Year Abroad: Highlights of the Week 7th – 13th April

Saturday 7^th April – I played a concert with the band, but it was a tad unusual.  It was at a Bullfight.  A once in a lifetime experience that I’m glad I had the opportunity to do, but I don’t think I’ll be viewing another bullfight any time soon. 

Sunday 8^th April – Another amazing opportunity thanks to the band.  I was playing in two full-blown processions on Easter Sunday.  First time I have marched and played at the same time.   

Monday 9^th April – Went to Ubeda with my mum to show her the other town.  Walked around in the nice sunshine and then went to a café for a nice roll.   In the evening we went out with Jenna.  It was so funny when my mum didn’t really know how to introduce herself.  She started off with “hi I’m Mary Ann’s mum” then after a pause “you can call me Ann”.

Tuesday 10^th April – My mum came down to the school with me and sat in the staff room whilst I did my classes.  During the interval when we went to eat breakfast she got churros and I re-tried them.  I am still not a churro fan but *meh* they are all right.  She was obsessed with finding out why the different cofradias have different sized pointy hats.  We still haven’t gotten an answer.

Wednesday 11^th April – Mother’s last day.  I went to work and then met my mum during the break.  It was freeeeeeezing cold.  We bought some of the statuettes of the Cofridias, one as a present to my sister and the other for my mum’s school.  We went out for dinner in the evening and then chilled out and sorted stuff for my mum’s travel home.

Thursday 12^th April – Mum left.  Emotional.  Slept for a lot of the day.

Friday 13^th April -

Year Abroad: Semana Santa Part 6 – The day I played in two processions

After the excitement of the bullfight, and it was exciting or at least it filled me with adrenaline and nervous energy, it was time to start gearing up for what would round off my Semana Santa experience – Easter Sunday marching with the band.

When I first found out that I was going to be able to play in a real life Semana Santa procession I was bouncing off of the walls.  To me these are one of the truly unique Spanish traditions – lo Español -, at least to the extent that they go to.  And to take part in one in my town which is relatively devoid of foreigners was just amazing. 

The night before we found the correct church…in fact it was third time lucky…just goes to show you how many churches there are in such a small area.  So we knew where we were going.  My mums job was to take my picture as I marched so that I had a keep-sake of my once in a lifetime experience.  I found the area where my band were getting ready and got my music folder.  They were all asking me about how I enjoyed the bullfight and what I thought of it and I was interested to hear their opinions as well since this is an accepted tradition in their culture.  My answer was in the middle, so that I didn’t come across as hating what seems to be an integral part of their culture but also that I didn’t come across as advocating it.   One of the girls who is about my age said that she hated bullfights and how could anyone enjoy a feria of death.  This was the strongest opinion I had heard from a Spaniard, although one of my friends Reyes also really does not like bullfighting, but we haven’t really spoken about it much.  Then one of the old guys (I’m friends with all the really old men in this band whose names I don’t remember since they are the ones who talk to me) started telling me and some of the kids that after the bull dies they butcher it and eat it.  I’m still sure that he was making fun of us.

The hermanadad leaving the church

Martin, our conductor.  One of my favourite people in Baeza.

Marching

On Calle San Pablo in the centre of Baeza

Finding the next piece of music.

Me playing with the band

 

We were at the tail end of the procession as the drum and coronet band were at the front.  We waited until they had gotten far enough ahead of us and then we started.  This was the first time I’d ever had to march in time, play my trumpet and keep my eyes on the streets just in case there were holes (the only time I had walked and played had been the day before at the bullring).  It was hilarious trying to match my stride to the two guys next to me because there was a small 11 year old on one side and a giant 20 something on the other…our strides do not naturally match up.  The next challenge came whenever we had to change music because since we didn’t have a set list we had to try and hear Martin shouting the names.  I’m proud to say that there was only one piece that I couldn’t find in time to play it. 

We marched for a total of three hours with plenty of breaks in between, standing waiting on the streets as the people watched the slow procession.  By the time we got to the park we were all hot and a little bit fed up.  When one of the old men leaned over to get a drink out of the fountain, another turned it all the way up and soaked him.  Luckily he took it in good humour and we all had a good laugh as Antonio had to walk the rest of the way a bit damp. 

