So, we had our "vacation", and then I started my other vacation, i.e., being unemployed. Vacation it is not - first of all we had to find a place to live. We were shacked up in a hotel in Sabadell for the first two weeks on the company account, so I put my energies into finding a flat. The price of living is not too bad in Barcelona, but the rents are very high. We saw a lot of dumps and a lot of really great apartments, all for around the same price. We tried using an agency, but they charge a month's rent as fees, which is an astronomical sum. The agency itself was hilarious though, I thought I was trapped in an episode of Moonlighting. Everything about the place screamed 1960s: the old guys, the shirts, the décor, the rolodex (this is the 21st century people, scribbling on little cards is out; computers and BlackBerries are in). They showed me a couple of places but they were in keeping with the agency style - dated. Anyway there's very little chance I would pay the fee, so we kept looking on idealista.com, which is the best way to find a flat in Spain, if anyone is looking.
After I'd seen about seven places, finally we stumbled on one that looked perfect; the location is great, (right next to Ciutadella Park), the apartment looked refurbished, it has an elevator (walking up five floors with your arms full of groceries does not a fun afternoon make) and most importantly, we could afford it. I made an appointment right away to see it, and for me it was love at first sight. Erik took a little longer to come around, because the current tenant was moving, and the place was really dirty. Really dirty, like "Do you own a vacuum cleaner or what?" type dirty. But eventually he saw that underneath the cap of grime there was a great apartment, all double glazed windows (it's quiet as a mouse and will be very warm in winter) small but functional bathroom, and a huge and very well equipped kitchen with gas stove (yay). I think what sold him is the terrace - it's not a private one by any means, but it is a roof terrace and it might be nice to have a couple of drinks up there one night. Anyway we told Sonia we were interested in it, and the following weekend we moved in.
In exchange for moving in early we had to clean the apartment, which suited us fine as knowing Erik we would have cleaned the thing from top to bottom anyway. We spent the entire weekend cleaning, obviously the guy who lived here previously didn't know what a sponge was because the place was filthy. But now we live in a great, clean apartment in the middle of Barcelona! It still doesn't feel like home, as we need some pictures on the walls, or some kind of decoration. With the walls still blank I feel a little like I'm in a sanatorium, but the homey will come in time (and money).
Anyway, since we got the apartment sorted, I've been looking for a job. A little half-heartedly at first (who wants to go to work, right?) but now the reality is starting to set in; rent on apartment, bills, food, internet connection, crisis in the Spanish job market, and I am starting to get nervous. That said, I've been called for three interviews in two weeks, so my hit rate hasn't been too bad, if not great. What really isn't great is the pay. The crisis has really hit wages, and even with my experience I don't know if I can even match my Dublin salary, let alone increase it. Still, if I can get by for a few months, I can look for a better job later. And I have my savings, so I can at least pay rent and eat for some months ahead. I had the same feeling when I got to Dublin and was looking for a job, and I found one in a couple of weeks. But this is slightly different, the job market is much bleaker, Spanish is not my native language (although I am fluent), I don't have a notion of Catalan (which excludes me from 99% of admin jobs) and, well, I'm inclined to be picky regarding which job I take. But there has been some hopeful signals, it's not all doom and gloom. And, at the very least, while I am unemployed, the sun still shines and the clouds deviate to Ireland. Because being unemployed in the rain would have me heading for the nearest euthanasia clinic. And waving goodbye to Erik from the comfort of my bed as he goes off to earn our bread and butter is corroding me with guilt.
Barcelona itself is lovely, not huge like Paris or New York, but old style. There are very few green areas thanks to the drought, so thank goodness we live next to a park. With this, that and the other, including going to the Basque country last weekend we still haven't been to the beach, but we will get there eventually :) It is the first city I have lived in that has an underground system (not counting when I lived in Buenos Aires). That really is handy, especially in the rare chance it rains. Even with the underground you end up walking around quite a lot, especially if, like me, you are out of work and spend your time going to interviews, doing the grocery shopping, mailing letters, etc. Oh, if only I could lead this life of leisure forever, but, considering I haven't even bought a lottery ticket yet, I guess I'll have to jump back on the merry-go-round. Sigh.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Our One Week Vacation
Well, so here we are in Spain. When we touched down at Bilbao with yet another sixty kilos (and some) of crap we amassed in Dublin, Erik's mum and sister were there to welcome us. We drove home (well, Erik drove us home, but this time in his relatively new, gorgeous and huge Picasso!) We got home, unloaded all our stuff, had dinner and chilled out, as the next day we were all piling in the car to rack up some more ks on the road. This time from Mallabia (Erik's hometown) to Ourense, which is in Galicia, some 600k away. The reason? Erik's grandmother had her stomach removed (yes, removed, not operated on) due to a tumor. You never know how these things will turn out, so even though Erik only had one week of vacation time, we headed up for three days for him to get a chance to see her. I won't go into details of the trip, as 1) it's mostly a lot of waiting around in hospitals which is not really blog fodder and 2) this stuff is private and belongs to other people, so I feel I should respect that. I will mention though, one spectacular afternoon walk in the mountains, gorgeous food, and Yini, Erik's grandparents' dog, who is a lot of fun to play with, just like a little kid. We came back a couple of kilos heavier, but a little stressed out. Back to Mallabia by Wednesday, Alazne (Erik's sister) had a hot date so we burned rubber the 600k back to get here there on time!
