A grand day out - NOT!

The stunning Valencia railway station building

Deep into my immature adulthood I'm still fascinated by trains, to me they're one of those things just like Christmas and peanut butter on toast I don't think I'll ever grow out of. When the girlyfriend suggested we head off to Valencia on the old choo-choo I had a bit of a job not to bite her hand off, instead, I made do with a nonchalant "yeah why not?" Until she left the room; at which point I leapt up and punched my right fist in and out at waist height various times in celebration.

Rather conveniently, the following Tuesday, October the 12th, was a National holiday in Spain, not just any old one though, only the grandly titled "Dia de la Hispanidad" the national day of Spanish speaking nations around the world. But, and and just like Jennifer Lopez it's a big butt, the five day weather forecast looked a bit ominous, That didn't stop me booking the tickets though, quite possibly something to do with my huge excitement at the notion of a lengthy railway journey. An eagerness that completely ignored the worries of her inside the doors, who, being the voice of reason, quite sensibly suggested we postpone the trip and stay home in the dry.
 "Nah, we'll be fine"  I said,  "if worst comes we can always dive into a cinema until it stops"



Don't buy shit umbrellas - they're dangerous

Unfortunately, half way to the regional capital spots of rain began to spatter the carriage window, and on arrival it was absolutely wazzing down. First priority then was an umbrella apiece, simple enough because Valencia Nord is one of those railway halts that resemble a small sized town centre with one of every conceivable kind of shop. Six euros apiece later we were prepared for the worst mother nature could hurl at us as the proud owners of a couple of nifty looking umbrellas. How wrong the pair of us were. Attempting to inflate my bargain five quid brolly prior to stepping outside, the stupid thing badly sliced my right index finger, rendering it unable to operate the shutter on my camera. Quite an important part of our day out. While the girlyfriend took care of my haemorrhaging finger, I caught sight of three opportunist coloured lads knocking out umbrellas at two for a fiver. By now I was starting to regret persuading her Ladyship not to postpone the trip.



Paris on the Costa Blanca

Even on the wettest October day since records began Valencia is an incredible city, it's tree lined avenues and unbelievable architecture put me in mind of Paris; the only difference being Valencian natives actually give a shit about visitors to their city and do what they can to make them feel welcome. However hard the locals tried to do that, and believe me they did, the weather was starting to become somewhat depressing and getting worse. By about the third museum and fourth cafeteria, my shoes and socks were wet through and the damp had reached knee height on my jeans. Even our attempts to seek respite aboard the open top Valencia tourist bus were thwarted as the damned thing pulled away just as we reached the stop. Just as well I guess because looking at the empty top deck, the fifty people jammed in dowstairs had steamed all the windows up anyway.

My new footwear - ideal for the beach and wet days

Eventually, two hours after we should have done we gave it up as a bad job and headed back to the railway station, soaked through and thoroughly pissed off, three hours early for our return train. A massive queue and a tenner extra secured two seats in first class on the slow train leaving for Alicante departing an hour earlier at half six, a further ninety minutes to hang around, time well spent trying to purchase over priced dry socks which, by this point, had become a high priority. It suddenly occurred to me nice new, and not cheap, socks would be a bit daft inside wet through shoes, so the dripping wet socks went straight into the nearest bin, my very moist truzzie legs were rolled up to reveal half my shins and I emerged from the store resplendent in spangly new red and blue flip-flops.

Just time then for yet another unnecessary coffee, which was a good call in the end because the platform-side cafeteria put a smile on my face for the first time in what had become a deeply disappointing day out. Or rather, it's mixed sex bog did! To the side of the single lavatory door was a microscopic notice requesting patrons ask at the bar for the key. A steady stream of both ladies and gents, all keen to spend a penny, tried and failed to gain access because they failed to see the tiny little sign, their increasingly perplexed facial expressions caused me untold mirth, one gormless berk failed to figure it out even after I pointed to the side of the door four times. I sussed it out immediately and dived inside just as the previous occupant vacated the premises.

A grand day out ? - Had better!!

They all speak funny Mum (Part III)

I don't live in a medium sized English enclave abroad in which the inhabitants have no need whatsoever to speak Spanish and have no intention of ever learning anything more useful than "doss surveysas" and "La kwenta." Home for me is slap bang in the centre of a small sized city, where, no more than about twenty native English speakers also reside. This offers up allsorts of possibilities to confuse the locals with a language vaguely resembling Castellano. In my town, Elche, it's always a one shot deal, if you don't get it spot on first time the local with whom you just tried to communicate will look at you in the same way he or she might if you were unaware of a large bogey hanging from your nose.

