Week 4

Last week seemed to go really fast. Emma and I decided on a whim to go to Barcelona for the weekend and to bunk off Thursday and Friday to make a long weekend of it. Jolie decided to join us too.

The Wednesday night before we left I met up with Sally who’s just starting her MBA at Empresa here in Madrid. We had a great night. Good chat and tapas at La Musa and then some of her MBA gang joined us so we had some drinks there, then at the bar next door (I loved how they served a bowl of nuts and a bowl of harribo sweets with every round!). Then on to a party in some club in a swanky old building on Calle Fortuny. It was good fun with a nice crowd of people (Irish, Italian, Belgian, English and later on Spanish) and lots of chat about living in different countries, plans for the future and politics.

I rather embarrassingly ended up being provocative and rising to everyone around the table agreeing what a good thing Sarkozy is going to be for France by abolishing the 38hr working week and reducing the power of the unions. I really don’t know much about it, but the rebel in me couldn’t help herself, and I had to argue that perhaps the rampant consumerism our culture encourages, and the arrogant assumption that capitalism and democracy are the only positive ways of running things, might not necessarily be making the world a better place. Perhaps only working 38 hours is a good thing. It was kind of funny since I’m guessing that a bunch of new MBA students are probably pretty into the concept of international capitalism, and they were a very bright and experienced group of people, so I did suddenly feel a little like Daniel heading into the lion’s den. But after some initial surprise at my fevered outburst we had a good-humoured discussion about what having choice really means and I escaped pretty much unscathed!! At any rate I didn’t get home till 5am having been plied with plenty of vodka and promises of future nights out, so no offence caused, me thinks.

Staying out so late didn’t seem such a smart idea when only 3 hours later I was on the train to Barcelona (especially when the train broke and we had to do half of the 6 hour trip by bus!).

But Barcelona was lovely. We stayed at a great but very cheap hotel (£20 each a night in a triple room) just off the Ramblas, and had a proper city break holiday.

It’s a really different city from Madrid. It’s much more international and much cooler. It’s got lots of small shops selling innovative stuff (Emma bought a great ring from someone who puts dolls house objects onto jewellery. Hers is a ring that’s a plate - it’s fab). The bars and restaurants are much more contemporary, and it’s got a much more culturally mixed feel to it (Pakistani kids playing cricket in the squares, Muslim women wearing headscarves – whom I realise I’ve not seen at all in Madrid). And a real mixture of architecture.

We did lots of the sights (Las Ramblas, the Bari Gotic, Montjuic, la Catedral, the beach, Gaudi’s Casa Batllo and la Sagrada Familia – both very wonderful), had a very funny large night out with some Spanish guys who we met in a bar, and did masses of art galleries!!

Although it was impressive I have to confess I didn’t warm to the Picasso Museum. It was so heavily curated that I found its insistence on the importance of Barcelona in his development, irritating. Plus I had to laugh that I found myself looking at the fragments of his early work as if they were fetish objects, ie: “oooh look, Picasso drew this scribble when he was 12… wow you can see his thumb print” etc. Which is such an odd thing to do. Rather disappointingly I think the thing I’ll remember most is a small very graphic cartoon sketch he did of a fat man being given a blow job by a prostitute. Very schoolboy but pretty descriptive! I’m sure that’s not what I’m s’posed to have taken from the great genius.

What I loved was the MACBA (Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona) which was packed with goodies and had a great exhibition of Joan Jonas a performance and installation video artist. It was set up so well. You really had the unnerving feeling, when walking through the pieces, that you get with live performance art (ie: that you keep looking over your shoulder because you’re not sure what’s happening when to whom).

She’d done some work called ‘revolted by the thought of known places’ inspired by Seamus Heaney’s Sweeney Astray: A Version from the Irish. I loved this Heaney quote she had printed on the wall:

His brain convulsed,
His mind split open,
Vertigo, hysteria, lurchings
And launchings came over him,
He staggered and flapped desperately
He was revolted by the thought of known places
And dreamed strange migrations.
His fingers stiffened
His feet scuffled and flurried
His heart was startled.
His senses were mesmerized.
His sight was bent.
The weapons fell from his hands
And he levitated in a frantic cumbersome motion,
Like a bird of the air.

I love the idea of being compelled to leave what’s known and yet it’s like a battle to escape, or it’s something way beyond his control that has to wrestle him away.

