Tag: translations

In Thru the Out Door

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We are less than a week from our 6 month anniversary of moving to Valencia. In that time, we’ve learned how to navigate public transport. Which super markets and restaurants we like. How holidays are celebrated and that fireworks will be our constant companion. We have started to understand how the bureaucracy works and when we need the help of others and when we don’t. We are expert. We know it all.

And then we spent the weekend getting schooled – again. Sure, we’ve been to the movies before. We can see movies in English at the local Yelmo cines. They have the look and feel of US movie theaters – thinking Lincoln Square in Bellevue, WA. And they even have Oscar Meyer hot dogs and movie popcorn. So it’s a complete experience, sort of, from home.

On Saturday, we walked up to the Yelmo that’s about a mile and half through the park from our apartment. We purchased the tickets to the ‘VOSE’ showing, which means the movie will be in the original language (English) with Spanish subtitles. And got our refreshments and climbed the lucite backlit stairs to the correct theater and sat down. The credits were running from the previous movie but we figured we would just wait with our two hot dogs, two drinks and a large popcorn for a whole 13 euros. But it was not to be.

The cleaner came in and started shouting at us. We were mid bite and had no idea what she was talking about. I find that when I’m shouted at, even in English, I struggle to comprehend what the hell is going on. But in Spanish? I’m completely lost. She could have been shouting my name over and over and I wouldn’t have understood a word. Jeff tried to reason with her. He gave her our tickets and she studied them like the Magna Carta. Then she hand them back, pointed out the door with more shouting and shook her broom at us.

‘I think we’re not supposed to be in here when she’s cleaning.’ I said to Jeff, after reading her angry face and threatening mimery with her broom. So we got up with our arms full of food and drink and left the theater. She followed us out. More shouting ensued and more broom waving. She practically pushed us down the stairs and kept pointing to the other side of the elevators in the lobby. We toddled over there like brainless idiots. We had no idea why.

On the other side of the lobby, unseen from the place where you purchase tickets and get your refreshments, is another set of stairs where there is a person who tells you that you can go up the stairs. There are monitors that say that a movie theater is open or if you must ‘Espera’. Or wait. So we went up to the guy with our tickets and he tore them and told us we could go up the stairs. We did, walking back to the theatre we were at one minute before. The cleaner lady looked at our torn tickets and said ‘bien.’  We went in to our assigned seats and sat down again. Our eyes were rolling in our heads.

The movie started. We were seeing ‘Alpha’. It’s a movie about a prehistoric clan who leaves a member behind after a buffalo hunt. It opened with Morgan Freeman’s deep voice – in English – telling us about life and the world, 20,000 years ago in Europe. Check! Time for a handful of popcorn. I expected Morgan Freeman and other English speaking actors because it was a North American film shot in Alberta, Canada. Sure, there might be some ‘Aboots’ and other Canadian ways of pronouncing ‘Aluminium’, but I would know what they were saying. Yeah, no.

The tribe in the film spoke only in a language that I’ve never heard. And the subtitles? They were in Spanish. Only Morgan Freeman’s melodious voice in the first and last 60 seconds of the film were in my native tongue. The rest was in a language that resembled languages of the people of the many tribes of North American, but was actually a made up language by a linguist from the University of British Columbia. This was not in the course description (I mean movie description) online. While interesting, I’m struggling with Spanish most days. We had come to the movies for mindless entertainment, and we got a job.

As we left the theatre, Jeff expressed surprise at language deal.

‘Well, I guess the good news is, I’m fluent in movie Spanish now, after reading it for 2 hours straight. But I did struggle a bit with the exact translation from made-up cave man.’

We walked home in the dark discussing the film . Mostly envious of the cold Canadian weather we saw and the fact that the main character was lucky he got to wear a coat.

On Sunday, we got up bright and early and walked down to the beach. The weather was perfect and the sun was out but the breeze was cool. The traffic on the main promenade was way down from peak season crowds. We chose a cafe and sat down.

I ordered a coffee and was promptly told that I was sitting at the wrong table. ‘ Coffee only there.’ The table he was pointing at was literally 2 feet away. So I lifted myself out of my chair and took one step and plopped myself into the chair next to me. The waiter walked the two feet, wiped down the table and asked me what he could get me.

‘Remember me? Una cafe con leche.’ I said.

‘Vale’ he said, as though we hadn’t just spoken 7 seconds before, and went away to get it. Ridiculous.

We finished the coffee. Jeff suggested we stick to what we know.

‘Let’s go out to Shopping City and knock a few things off our list before we fly to the US.’

I agreed and we got a taxi. We were half way to where IKEA is located in Alfafar, and I remembered it’s Sunday. I mentioned it to the driver and he said ‘No stores are open out there on Sunday.’ He had been wondering why ‘tourists wanted to go there’. Ugh.

So we had him drop us off at the Centro Commercial at El Saler. They have a Hyper Carrefour there and I thought perhaps we might have some luck in finding what we were looking for. We walked through their doors and there, like a beacon to school kids everywhere, were all the school supplies Emile and I had been searching for in the first part of August. The rows and rows of them looked just like the displays in every Fred Meyer or Target in the US.

We browsed a bit, but my heart wasn’t in it. I felt like something has been off for weeks now but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

‘I think we need to go home and pull the covers over our heads.’ I told him. ‘Something must be in retrograde because we seem to be missing something at every turn. It’s like I’m either too early or too late. Or just plaim clueless.’

So we did that. We sat and watched some Ray Donovan on Netflix and ate ice cream. Which everyone knows is the cure for almost everything. And since Mercury IS in retrograde, I’m not responsible for any of this.

 

 

El Jefe y Keli

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I couldn’t love our neighborhood more. Seriously. It reminds me of living in San Francisco in the early 90’s and in Seattle’s Belltown in the mid 90’s. In San Francisco in the Haight or in the Aves, you could catch Robin Williams working out new material in one club or another. In Seattle, you could catch Nirvana or Pearl Jam at the Crocodile for nothing when they were working on new songs.