Being that Baeza is such a small community, it was no surprise that some of my kids would be in the crowd.  It was however a surprise for them to see me playing.  When I went into school on the Tuesday they were all really excited that they’d seen me and one little boy went into a huff because he’d missed it.  That was adorable. 

My uniform without the jacket.

After the march I went and sat in the centre of Baeza with my mammy.  I was exhausted but far too hyper to even consider sleeping.  And anyways I had to do the whole thing again in just a few hours. 

The second procession was El Nino.  It involved both a trono carried by adults but also a special one carried by really young children.  The music we played was much more upbeat and it had more of a party atmosphere to it.  This was shown when the trono carrying Mary began to dance…well sway from side to side and bob up and down.  People on the balconies threw rose petals and flowers onto it. 

And then it was all over.  I had taken part in, and completed, another once in a lifetime event.  That made two over the course of two days.  I loved being able to take part in such a Spanish tradition along with my band.  And I definitely enjoyed the marching much more than the bullfight.  This was definitely a highlight of my year.  Made so much more special by the fact that my mum was there to see it…it meant that it definitely wasn’t a dream.  

Year Abroad: Semana Santa Part 5 – The day I played at a bullfight

            Saturday of Holy week rolled around and it was time for me to go and play at a very special event with the band…a bullfight.  I’d been humming and hawing about whether or not I was going to go and do it, but I decided to go mainly because when would I ever get the chance again.  The answer to that is never.  And I could not let myself not go just because I was squeamish and didn’t agree with what was going to take place. 

            So my mum and I walked down to the bar next to the bullring where the band were meeting and we talked to them about bullfighting and how we do not have anything like this in Scotland, and no we don’t even show it on TV.  My mum was going to wait in the bar for me to finish because a) the bullfight tickets were so expensive because there was supposed to be a celebrity matador who ironically had to pull out because he injured himself whilst on his cattle farm and b) she had already seen a bullfight and didn’t want to do it again.  So off I went with the band into the ring.

            The kids from my classes were explaining all the different things that I was going to see and what each part meant.  Then one of the old men from the band came over to me and asked if I wanted to get my picture taken with a Matador…again, when will I ever be able to do that?!  So we ran over and got a picture with Sergio Aguilar the best of the matadors who was there that day. 

Me and Sergio Aguilar the matador

            We then made our entrance into the arena.  We marched around the ring for a couple of laps and played some music, then we had to climb up to the very top of the seating area and wait until we had to play.  The bullring was about half full, but because of the date and weather conditions it was only the hard core fans who came out to see it. 

            Bullfights are very ritualised and each stage can only began after certain conditions are met.  The start of the fight involves two men on horseback saluting the president (the judge who makes sure each part is completed and who makes the decisions as to whether the bullfighter is awarded trophies, if the bull gets pardoned etc.) and who then take a circuit of the ring.  Then all the men who will participate in the event come out and salute the president and the crowd.

The men who salute the president

We played whilst all the toreadors came into the ring.

            Then a trumpet blast signals the start.  The bull comes out of the holding pen, often being forced to come out with people banging on the cage.  The toredors start baiting the bull to charge at them by waving their capes.  This is to see how dangerous the bull is and where it wants to run to in the ring.  After the necessary number of passes it is time for the picadores to enter the ring.  These men are on horseback and their job is to stab a group of neck muscles on the bull causing it to be weakened and to start losing blood.  The horses are blindfolded and are covered in padding so that they are less likely to be injured. 

The first picador whilst the other toreadors act to keep the horse from being in danger

Sergio "dancing" with his bull before killing it

Using the cape 

            The second stage involves two men sticking flags into the bull.  These also weaken the bull’s muscles and causes more bleeding.  The bull is angry but exhausted and is dying already and so it is time to bring out the matador.