The other wonderful gallery was the Fundacio Joan Miro. A beautiful white modernist building on a hill overlooking the city, housing fabulous big bold bright paintings, sculptures and an amazingly huge textile piece. It all seemed so optimistic and idealistic – an all encompassing confidence in the restorative power of painting. Even the titles were great. One large abstract painting was called: ‘The lark’s wing ringed in the blue of gold meets the heart of the poppy asleep on the field adorned with diamonds’, Miro, 1967. How brilliantly confident!

The most beautiful thing though perhaps was the Mercat de la Boqueria, just next to our hotel. A fabulous food market that was a riot of colour and stunning displays of gorgeous fruit, vegetables, fish, hams, cakes, sweets, olives and oils - even the tripe looked beautiful. Cheap as chips we stuffed ourselves with figs, persimmons, nuts, pastries and chocolate truffles at various different times throughout our trip.

Coming back to school again yesterday though was a bit of a downer. I thought quite a lot while in Barcelona about what I need to do to try to make myself happier in Madrid. I think there’s 4 things: flat, work, Spanish and going out more. I need to find a flat for myself where I can relax, be myself, have people come over, and do some of my own work in my own space. I’ve bought a load of materials and I need to start making my own stuff (not just going to classes). And I need to continue Spanish lessons.

Yesterday I arrived at my anatomy class to be invited privately into the professor’s room (big formal wood lined room with big desk). He’d found someone to translate and explained to me that he was very worried because I clearly didn’t know how to draw and that I would have to work extremely hard and he would have to take extra time to teach me and that even then he wasn’t sure that he would be able to pass me at the end of the course. I was so embarrassed and kind of shaken by it! But managed to explain that although my drawing is probably very bad, I’m only here until Xmas and that since my school doesn‘t care about the credits, if he doesn’t mind me sitting in his class and doing what I can, then I don’t mind if he doesn’t pass me. He was mightily relieved and said that it put his mind at rest and now he wouldn’t worry about it.

But it was really rather depressing. I know that I don’t know how to draw in the way that they are being taught (very detailed shading of 15 hour poses – which you then hand in to be marked), but part of the reason my drawing last week was so very bad was that I really don’t want to be able to draw that way. Well, obviously my pride would love to be able to draw that way, but they are not the kind of drawings that I ever want to make. They are not the kind of drawings that I like to look at, and so I get bored and frustrated after about 6 hours – and then the more I fiddle with it the worse it gets!?! And then the more I think the whole thing is a crazy waste of time. 15 hours to draw a rubbish picture that I didn’t even want to make in the first place. Pointless!

However I do have some nice Spanish people that I sit with in the class who have befriended me and always chat lots (I do my best in my broken Spanish). They like to give me lots of advice which is kind and useful.

I was told today that I was using the wrong kind of paper (!) and so went to the school shop to buy the right kind. You have to ask for it from behind a counter (obviously in Spanish). I asked “¿Tiene las papels por el class d’anatomia?” and was shown the kind that the others were using – which is thick and a pale buff colour. The man in the shop showed me 3 VERY slightly different shades of this pale buff colour. He then asked which professor I have… when I told him it was Pedro Sierra Martinez he checked with his colleague and then gave me the exact shade that you have to use to be in his class. It’s all so controlling I don’t know whether to laugh or cry!!

But at least today the teacher said that he liked the way I’d drawn the bottom of the model’s left leg (his calf). The rest apparently was all wrong… but hell it’s a start!

I will still keep going to the classes as I’m sure I will learn stuff (and I’m bloody stubborn – no fucker tells ME I’m going to fail!!) but I do need to be doing other work that’s just for me or else I’ll get ground down by the constant mortification!

The flat’s not that easy, and isn’t somewhere that I can do any painting, but I think that I’ve found somewhere else in the same area that I can move into pretty much straight away. I spoke to Elena about it last night and she seems to be OK if I move out (maybe it suits her too). So hopefully I can get that sorted this week. I hope it’ll help to have somewhere with internet access & mobile phone reception so that I can stop spending evenings in the dingy internet place to pick up documents for the cereals project that I´m still working on from here, or hanging around on the street to be able to have conversations with people!

Today we met Feli (short for Felizia = ‘happiness’) in Café Commercial (my favourite local place) and she’s going to teach us Spanish twice a week in the mornings, before our art classes, which I’m sure will help too. We start at her flat tomorrow (which is also just around the corner from Bilbao). She seems cool. She’s a freelance translator and currently translating a graphic design book, and is a friend of a friend of our previous teacher (I’ve been following quite a trail to try and find someone good who can teach around our art classes).

