Quince dias despues

So it’s September 11, and I’ve been back in Spain for almost two weeks, rather a busy two weeks at that. Or, at least a busy week and a half…

I started looking at my return from an August in Texas as a new start in Spain: an opportunity to hit the ground running after a pretty decent six months.

Flying out of Dallas on a Monday evening was a pretty good idea, as I enjoyed a very empty flight to Houston, then at 10pm, found myself on an even less crowded flight to Paris. I was sitting at the back of the plane, and almost everyone had a row to themselves. Those of you who have flown international legs know what a rare treat that can be. As luck would have it, just as the final passengers were boarding, a very pretty girl took her seat right next to me, and we started chatting. We had a nice discussion about her nervousness at take-off, and also the fact that she was going back to Europe to teach English in her hometown, somewhere in the Czech republic.

Before you go thinking, “Attaboy, Bry, way to go!” I’ll explain that, once airborne, “Betty” (who, strangely enough, looked a little like a blonde Betty Rubble) moved to another seat so we’d both have room to stretch out and be more comfortable on the long flight.

She promised to come back and visit (she moved to the seat directly in front of me) a bit later, but about ten minutes after we were in the air, some American guy who apparently had been working on her pretty good in the airport lounge came over and sat with her for most of the rest of the flight.

So, like always, I plugged in the headphones and watched movies for the next several hours by myself, thinking that it might be a good idea to visit Prague sometime soon.

We landed in Paris CDG ten hours later, and really the only thing I found cool was the temperature outside, a nice 18 degrees C. I had to muck around for a few hours, and ended up buying, and reading an entire James Patterson novel. Funny, his bestsellers always seem to serve merely as a four hour distraction for me. I realized halfway through that I had read it before, but I powered on through and finished it by the time we boarded our flight for Valencia.

Our flight was a few minutes late arriving in Valencia, but due to an extremely ridiculous moment of stupidity I’d had the night before in Houston, I had blown all three of my chances trying to remember my PIN number for my Spanish mobile. Thus, I was unable to call anyone to tell them I’d be arriving late. Furthermore, I was going to have to dig up my paperwork on my phone to find the secondary access code so I could get my phone working again. Thankfully they offer such a code for nimrods such as myself.

Lynne was double parked in front of the airport when I exited, and by 11pm, we were back at home.

I got my phone working again, and the text messages started pouring in, playing catch up after three weeks stateside. One message was from Gemma, a girl I’d assisted with a project earlier in June. Her brother urgently needed English practice, and could I start as soon as possible? Cool, I hadn’t been back in town half an hour, and was already back in business.

My first day back in Spain, despite the continued Mediterranean heat. My Spanish clunked back into my head, and I was greatly relieved to find that I hadn’t completely forgotten everything I’d learned in the past months. I met several folks I was acquainted with in the street, at the gym, and in the market, and everyone seemed happy to see me, and I, them. Even the Romanian girl who works in the doner kebab place said hello to me, which was a first. (note – I think that it’s possible that the Romanian mafia operates out of my local kebab shop. Kind of scary, and kind of intriguing. Good kebabs, though)

On my second day back, I met Lynne for a lunch of sushi at an Asian restaurant near her work, which was pretty tasty. I was already in good spirits as I was settling myself back in town, but didn’t pass up an opportunity to have a second carajillo at lunch before heading into city center. I had made the decision to continue with Spanish classes, recognizing the benefit of my six week course in summer. However, I was also embarrassed about seeing my instructors; I did not feel that I had done well on my final examination. In fact, I really think I’d totally screwed my exam.

Alas, all the more reason to enroll in more classes, right? As I rounded the corner of the academy, I was delighted to run into Lourdes, my cool Spanish instructor with the Irish accent, talking to Svenia, one of my German classmates from July. We all had a quick smoke, then headed upstairs to the school, where Lourdes, and the two other instructors that I know proceeded to give me a bit of a hard time about everything…all in good fun. I was sweating, and as the three cute, intimidating girls (fucking lovely, eh? I’m intimidated by my Spanish teachers) continued to joke with me, I started blushing, too. Lourdes and Ines decided to play a bit of matchmaking, and made a huge deal about the fact that the third instructor, Rebecca, didn’t have a boyfriend, and maybe the two of us should hang out, and suddenly she was blushing, also.

The whole incident would have been much much more fun had it not been about 45 degrees C in the room. For the quick conversion, 45 degrees C is about a million degrees Fahrenheit. My black shirt was completely drenched, and starting to stain. Exactly the way I didn’t want things to go.

I somehow managed to escape the girls, agreeing to meet Ines in two weeks for classes (after she returned from her holiday). I collected my certifica, and found that my score was “notable,”, which was an absolute shock. Maybe I know more Spanish than I thought…

Svenia had waited for me during all of this, so I treated her to a drink at a café across the plaza. I had a few minutes before I was to meet Gemma’s brother at Finnegan’s, a few doors down. It turns out that Svenia is teaching German in a school in Valencia for the semester. Pretty cool. Hopefully I can see her again.