Benimachlet has that same vibe, sans the famous people but I love it nonetheless. I sent Jeff to make hair appointments for us at our local hair salon. I figured his Spanish is good enough to work through it.  He sent me a photo of this post it. He is now officially El Jefe (‘The Boss’ in Spanish) and I am just ‘Keli’ since ‘Kelli’ would mean my double ‘L’s’ would be pronounced totally incomprehensibly. So it’s The Boss and Keli.

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Tonight, Sunday night, El Jefe and I went out in our neighborhood to have a drink and some tapas. Even on a Sunday evening there is alot going on in the square around our local church. A wedding had just finished and the revelers were in front of the church with their families.

We stopped for some wine at our favorite watering hole. We were there the day they first opened so we try to give them our custom whenever possible. But we got hungry and they don’t have a menu that was commiserate with our level of hunger. we went through the square on our way to another of our favorite tapas bars. On the way, we found a group spontaneously dancing. Not an organized thing, since when we walked home behind the folks with the speaker and the music, it was clear it was just a ‘lets turn on some music and see what happens’ type of deal. The crowd was loving it and readily joined in. Seeing dancers on the street in Valencias isn’t that unusual.

I love our tapas place. The owner is an old hippie and the food is top notch. The price of the cerveca and vino blanco are to our liking, as well. The place is cool and he totally digs us, so it’s fun to go there. The service isn’t typically hands off and it’s easy to get another drink and we feel at home.

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On the way home, we went around our summer outdoor theatre in front of the church. ‘Cinema a la Fresca’ enjoyed by all in the neighborhood on a Sunday night. We love the home grown eclectic vibe and the spectrum of folks who gather to enjoy a good film on a warm summer night. Back home, we used to go to Chateau St. Michelle and the Red Hook Brewery in Woodinville, WA with our kids in the summer to enjoy family movies outdoors. These are more arthouse films, but it’s no less enjoyable.

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Afterwards, walking back we passed by a shop front with an open door. A group of neighborhood gentlemen were beginning a game of dominos. We see this everywhere in the evenings around our apartment. Groups of older guys playing dominoes for money in cafes or parks. It serious business here. But this group was a fun and friendly bunch who was happy to share a ‘Guapa!’ as I took their photo.

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Before we moved to Valencia, I would never have believed we would live in a neighborhood like this. But every day, every time I turn a corner, I’m glad we chose to land here.

When I went to my hair appointment on Friday morning, I had a conversation with my neighborhood hairdresser, Pili, in Spanish. It wasn’t pretty, but she was so surprised at the progress I made, her enthusiasm for my particular brand of Spanish was infectious and made me feel proud of how far I’ve come. And then she threw me a curveball. Benimaclet is a very traditional Valencian neighborhood. People here DO NOT speak English so it’s easy to practice Spanish. But they also speak ‘Valenciano’ – which is another language entirely. Much like Catalan. And Pili is determined that I learn that too, so she’s coaching me. But the biggest compliment she gave me is that my pronunciation is ‘like a Valencian’, which I have been told before, so I’m on the right track.  I think we’ve found out home in Benimaclet. And, as everyone knows,  there’s no place like home.

Sometimes

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Moving to Valencia was made easier, I’m convinced, because we left Seattle two years earlier for Arizona. I had taken a new job knowing it wasn’t the end of the line. So we were out of our comfort zones for quite awhile before we packed up and moved across the world.

Arizona wasn’t politically our favorite place. We moved there in 2016, and all the guns, truck nuts and the like were not part of how we saw ourselves. Driving there was scary because you never knew who was packing and they might pull a weapon on you going 100 miles an hour on the freeway. But then everyone drove at least 80 mph on the 17 or the 101 freeway, so 100 wasn’t that much faster. It happened to Jeff while he was in the carpool lane on his motorcycle a couple of months after we got there. That incident started the clock on when we would move.

But even with all of that I still knew how to operate. How to find the Department of Motor vehicles, the paperwork I would need to get my license. Call a Dr. for my daughter and get an appointment. Nothing big but I didn’t have to think about it. I understood the bureaucracy. ‘The System’. I’m thinking about it now.

Sometimes:

  • I wish I had a whole day where I ‘just knew’ and could easily figure it out.
  • I would like to get up in the morning knowing that going outside wasn’t going to present challenges the moment I interacted with other citizens.
  • I’d like to go to the grocery store and find my favorite foods. In the same packages I’m used to.
  • I’d like to get my mail from our US forwarder without paying for a FedEx envelope.
  • I’d like to be able to call on an old medical bill that finally reached me without the hassle of the time difference and the cost before I even get anyone on the phone.
  • I’d like to not have to pay .20 cents a minute to call my bank because they’ve denied a charge on my credit card or an ACH on my bank account because I’m still not in the US even after I’ve asked them to put notes on my account
  • I’d like to just get our stuff from that freaking boat we paid so much money to bring our things from the US – because they’re still not here!
  • I just want to go to that breakfast place we used to go to on weekends in Issaquah – where they knew us and we didn’t even have to order – they just brought it with unlimited coffee refills.
  • I’d like to not feel completely stupid trying to get small things done, being the only person in the room, store, office, that can’t express themselves like I want to.
  • I just want easy, familiar, normal, comfortable.
  • Sometimes…

And then I remember. I love living here. But sometimes it’s still hard. On those days we don’t leave the apartment and we just binge watch NetFlix. Shows filmed in LA or NY. Places we are familiar with and feel comfortable in. It’s like we’re recharging from home so we can go out again tomorrow and tackle it. We’re committed to living here – we’re not moving back. But Sometimes…

Tribunal de las Aguas

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A while back, I learned of the Tribunal de las Aquas. AKA The Water Board. No, not that kind of ‘water board’. There is no torture, and liquid never makes an actual appearance. But it is all about the water rights of the Valencian Plateau and the ‘Waterlands’ herein.