            The final stage is the killing of the bull.  This is also the stage where the band comes in.  A good matador can use the cape to “dance” with the bull and so the band played pasadobles.  And then he goes for the kill.  If it is done well he may be awarded trophies like the ears and tail, if not then he will be booed by an angry crowd.  They may have just watched a spectacle of death but they do not actually want to see the bull in pain, by this point they want it to be put out of its misery with dignity and as little pain as they can.  Once the bull is dead it is dragged from the ring by two mules.

            Throughout the whole evening I had a knot in my stomach.  But I tried to distance my personal opinions from what I was seeing and to attempt to see it as part of the culture I was surrounded in.  This was definitely helped by the fact that I was surrounded by the band who were all locals and many of whom are fans of bullfighting, although not all of them are.  Over the course of three hours I witnessed the death of six bulls. 

           

            One of the matadors, a local boy from Linares, was not good at all.  He is a younger brother and son of two very famous bullfighters but he does not seem to be all that talented.  He botched the killing of both of his bulls and the crowd booed and hissed at him.  He also received a time warning as he took far too long to kill the bull.  Another was gored during the killing of his first bull.  He was kicked to the ground, kicked in the head, had some broken ribs and ended up with a gash in his leg.  He was dragged from the ring but got back up and killed his bull while holding his side.  He was applauded but he didn’t get any trophies because he did fall down and that means he is not worthy.  He was taken to Ubeda and was operated on overnight.  The last matador was the man whom I got my picture taken with – Sergio.  He was a good matador.  He was the only one with whom you could see the argument that bullfighting is an “art”.  He used the cape to get the bull to move to the music.  After his first bull he was awarded both of the ears, but during the killing of the second bull he tripped and so was only awarded one ear.  Three in total.

Carrying his trophies.  Two ears cut off of the dead bull.

Sergio after being awarded his trophies which he threw into the crowd.

            Two of the bulls were very pathetic creatures according to the people I was with.  They fell over and the crowd starting laughing.  I felt really ill at those points and by the end of every round I just wanted them to put the bull out of its misery, and to be taken away from that place.  The biggest and best bull was saved until last, and after that was done it was time to go home.  I went over to the pub to see my mum and the first question I was asked was “Cuantas orejas?” (How many ears?) as this indicates the quality of the match.  Three as it turns out is not good.  I sat down with a drink and recanted the tale to my mum.

            As it turns out Sergio was awarded another honour.  He left the ring salida en hombros which means on the shoulders of his admirers. 

            I am not in favour of bullfighting but I am not advocating that it should be banned.  It is not our place as foreigners to say.  I don’t think I am likely to go to another corrida but I am glad that I went to this one.  I saw this bullfight in the best way that it was possible for me to see it and it has taken me a while to reconcile my thoughts and views, although they will remain privately with me.  I can understand why some Spaniards enjoy it, and why others hate it. 

            If you have the opportunity to go to a bullfight with local people with local knowledge then go.  You will certainly experience another facet of Spanish culture.         

Year Abroad: Semana Santa Part 4 - Madrid and back to Baeza

We arrived back in Madrid in the early evening on the Wednesday of Holy Week.  We had to go and check in to our new accommodation, the room we hastily booked after our upset earlier in the week.  The room was basic, but clean, and the woman who ran the hostel was very nice.  We then headed out into the city to find some food and to stretch our legs after the train. 

 

We headed towards the other side of the Puerta del Sol in search of food and eventually stumbled upon a bar which had a decent looking menu del dia, just as the rain began.  We sat in the bar for a while, eating and watching a really bad Spanish comedy show.  We headed back out into the city just as the rain had stopped and as we were walking back across the Puerta del Sol we saw a large crowd assembled and heard drumming coming down one of the side streets.  We had inadvertently stumbled onto a Semana Santa procession.  The first one my mother and I had ever seen in real life.  She did her usual of getting over-emotional…oh mammy…and we watched the different cofradias marching with the different tronos and bands.  I couldn’t wait for Easter Sunday so that I could join in one. 

Solid wooden trono.  Decorated with fresh flowers.

The Cofradia carrying the crosses.  some were even barefoot.  All done as penance.

A representative of each of the groups who marched.

