La Carolina slideshow

I'm a bit peeved, because I can't get my slideshow to embed as I wish.  :(

So, anyway, here is the link to some of my pics of La Carolina.

La Carolina, aka The Caroline

The La Carolina time can be summed up fairly fast.

• We went to Los Jardineros, one of the tapas bars, for churros con chocolate, and some random middle-aged dude (who hadn't even talked to us first) bought us shots.  Did I mention it was about 4pm?

Went there for this.

Nek minnit... this!

• Sabrina was forced to do a lot of walking to entertain herself.  I had to actually do some work at the high school, and a wee bit of tutoring, and there is not a lot to do in La Caro.
• Mission up to the Cerro de la Cruz (hill with a cross on top of it) to get an overview of the town

• Sabrina participating in a language exchange with my Spanish friend who is learning English
• Chinese food from the restaurant just down the road
• Meeting at the classy joint, La Toja, to have tapas with friends

Final (Marbella) Countdown: Monday

Awoke to the sound of school children.  What a sound.  Those things are loud.  Clearly, not everyone was on holiday.  There was nothing we could do but go with it, and get up.

Back to El Greco bakery for breakfast, for which I chose one of these Spanish Easter delights.

They are called torrijas, and quite similar to French toast.  I will let someone who knows more about it explain.  Thank you spain.info:

They are eaten all over Spain and consist of slices of bread soaked in milk, sugar and egg, fried in olive oil.  According to what they are dipped in and the way they are presented, there are other, delicious varieties: with wine, syrup, honey or sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon.

Making the most of our last few hours in Marbella, we had a cruise around town, checking out any cool little places we had missed (there are a lot of cool places).

Checked out of El Castillo, and made our last trek up to the Marbella bus station.  After a decent bit of bus-ing, it would be time to introduce Sabrina to La Carolina, my Spanish home.

Living the high life (Sunday)

It began with a search for breakfast.  I can't actually remember what we found, but I'm assuming we went back to our favourite corner cafe, on the way to the beach.  Maybe.

Sabrina had been told that Puerto Banús (aka Rich Person-ville) was a must-see.  She was keen to walk there, but I was pretty shot after the previous day's walking.  I know she was sick of buses, but it would have been 7km just to get there.  She agreed to go by bus.

We were dressed for a beach holiday - since that's what we were doing - and it perhaps wasn't quite the dress code for PB.  Never mind.  We looked in the windows of the shops, and that was fine, because we couldn't afford any of that stuff, anyway.

Happily, looking at the yachts was free, and so was strolling down the beach, past all the exclusive clubs.

Then it was back on the bus to Marbella, where we wouldn't have to spend the earth to get a good lunch.  And I'm so glad we did, because we found what I thought was a fantastic place: Loving Hut (a vegan restaurant).  There's some Spanish food that I love, but I do get sick of the heavy, fatty stuff after a while.  This restaurant was the antidote; look at that delicious felafel and hummus!

Sabrina wanted another swim, but the water was just too chilly: it turned into a paddle.  Certainly, all I could bring myself to do was dip my toes in.

Just to make life more difficult, tickets for our bus back to Jaén the following day were unavailable online.  Back we went, up the hill to the bus station.  At least Marbella is pretty.

As the sun was setting, we strolled in a Puerto Banús direction along the beach front path.  It was magnificent.

Dinner was at an empty chiringuito (beach front restaurant), with a very friendly waiter, who thought he could speak English.  We kept trying to speak Spanish to him, and he would insist on replying in English.  Only problem was, we couldn't really understand his version of English.

I tried (and recomment) berenjenas con miel (eggplant/aubergine with honey).  Probably not very healthy, but it is tasty!

Walk-a-thon (Saturday)

Any day beginning with pain au chocolat and a smoothie on the beach is a good day.

Sabrina is a walk-aholic, so we tramped to 'Funny Beach.'  When we arrived, it wasn't really that funny... kind of like an outdated children's theme park.  Maybe we were just there in the wrong season.  Anyway, you can't complain about walking along Marbella's lovely beach, so who cares?