To recap, this is the oldest judicial body in Europe, dating back to Roman times in one incarnation or another. It’s actually called out in the Spanish constitution, post Franco, expressly and is recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Cultural body. And in Valencia, it’s a sacred, beloved institution.

They meet every Thursday, at the Apostles gate at the side of the Cathedral, and convene at noon – precisely. Seriously, when the bells of the Cathedral ring, these guys ceremoniously file over and have a seat in their little ring. Ready to hear the important water cases that will be brought before them. The men represent the water areas controlled by the 8 main canals that draw water off the Turia River. Both from the right and left bank, the arguments are all oral, immediate and transparent. The representative from the water area in question abstains to maintain total fairness. It’s rules and laws are understood by all. And the ‘wisdom’ demonstrated by the Tribunal is sacrosanct.

I had told Jeff about it before, but he had never seen it. And since we were already in Central Valencia (Colon) at 11:30 looking at 360 degree cameras at El Corte Ingles. And since we had time and nothing better to do, we decided to go by the central Catheral, to the Apostles gate, and watch the pomp and circumstance of the institution. And we hit the excitement jackpot because they had a case. It’s not every week or even every month that they get a case. So it was packed.

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We got there early and watched the court bailiff and ceremonial head, set out the chairs. Each chair has the water area’s name embossed in gold on the back of the chair. These are placed behind a metal gated fence to keep out the riff raff – us. Then precisely at noon, the bailiff will lead the members of the synods from the palace across the street dressed in robes and carrying his ‘water staff’.

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After they are all seated, he will call out each area twice. In the video, you will hear him use the word ‘Denuncia‘. This is not a legal concept we have in the US. When a person has a problem with another person, or company, or institution, they can officially denounce them. This generally requires them to go to the local police station and file an official denunciation. But to file a denunciation under false pretenses is a serious crime here.

We had a problem with a car rental company a few weeks ago. They never gave us a car and they still charged us the fee. I was so angry and a friend suggested I go to the local police station and ‘denounce’ them. I was clearly confused and he explained that if I did that, I would get a piece of paper with the official record of the denunciation. I could fax that to their head office and see if that would get me my money back.

This sounded scary to me and I asked if there were any limits on it. Can anyone denounce anyone? The answer is yes, anyone can denounce anyone. But again, filing a denouncement under false pretenses is a crime. He said that when we file to renew our visa, we will have to go to the police station and get an official record and it will list any denouncements against us. I understand landlords can make them against you and you can make them against a landlord if there is a problem. Its strange.

Anyway, for the Water Tribunal, the one party – the one feeling like they have been wronged, answers the call when the bailiff calls out and asks for any ‘Denuncia’ for the particular synod. And today, the call was answered. The crowd, like Romans in the Coliseum in Rome, were ecstatic.  A case!

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Jeff and I had become separated. This happens often because I’m usually trying to get to the front because I’m short, and I like to see the action. He’s so tall, he can stand further back, and people hate it when he’s up front blocking their view. We had gotten there early as they were setting up so I got right up front. I looked over and Jeff was a ways away, talking to a tiny little old lady who came up to his belly button, who only spoke Spanish and Valenciano. I gave him a questioning look so he messaged me in WhatsApp.

‘You know I’m always a hit with the old ladies.’ he wrote – reference to our honeymoon cruise of newlyweds and nearly deads. He had been a big hit with the nearly deads at the Bingo games.

‘Who’s your girlfriend?’ I asked him.

‘I don’t know, but she’s determined that I understand what is going on so we’re using Google translate and she’s fascinated by it. A lot of pulling on my arm to say things and so she can see the screen.’

I look over and I could see her face through a break in the crowd and Jeff explained I was his wife. She said something to him and smiled at me.

‘She says you’re ‘guapa’.’ he said.

‘What does that mean?’ It sounded like Italian booze or that I might be crazy.

‘I don’t know – you look it up. I’m busy trying to keep up with her.’ She was pulling on his arm again.

‘Well, enjoy.’ And I turned back to the action.

We watched the case unfold. The President of the Tribunal had to abstain from this case because the party bringing the grievance was from his side of the river.  The Vice President led the questioning and the verdict was handed down. One party was not happy. The old man who won was gleeful! No documents, completely oral arguments and verdicts. No court record. And the verdict is final – no appeals.

I got out of the crowd and saw the old lady had absconded with Jeff. She led us over to the Water Tribunal museum across the alley, where she kissed us both and told us we were good people – in Valenciano. Then she left. I laughed.

‘You know it surprised me not at all that you attracted the smallest old lady in this square.’

He smiled. ‘Oh I know. She lives in Valencia and I think she just comes down here to watch on Thursdays for something to do.’

‘I think if you offered to put her on your shoulders, she would have done it.’ I said, shaking my head.

‘Definitely.’

So now he’s experienced the Water Tribunal and made a new, ancient, friend – and of course, he got the best one of the year so far. We agreed we’ll go back again in November on a cold drippy day, when tourists are thin on the ground, to watch it like locals. But they do put on a good show.

The Business of Living

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I awoke very early this morning with serious stomach pains. My whole left side was in such pain and it hurt to even touch it. Ugh. We have been so busy with other things, like living and working, that we haven’t established a relationship with a Dr. And finding one that speaks English – my preferred medical language in this situation – will prove a challenge. I already know that.

So I didn’t go. I just sat here all day. Yes, I Googled possible symptoms and learned I might have some things that would kill me very soon. Or things that will resolved themselves in a matter of days. Some things recommended no food or liquid orally. Others recommended that I do nothing but drink gallons of water. So I did the only sensible thing on a Friday and I went to sleep.

I slept for many hours today and now that I’m awake and it’s past 5 in the afternoon on a Friday, the time when 90% of the world gets sick (the most inconvenient time) I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have sought medical attention earlier. Pretending this is going to go away quickly isn’t a strategy that is panning out for me right now.