From then on we had one day to chill out and hang out with Erik's mates. It was fiestas in Mallabia and on Thursday we went to see a pelotamano (handball) game. These crazy Basques have their own games, this one is a bit like sqash only you hit the ball with your hand instead of a raquet, and to add a bit of madness to the whole thing, the ball has a rock in it. Other popular Basque sports are lifting heavy rocks, and chopping wood. Even the kids have championships in it. After the match we had a go at some beers, and I had a go at Basque dancing. Erik has a video of it but I'm not posting it here, you'll have to bribe it out of me. I wasn' t the lightest on my feet by far but it was my first time! The live band played some Basque pop (weird) and we had a sing and a dance before the ritual stopover at the Mallabia bakery on the way home. Mmmm, fresh croissants.
Friday was packing, buying, sorting, shifting, messing, cleaning, folding, eating, moving, lifting, dropping, smashing, crying....well, not quite. But it was busy, and stressful. We didn't make it to the rock lifting but we did catch up for dinner with some mates of Erik, one of whom's wife was about to have a baby. Actually as I write I think they were going to induce the birth yesterday! So he's probably a proud daddy by now. Saturday we were in the car by 11:00 AM, amidst some tears (Erik's mum's) and sighs of relief (everyone else's) and on our way to Barcelona. Guess who drove?
From then on we had one day to chill out and hang out with Erik's mates. It was fiestas in Mallabia and on Thursday we went to see a pelotamano (handball) game. These crazy Basques have their own games, this one is a bit like sqash only you hit the ball with your hand instead of a raquet, and to add a bit of madness to the whole thing, the ball has a rock in it. Other popular Basque sports are lifting heavy rocks, and chopping wood. Even the kids have championships in it. After the match we had a go at some beers, and I had a go at Basque dancing. Erik has a video of it but I'm not posting it here, you'll have to bribe it out of me. I wasn' t the lightest on my feet by far but it was my first time! The live band played some Basque pop (weird) and we had a sing and a dance before the ritual stopover at the Mallabia bakery on the way home. Mmmm, fresh croissants.
Friday was packing, buying, sorting, shifting, messing, cleaning, folding, eating, moving, lifting, dropping, smashing, crying....well, not quite. But it was busy, and stressful. We didn't make it to the rock lifting but we did catch up for dinner with some mates of Erik, one of whom's wife was about to have a baby. Actually as I write I think they were going to induce the birth yesterday! So he's probably a proud daddy by now. Saturday we were in the car by 11:00 AM, amidst some tears (Erik's mum's) and sighs of relief (everyone else's) and on our way to Barcelona. Guess who drove?
Friday, September 05, 2008
So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen good night!
They say "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain", but despite the lovely assonance, the phrase is delightfully untrue. While lots of Ireland (as far as I know Dublin, Cork and Limerick, but who knows what else) is being inundated with floods (and who here is surprised?), here in Barcelona we have nothing, nothing but glorious, yellow, melanoma-inducing sun. And Barcelona is pretty damn flat, so you can forget all about the rain on the plain nonsense.
Anyway, I´m getting ahead of myself. Last you all heard I was about to head off into the rolling hills of Ireland for my last look at the Emerald Isle. Erik came to pick me up at work on Friday night after some emotional (but thankfully not teary) goodbyes at work and we drove all the way to Cork. Well, Erik drove all the way to Cork, I can´t drive manual cars. When we got there I was absolutely beat, so we just headed up to the dorm room for a nap. Who should I find in there but a self-confessed bogan from Townsville, Qld, who I immediately took a shine to and we gasbagged for about two hours until the others arrived at the hostel. Although I do my best to avoid Australians overseas, it still is nice when you meet one once in a while and you can share some cultural history! We went down to the bar with Raúl, Elena and the gang and had a beer, at which point the others went pubcrawling and I stayed in the bar to finish my one beer, with the intention of very soon vacating the bar and finishing my book and my nap upstairs. A drunk redhead from Northern Ireland didn´t figure in my plans, but that´s life...he proceeded to earbash me until I finally made my exuses and headed up to my bed. Advice for any single guys out there: If you want to talk to a chick, a) don´t be drunk, and b) make the conversation interesting. Going on about about how you hate your job and how many times you moved from Scotland to Northern Ireland and back does not a fun night make.