This outfit was the most impressive of them.

That trono is very heavy.  It takes up to 80 people to carry one.

The following day we got up at a reasonable time and we decided we would go and see the NASA exhibition which was going on at Casa del Campo at the other side of Madrid, just outside the city.  The trip to get there was interesting to say the least.  We got the metro and when we came back out into the city we were not in Kansas anymore…we were out in the rough part of the town.  We had our google map directions and headed through the dodgy looking flats.  We got a little confused and we had to ask someone for directions…she was definitely a few screws lose….she flagged down two policemen who were there to get the crazy homeless guy with a bat away from the residential area…but anyway we made it in one piece to the exhibit.

The exhibition was NASA: A Human Adventure and it was all about the beginnings of the space race up to the present day and into the future programmes of NASA and their partners like ESA.  We were given an audio-guide which was divided up into sections and had a lot of information broken up into sections: The Dreamers (the visionaries and sci-fi writers who inspired so many to try to get humans into space), Go Fever! (about the Space Race and the first astronauts Yuri Gagarin and Alan Shepard), Pioneers (people like Konstantin Tsiolkovsky and Hermann Oberth whose work helped invent the first rockets), Innovation (the machines and technology used), Endurance (space suits and the food taken on board), The Next Generation (NASA’s future projects) and a special memorial for those astronauts who died trying to reach their goals.

An early space suit design

The entrance to the Dreamers section which focused on sci-fi writers such as Jules Verne who inspired so many to reach for the stars.

My mum and I both loved the exhibit.  I have always been fascinated by space and if I had even an inkling of physics ability I’d be working for a space agency when I graduated…alas I don’t so I’ll need to make do with hoping to be an interpreter of the aliens ever land, xeno-linguistics anyone.  There were loads of model rockets showing the scale and evolution of design.  It was interesting to see the different types of fuel which could have been used etc.  The website about the exhibition has more info if anyone wants it http://ahumanadventure.com/exhibition

After the exhibition it was time to head back into the city centre and grab a coffee.  We headed to Starbucks just as the rain came on again.  So we sat there a while whilst our Rick Steve’s guidebook came up with suggestions on where to go next.  It told us that the Royal Palace was free to EU citizens on Thursday afternoons, and since neither of us had ever visited it we gritted our teeth and headed out into the pouring rain to visit the palace. 

We stood in a line outside the palace for about fifteen minutes and managed to get royally soaked (pun intended).  Using our newly acquired guidebook we wandered through the palace and found out a lot of things that weren’t on the official plaques (which were also very interesting).  Most of the rooms were so intricately designed and beautifully decorated.  And our guidebook told us how some of the more elaborate reliefs had to be dismantled during the civil war and how if you look closely you can see the joints.  And it was interesting to see a foreign palace, even though I haven’t seen Buckingham or Holyrood anyway. 

My mum at the placio real

I'm one of the guards now

Across the courtyard is the cathedral

After the palace we went back to the hostal to dry off, get changed and the headed out for dinner.  Another day another menu del dia.  Good hearty Spanish food.  I’m pretty sure I had roast chicken which I love when it is made in Spain because it is always so juicy. 

On the Friday we were getting ready to head back to the bus station and back to Baeza.  A very leisurely day.    

  

When we arrived back in Baeza as we were walking back to the flat with all our travelling stuff we ran into a problem…or rather into a procession.  We had of course timed it so that our arrival coincided with the end of a Good Friday mass and one of the largest processions of the week.  We stood on the main street and watched it, with all our luggage before we went the very long circuitous route to the apartment.  My band was due to play at nine o’clock so we got ready to go and see them.  We stopped off to watch the end of the previous procession as they were doing the final round and got to witness one of the defining features of an Andalusian Semana Santa – a seata.  The old man who had sung at my concert the previous week started singing in the street as the rain drizzled down.  The seata is when Andaluz people sing/talk to God.  It is very powerful and it is taken with a lot of respect.  For example, the people carrying the trono needed to get it inside because of the rain but because this old man was singing they couldn’t/wouldn’t move forward.  After he stopped they double marched into the church. 