I do want to turn this thing around, to sort out the problems, and start having some more fun… so far it’s been far too tough for my liking! I feel like I’m constantly moaning (which is NOT an attribute that I admire!) and poor Rups is still on the end of occassional tearful phone calls. Even if I know I’m doing OK and learning lots, I’m not really happy.

I’m just not laughing nearly enough – which is something I usually do lots of, and so I don’t quite feel myself. Rups has reminded me that I can come home… which maybe I will do if it these things don’t make a difference… but I would really like to make it work well for me, plus soon visitors start arriving and it would be a bit sad if I’m not here to hang out with y’all.

Week 3

Last week was so much better than the previous one. The Spanish classes have helped massively and on quite a few levels.

Firstly I met a lot of other people who are also finding it tough living in a new city. Secondly by learning some basic Spanish, the words I hear around me are now starting to have some meaning. I’m able to construct simple sentences and occasionally even be understood!! And finally it was great to have somewhere to go everyday, where you know what to expect and where it’s entirely focused around getting me to learn. So if I don’t understand it’s not embarrassing - it just means it needs explaining in a different way. Hurrah!

It’s a strange experience learning another language again. It really makes you think about what language is and how it operates. It’s made me think lots about how English works as much as about Spanish. For example how polite English is… we use so many words to say “excuse me, if it’s possible I would like to have…”. In Spanish I don’t think it’s rude to just ask. Certainly we’ve been told that one “por favor” or “gracias” in a conversation is enough to show that you’re polite.

And then it’s really interesting how you use language to delineate relationships and hierarchies. I love this word “tuteame” which you use if someone has referred to you as ‘usted’ (important-person-‘you’) and you don’t mind if they call you ‘tu’ (same-as-me-‘you’). And it’s funny doing exercises to practice who you should call ‘usted’ (university professors) and who ‘tu’ (primary school teachers!?!). I like the idea that respect is built into the fundamentals of a language, but it is odd to have inbuilt assumptions about who requires more respect than whom. Of course we have this in English too in the phrases we’d use with different people (respectful versus colloquial) but it’s interesting to have formal hierarchies so transparent in the language.

Likewise it’s interesting to have a language that is gendered. If language reflects who we are and what we care about, what does it mean to have a language for your culture that masculinises and feminises the objects in your world. Or what does it say about a culture that doesn’t care? Maybe that’s even stranger! Maybe knowing whether things are masculine or feminine matters in life.

I also think it’s interesting not to need to use ‘I, you, he, she, we, they’ because the verb ending says it, for example:

veo (I see),
ves (you-informal sees)
ve (he,she you-formal sees)
vemos (we see),
veis (you-plural informal see),
ven (they & you plural formal see).

In a way it makes your sentences all about action and what’s being done – rather than about the person. But then I guess it also puts the individual or group at the heart of whatever’s happening because they are absolutely intrinsic to the word itself. It’s hard to get used to – but it’s elegant.

I also love that in Spanish there are 2 different words for I am (the verb: to be). There’s the ‘to be’ that’s ‘ser’. Which is for the things that are permanent or absolute about you: so I am English, I am white, I am 34, I am blond etc. And then there’s the other kind of ‘to be’ that is ‘hacer’: I am hungry, I am bored, I am drunk, I am poorly. I think it’s great to have things that you are certain about yourself and other things that are changeable. Obviously life isn’t really like that: I’m certainly not always blond for example! But I like the premise that it’s really important to differentiate between what’s essentially you versus what you are in the moment.

It´s hard though only being able to speak in the present tense at the moment. I realise how little I actually talk about what´s happening in the moment - but so much about forming relationships with people is about sharing experiences you´ve had in the past and about your desires for the future. "I want a beer. I like the cinema. I am english. Really only gets you so far!!!

The other good thing about this week was Pintura Mural. We bought jumpsuits, goggles, ventilated masks, and gloves from this brilliant ‘work uniforms’ shop near where I live (having to mime the need for goggles and mask was pretty funny!). The shop keeper was very serious and insisted on proper measuring and trying on of the jumpsuits to get it just right. Then we hacked at the current mural on our wall with pickaxes (very therapeutic!) and ended up totally covered in dust and concrete. Then we hosed it all down and filled in the holes – so we now have our blank ‘canvas’.