This is the first time since we’ve come here that I’ve felt truly insecure. Medical things tend to do that. When my daughter and I were walking the Camino, she had an allergic reaction on an early Sunday morning in Melide. That was very scary trying to find an urgent care or emergency room to stop the flaming rash from her neck crawling all the way to the top of her head. We got her some prednizone and the Dr. at the ER was very nice.

It’s harder when it’s your kids. If one of mine had awakened with this I would have moved heaven and earth – dialing 112  (911 in the US) or shouting for help in the street if need be – to get them medical attention. But for myself? I tend to take a more laiz-a-fare attitude. But then I thought ‘If I was in the US, would I go to a Dr.?’ and the answer is YES! I would have gone first thing this morning when the office opened. It’s a Friday and if this gets worse it’s an expensive ER visit. Somewhere in the neighborhood of $1200-$1800 for them to look at me in a hospital on a weekend back home.

But I have health insurance here. Full coverage and yet the language barrier is stopping me. I know its because I’m afraid I’ll have the same experience I had in Milan when I dislocated my shoulder and broke my wrist, and the orthopedic surgeon was the spitting image of Mussolini. I think he went the University of Mussolini where they shave the Dr’s heads and teach them to twist broken limbs and shout at patients in Italian. It was like being in the triage in the TV show MASH, only the Korean war tent hospitals in that show seemed better organized.

So, I’ll just wait a bit longer and drink more water. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow I’ll feel better. My fever will be gone, this raging headache will have cleared up, and I’ll be able to stand up straight without pain in my stomach. Between now and then, perhaps more sleep might do me good. There have only been a few, but it’s moments like these that even with as broken as some of our systems and institutions are in the US, I miss knowing how to navigate them. How to communicate what I’m feeling, ask questions and understand the response.  But for now, I’m getting off WebMD, crossing my fingers, and going to sleep.

It’s 5:00 Somewhere

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Around here, we mostly notice the differences. The similarities don’t jump out at us, and there are less of those. Like obeying cross walk signs or driving on the right, the’re easy to dismiss. Some differences are subtle, like the fact that you can’t buy laundry detergent that is unscented. Everything is seriously perfumed. That’s not such a subtle difference since we seem to be allergic to every scented detergent and we’ve been itching in one form or another for quite some time now.

One of the biggest things we’ve noticed is that people drink beer at breakfast. Sometimes, on the weekend, we’ll go out to El Horno for a coffee, and a large portion of the patrons are drinking a cerveza.  We’ve taken to calling it ‘breakfast beer’ and Jeff, not one to scoff at another culture’s traditions and idiosyncrasies, has embraced it (on the weekends) to the fullest.

I liken it to the Bloody Mary or the Mimosa in the US. Brunch isn’t the same without them. Except its not like that at all. It’s just a bunch of old guys from the neighborhood smoking, and drinking beer, at 9 am on a Tuesday. It just feels strange.

Today, on our way to Day 3 Escuela de Espanol, I caught Jeff looking longingly at the guys in front of El Horno on our way to class. I sympathized. I could have used a stiff drink before entering the lion’s den. Something to smooth out the rough edges of the knives of incomprehension that were coming our way in mere minutos. But we walked on.

Two hours later and we walked out exhausted, frustrated and confused. We stopped at El Horno for a coffee and Coke on the way home. We needed a moment to review the experience and to come up with a strategy. The one we’ve been employing isn’t working for either of us.

‘Did you catch any of the lesson three?’ I asked him, while thumbing through my notebook.

‘Not a bit. But I figured I just sit that one out. I don’t get how she doesn’t teach us what things actually are. Car, Truck, our numbers, colors, days of the week, telling time. Like how they teach kids in pre-school. They don’t just shout at them. They have pictures and books and they sing songs to learn mnemonic devices. This moves so fast you get whiplash and you haven’t recovered before you’re on to the next thing. ‘

‘You’re lucky she didn’t call on you.’ I told him. ‘When I looked confused she just kept saying something else in Spanish. I don’t understand why we don’t have lists of vocabulary words or any clue what we’re trying to do. It seems like it would be a great idea if she told us the day before what the focus would be the next day, so we could prepare.’ I was whining but I didn’t care.

‘Yeah, that’s not going to happen.’ He had given up on that the first day. ‘I spend so much time flipping back and forth in my notes, I miss her mimes and when look up again, I’m lost.’ He took a drink of his Coke but was eyeing our neighbor’s pre-lunch cerveza.

‘I’m going to develop some cheat sheets. I need to have my basics at my finger tips. I’ll spend the afternoon typing up what I have and you can review it and add what I missed. Tomorrow we’ll be ready.’ I feel better with a battle plan.

So that’s what I did today. It’s 4 o’clock and we got home at noon after out El Horno bitch/strategy session. My notes are typed up. Tables for pronouns, verbs, adverbs are completed with what we’ve learned so far. I’ve got sections for ‘Compare and Contrast’ vocab, and just plain random vocabulary. Numbers from one to one thousand are also in there, and grammar rules that include a host of exceptions. ‘Measures of Time’ will now be at my finger tips so they can roll off my tongue. Days, Weeks, Months, Seasons. it’s all there.

When El Chino reopens after siesta, I’ll head down there to get some index cards and make us up some flash cards. Sure, I can’t just rattle that stuff off yet, but when she asks us to say something, I’ll be able to conjure something up. Wait! Who am I kidding? She’s goes so fast I’ll still be fumbling. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll embrace a ‘breakfast beer’. Honestly, it couldn’t hurt and maybe I wouldn’t care so much. Except I don’t love beer and I haven’t seen anyone drink wine for breakfast. Perhaps they have to draw the line somewhere.

Lifeguard Wanted!

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In the US there is a saying ‘Being thrown into the deep end of the pool’. This means that a person goes from being on solid ground, to being in over their head with whatever thing they might be confronting. This could entail being expected to do something that you’ve never done before, as though you’re an expert. Its an apt expression since it often will include panic and hyper-ventilation. Both of these things we experienced in full today in our Immersion Total experience.