Along the way, I was torn between amusement and pity while watching the 'blanket salesman.'  These guys look like they've come straight over from Africa (I mean, you can actually see Morrocco from Marbella, so maybe) and lay out their wares on a blanket on the side of the footpath - until a police car passes, that is.  Then they speedily grab the four corners of their blanket and disappear as fast as they can, normally down behind the beach wall.

Lunch was some very reasonably-priced (and tasty) almond pasta.

Sabrina was dead set on a swim, so we both braved the 'fresh' water, then dried out on the beach.

When we returned, salty and slightly bedraggled, there was some very flashy wedding/christening going on in the church near our hostal.  I felt rather underdressed in my togs (swimsuit, for non-New Zealanders), so we discreetly picked our way through the ties, heels, suit jackets, and gowns in the crowd.
Up in our hostal room, we closed the doors to keep out the ungodly racket that a large group of excited Spaniards can make!!

We enjoyed exploring the narrow streets and boutique-style shops of the casco antiguo (old town).

I see from my collection of photos that we found churros at El Churrito Feliz (the happy little churro) at some point...

Our only disappointment was that we couldn't watch a flamenco show at one of the bars without having a full meal.

Consequently, we rebelled against Spain by going to an Indian restaurant (Jaipur) for dinner.

The curry must have given us a super burst of energy, as we went for a wander around all the clubs down by the beach.  No-one was out at this early stage of the night (probably around 10pm, & remember we were in Spain) so we just went to Eclipse and took over the whole dance floor.  Which was easy, because no-one else was there- at least, for a while.

Bus, bus... more bus (Friday)

I got to bed at approximately 3am after conducting research into the tapas/bar facilities of Madrid with Kevin.  But, there's no rest for the wicked, and Sabrina was getting off an overnight bus from Paris at 7am.  So, I figured, she couldn't be feeling much worse than me.

The morning was random and cosmopolitan in the way that only big cities can be.  While I was on the computers in the hostel, an Italian guy came along and started explaining a hip-hop beats game to me, in Italian.  Luckily, it's similar enough to Spanish for me to have had some idea of what he was on about.  Then, there was Mexican music on the metro.

I found Sabrina or, rather, she found me.  She'd accidentally got off a stop too early, and been forced to do a little metro mission to get to Estación Sur.

As if Sabrina hadn't had enough of buses, we bought our tickets to get down to Marbella, before wandering off in search of a cafetería (or something of the like) for breakfast.  When we found one, it was full of agentes de movilidad (mobility agents) - in true Madrid style!


Six hours of bus travel followed: there were tears, strange noises from the toilet, heart-to-heart conversations, and multiple languages.

Marbella greeted us with rain, yet we walked from the bus station to the town centre.  

Checked into our hostal (Hostal el Castillo) in the old town centre (casco histórico), and then went off for a long wander down the beach front.

Found a little tapas place near the water for dinner.  Cheeky waiter brought us our many tapas dishes and set them down on the barrel-table with a 'para las francesas que tienen hambre' (for the hungry French girls).  Sabrina had told him about her bus marathon and, of course, if she was French, I must be too.

Considering Yourself Spanish Can Cause Problems

I was initially quite surprised at this news.  After reading a few more articles and getting some background on Ballesta, I think I see why it happened...

Salva Ballesta, a former footballer, never made any secret of the fact that he felt very Spanish.
400km into his journey to take up his new co-coach position with Celta de Vigo, a Galician football team, he received a call to say that he was no longer welcome to the position.
He had been told that he had the job, but had not signed a contract.
The club claimed the decision was made for "political reasons."

On a tv programme called Punta Pelota, Ballesta said "If there's a Basque or Catalan who doesn't feel Spanish, he has to put up with it because he was born in Spain."
Admittedly, it's not the only time he's made unfavourable comments about the Basques or Catalans, or made strong pro-Spanish comments that have riled feathers.
Spanish readers can check out an article on Salva Ballesta's Most Controversial Statements.

Others, like Catalan journalist Lluís Mascaró, have the opposite view.  On the same programme, Mascaró stated "Iniesta's goal in the final of the [Football] World Cup left me completely indifferent.  If they had lost against Holland, I would have felt exactly the same."