We’ve decided to experiment with materials and learn what we can/can’t do with plaster (imprinting stuff into it, adding stuff to it etc) and have also started thinking about a subject matter to base our work on. It’s funny that as a group of 4 Erasmus students we’ve been given a bit of wall miles away from everyone in the main group, so we’re totally out on our own. It’s a good reflection of the general experience! As a group we’ve agreed to start thinking about the subject of navigation, being lost and being outside of things. I’m really excited about starting to do some thinking about it. Not necessarily about what to do with the wall itself, but I think it’s a rich subject matter for me at the moment and creates a really good way of both getting started on some proper work and making sense of this whole bizarre experience.

So I’ve been thinking about how one navigates. How maps are such a strange way of reflecting the experience of being in an environment, and how there are probably lots of other ways of representing being in a new space. I’ve been thinking of Francis Alys & Richard Long’s approaches to documenting journeys. Like tying different types of knots in a piece of string to reflect going left, right or straight on.

I’ve been wondering about what’s in the lost & found offices here in comparison to London. Madrid is the highest city in Europe and maybe there are interesting ways of representing its topography in a 3D way.

And I guess there’s my on-going pre-occupation from last year of making the familiar unfamiliar, but now maybe it’s the other way around…

It was brilliant having Rups here this weekend. Really really fun and lovely. We talked and laughed and explored lots. The sun shone all weekend, and I only cried once (!). One of the things we did was to go to Las Ventas to the Bull Fighting.

It was very strange. Brutal, beautiful and bonkers.

I hadn’t expected the bulls to be as big and aggressive as they were. They are very scary at first and the fighters really do have to be brave and skilful to evade them as they do most of the time (although 2 fighters got hit by the bull when we were there – neither badly hurt). The clothes the torrodors wear are fabulous and the posturing and macho movements (thrusting their groins towards the bull as if in taunt) are brilliant.

But I found it hard to watch the men with long spears on horseback who stab the bull from a height and create these deep wounds – which is what weakens it. The bulls all charge at the horses (which are padded and blind-folded – presumably so that they’re not scared!?!). The bull often lifts the horse off the ground because it’s so aggressive. And then they stab it several times in the back with this huge javelin which creates these massive gashes that just gush blood.

The bull fighters then do these acrobatic moves jumping out of the way and simultaneously stab decorated skewers into the bull as it charges (clearly points are awarded for getting both in at the same time). And then the main matador does lots of flashy moves with a red cape and his sword before finally the bull is so weak that they finish it off with a final stab at the base of the neck, when the bull just buckles and is dead.

Strangely that bit was OK. A bit shocking (because in our neat and tidy vacuum-packed lives we don’t often see death. Well, only shoot-em-up Hollywood baddie deaths). It was gruesomely mesmerising watching the final shudders, and now and again the fighters having to twist the sword to make sure he was really dead. But this part was OK because it had been inevitable from the start, and finally it was over, and you knew that for this bull there wouldn’t be any more suffering now.

Then the band starts up playing triumphant music, four horses race in covered in bells – they tie the dead bull’s horns to the horses and then the horses gallop out really fast dragging the giant bull behind them through the dust.

The crowd was amazing. All shouting and cheering throughout the whole thing. There was some brilliantly gruff, smoke-fuelled, growly Spanish heckling. The stadium wasn’t very full (it’s the very end of the season) but I can imagine it’s incredible when it’s full of the 20,000 people it can hold.

We stayed to see 4 out of the 6 bulls die, but decided that 4 was enough for a Sunday afternoon and so we left.

I am really glad that we went. But I’m not sure that I really understand why it’s considered such an art form here (it’s written up in the Arts section of the newspapers every day not the Sports section). And although the sense of ritual and tradition is really powerful, the inevitability (there really is no chance for the bull) makes it difficult and awkward to watch. I’m sure there’s so much that I’m missing, and with my new-found Spanish and a dictionary in hand, I think I’ll try to translate some of the newspaper reviews to see if I can understand more… but unlike opera – I’m not sure I’ll ever grow to really love it.


Thank you all so much for your lovely messages. It´s really cheered me up having so much good will and funny reminders of your similar stories. I´m very lucky to have so many great people in my life.

Week 2

Argghhh! A bad 24 hours… Feeling all at sea, lonely and like the whole thing was a stupid idea. Why would I move myself to a city that I don’t know, where I don’t have any friends and where no-one understands anything I’m saying!?

College has been very frustrating this week. Emma & I keep trying different classes but it’s really tough not speaking Spanish. None of the professors speak any English at all (except Mariano the painting teacher who’s been off sick since our first day!). Even Beatrice who runs the ‘Officina de Estudiantes Internacional’ only really speaks Spanish. So we’ve been turning up at classes and trying to enrol ourselves with mixed success.