We went to our first Spanish class at our local ‘Escuela de Espanol‘ and I can say that we’ve not just been thrown into the deep end of the pool, but the ocean! Holy mackerel, we are lost. I would have shouted ‘Ayuda! Me estoy ahogando en espanol!’ (Help! I’m drowning in Spanish!!) if only I’d known how to say it. And I am drowning in Spanish. And so is Jeff. No es claro. And Jeff’s innate need for understanding the ‘Why’ of anything and everything is wildly unsatisfied because the instructor will not speak to us in English – at all.

We got there early and the room was set up in a circle. We have people from Holland, UK, Ukraine, Libya, Russia, Italy and us, in this class. The instructor came in and immediately wrote a few Spanish sentences on the board, began talking rapidly, and then asked each of us to say what she had written, but modify it for ourselves. It’s was our names, home country, what we like and what we don’t like. I stumbled through it and so did Jeff.

Then she wrote some other things on the board that I recognized from +Babbel and Rosetta Stone, and it started to make a little sense. I looked over at Jeff and he had that ‘Whaaat The…??!!’ look on his face as the instructor asked him question after question and he had zero clue what she was talking about. Other people were confused too. The guy from the Ukraine had already checked out.

We did some work sheets and then we had to say our letters to each other. My vocabulary isn’t bad but my pronunciation could use some work. Jeff’s pronunciation is really good, but he has a hard time teasing out what our instructor is saying. He began to correct my recitation of the alphabet. This is good, because for about a week now I’ve repeated everything he says in the limited Spanish I have, and I think it’s been making him a little crazy. Revenge is a dish best served cold, I guess.

On Saturday, he asked me ‘Where are the bikes we’re picking up?’ referring to what bike share station we’re going to.

‘You mean ‘Donde esta Valenbisi biccecletas‘ we’re picking up?’

Sure, it’s incomplete pigeon Spanish, but it’s how I’m learning and it’s helping me to more quickly conjure up what I might need to say to someone who doesn’t speak Ingles. When I do, I usually get ‘The Look’ but oh, well.

After our 2 hour lesson today, we left the school knowing we will be back there for two more hours every morning this week. Jeff’s head was spinning. We had learned to words for thief and plumber. Kind of obscure since I am perpetually trying to avoid both of those things in my life.

‘I didn’t understand half of that.’ he grumbled.

‘Yeah, me neither, but that’s why we’re taking the class. If we understood it, we wouldn’t need it. We just have to go with the flow. It’s not a college class and we’re doing it for ourselves. Our future livelihoods won’t depend on it.’

I got a ‘Hrmpft’ as a response.

We got home and had a little lunch. We’ve signed up for 3 weeks of intensive classes and I think Jeff is counting down the hours. But in the end, we’ll be glad we did this and the school we chose is flexible if we need to continue or go back for additional instruction – which is almost guaranteed.

But first we need to get through the initial part. The part where we surrender to the fact that we don’t understand, and that the goal isn’t getting it perfect, just good enough.  ‘No comprende‘ is going my constant companion in this course and I’m OK with it. Maybe we need to drown a little, so we’ll start kicking and head for the surface so we can breath the air in Valencia. Spanish air. It will not be easy, but I know with time it won’t be as ‘Dificil‘ as it was today.

The Escape

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Leaving your own country and moving to another requires adjustment. We start Spanish language classes on Monday. 3 hours every morning in intensive immersion. We need language skills and it’s becoming more and more apparent each day.

I’m looking at volunteering at a local school to help kids improve their English skills, but also to meet native speakers and use my soon-to-be-acquired Spanish. We’ve met new friends but most of them are expats from English speaking countries like Brits, Irish or South Africans. And those that aren’t want to speak English to us even though they’re from Holland or somewhere else in Scandinavia.

We’re fumbling through on a daily basis and it’s either feast of famine on our ability to communicate. Sometimes Jeff would prefer not to have to think about how we’re going to get something done. His take? ‘Easy things are hard. Just wait for the hard things. Who knows how we’ll tackle those.’ I prefer to keep some of those things in a fog just out of my reach. I’ll figure out how to get a doctor later.

So to escape, sometimes you just need to binge watch TV from home. We’ve got no cable but we do have Amazon Prime, with our paid channels, and Netflix. I get my news from NBC online when I wake up in the morning. But yesterday, after staring at some wires that came snaking out of our wall, Jeff hooked up the cable that is connected at the other end to somewhere, and we got local HD channels – out of the air.

We have no idea where they’re coming from but in flipping through the channels we’ve discovered we can pay to get our Tarot cards read on no less than 7 channels – for a small and ever growing fee.  Once we learn Spanish, we can listen to the televangelists try to save our souls. There might be a fee involved there too. We will eventually understand sports here and after Googling some of the acronyms for the teams playing, we’ve learned all the Spanish soccer/futbol teams names. And then we discovered the channels of TV from back home. And that we can change the programming to allow the ‘original language’ to come through. BINGO! We have more US shows.

Sure, back in the US I watched a ton of Spanish TV and movies. It’s how I started tuning my ear and honestly, it’s helped a ton here already. Great investment. But on days when going out and doing things is tougher than you think it ought to be, it’s nice to sit down and lose yourself in something mindless. Something you don’t even have to think about to understand.

Today, I’m heading out by myself to get spices in the Central Market. Its like a big open market but it’s undercover in a building like an old train station in the center of the city.  I’m meeting up with a new friend for a beverage who lives in that part of town. After trying to stumble through purchasing things in Spanish, it will be nice to have a chat with someone who doesn’t require me to think, over a glass of wine. And to come home and watch some Big Bang Theory with cultural references that I totally understand. Its stupid, I know. But the little things take on more significance here.

Its Official

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Today, we got our Spanish National Identity cards. It’s a big moment that took place in a humble building on the other side of the city, and they’re resting in our wallets now. So we’re good to go until we need to renew our visas in 11 months.