ARTICLES


Celta decides against signing Salva Ballesta due to his political ideology
Marca.com


Salva Ballesta, demasiado español para el Celta
ABC.es, Mariano Pozo

Salva Ballesta: "Si hay algún vasco o catalán que no se siente español, se tiene que joder porque ha nacido en España"
24POR7.com, José Pablo González


Lluís Mascaró: "No me siento español. Cuando España ganó el Mundial me dio exactamente igual"
24POR7.com, Boris Latermann


Veto ideológico a Salva Ballesta
El País,Juan L. Cudeiro

Almeria: The Holiday That Was

Thursday

• Smart-Arse Encountered at Bus Station
• Young Travellers Sharing Hotel with 15 Police Officers
• Stoned Man Tries to Use Hand-Eye Coordination

Friday

• 400 Children at Almeria's Alcazaba
• Forced to Drink Endless Juices in Search of Tapas
• Drive-By Greetings of Tapas Bar Owners
• 400 Kids in the Lobby
• 400-squared People in the Clubs

Saturday

• Almeria's Buses Play Better Music Than Clubs!
• All Bars in Cabo de Gata Have Obvious Names
• Unfortunate Bus Timetable Results in 4 Hours' Downtime in World's Smallest Town
• Kiwi Found Wearing/Carrying 400 Layers
• We Found Pizza in a Hopeless Place
• Pretend Sex to Determine Whether Next Door's Noises Produced by Bed or Human

Madrid: Tapas-Bar-Crawls and Pick-ups

Thursday night, and I get out of school and head straight for the bus to Madrid.  I have to pick up my French friend, who is currently on an overnight bus from Paris to Madrid, at 7am the following morning, but first I'm catching up with a Scot from Pueblo Inglés.

By the time I get off the bus, metro to the hostel, and make my bed, it's time to power walk to the bear statue at Puerta del Sol and find Kevin: all of the tapas bars in Madrid await us.  At 8.30pm, I already notice a few prostitutes out in the last few streets before I reach the square. 

Kevin and I find each other without too much hassle, despite Sol being as crowded as ever, but we're not too sure where to head next.  So, wandering aimlessly, we decide to opt for a culturally appropriate laid-back approach, and just see what we find.

1. "It's got that dead vibe going.  I like that", announces Kevin.  So, our first stop is the long, thin, classic Spanish bar, with two elderly waiters in wasitcoats.  The beers are a bit frothy, and our chorizo and potato is slammed down on the bar in front of us, but at 1€30 we are definitely not complaining!
2. The next passable place is down the road: a retro-ish rock and roll bar.  Inside it's dark, and the walls are covered in records.  We're kept fairly well entertained by the music, which includes some good oldies like 'Locomotion.'  It's a tad pricier than the last joint, though, at 8€ for two 'copas'- mixer drinks with a coke.
3. A promoter in the street almost drags us into a dark, empty club, even though it's only about 9pm.  Thankfully, there is sangria.  Oh, and one dancey man and a couple who were pashing.  We had to laugh when three girls came in; it's not often that such a small group completely throws the gender balance of a bar.  10€, an ADD Beatles medley and two sangrias later, the bland Spanish rock blaring gets too much for Kevin, and he announces: "We have to leave, now."
4. Not yet having learned our lesson, we follow another promoter who entices us with promises of a playa (beach).  We're not really sure if we've understood correctly.  A beach, in a bar?  She is, however, very insistent, so we follow her along to the bar. She even manages to hook in two more people, who slip in the door between her and us.
   Our conversation goes something like this:
   K: *steps in* I hate it.
   L: Well, there's still time to leave.
   K&L: *Glance over to promoter, who is heading downstairs, followed by the other two.
   L: If we're going to run, we have to do it now, because she can't see us.
   K: *Looks back again*  Ok, GO!
   K&L: *Leave very fast, without a backwards glance*
5. We decide that we are quite clearly doing it wrong, so opt for something more in the style of tapas bar #1.  It looks like something from the 60s: tiles, and pictures of platos combinados (mixed plates- more or less meaning a meal with meat and some veg too) cover the walls, and theres one elderly couple down the back.
   After downing a beer and some olives, we decide we like the place, and order'some bocadillos de tortilla (potato omelette sandwiches).  Alas!  It is not to be: the place is closing.
6. The Plaza Mayor is a must for every tourist and, since there are two of us, that makes a double imperative. One can't go past the calamari sandwiches there, and one can't have a calamari sandwich without a caña to wash it down.
   All of this is done in rather green surroundings, with more well-dressed waiters, who are closing up for the night and putting everything into a dumbwaiter!
7. In aiming for La Latina, we stumble across a lone bar with patterned, tiled walls, and a dancing waiter.  After a while, Kevin begins to suspect that the waiting staff are a couple, due to some "delicate touches on the shoulder."
   I point out that the Spanish are a touchy-feeling bunch, and he acknowledges that he could be using his Scottish brain.
   "It means nothing here.  In Scotland, that means you're married!"
   Were mightily amused when the dancing waiter asks everyone in the bar if they needed any refills, as he and the waitress are planning to hop outside for a smoke.  Classic.  Only in Spain could life be so relaxed as to allow the entire staff of a business (even if only two people in a small bar) to take their breaks at the same time.