‘Anatomia morfologica aplicada’ has probably been the most successful class so far. We arrived late and I persuaded Emma that we should sneak in the back to have a look. Unfortunately as we opened the door and walked in we realised that there were 50 students staring straight at us with the professor at the front next to us. The professor obviously stopped to ask what we wanted. I stumbled along saying: “los sientos, nos estudiantes Erasmus, es possible para…?” and ran out of any words. Teacher started talking lots and we had no idea what he was saying… it was all very embarrassing and all the students were laughing.

Eventually he gave the class a break and one nice student came and tried to translate for us, and he agreed to let us sit in on the class (even though it’s officially full so he can’t allow us to join for 3 weeks when he finds out if people have dropped out).

So we then spent 2 hours copying his pictures of how the back works from a board at the front of the class. All quite random! His drawings aren’t that great and since we didn’t understand a word it was kind of funny to be copying out a pretty ropey picture. But at least we were finally doing some art!

The same class on Tuesday was better. We learnt how to draw the skull (well I say learnt… we copied his pictures again – but it was good). And then after an hour we had a life model for us to draw. Seemed like life drawing rather than any anatomy but that was good. Fine that is until he spotted me from the front measuring out the basic dimensions and started shouting “no no” with lots of arm waving and ran up the stairs (we all sit on strange box things on tiered levels to get a good view) and stood behind me explaining very fast about how I have to be gestural and let the energy move through me (or something like that I’m pretty sure). I was nodding and feeling like I kind of understood, as he was being very expressive with his body language and kept grabbing my pencil and drawing on my sketchbook, when he suddenly asked me a specific question. I’ve no idea what he actually wanted to know – but clearly it was pretty funny as once again all 50 students were laughing at me! Not great. But then since I don’t know what he’d said I couldn’t really get upset about it!

Since Mariano de Blas still seems to be sick there wasn’t anything to do in the painting class – but a pretty woman came and talked for 20 minutes about what the class entails (again of course we had to kind of guess!), It seems that you have to research and make your own work in your own time and space and have one on one tutorials with Mariano. This is great for us because it’s the way we’re used to working in Camberwell so this at least feels familiar! Although of course there’s a good chance we didn’t quite understand it right.

We tried a class in ‘Sistemas de analisis geometrico de la forma y la representacion’ where the teacher was nice (no English but a tiny bit of French in which he explained that there was no point coming if we couldn’t speak Spanish). We stayed for some of the class – but he was completely right. It was like a class from the 1950s. He was stood high up at the front of the class with a big old fashioned blackboard and chalk. All the students sit in rows writing notes. No questions, no interaction. Just information download. He was astonished that we don’t study geometry at Camberwell – he kept saying how can you paint if you don’t understand the theory of perspective. “no ce’st ne pas vrai, c’est tres mal”. I just kept saying “c’est tres different!”. After 40 mins of bafflement we sneaked out.

The other frustration was life drawing (Dibujo del natural). We stayed for about 2 minutes of the year 1 class until we realised that all you do is draw statues (you’re not allowed real people in your first year!!?!). And we decided we could do that outside in plazas in the sunshine or in the museums here.

The bigger disappointment was being thrown out of a level 3 life-drawing class. Again (theme of the week!) we’re not entirely sure why! We think the class is full and because we’re not here for a year we won’t have the progression required (or something like that). Anyhow the professor was really rude and impatient and basically just asked us to leave. Again, rather embarrassing! Once we’ve got our courage up again, we’ll try another life class with another teacher next week.

Perhaps the funniest thing we’ve signed up for is ‘Pintura Mural’. There’s a whole section of the building that’s given over to doing murals. You have to work in groups of 4 and are given a big chunk of wall and have to come up with an idea and execute it as a group. We’ve been given some space outside by the cafeteria which is fab as the main room is crazy. We walked in and it was full of about 30 people in full length jumpsuits, masks, goggles and gloves on scaffolding hacking away at the work that is there already with pickaxes. The entire building is full of dust. It’s mad but exciting. Emma & I signed up with Anthony a very funny French Erasmus boy who smokes non-stop and is beautifully enthusiastic about most things and anything he doesn’t like he says “it is sheeeeet”. I like him and I’m sure we’ll have fun wrecking and re-doing our wall.