Everything here is a process of doing something, learning you did it wrong, correcting your mistake, then going back and completing it. Hopefully, this requires only one additional round trip. The only thing I’ve done right the first time is getting us our permanent Metro passes. I looked it up, actually had all the documents it said were required on the website, took them all to the Metro station offices and we got our cards then and there. I know the agent was surprised by my baffled look when he handed us our cards. Nothing is ever supposed to be that easy here – and yet it was.

I think it emboldened Jeff. He went online and signed us up for Valencsibi – the bike ride sharing service that is a whole 36 euros a year. In three weeks time, when our cards come, we’ll be able to ride bikes all over the city, like the locals. Valencia is the most bike friendly city I’ve ever encountered. Bank paths are down every major thoroughfare and soon we’ll be taking advantage of them. Riding to the river and down to the beach.

These small wins are starting to add up and it’s helping my peace of mind. Slowing down and cutting myself some slack has happened organically.  And has come just in time. Moving to another country is stressful. We aren’t surrounded by a big family that might insulate us from every single thing that is different or new starting right outside our front door.

Expectations I had before coming here are all gone. Now it’s just a matter of getting up and just experiencing things. We can’t anticipate or control. And letting go of the need for either of these things is starting to make for a happier life. For both of us.

Standing at the immigration building today, I realized it’s only been a month since we were in that line the last time. ONE MONTH.  In so many ways, it feels like a year. We’ve accomplished a lot since then. Things aren’t so foreign as they were before and going back to a place I had been before on that first day, helped me realize that we’re OK. It’s all going to be OK.

The lists are done. Now it’s time to live – just like we did back home. Real life starts today.

 

 

Just like that…

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It’s all disappeared. Seriously, in one day all the Fallas are gone. All the fireworks are over. We have heard not one today. Walking around this morning and all evidence of what has been going on for the last week is no where to be seen.

Crossing the road, the water trucks are hosing it all down and the bin workers are out in force. By noon, it’s just gone. If you look closely, you can see burn marks from the fireworks on our sidewalk, but that’s all that’s left of what has kept us up for the last week.

Today, went down to Central Valencia via Metro to see our banker and walked back home. On the way home, Jeff couldn’t seem to find a hair salon or barber open to get a haircut. Perhaps this is a day off for all Valencian hairdressers. I’m not sure what their patron saint might be but there is not one hair cutting place open, when the rest of Valencia seems back to normal. Perhaps it’s the patron saint of the first day of Spring.

I decided to head out on my own for a coffee and stopped into el Chino. I need coffee cups and a coffee pot – never mind I can’t grind the beans I bought, as I have not found a coffee grinder yet. But I’m optimistic that one will present itself. Our local el Chino is a big one so I knew they would have what I needed and they didn’t disappoint.

I gathered my purchases and headed to the check out. And what happened? Again, the guy gave me some free stuff, AND lactose-free milk.  I don’t have any idea why. Last time I spoke to our daughter, Emilie, on the phone, she was adamant this was a fishy situation.

‘I wouldn’t drink free milk. It doesn’t seem right.’

So I came home and showed Jeff my purchases and told him about the continuing GWP’s I scored.

‘That guy has a thing for you.’ he said.

‘No, he doesn’t.’

‘He never gives me free stuff.’ he pointed out.

‘Well. Maybe he gave me free milk because I was buying a coffee pot.’

‘Yeah. Well, last time he gave you free milk and you bought a garbage can.’

I thought about it. Perhaps he’s right. But it makes me uncomfortable. The guy usually fires rapid Spanish, and I think a little Chinese, at me. Waving his arms and pointing at stuff. And today he said the only words I’ve understood so far.

‘Angelina Jolie. Movie Star.’

‘What?!!’ I said to him, wide eyed. He pointed at me, smiled and then continued with our usual, unintelligible interaction. Now I’m not naive. Never in my entire life – even when I was much younger and unwrinkled, did I ever resemble Angelina Jolie on my best day, through rosy a camera filter, in the dark.

But the light went on. I’ll be getting free milk from el Chino from now on. So there is an upside to this crazy charade this guy and I have going on. Leaving with my bags, I realized, finally things are getting back to normal.

It’s a Process

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The pace of our life is starting to settle in. All but one of the appliances, furniture and computer parts has arrived from the various stores we purchased them from. Yesterday was a monumental day. Our Washer/Dryer showed up unannounced – glad we were home. Yes, we smell fresh and clean!

Spanish washer

The guys brought it late in the afternoon and installed it. In the US, usually they’ll bring it but they don’t install it for you, unless you pay and ask in advance. But these two wonder men brought it in, unwrapped it, installed it and explained how it worked via mime, Google translate and my growing understanding (not actually speaking well yet), and they made sure it ran. Genius.

After they left, I ran a load of laundry. It takes about two hours, but that includes drying. You just set it and it does it’s thing. We can not really understand the controls. But I just leave it on the one setting and it seems to work. I’ll never touch it again.

After I got the washer going, I headed out to my yoga class. I have been reaching out to other yoga studios to make sure I have found the right program, but I went back to the one I had gone to last week. They’re nice and the practice is so different from back in the US, that I’m feeling muscles I didn’t know I had. That’s a good thing.

Again, the sort of scary guy was at the lobby door and told me I was early so I had to wait on the bench out front. Another yoga person showed up and was instructed to wait on the bench too. We smiled and she started talking to me in Spanish. I explained that my Spanish ‘es muy pequino’ so we started speaking into Google translate using my phone, laughing until our Yogi showed up and took us in.

Somehow, it escaped me last week that I am about 20 years younger than everyone in the class, including the Yogi. But it didn’t escape my fellow enthusiast. I believe I can officially say I’m the new Mascot of the 6:30 Tuesday/Thursday class at Estudio Yoga.