The trono showing Jesus being taken down from the cross after his death.

Whilst we normally associate this look with the KKK it started out as a way to give penance to God anonymously. Here in Andalusia there is normally at least one member of every family doing this every year.

One of the brotherhoods walking in the main street of Baeza.

Once you have done this once you will be buried with the robes as an indicator when you get to heaven that you have done it.

Solid wooden trono, intricately designed.

The old man singing his saeta.

We arrived at the starting place where the banda de Baeza were supposed to be starting from.  Unfortunately due to the rain their procession was cancelled but at least my mum got to meet Martin and Pepe and some of the other band members.  Then I took her to go and get some drinks at one of the pubs.  We returned to the flat exhausted and ready for bed.  

Year Abroad: How to live like a "real" Spaniard, according to my 5th years

        One of my kids sat and explained this to me today when we were talking about budgeting - how to live like a "true" Spaniard...

       Firstly, parents pay for everything...from uni fees, to accommodation, to food.  If you want to go to uni far away make sure you have relatives who you will stay with and they will pay for your food.  One of the other boys said to just phone your mum for some cash but the other boys were like "no, we have too much honour."

       Secondly, only fools pay for electricity and wi-fi...Why not just "borrow" some from your neighbours.  One of the girls said that this was just like borrowing sugar and if the wi-fi is locked?  Well then you bribe the children with 20 euros to give you the code.

       Third, if you have an old beat-up car that you couldn't sell to a Spaniard then you sell it to one of the Moroccans who will pay 500 euro for it.  The father of this kid sells 3 or 4 a year.  

       And then on an unrelated note: people laugh at the telemarketers because they are all from Latin America and have funny accents.   The father of one of the girls tells the telemarketer that whoever they are looking for has died.  He even does it when they are looking for him...

        The kids also had no idea how much stuff costs.  No idea how much rent would be, how much your bills would be.  And none of them have jobs.  It just isn't done.  That makes a change from every student looking for jobs in the UK.  

        Reyes, the teacher, started laughing saying how I was going to think that they were a third world country...

Year Abroad: Burns, Booze and Birthdays

             I'm going back through my old posts and trying to complete my chronological year.  This stuff tends to be something I wrote about a specific day and then had too much other stuff to get done so they fell to the sidelines.  Also I feel like I may have published this before (please tell me if I have).

              January 25^th, Burns night, a day to celebrate the poet and all this Scottish.  Except I was in Spain, a long way away from the nearest Scot (I think).  There are some here in Jaen I just haven’t met them.  Instead of grey skies and rain, there was sunshine and heat.  The Sunday beforehand had been 23 degrees…in January!  Now that was a day when I loved Spain, give me sun and I’m a happy bunny.  But anyways, what I’m trying to say is that Burns night, one of my favourite celebrations at home, was just another day here, and an uneventful day at that.               

            On the Thursday we all went out for our normal tapas night and this was the first time I’d seen Jenna since she’d gotten engaged.  It had also recently been here birthday.  We got talking about the “gathering” and she volunteered her flat as it is much bigger than mine, and she said that she’d do some cooking as well.  I volunteered to get the birthday cake and some crisps and it was bring your own booze, so now we had a plan.  And we were all set to have a pretty unconventional Burns night…

            Friday night was a time to meet two new friends.  Candice from New Zealand, although her family recently moved to Adelaide…so when I finally go visit my Aussie family, I can visit her as well, she lives with Mat in La Puerta, and Todd from Washington State, who had actually just met every person in the room that day.  He is in a tiny tiny town called Siles.  If Baeza is Coatbridge, the Siles is Annithill (this only works for people who know the area where I’m from) – Siles is in the middle of nowhere and doesn’t have that many people living there, it’s just cruel to put someone out there so isolated.  Mat and Candice are the closest assistants and they are 20 km away.  Once again I count my blessings for being put in Baeza.