I think my lowness has come from finding it so difficult to create the structure of a timetable. I hate not knowing what’s happening when. Language is such a big barrier, so we’ve signed up for ‘Intensivo Espanol’ lessons next week in the centre of town (the university ones cost €950 which is crazily expensive and it’s not intensive). Who knows how much we’ll really learn in only a week but it’s got to help and build up our confidence (which I confess is pretty damn low right now!).

There have been some funny experiences this week too though…

Going to look at a flat for Emma in Lavapies (bit like Bethnal Green). Our appointment was at 10pm and we turned up to find a 2 bedroom flat with 6 people (south American immigrant men – mostly waiters I think) already living there. She would have had one room. The other bedroom had 4 beds in it, and then in the living room there was a curtain and behind it a bunk bed!! It was kind of comedy trying to find out exactly how many people actually lived there… “quando personnes???” in terrible spanish. They were really nice and friendly and explained they were out working lots and it was “moy tranquilla”. But I nearly freaked when Emma said she’d think about it. There was no way she should live there – a 20 year old girl on her own! Especially when we saw the door on the way out with about 12 different bolts and locks on it. It was like a mafia Fort Knox!

We went for great soup at Max’s flat on Thursday night. A lovely and very trendy one-bed apartment near Anton-Martin (like Shoreditch). It belongs to his brother’s friend who’s an animator. Very stylish décor with great collection of books and films…I started to get a crush on the imaginary owner but fortunately he’s gay.

Max invited Nathan to dinner too. Very bizarre 31 year old Australian DJ & English teacher. He completely dominated all of the conversations and didn’t really ask a single question. Within 2 minutes (literally!) he was on the subject of his sister who died 10 years ago of a heroine overdose having just got out of prison. He was full of stories and his own philosophies of how to live life, which did make it quite an entertaining evening (I was in a pretty sparky mood so there was a lot of banter), but he really was quite crazy. His style of DJ-ing is very “underground” and he only likes to mix music that he’s not heard before so that he gets the thrill of mixing tunes while he’s hearing them for the first time. Sounds quite cool and he was infectiously passionate about it – but I wasn’t surprised to hear he’s not broken into the DJ scene big time yet.

Then a whole lot of other students turned up (Canadians, Americans, Germans – who had been staying in the hostel with Max before he found the flat). It was very funny being with a gang of 19 year olds again. Everyone was drinking as much as possible before going out (necking whisky & cokes) to make it a cheap night. Then we headed out to a club where we were apparently ‘on the list’. No-one quite knew where it was so lots of wandering around, phoning, waiting for others in the group to catch up. Went to wrong place (‘Suite’ instead of ‘Sweet’ – ha! ha!). Eventually got to ‘Sweet’ to find the person who could get us in was themselves in the queue so we jumped in with her and waited outside this Hip Hop club for about 45 mins with all the black boys in their low slung jeans, baseball caps and gold chains. By this time it was coming up to 3am. We’d not been in a bar all night – just wandered the streets and queued - so I decided to call it a night! It did make me laugh. I remember those nights so well – but it’s been a while!!! Was sorry not to have the chance to “bust some moves” – but I reassured the kids they’d get to see my hip hop expertise sometime soon.

I had a really nice night out with Matt (he’s been here working for a bank since August), and it was good to chat to someone from home (even if we don’t really know each other) and to exchange stories of strange differences – good and bad! It was great to finally go out for some good tapas. Great gambas, calamares, patatas bravas and meatballs in a fuity sauce. We ended up near where I live so I walked home in 5 mins – it’s great to be so central.

Yesterday I went to Retiro Park which is really great and lay in the sun and listened to my Spanish course on my ipod. I discovered an Andy Goldsworthy log installation in the glass pavilion which looks wonderful, right by the lake.

I didn’t really sleep last night though, and was very glum when I woke up.

I went shopping to try and cheer myself up. I bought some boots that I do love (even though they’re not the practical ones I was meaning to buy), and some sunglasses.

I got stopped by an elderly man near my house on my way out, who took my hand and asked me to sit on the bench with him. He kept hold of my hand and told me “soy poetica y cantanto” (which I think means he’s a poet and singer), and that he was 94 years old. He asked my name and then started making up a poem about me. Using my name and the word “bonita” a lot (which I think is a good thing!?!). And stroked my cheek lots. He was very sweet (and very neatly turned out – not like a crazy old person), but it was rather surreal. I just smiled lots, said “gracias”, and my favourite phrase “los sientos, soy ingleses” (“I’m sorry I’m English!”) and as soon as I could “hasta luego” (see you later!).