At this point, I've had enough cañas, and Kevin decides he wants to go for a walk.  I accompany him, and turne out to be a useful prostitute-deterrent.  Those girls are really out to drum up business, but (thankfully) not brazen enough to approach a guy who's with a girl.

Then it's back to my hostel, for 4 hours'sleep before meeting Sabrina at 7am the next morning...

Life In La Caro

It's a bit of a laugh to be doing this post about La Carolina, in Andalucia, from little old Napier in New Zealand!  However, I'm home now, and catching up on the blogs which is was having too much fun to write while I was over there.

So, what are some of the more amusing aspects of living in La Carolina?

• On a 23 degree day, if you wear summery clothing, people will remark '¡Qué frío!' (How cold!) as you go past them.
• When you're looking for something to do on a Sunday, going to a bar is almost your only option!
• It's Carnaval time, and one of the main attractions is the Entierro de la Sardina (Burial of the Sardine...), during which a large paper mâché sardine is taken into various bars around town, as well as Mercadona (the supermarket).
• Teachers bribe their students to behave, or get good results, with chorizo.
• Your fair-haired flatmate is referred to as 'rubia' (blonde).
• You can't leave home without seeing about four people whom you know, or at least meeting someone new who knows the mother of the teacher you work with.
• People can be heard casually dropping phrases like 'a mi me mola que te cagas' (≈ I dig it so much you'd sh*t yourself) into conversation.
• You will be chastised for putting your bag on the ground, and told it will make you lose money.

Not A Good Time... For Teachers

It's not a happy camp at the moment in the world of Spanish Education.  With the Government under pressure from the EU to make up its deficit, the Governments of Spain are making many cuts in public education and health.

In fact, in order to reduce the deficit to 1.5%, all Andalusian civil servants are facing a reduction in salary, the removal of several benefits, and a longer working week (35 to 37.5).  What hurts them even more is that, shortly before becoming President of the Junta, José Antonion Griñan promised that civil servants' wages wouldn't be cut.  Plus, they had to find out about the changes through the media, along with the rest of Andalucía.

A protest demonstration in Sevilla.

What everyone is really angry about, however, is that there are some people who have got their funcionario (civil servant) jobs through who they know, and not what they know.  So, those who studied so hard for the difficult oposiciones exams are extremely frustrated that these people were allowed through because of their contacts.  They have a reputation for not working hard, as they know they're untouchable, and often earn more than those who worked their way up.  Therefore, the other funcionarios are furious that their salaries are being reduced while these people swan around the office filling in time.

An enchufado (plugged in) is a person who gets a job through contacts (or enchufes).

However, getting a job as a teacher in Spain is quite different to doing so in New Zealand.

First, you have to study your specialist subject at university.  Most teachers only teach one subject here.