             The Friday night was fun, wine and whiskey at Dave and Anna’s, then to La Pena for some impromptu flamenco – I think this was Candice’s first experience of live flamenco in Spain, and she loved it.  They even played a sort-of Blues guitar mixed with flamenco song at one point, that was my favourite.  I spent the night chatting with Candice about the TV programmes that the UK and New Zealand share.  She told me that Coronation Street or Corro is huge over there and that just about everybody watches it.  Then we went to 11 del 11 and danced for a bit, but everyone was exhausted so we went home relatively early.

            Then it was Saturday and time to organise the party.  I went and bought the cake and candles, then went down to Jenna’s to “decorate”…I put up my two Scotland flags.  Meanwhile she had prepared so much food.  And it was all brilliant.  I stood chatting to her in the kitchen whilst she prepared quesadillas, and almost everyone else was sat around her dining table cracking on with the wine and beer.  Jenna and I lamented about the state of Spanish cheese…it’s too mild…and she was glad to hear that we have good strong cheese in the UK. 

Jenna preparing some food.

The wine table

            A traditional part of a Burns night is the “toast to the lassies”…there was only one person who we needed to toast, and that was Jenna.  She had allowed us to use her flat, and had spent ages making food for us.  Thanks Jenna!  Shortly after this we did the birthday cake.  The cake was a sort-of ice cream cake but very chocolaty…when Leah was handing me a piece it fell, and surprising all apart from myself, I caught it before it hit the cream couch…I’m on a lucky streak of catching things just before disaster…a beer glass in Torreon, a box of vodka bottles in ASDA and now the chocolate cake. 

            Then it was time to try and attempt to teach them how to Ceilidh dance.  Of course I picked the easiest one “The Gay Gordons” because it is simply just walking with a few spins thrown in…it should be perfectly simple to learn, right?  Not so much.             

             

Year Abroad - The week I joined a band/ started work/ went to a feria/ went to Jaen and was mobbed by children

So here I am.  At the end of a very busy week.  So much has happened in such a small space of time that I can’t believe I only got here less than two weeks ago. 

This week’s main things are.  1) Saw la banda de Baeza, 2) I started work at the school, 3) We went to the feria in Ubeda, 4) The training course day in Jaen and 5) We saw a flamenco concert.

Last Sunday morning we went to see a concert by the local wind band.  They seemingly only play Spanish music, either by Spanish composers or about Spain.  It took us forever to find the park where the concert was being held.  After the concert was over I went and spoke to the conductor/director about whether or not I could join.  He said yes.  Mission 1 accomplished.  Once my trumpet gets here I can go to the rehearsals and start learning some very different music than what I’m used to.

On Monday night I cooked Megan and I a meal to celebrate the start of our actual jobs here in Baeza.  Luckily I have Mondays off, but it would be better if we had the same day off at the end of the week just so that if we chose to we could travel together.  It also makes it annoying because the other assistants that we know also have Friday off, so they all party on Thursdays.   Actually it seems that every night here is a cause for going to bars and getting our free tapas, so we aren’t complaining.  So I cooked the chicken and it was going to go with some potatoes.  But…and here is the kicker, it seems that my hob doesn’t get hot enough to boil water… and I still don’t have a kettle because every time I go to buy one, the shop is shut for siesta.  So I ended up cooking them in the microwave and serving slightly hard mash.  Interesting fact learned on Monday was that Americans don’t know what “ice lolly” means.  I literally had to take one out of the freezer and show Megan before she was like “oh a Popsicle”.  The culture shock doesn’t seem to be between me and the Spaniards, more like between me and the Americans!!

Tuesday was my first day of work.  I only have two classes on a Tuesday and a “material” meeting to sort out my stuff with Gloria.  I gave my PowerPoint in English and then the kids asked hundreds of questions.  They are very good at understanding English and the first years are really keen to speak out in English, which is always a good sign.  The main questions that I was asked was “Do you have a boyfriend?” and “What is your favourite…[insert something here]?”.  This was the pattern for the rest of the week, although I have also done some dictations for the art classes and read out some sheets for my other classes.  This role seems to be as a glorified tape recorder.  Not that it bothers me, it’s what they pay me to do.  And it’s fun.  The kids can even understand my accent.     