Sometimes, but not very often, that somewhat blank or vacant expression could be forgiven simply because you've mis-pronounced a fairly innocuous phrase. Take for example a polite request for a chicken sandwich, no danger wth that one heh? but you'd be wrong, the Spanish word for chicken is "pollo" pronounced
'poy-o' Get the end of the word slightly different, say ending it with an 'a' as in "polla" and the likelihood is the waiter or waitress would probably take a step back from your table. Poy-a is the Spanish word for dick!!
Similarly, and this happened to me - just the once - it's easy to mix up "heuvos" and "huevas" again it's just a single vowel but quite an important one. Where I thought I'd asked for eggs, (way-bo's), I'd inadvertently requested scambled "way-ba's". Explaining away the young serving wench's quizzical look, the bloke I was with pointed out I may not have meant to ask for balls on toast!! Actually, the 'a' and the 'o' in every day Spanish writing and conversation are pretty crucial because they signify female and male, get them wrong and you open up a world of fun.

Spanish phrases are even more entertaining because the words are rarely in the same order as they are in English, so, straightaway you can forget about using Google Translate to reply to emails, spark up a short conversation or send a text. Until I took lessons I had not a clue how useless most of the popular internet translators actually are, these days they are simply a convenient spell checker, probably all they're any good for. For absolutely ages my girlfriend always referred to the "keys car" because it's the opposite way round in her lingo, "llaves del coche" It used to make me smile everytime I heard it so I didn't correct her for a couple of years, then it occurred to me I was mutilating far more Spanish phrases and she always used to point it out to save me embarrassing myself, especially outside the house.

If you're going to learn Spanish, a great way to start is to listen to a native recite the alphabet, but don't worry the first time, he or she isn't trying to clear their throat to spit at you. Bit by bit one or two of the sounds begin to sink in, and, provided you've chosen not to live in "Little Britain" where all you'll ever hear is English every day, you can soon make some progress. I chose a couple of favourite letters each week and then two new ones once I'd got the hang of the previous pair. For example, 'J' in English is pretty simple, "jay" but in my new world, it's "jota" yup hotter!! Problem is, elsewhere in Castellano an "H" is always silent, as in 'otel California, you follow me? Okay, now let's try a 'Z' which I used to call zed. In the land where Juan Carlos is King, an old fashioned English zed is actually "theta" pronounced like 'thin' in English. Now, say out loud the Spanish city ZARAGOZA. Did it come out like "Tharragother" It should have done. Other simple speech rules include 'b' and 'v' which are pronounced the same as each other - at the beginning of a word use it like "boy" in English - everywhere else it's like "very" but you're not supposed to let your lips touch. With this combo you might look a little bit like a window licker at the start but persevere. Finally, double 'l' is always a "ya" sound - my example below is botella (bo-tay-ya/Bottle).

Cool, now you're an expert I'll try a couple of phrases, some of which in Spanish I think are absolutely fantastic. Ready ?

Spanish - "Blanco y en botella"   English -  'White and in the Bottle'
Which loosely translated means some thing like - It's obvious stupid

Spanish - "Dar a Luz"  English - "Give the light" (to a new baby)
Loosely translated means give birth - doesn't it all make perfect sense and isn't Spanish brilliant ??

That's your lot.

They all speak funny Mum (Part II)

Having established clear blue water between the "sod it, I can't be arsed's" and the British folk who want to put some effort in, this blog continues; paying scant heed to those linguistically challenged individuals for whom Spain is just Southend-on-Sea with a bit more sunshine and cheaper lager. I'll waste no further words on those for whom Spanish isn't their first language, won't ever be a passable second, and asking for a pizza, eleven more beers and then the bill is the limit of their efforts to integrate.

For the ex-patriots in Spain who make the effort, an amazing new world of opportunity, fabulous experiences, amazement and new friends for life quickly beckon. Spanish people are warm, generous, interesting and fun, so why come to this sensational country and largely ignore all it has to offer? (Any ideas? nope, I gave up too). The thing is Spanish folk are bloody intelligent, so while you learn the basics it's virtually nailed on any locals you're acquainted with will have more than a smattering of English. This is perfect because between what you've picked up and their existing entry level English, some sort of a conversation is always perfectly possible. Trust me here because I know, I'm the proud partner of an amazing Spanish lady, who, every day since I met her has made me smile, laugh out loud, patiently answered way too many inane questions, and, from a pretty crappy personal starting point, increased my understanding of Spanish history, culture and custom. It wasn't always so!