Why? You might ask. Well, it’s because all those little old ladies are determined to have me learn Spanish. And they each come over and say a few words in English to me, while patting me on the back. Then they translate them into Spanish and encourage me to say it back. And when I get it right, they pet me on the head. Seriously, they pet me like a puppy. And then they smile at me, to encourage me like I’m a toddler. I’m 51. If they put cookies in my mouth I would know it was actually dog training. Truly, they are incredibly kind and I appreciate all their efforts. It’s hard to be the odd man out.

I’ve learned the words for ‘inhale’ and ‘exhale’. And the words for ‘difficult’ and ‘easy’. I have learned that when I say ‘Hard’ it doesn’t mean ‘difficult’ and I have to be very explicit – avoiding slang. I also have to count my pace of breathing so I’m learning numbers now too, because everyone counts from one to twenty together.

Jeff and I were discussing it on our morning walk today to see the Fallas monuments around the city. He agrees we need to get some children’s books, like kindergarten level, and start simple. I’ll go out later to El Chino and pick some up.

Our morning coffee spot has become friendly. The ladies there were not that nice last week. But now they see us every day. We’ve become good customers, so when we enter one of them shouts our our ‘usual order’, I say ‘Si, por favor’ and it arrives at the table within 5 minutes – No Problema. At the end, I clear our cups to the counter and pay. Then wave a hearty ‘Hasta Manana’.  We seem to have struck a social contract that works for all of us.

Tomorrow night we will have been here two weeks, but it feels longer. Like most people, routines are comforting and we’re finding a rhythm. The wife of my Yogi handed me some literature for the European Yoga Conference in Switzerland in August. She wanted to give me more ‘take and give to you friends’ she encouraged. Before I knew it, I told her ‘I have no friends here to give them to.’ She smiled ‘Soon you will’ and she patted me on the back.

‘Si’ I told her. ‘Very soon.’ And I think its true. I’m out there meeting people, trying to interact and learn what to do. Soon, we’ll have good friends. I know it.

 

‘Are we idiots? Wait – don’t answer that’

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I’m going to answer that. Yes, we are idiots. It’s official. And now my landlord probably knows it because I WhatsApp’d him about our stove top drama – requesting a tutorial at his earliest convenience. His answer ‘OK’. Its not ‘Fine’ but it might as well be.

We haven’t been able to cook. We can use the oven – but that took two of us and a lot of pressing, pulling and what not. It shouldn’t be this hard to cook a pizza, but alas. It was. And it came with a great deal of arguing.

‘Stop pressing that! I just pressed it and the light came on. You pressed it and the light went off!’

‘Does the light have to be on?’

‘I don’t know, but light seems better than no light.’

Eventually, I just pressed a bunch of buttons, turned knobs and the oven started getting hot. Do we understand Celsius v. Fahrenheit? No. But we know 100 Celsius is boiling so we backed into a temperature that seemed right to cook a pizza.  That was 4 days ago. Since then, we’ve eaten out, or had crackers and water.

We couldn’t get the range hood to work either. We had to be doing something wrong.

Jeff just came into the room where I’m reading.

‘Induction.’ He announced.

‘What?’ I was confused – We don’t have those in the US – not that I’ve heard of.

‘Induction. That stove top uses induction to generate heat.’ And then he pulled me off the bed to come with him into the kitchen.

‘How do you know that and why do I care?’ I asked.

‘Look.’ And he pointed to the cook top. Sure enough, right there is said ‘Induction‘ on the burners.

‘So?’ It meant nothing to me.

‘Induction cook tops use magnets to heat the pan. These people had childproofed the world in here. It’s an induction cook top.’

‘Huh?’ I’m not going to say I wasn’t impressed. ‘Get the pan I brought and let’s see.’ I had brought a copper pan to heat my milk for my coffee in the morning. I haven’t been able to use that little pan and it’s made me cranky.

We put water in the pan and again, we fought over button pushing and lights and numbers flashing. The pan didn’t heat. I needed to deflect. Jeff had taken out a pair of his precious, hard-to-buy-size shoes from one of the suit cases, so I could pack my copper milk pot. I started pushing button on the range hood and the light and fan went on. Mystery solved there. Guess the stove top power controlled those.

‘I think you’re wrong about it.’

‘I think I’m right. The copper pan isn’t magnetic.’ Then he went to look it up to prove he was right, and damn it! He was.

‘We need to get these ‘Induction Hobs’ for your copper pot. That’s the only way it will work.’

‘Seriously? I can’t find a yoga mat in Valencia. I’m going to find an ‘Induction Hob’?’

‘I know where to get one. I bet ‘The Worten’ has one. They sell induction cook tops.’

So where are we walking a mile to, right now in the dark? Yes, The Worten. We live at the Worten. It’s like when we used to live at The Home Depot back in the US. We’d make 3 trips a day on the weekends for some home project or another. We’ve already given these ‘Worten‘ people over 3000 euros and I can’t go anywhere because they’re always gong to deliver something. And now I’m going to give them more money for Induction Hobs.  Dear Lord.

But we will go and we will buy these things. And tomorrow night we will eat lasagna with sauce I will start in the morning and cook all day. I have all the spices for it. I’ll just have to make one of my many trips to the Mercadona and El Chino tomorrow. But these Idiots are going to eat homemade pasta with garlic bread and a ceasar salad for dinner tomorrow night. Now I just gotta get Jeff to call the crane operator to arrange to have my couch brought through the window of a 6th floor apartment. Baby steps.

 

Mopping Things Up

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Whenever you move from one place to another, there is always a period of time where you straddle both places. Bills from the old place that need to be paid. Banking from one place to another. Stuff like that. We have a lot of that stuff and today is the day to knock a lot of it out.

Our old bank in the US had us sign a bunch of papers before we left. I won’t bore anyone with the details, but suffice to say, they screwed it up and we’ve had to buy a printer, scanner and fax machine so that we can go back and forth to fix it all. The first one we bought last week arrived broken. But today? Success! We are scanning, signing and faxing and we’re finally getting it all straightened out – I hope.