But I chose a bad place for lunch and when Rups phoned I couldn’t help bursting into tears in the street. I just felt that I was wandering around spending money to make myself feel better and that I’d be having a much nicer time if I just stayed in London where there’s lots of nice things to do and where people that I love live.

Have been close to tears all day. I’m sure it will get better, but it is quite tough being on your own in a strange place.

Know I should call up some of the people who’s numbers I’ve been given who’ve offered to take me out, but I’m too glum tonight to meet strangers. I think instead I’m going to stay in, watch a DVD (Amodolvar from Kirsten – so I can pretend I’m learning Spanish!) and then be brave again tomorrow.

Week 1

It seems bonkers to be once again sitting on an easyjet flight heading back to the UK after only 3 days in Madrid – but the world of marketing cereals is calling – and maybe it’s not such a bad thing to have a couple of days back in the UK to digest the experience so far.

It’s been brilliant and overwhelming in almost equal measures. I love where my flat is (Calle Monteleon) between the plazas Bilbao and San Bernardo. A cinema, Zara and Starbucks all within 2 minutes. I smile everytime I either leave or arrive at the flat, amazed that I have my own set of keys to one of these ordinary Madrileno flats with iron balconies and big heavy doors on a small ordinary street in the heart of Madrid.

So much is familiar (hence the Starbucks & Zara excitement – the fomer of which has so far been resisted – I’m saving it for a glum homesick day; but the latter has already supplied a rather swishy little red-riding-hood-style jacket). People are european, buses look the same, the metro is a simpler version of the tube, people eat sandwiches and drink coffee and talk on their mobile phones and hurry to work. But it also feels really different.

Perhaps the great thing about moving to a new place (and this is my first time of living abroad) is that you notice lots of small things – because these are the things that are so peculiarly different.

The highly polished wooden staircase up to my flat (3rd floor) – I’m sure things get scrubbed here more.

Graffiti everywhere (lots of it beautifully skillful).

The number of children in the city centre (on the main street closest to me – Calle Fuencarral – there are mini kids play areas with swings etc - right on the main street).

The late night and street culture (everyone out and about wandering and chatting and eating from 10pm onwards).

That lunch is exactly at 2pm… so at 1.45 the restaurants are empty and at 2.05 they are jammed.

That you have to show ID when you buy something in a shop with your credit card.

That people drink quarters of beer rather than pints.

That milk only seems to come in UHT.

How cheap cigarettes are (€2 ish) so everyone still smokes lots (someone was telling me as if it were big news, that you can’t smoke in Starbucks – they said it’s because they have this strange American company policy!).

The odd European way of dressing. Everyone kind of looks the same to me at the moment. They all dress the same – really a bit dowdy and uniform. And some older women still wearing those funny floral dress-coats.

In fact there’s not a lot of diversity – in the city centre you don’t see any black or asian or Chinese people at all. It’s only in the area called Lavapies, which is very odd coming from London, and gives Lavapies a real ghetto feel.

My Spanish flatmate (landlady!) Elena has been lovely and very welcoming. She took me out on Sunday afternoon with her friend Jose-Maria (I thought he was being formal and introducing me with his surname too – but no! He is the eldest son and has the same name as his father).

We did a café crawl of Malasana (breakfast in Café Commercial, sat outside having a drink, chatting and people watching in Plaza San Ildefonso, and then went straight to Plaza del Dos de Mayo to have another drink and a bite to eat. Was funny to literally walk from café to café (I would usually go for a walk and then stop at a café as a treat for having walked a lot!) but it was really great and lovely to be outside.

Jose-Maria has offered to do Spanish conversation swap with me as he wants to learn English. But I think mine needs to be a little better first as neither of us really speak a word which is challenging!! He told us (Elena translating) about a project he’s doing at work at the moment with an musician/artist who is going to be living in a glass house in Plaza de Mayor for a week (or longer?) so that everyone can watch the creative process 24hr/dia. Sounds a bit David Blane – but will be fun to go and see.

Also met a really nice man called Guille (William he said in English) in the Café Commercial on Monday morning. I’m going to try to make Café Commercial my local I think – it’s a bit expensive – but it’s got a great local feel to it, and everyone is in there reading their papers or having a quick shot of coffee before work (plus the waiter was very nice to me and laughed a lot when I asked for the Spanish version of the menu because I was trying to learn, and then couldn’t pronounce anything right! Zumo de naraja is pretty damn tricky!!).