Next, you have to sit extremely difficult exams, which are called oposiciones.  The reason that they're called 'oppositions' is because you really are trying to beat everyone else.  Once you pass the exam and secure a teaching position, you are a civil servant (funcionario) who is guaranteed work as a teacher for life.

Students sitting opposiciones.

Because of this guarantee, many people want to be funcionarios.  As a result, you don't just have to pass the exam, you have to do so with a high enough mark to be among the top few in order to get a job.  You could be sent anywhere in the comunidad autónomo where you sat the exam, but you will at least have a job.  You can't choose your school; you are sent to it by the local government.  However, after having worked for some time, or if you have special skills, you can accumulate puntos (points) which allow you some say in the matter.

Being an interino is difficult.

On the other hand, I have one friend who has passed the exam, but wasn't lucky enough to get a place, so is still working as an interino.  Which brings me to my next point: interinos (temporary workers).  These are people who have expertise in a teaching subject, but haven't sat or passed the opposiciones.  They can be doing long term relieving, for a period of weeks, months, or even filling a position for a whole year if no-one else is available.  They can be told one afternoon that they are being sent to somewhere five hours' drive away, and be required to sign papers in the capital of that province the following day. 
What's more, the recent cuts are particularly harsh on interinos, reducing their working day, and therefore salary, by 15%.

So, understandably, morale is currently rather low in schools (and many offices, I imagine) around Andalucía.

Essential Food & Drink

The Lonely Planet Western Europe guide says:

• Paella
• Cured meats (chorizo, salchichón, jamón serrano)
• Tapas
• Olive Oil
• Wine

Tick, tick, tick, tick, and... tick.

Success.

Summery Friday in La Carolina

Everyone seems to be in a good mood, because they know that this weekend is feria!  That means that it's a long weekend, too, because everyone gets Monday off work and school.  The kids who have just finished school are meeting up with their friends and planning how to get the best out of feria.

The market is a bustling hive of activity, as people stock up on fruit, veg, meat, embutidos (cured meat), cheese, and meat before the weekend.  As for the supermarket... I can tell you that a fair few bottles of booze (especially manzanilla are being carried out of there).

Rebujito: where the manzanilla is going.

Outdoor bar at feria.

Another caseta at feria.

In the streets, everyone's scurrying along close to the buildings, trying to escape from the sun which is beating down.  Summer seems to have arrived overnight, and we're suddenly remembering why siestas are so awesome, and why nothing happens in this town between about 2.30pm and 6pm.  It doesn't make sense in winter, but I can certainly see why no-one's keen to be out and about at these times in summer.  

Calle Madrid, La Carolina

There's one man, however, who isn't trying to stay in the shade.  He's fairly old, and extremely tanned.  While everyone else is fleeing from the midday heat and sun, he's pushing his wheelbarrow through the streets, yelling out the prices for the vegetables that he's selling.

I'm not as brave as him, so I hurry home and bless the lower temperature inside my piso.  That's another thing that didn't make any sense in winter, yet suddenly seems genius...

Video Overview of my Time in Spain

Since my time here is nearly up, I've started getting a bit more reflective about the experience.  Here is an overview, made from all the snippets of video that I've taken during my time here.  :)

ANZAC Day

Hi all...

What with ANZAC Day being recently, I thought I should do something to share this part of my culture with the Spaniards!

An ANZAC poppy: it is traditional to wear them in remembrance of those who have served NZ.

Cue an ANZAC biscuit-making mission.  (In the end, I substituted honey for golden syrup).

Anyway, you can check out my efforts on my school's bilingual blog if you so desire.
There are 3 articles:

1. My ANZAC biscuit recipe (Simon and Alison Holst's, with modifications!) 
2. The history of ANZAC biscuits.
3. The meaning of ANZAC Day.

Lots and lots of ANZAC Biscuits, so I could share NZ culture with La Carolina, Andalucía!

Joke About Spanish Politicians, As Told By A Spaniard

The mayor of Miami asks for tenders for painting the façade of the Town Hall, and he receives 3: one from an Englishman, one from a German, and one from a Spaniard.

The Englishman's is for 3 million dollars, the German's for 6 million, and the Spaniards for 9 million.  Because there's such a difference between the prices, he interviews each of the candidates separately, so they can justify this quote.

