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
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...
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