Next morning I was up and at 'em...the others not so much. It took them sooooo long (I'm talking time measured in hours here) to get ready that Erik and I took off without them. We wandered around Cork for the morning, took in the English Market, which was very interesting, especially for the food-obsessed! Also went to the Gaol, which I thought was very interesting, if a little corny. I don´t think the others were convinced. Cork is very charming, I´d recommend anyone wanting to move to Ireland to seriously consider living there instead of Dublin. It´s practically the same, only smaller, more traditional Irish, and cheaper.
In the afternoon it was the long drive to Kerry, and for me another multi-hour battle to stay awake. The movement of the car puts me right to sleep, but I try to stay awake to entertain Erik a little bit! We chat a little, laugh a little, eat a little, swear at the lack of signage a little...
We get to Kerry in time to check in at the hostel and make a delicious spaghetti bolognaise. Then we had some Guinness outside under the stars, with a guitar. Erik and I were tired so we went to bed before the others, who were well sloshed by the time they fell into bed! Consequently Erik and I were up practically at the crack of dawn and were showered and finished breaky by the time the others were up. They were going to the Ring of Kerry so we bade them farewell and set off to discover Dingle, only a short drive away. We decided to go horseriding, and were undeterred by the sudden downpour of sheets of rain from the skies. This is Ireland, after all! It should disappear in the time it takes for you to drink a cup of coffee, and it did. The afternoon was gorgeous as we mounted our rides and set off into the hills. They didn´t let us trot or anything, so the horse riding itself was kind of boring, but the views were fantastic and the weather corroborated so we had a great time.
After we dismounted we headed straight for Doolin, which is half way to what we thought was our destination, Galway. We tried to go up the west coast of Ireland, which is extraordinarily beautiful, something like the Great Ocean Road. But there was a prang about an hour into the drive, and we had to turn back and drive all the way back to Dingle. Later it transpired that we had been going the wrong way anyway, so that was a blessing in disguise. That was just the beginning. We took wrong turns, the journey was longer than we thought, the ferry wasn´t where we thought it was, etc. etc. I´ll save you the long boring story and give you the short version: We ended up in Doolin after dark, mentally exhausted, irritable and hungry. At that hour, 22:00, the only food you can get in Doolin is a skanky Chinese, so skanky Chinese it was. Then we headed to the pub for a pint, as per Irish law. Only one pint though, as Erik was particularly wrecked from all the driving, which was a shame as a traditional Irish singalong had started up in the bar and the atmosphere was very jolly, although us and the barmen were the only people under 50.
The next day we got up early and headed for Galway to catch the ferry to the Aaran Islands. Only when we were half way there, our friend Noel rang and informed us there´s a ferry to the islands from Doolin! Erik was fuming, especially when we made it to Galway and it turned out there were no more ferries we could take that day. I didn´t mind, I´d only been to Galway once, three years ago and under the cover of darkness, so I was quite happy just to explore the town, which really is quite cute.
Not wanting to spend the night in Galway and another day that we really needed to pack, we headed back into the car and poor Erik drove us all the way back to Dublin. We got back tired but contented, at least we had bid farewell properly to the island that had been our home for the last three years, and had been the catalyst for our relationship.
For those of you that are interested in that sort of thing, here is a vague routeplan of where we went:
Ver mapa más grande
The next day we only slept in a little bit (we were tired!) and headed off to Newgrange, which turned out to be an ancient mound tomb from one million BC or something. Actually the site was really interesting, the tomb is 100% pitch black inside and they do a simulation of how the light comes into the tomb on the solstice, which, for me, is just as good as the real thing. Also they have a little Newgrange museum next door, which has really great and interactive exhibitions. The entry price is about €7 or something, so well worth it.
We gave the car back that afternoon, and from there on in it was four days of hectic packing, sending stuff, and farewell dinners until *whoosh*...the plane took off and we had no plans to return.