On the evening her and I met any kind of conversation was very much a low priority, in the very few pauses between lengthy snogs, breathing took precedence over small talk and the language barrier wasn't actually very obvious. Date number two a week or so later was when the hard work began.  Like most Brits in Spain tend to find, organising drinks, food and then the bill was fairly easy, in between all that though we had to get to know each other. Three hours, one civilised peck on the cheek and a massive headache - caused by having to concentrate so hard - later, I headed home home determined to learn the lingo. The next morning, killer headache a thing of the past courtesy of industrial strength paracetamol, I began my Spanish classes. Speaking a foreign language is actually not a lot different to playing golf - with one you open your gob and words spill out, for the other you heave a club behind your back and then twat the ball. Thing is, until you're taught how to do it properly, you've got no idea how awful you are. With my tutor, so bad were my initial attempts at conversing with him, quite possibly way worse than the poorest Spanglish, he actually took me back, in childlike fashion, to learning the alphabet.  On the upside, pretty quickly I figured out that relying on Google Translate to help me whilst "chatting" to my new lady friend with MSN really was simply storing up trouble.

It would have been so easy to just give up and revert to a sedentary lifestyle on an "urb" with hundreds of likeminded Brits, but no, I persevered, developed my own unique brand of Spanish and slowly, way too slowly, began to do a little more than just get by. Four years after making her acquaintance, it's still a source of mild frustration that the girlyfriend, whose English at the outset was in no way better than my Spanish, has come on in leaps and bounds whilst my grasp of her tongue, (no stupid that was the night I met her), is only above average and not completely fluent.

Next time some common mistakes, all of which I've made at different times, and a few examples of some excellent Spanish phraseology.

They all speak funny Mum (Part I)

Moving to a foreigh country, any foreign country, is almost always a pretty fraught affair, particularly if it's been quite a few years since one could safely be classified a spring chicken. That'll be me then, and, apart from my second six months in Spain during which period it felt like I'd lost everything in a fire, (don't ask), I think I've done alright. Most things you can get sorted straightaway, such as; a car, somewhere to live and a job - which, by rights you really ought to have figured out before arriving. With the confidence borne of a cracking start, you start to tick more things off the list, for example, the taxation system, medical care, and, most crucially of all, a local pub!! I've never really bothered sussing out a dentist because I've always been shit scared of them, and, just like a dog on it's way to the vets, I lock my knees round the corner because I know where I'm going. 

One thing that can only ever be described as an ongoing process, unless you're a linguistic genius who passed the maths 'A' level with a distinction aged eight, is the language. This appears to trouble a healthy percentage of British people in Spain, many if not most of whom seek safety in numbers in giant sized housing estates called "urbanizaciones" where, every local business is compelled to speak basic English for fear of having no customers. This rule of thumb also applies to the local hostelries too, where, if you don't have Sky TV and dish up roast dinners, most Sunday's end up pretty lonely and unprofitable affairs. 

There is however, an intrepid group of non natives who, by dint of hard work, living amongst the locals and patience, experience the real Spain and are much richer for trying. This select group, to a man or woman, tends to forego Eastenders, Emmerdale and Coronation Street in favour of learning the hard way by watching the Spanish television news, (just like I did and still do), and various local outputs, much of which at the outset might as well be broadcast in Urdu. (With the utmost respect to the world's Urdu speakers). Bit by bit the penny drops, and, for the minority it's an investment in time and effort that pays off in spades. Elsewhere, the inexorable progress of brain damage or dementia caused by overexposure to British soap operas continues apace and the unsuspecting devotees get left even further behind.

By this point, born and bred Spaniards figure it out and respect immensely those Brits that mangle badly a beautiful but sometimes complicated language because they try. Bit by bit their "Spanglish" becomes discernible as something vaguely resembling Castellano. The others are treated with contempt and spend half their lives moaning about the staff as the white skin surrounding their tattoos gets redder and
redder whilst they engross themselves in The Daily Mirror. Everywhere else, British people that choose a proper daily newspaper come on in leaps and bounds and make friends everywhere they spend their money and practice their language skills.

Having set the scene and established two clearly distinct camps; those that can't be arsed versus the rest who respect their adopted country and do their best to integrate, this blog entry will be continued, as, in my round about way I get to the whole point of the thing.

To be continued..........................