The Englishman says that he uses 2 layers of acrylic paint, designed especially for exteriors, and that costs 1 million.  Another million is spent on scaffolding, brushes, equipment, and security, and the rest is for paying the workers.

The German justifies his price by saying he's the best painter, using 3 layers of polyurethane, the cost of which is 3 million.  Scaffolding, other materials, equipment, and security would come to 2 million, and the rest would be for paying the workers.

The last, and the one who won the contract because the mayor considered his budget the best, turned out to be the Spaniard.  He said "Look, mayor.  3 million are for you, another 3 million for me, and we can give the 3 million that are left to the Englishman so he can paint the façade for us."

PS Any resemblance to the politics in your area is pure coincidence...

How to Spot a Guiri

'Guiri' is the Spaniards' word for "a plainly obvious foreigner that is subject to ridicule", and this is worth a read.

How To Appear Andaluz: When You Talk

* DISCLAIMER: I really do love you, Andaluces.  That is why I took the time to write this: so everyone knows how to talk like you!*


Most important phrase: 

The louder, the better.  ;p

'S' at the end of words?  Who needs that?  Drop it.

'do'/'da' at the end of words?  Think of all the time and effort that you are expending just to say those extra syllables.  Drop 'em.

Let's practise:  ̶d̶e̶ ̶n̶a̶d̶a̶  ... de ná

Learn the Andalusian anthem.  At least, if you can sing that, people will like you.

Watch this 'Curso Dandalú' and MEMORISE EVERY PHRASE.

If all else fails, just learn how to sing a flamenco song, or one talking about Andalucía.

Interesting Times For The Royal Family In Spain

Honestly, the Spanish Royal Family just keeps getting more scandalous.

Photo by GonchoA

The first big black mark during my time here was due to the King's son-in-law, Iñaki Urdangarin (the Duke of Palma).  He was forced to leave the country after being accused of corruption.  It came to light that a network company of which he was co-director, had charged outrageously for their event-promotion services.  And his wife, the Infanta Cristina, was supposedly involved in the running of some of those businesses, too.
Apparently, it was the Duke who used his contacts and influence to get these public-sector contracts with "astronomical budgets."  They then charged amounts which didn't correspond with the services they provided.  It's a little bit hard for me to decipher, especially in Spanish, but it seems they over-charged and then contracted out fake/imaginary services to other businesses in their network, thus making off with the taxpayer money.  You can see why the Spaniards wanted him out...
More info (in Spanish) here.

Photo from capl@washjeff.edu

Then, the King's grandson (Felipe Juan Froilán de Marichalar y Borbón) was doing some shooting practice on the family farm, and shot himself in the foot (literally)... with a gun he was technically too young to be using.  Although, to be fair, he's only a few months off the 14 years that are legally required.
As well as the fact that he required surgery on his right foot, the poor kid was apparently worried about his grandad being angry, and all of this putting extra strain on the already-tense relationship between his own parents.

Photo by Sheree.

And why, asked the Spanish people, wasn't the King visiting young Felipe?  When the answer came to light, it was more bad publicity: he was in Botswana, hunting elephants.  Many people weren't happy about the King's love of hunting, but it wasn't just this which caused dissent.

Photo by Arno & Louise Wildlife

Manuel Ajenjo explains it well in 'El Rey, el elefante y su nieto' (The King, the Elephant, and His Grandson):

"This royal hunting trip took place in a time of great uncertainty in Spain.  The country is going through the worst economic crisis since the transition to democracy, with 5.5 million unemployed.  The photo of the King hunting elephants was the straw which broke the camel's back- which was already under strain after his son-in-law, Iñaki, and his daughter, the Infant Cristina, were implicated in a corruption case."

The King clearly saw that some damage control was required, and his response made history.  He became the first Spanish King to publicly say sorry to his people, apologising for his trip just after being discharged from the clinic where he was treated for his own hunting accident.

"I'm very sorry.  I made a mistake, and it won't happen again."

Reaction of some Spaniards: El Rey as JAWS