Anyway, I´m getting ahead of myself. Last you all heard I was about to head off into the rolling hills of Ireland for my last look at the Emerald Isle. Erik came to pick me up at work on Friday night after some emotional (but thankfully not teary) goodbyes at work and we drove all the way to Cork. Well, Erik drove all the way to Cork, I can´t drive manual cars. When we got there I was absolutely beat, so we just headed up to the dorm room for a nap. Who should I find in there but a self-confessed bogan from Townsville, Qld, who I immediately took a shine to and we gasbagged for about two hours until the others arrived at the hostel. Although I do my best to avoid Australians overseas, it still is nice when you meet one once in a while and you can share some cultural history! We went down to the bar with Raúl, Elena and the gang and had a beer, at which point the others went pubcrawling and I stayed in the bar to finish my one beer, with the intention of very soon vacating the bar and finishing my book and my nap upstairs. A drunk redhead from Northern Ireland didn´t figure in my plans, but that´s life...he proceeded to earbash me until I finally made my exuses and headed up to my bed. Advice for any single guys out there: If you want to talk to a chick, a) don´t be drunk, and b) make the conversation interesting. Going on about about how you hate your job and how many times you moved from Scotland to Northern Ireland and back does not a fun night make.
Next morning I was up and at 'em...the others not so much. It took them sooooo long (I'm talking time measured in hours here) to get ready that Erik and I took off without them. We wandered around Cork for the morning, took in the English Market, which was very interesting, especially for the food-obsessed! Also went to the Gaol, which I thought was very interesting, if a little corny. I don´t think the others were convinced. Cork is very charming, I´d recommend anyone wanting to move to Ireland to seriously consider living there instead of Dublin. It´s practically the same, only smaller, more traditional Irish, and cheaper.
In the afternoon it was the long drive to Kerry, and for me another multi-hour battle to stay awake. The movement of the car puts me right to sleep, but I try to stay awake to entertain Erik a little bit! We chat a little, laugh a little, eat a little, swear at the lack of signage a little...
We get to Kerry in time to check in at the hostel and make a delicious spaghetti bolognaise. Then we had some Guinness outside under the stars, with a guitar. Erik and I were tired so we went to bed before the others, who were well sloshed by the time they fell into bed! Consequently Erik and I were up practically at the crack of dawn and were showered and finished breaky by the time the others were up. They were going to the Ring of Kerry so we bade them farewell and set off to discover Dingle, only a short drive away. We decided to go horseriding, and were undeterred by the sudden downpour of sheets of rain from the skies. This is Ireland, after all! It should disappear in the time it takes for you to drink a cup of coffee, and it did. The afternoon was gorgeous as we mounted our rides and set off into the hills. They didn´t let us trot or anything, so the horse riding itself was kind of boring, but the views were fantastic and the weather corroborated so we had a great time.
After we dismounted we headed straight for Doolin, which is half way to what we thought was our destination, Galway. We tried to go up the west coast of Ireland, which is extraordinarily beautiful, something like the Great Ocean Road. But there was a prang about an hour into the drive, and we had to turn back and drive all the way back to Dingle. Later it transpired that we had been going the wrong way anyway, so that was a blessing in disguise. That was just the beginning. We took wrong turns, the journey was longer than we thought, the ferry wasn´t where we thought it was, etc. etc. I´ll save you the long boring story and give you the short version: We ended up in Doolin after dark, mentally exhausted, irritable and hungry. At that hour, 22:00, the only food you can get in Doolin is a skanky Chinese, so skanky Chinese it was. Then we headed to the pub for a pint, as per Irish law. Only one pint though, as Erik was particularly wrecked from all the driving, which was a shame as a traditional Irish singalong had started up in the bar and the atmosphere was very jolly, although us and the barmen were the only people under 50.
The next day we got up early and headed for Galway to catch the ferry to the Aaran Islands. Only when we were half way there, our friend Noel rang and informed us there´s a ferry to the islands from Doolin! Erik was fuming, especially when we made it to Galway and it turned out there were no more ferries we could take that day. I didn´t mind, I´d only been to Galway once, three years ago and under the cover of darkness, so I was quite happy just to explore the town, which really is quite cute.
Not wanting to spend the night in Galway and another day that we really needed to pack, we headed back into the car and poor Erik drove us all the way back to Dublin. We got back tired but contented, at least we had bid farewell properly to the island that had been our home for the last three years, and had been the catalyst for our relationship.
For those of you that are interested in that sort of thing, here is a vague routeplan of where we went:
Ver mapa más grande
The next day we only slept in a little bit (we were tired!) and headed off to Newgrange, which turned out to be an ancient mound tomb from one million BC or something. Actually the site was really interesting, the tomb is 100% pitch black inside and they do a simulation of how the light comes into the tomb on the solstice, which, for me, is just as good as the real thing. Also they have a little Newgrange museum next door, which has really great and interactive exhibitions. The entry price is about €7 or something, so well worth it.
We gave the car back that afternoon, and from there on in it was four days of hectic packing, sending stuff, and farewell dinners until *whoosh*...the plane took off and we had no plans to return.
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