bed. There used to be a river here but in 1957 a huge flood devastated the city and so they diverted the river elsewhere. Today the river bed is a beautiful park where you can run/cycle/walk and so this is where I go. A very bizarre thing that I run past is a children's slide park in the shape of Lemuel Gulliver tied down with ropes (see left). It's a fun place to go and I would highly recommend going there if you like slides. Further down the river bed is one of Valencia's main tourist trump cards: the Ciudad de las Artes y Ciencias. A futuristic and architectural triumph that plays host to many events throughout the year, one of which being the high recommended dolphin show which I am yet to go to.

My most recent passion is football and my favourite team is Valencia CF. I live right next to the stadium and now own a football shirt. I am their number one fan. This is the view from the cheapest seats, and it's a pretty cool view. I live on the street directly behind that stand opposite and so it's easy to get home from the games. When I'm not watching football, I'm playing football. Number one fan. For those of you who think I've changed, I've changed for the better. For those of you jealous of my life thus far, don't hate me cos you aint me. OK?

The 9th October is Valencia's celebration of its independence from the moors and they commemorate this with a 45 minute firework display at midnight. 45 minutes of fireworks is a very long time. On the day itself I went to a corrida de toros and it was great to this controversial tradition in full swing. When the bull dies, two horses drag it away to be chopped up. You can access the area where they do it and I was able to stand 3m away from where four men hacked away at the corpse and reduced the mighty beast to mere bits of meat. This is slightly gory so don't look to the left if you don't want to see four bull's heads in buckets surrounded by their own blood.

If you've reached this paragraph I congratulate you for your persistence and thank you for spending your time reading why my life is currently (probably) better than yours. I could continue and complain about how bad it is and all the negative aspects of my year abroad but miraculously whilst writing this I've been hit by a wave of positivity for the first time ever in my life and as I'm sure it's going to end soon I better wrap things up. My Spanish is gradually improving and I'm appreciating living here more and more. If you fancy visiting me, you should. Molly Murphy found the place to be "warm, exciting" and I'm sure you will too.

Laters.

2.5% done

Setting up your life in another country is very tiring. I’ve been in Valencia for a week now and I am only just starting to feel partially rooted. There are so many things to sort out in a place where there are so many things you do not know. However, having found a property, left the hostel, moved into a temporary property, enrolled in the university, queued in long queues, set up a spanish mobile number, set up an Oyster-style transport card, it is now time to make friends. This is no easy task. You must find them, approach them, convince them that you are not yet another dull Erasmus. I’ve been fortunate in the fact that I have a few friends out here who also can go on friend expeditions and so together, one day, we will have friends. It is also hard to not be naive about potential friends. The other night in a club, I was approached by a beautiful Spanish girl who asked me whether I wanted to meet her friend. To my dismay she then pointed me in the direction of a podgy man wearing a cap who looked a little like Peter Griffin and he was looking in my direction smirking in a cheeky way. “Lo siento tengo novia” I said, but she misunderstood this and told the podgy man that “tiene novio”. Obviously my English style is attractive to the Spanish male predator and my rusty Spanish gives of a different impression of what I would want to give off. I escaped unscathed. The search continues but I seem to be making progress. We attended a pop-up Oktoberfest in the centre of the Plaza de Toros the other night for a quick drink. The two for 1 offer came in useful as we stayed until closing time. An eventful evening. I met the Presidente del Gobierno (?), some journalists in training and had a terrific bike ride home. The following day I found myself walking around town looking for una batería for my phone having lost it on a patch grass frequented by dogs going to the toilet. I’m still getting settled but it’s increasingly looking like I’m going to have a fantastic year. Laters.