Tuesday after school we went straight to la Feria de San Miguel in Ubeda.  Ubeda is a town about 20 minutes away from Baeza.  It shares a lot of the same history as Baeza, but is a bigger town with around 100,000 people.  So we got there and headed straight into one of the restaurant tents.  We were presented with so much food and I tried everything that I could.  My favourite things were a) something which is essentially pizza but that isn’t cooked.  It is on a piece of bread and it cold tomato sauce and cheese, b) fried bread with rice and chorizo and chicken and c) the Spanish version of black pudding on ochio bread.  They wouldn’t tell me what was in the ochio until after I had tried it and even then they were like “you’d rather not know”…once I found out that it was blood pudding I just laughed…I’m Scottish…we eat this for breakfast…  After the food we went across to the tent where there was flamenco dancing.  It was really loud but it was amazing to watch the people doing their traditional dancing, all age groups and all professions (I was there with a bunch of school teachers).  There were even some women in the traditional dresses and a little boy in his traditional clothes, little boots and a suit with a red sash.  We only stayed until around half 6 as Megan and I were falling asleep where we stood.  In the car on the way home they were asking about if Scotland had a national anthem.  So I said that we didn’t really have an official one but that there are a few that fit the bill, including “Scots wha hae” and ended up giving a rendition.  They had never heard of Rabbie Burns…not even Geni who had studied in Stirling for a year…

Thursday morning we had to get up really early in order to get the bus to Jaen, the capital of the region, which is an hour away by bus.  The bus station is about 25/30 minutes’ walk from our building.  When we got there we found Dave trying to buy a ticket with no money.  We all got tickets and then got on the bus.  The bus was nice and modern and the route was pretty.  We just talked the whole way about random things.  We had a short walk to the Corte Ingles where we were to get another bus to the teaching centre which is up in the mountains near the castle.  We saw a large group of non-Spanish people, these were our lot.  We piled onto the buses and got chatting to other assistants from around the world.  The majority were Americans, in fact in Jaen region there are 75 Americans and only 16 British people, and it is only the British who have to do this for Uni so we are all 3 or 4 years younger than all the others.  It took me a while to find an accent from my country.  The only good thing to come from the meeting was the networking and finding the other assistants near us.  They also gave us a cracking good meal, which was far too much to eat.  It started off with some tapas, olives and nuts, and then we got paella (well actually I had beans with tomatoes and cucumber as I am terribly allergic to shellfish).  At this point we were all stuffed…but they brought out the main course, chicken and potatoes, most people ended up leaving it.  And after that a desert.  We are still all adjusting to the Spanish meal times. 

After the meeting we had an hour and a half to kill before our bus to Ubeda.  We had met some other assistants, Mat and Bekah, who were also getting our bus.  So we did what any self-respecting twenty something’s would do and went to the park.  We all got to know each other a bit better and Mat even ended up staying with Dave that night and us all going for tapas at the café Nejera.  Dave gave me one of his extra bottles of olive oil.  It is actually produce of Baeza.  And I can tell you that there will still be half this bottle left by the time I’m heading home, it’s that big.  Megan and I taught Dave how to boil an egg……………this is someone who has lived at college for the past four years…..

Last night, Friday night, it was time for a flamenco concert.  We were all to meet at the fountain in the plaza central, and as usual Megan and I were the first to arrive.  So we sit on the fountain.  Bad move.  We got swamped by all of our kids.  Literally mobbed my around 40 of them.  I kept thinking that they’d push us into the water, but they had more sense than that.  We went tapas-bar hopping.  Finally it was time to go and see flamenco.  The band started at midnight and it lasted until around 1am.  They were amazing!  The band members were all from Baeza, and Megan and I had actually witnessed their rehearsal as we were walking home on Thursday.  We heard music coming from a basement and peeped in.  They sang, played the music and they even did some dancing.  A lot of these songs are very old and represent the Gitana culture in Andalucia.  The rhythms are hypnotic and the pain and experience that the lead singer expressed was an absolute joy to hear. 

Well that’s all folks…tune in next time.                         

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