I learned how to use our bank’s ATM and change my PIN so I can use the card at the grocery store now. It seems like a stupid thing but it’s been hanging over me and I have been putting it off. Now I’m good to go.

I still can’t log into our bank online. We finally have Spanish cell phones but you have to log in online to to change our American cell #’s to our Spanish cell #’s and we can’t log in until we get those damn short codes that we can’t get on our American cell phones. Ugh. So I can’t change my phone number on my account, so I can log in and change my phone number. It may require a metro ride and a chat with my friendly banker, Ana.

We’ve ordered all our appliances and by Friday I am assured that our clothes will be spinning in our very own washer/dryer. We will be wearing clean clothes again! Who knew I’d feel so excited about that.

On Saturday, we ordered our dishwasher. It will take 3 weeks they say. But then they always under promise and over deliver here. Which I find I LOVE!

‘It will be 10 days for your cell phones to arrive.’

Heavy sigh. Then 24 hours later I get an email that I can pick them up at the store.

Jeff’s monitor arrived and it works and is now set up in his office. He’s happy again and I know this because his corny, and very obscure, jokes have surfaced. On our walk yesterday through the Jardin del Real we were looking at the different palm trees. Each is signed with the Genus, etc.

‘Soon you won’t even have to look at the signs to know which ones they are.’ He told me.

‘Yeah, why’s that.’ I asked

‘You’ll be a ‘palm reader.’

Yes, that’s Jeff in a nutshell. And he’s back to being him.

Today, I’ll be buying a shredder – yes, I’m a little addicted to seeing important papers with my identity numbers cut into infinitesimal pieces while I watch. It’s a hobby now.

And in a bit, I’ll be heading to ‘El Chino’ to pick up yet more household items. They’re closed for siesta right now, so I have to wait. I can’t quite see the store from our balcony so when I tried to go earlier I found the cage across the door way.

Oh well, I needed to go to the Mercadona anyway to buy some salt and pepper and garlic powder. Not that I’m cooking anything. We still can’t figure out how to turn on the stove top and the landlord has been busy. Yes, we’ve downloaded the Balay manual in English, but the people before us had little kids and this place is over-the-top childproofed. I think it requires a code they set up. Ugh. Any way – like I said, we aren’t cooking anything but I like to have spices.  It makes me feel better.

So I headed to the Mercadona and attacked their spice section. WOW! They had a lot. I held up Google translates photo app and decided to purchase one of each kind. I mean, when might I need sweet v. regular paprika? I have no idea, but when I do, I’ve got it! And the spices here are CHEAP. Garlic back home was like $5. Here it’s .55 euros. Crazy.

I’m used to being stared at now, so when I went up to the check out and put all my spices on the belt and heard others commenting on it behind me, I took it in stride. And then, just like everyone else, I put in my Spanish bank card and it worked. I feel almost like a local. Just like in every other instance, slowly but surely, it will all come together.

Gift with Purchase

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Happy One Week Anniversary to us! Alot of ground has been covered so far. Setting up house is exhausting business and it makes quite the dent in the wallet. We spend our free time shopping.

Gift with Purchase

I’ve always been a savvy shopper, but even I am weary of it.  After a week straight of foraging in the wilds of Valencian shops, I want a day off. But we don’t have some of the essentials we need. I realized this yesterday when the guy who hooked up our internet asked for a glass of water and I had to give him a litre bottle because we have no glasses from which to drink. Jeff and I had just been claiming whole bottles for ourselves and drinking directly from them. Time to get a bit more civilized.

The printer we had delivered yesterday had a shattered glass copying surface so Jeff carried it back to the store (1.5 km) and we returned it yesterday. It was a sweaty business.

‘I need tennis shoes. These dress shoes aren’t cutting it.’ he complained on the march to the Worten.

He had sacrificed space in our luggage for me and now he was paying for it. So when we were at the mall returning the copier and ordering another one, we stopped into some of the athletic stores and browsed. He picked out some he liked and we asked the shop assistant for his size.

Jeff is tall, even by US standards. And in Spain, he’s freakishly tall. People stare. And when he asked for a size 48 shoe their eyes widened.

‘No no no. In Spain we are short. No 48. Maybe 46.5 but not even 47’

We heard it over and over. Jeff became demoralized.

‘Maybe we can find a clown store so I can buy shoes.’

‘Or you can order them online. Or we can go to Norway for a weekend – where your people are from – and buy you some clothes there.’ You might think I’m kidding but I am not.

Today we woke up and headed out early to pick up a few more things. Garbage can for the kitchen, printer paper for when our copier shows up later today, and a host of other things.

There are places all over the city that are filled to the gills with stuff imported from China – like the Dollar Store in the US. And in general it’s stuff we need. And they’re all run by Chinese immigrants to Spain, who speak Spanish better than I ever will. In my simple mind, I refer to the one near our house as the ‘Chinese store.’ I don’t actually know what’s it’s called but Jeff knows what I mean when I refer it. We headed there.

We filled our cart until we knew we were at the limit of what we could carry home and proceeded to the check out. The guy there is getting to know us and he actually smiled this time. He rang us up and because we were spending 67 euros, he came around the counter and handed Jeff a can of olives, and then me a litre of lactose free milk. I’m not quite sure what he was trying to tell me with that.

We didn’t really want these things and tried to give them back to him, but he kept saying something louder and louder like we were simple minded (OK maybe he’s right), and waving ‘no, no, no’. Apparently, we are good customers now and we get ‘gifts with purchase.’ Not unlike the GWP you get at the cosmetic counter at Nordstrom from Lancome or MAC. Except no extra lip stick or face cream to try out. Here we get olives stuffed with anchovies and lactose free milk.

Finally, we graciously accepted it and took our toilet brushes, light bulbs and the like home. And now I will have light to read by and a place to put our garbage. I’ll be ready if the copy delivery man needs a glass of water after he asks for my passport, again. Perhaps I’ll tip him with a lovey can of olives or some lactose-free milk. Since we’re locals now!