Guille lives on the corner of my Calle. His job is doing tours of Madrid to teach people the names of the trees (“trees is my life” he said). He’d hurt his hand taking part in this huge game as part of an event when all the galleries were open all night. He said there were 400 people all playing a giant game – throwing wet clothes at each other. He climbed up high to get a good shot and fell off and broke his hand! I liked him a lot. He said “the trouble is when people grow up they forget how to play games – I think we all need to play more games”. Couldn’t agree more.

Enrolling at college has been somewhat challenging! Emma and I arrived on Monday morning at 10am with our shiny shoes and pencils sharpened. We discovered the Facultad de Bellas Artes at the very far end of the university area so had to walk 20 mins to get there. Only to find all the gates locked with chains and the doors bolted. “Manyana!” we were told with plenty of arm gesturing.

So we returned on Martes (Tuesday) to try again. We seem to have half enrolled! We need passports and passport photos to finalise it I think. Basically the day involved lots of queueing and waiting and not really understanding anything.

There is a huge notice board with all of the available courses across all 5 years of study with different professors doing different versions at different times of the week. We have to devise our own timetable and then take our portfolio to each of the professors and ask them if we may attend their classes. A really good system – since you get to cherry pick what you’re interested in. But pretty bloody daunting having to do it when you don’t speak the language!

We’re kind of guessing what we think the courses are and trying to work out the ones that are most practical. So far I’m gunning for:
Pintura II
Anatomia morfologica
Dibujo del natural I
Introduccion al color
Sistemas de analisis geometrico de la forma y la representacion

We went to a Bienvidos (welcome?) talk which was awful. Every professor in the faculty sat at a giant table at the front of a huge hall and talked into a microphone about their course. No pictures, no props. We had no idea what was going on, or even who was talking about which course. After about an hour and a half (even the Spanish students looked bored!) we sneaked out between professors.

The full extent of our language deficiencies kind of hit home at that point, and I hit rather a low. It all seemed a bit too hard work! Since it was 1.50pm we decided to go for lunch (early!). Only to find another complication. You have to queue at a machine, pay and select your food and drink from the buttons (all obviously written in Spanish!) and it then prints you a ticket which you hand into the very grumpy men at the counter who give you your food. We ordered the simplest things we could find (baguettes – una serano y tomates, una queso and agua) but clearly we did something wrong. Lots of shouting, arm waving and slamming of things on the counter and then another long wait. But eventually baguettes arrived. Major achievement for the girls!

Looking back on this now, it does seem funny how the smallest things become a really big deal. I’m reading ‘How to be a Bad Bird Watcher’ at the moment and it’s so appropriate.

Simon Barnes is explaining the notion of ‘Jizz’. It’s a birding term that ‘A Dictionary of Birds’ defines as “combination of characters which identify a living creature in the wild but which may not be distinguished individually”. Barnes brings it to life explaining how the more you look and the more familiar you are with things the less you need to actually see things to know what they are. You just know something because of a random collection of impressions (size, shape, movement, habits) that mean you can instantly relate to it. You can get it in a moment.

“But let’s have another bash at explaining jizz. You get up in the middle of the night busting for a pee. It’s not your own place, you have been royally entertained, and the thing to do is to get to the lav and back without waking the entire house. And God, it’s difficult: hands in front of your face, doors at odd places, the corridor twice as long, or perhaps twice as short as you had supposed. You bash your hip on a table and jar your shoulder on the door, and the desired retreat that is your goal turns out to be down a step that certainly wasn’t there when you went to bed. And then you have to get back – slightly easier, because you’ve learnt the route, but still tough enough.Now let us say that the position is reversed. You are the host, you have royally entertained your guest, and once again, you need a midnight pee. You stroll along the corridor at your ease, and back again. You need no light, you take no false step. You see that small metallic gleam: it is a doorknob, it tells you exactly the position of the door, the angle at which it is open; that slightly paler oblong is your destination. You ascend the waiting three steps without ever having counted them in your life, and your hand is there at just the right height to find the door-handle.That is the principle on which jizz works. […] You acquire the skill of jizz recognition simply by looking. By looking at birds you have already identified; because, you see, identification is the beginning and not the end of the process – and that is why birdwatching, good and bad, is the exact opposite of trainspotting. Every seeing is a moment of greater understanding. Every seeing makes the bird more fully a part of you, a part of your life.” (pp.124-27).

I guess I’m at the beginning of learning to look properly at things again. Trying to get the hang of the Jizz of the place. It’ll come I’m sure of it – and for now I guess I have to enjoy finding so many things amazing. Frustrating but amazing.