As we were finishing our drinks, I glanced over to Finnegan’s and realized that the bar hadn’t opened, yet, and it was 6pm, the time I’d agreed to meet Jose Miguel. I saw a guy standing outside, so ran over and introduced myself, then went back to pay the tab at the other place, bid Svenia hasta luego (Chuss!), then start class with JM.
I always chuckle when a student tries to speak only in Spanish, but I listened and conversed in Spanish with Jose Miguel for about fifteen minutes as he explained why he needed classes. We walked around the barrio a little looking for an alternate venue, but as we circled back, found Finnegan’s open for business, so grabbed a table outside. It turns out that this guy throws back pints like I do, so things went well.

Three hours later, we called it a night, and agreed to meet the following afternoon. He had a job interview with an English speaking company in about five days time, and wanted to meet as much as possible until then.

Friday, September 1st, was my third day back. I spent the morning translating some documents for two colleagues of Gemma’s who were going to give a presentation in another week. I met JM for a couple of beers in the afternoon, then went to the grand opening of a little natural store that my friend Cristina was starting – the kind of place that sells natural stuff. In fact, her store looks a whole lot like the little section at Whole Foods on Greenville where they stock all the supplements and non-food items, like loofas and soaps and shit. Cristina is actually selling a bit of organic food, but only a little.

During these three days, I really only experienced a bit of jet lag (it’s harder, actually, going from Europe to the States), but those three days had been pretty busy. So, I was tired on Saturday morning when I met JM for a bocadillo and beer in Meliana. A bit later, he went off to spend the weekend with his girlfriend, and I went with Lynne, Fran, and Daniel to Concha’s for lunch.

That night, we met Xuso, Mireya, and the kids for a later dinner before watching a local parade of Cristianos and Moros that went through all the streets of Meliana at midnight.

Sunday, I caught up on some rest, anticipating another busy week on the way.

August in Spain, as I’ve mentioned before, is a very quiet month. Many places are closed, and those that remain open tend to open for only a few hours. Finnegan’s, for example, opened around 7pm every afternoon during August, unlike their normal opening hours, which are 10am or 11am during the rest of the year.

My lunchtime routine frequently involves Finnegan’s, so I was glad we were back in September. Monday, the 4th, the first day back in the “laborales” timetable was my first opportunity to get back into my own routine. Clyde was glad to see me, and after comparing our vacation notes, he whipped me up a superfucking fry-up, which I had been looking forward to. You just can’t go wrong with a fry-up (in spite of what your doctor might say), and it helped keep me from being a slobbering drunk at 5.30pm that afternoon when I had to meet my two girls to go over their presentation.

I metroed out to the meeting point at the Polytechnic, then couldn’t find Maryland, who was waiting for me. We talked on the phone three times in 30 minutes as I walked around campus like a moron while she waited for me with the car. I only know one place on the campus (ok, after that stunt, I’m pretty well in the know with the entire layout) but for the life of me couldn’t find it, couldn’t read the damn campus map, and couldn’t find anyone about to ask. She’s a bit on the cute side, but when I eventually found her, I was a dripping, sweaty mess, and she wasn’t all that thrilled to have been kept waiting.

We drove to the second girl’s house, which ironically was right next to a metro stop that I know very well, and spent the next hour and a half going over their project, which they were to present in Jordan the following Monday. At 8pm, we wrapped it up, and Maryland drove me back to Finnegan’s, where I was to meet Jose Miguel for another class.

As I sat waiting for JM, his sister Gemma showed up to have a drink with another friend. We exchanged greetings and agreed to meet soon, and then JM arrived. After briefly greeting his sister, he joined me in the corner, and we proceeded to drink five pints each over the next two hours. I tried to calculate in my head the day’s total consumption (three hour lunch at Finnegan’s, beer at Maria’s, etc), and finally came up with a vague number called…a LOT.

Home in a Taxi to find Lynne waiting with dinner – a fry up. She was like, where have you been, and I was like, er having class with JM. I can’t be the only TEFL instructor that uses his local pub as a classroom and an office, can I? But, I realized that perhaps we’d overdone it a tad. I somehow made it through dinner, though I had to leave one of the sausages for another day.

I had planned to meet with Jose Miguel the next afternoon, but he texted me to say that he was hung over and unable to meet. Besides, his interview was the next day, and he needed to get a good night’s sleep. I wasn’t feeling super duper, myself, but I would have certainly gone had he wanted to. Anything for the sake of education, eh? In the end, I was glad for the night off.

I spent Wednesday doing a last bit of translating for the Jordan bound girls, then met another possible student in the afternoon. Maria and I had granizados for about an hour, agreed to meet on Friday for class, then I headed next door to Finnegan’s. (coincidence…not even close. It’s just conveniently located for class, work, or heavy drinking)

While I was watching a little of the Scotland Euro qualifier and talking a bit with the staff, I met an English-American guy who was currently living in Latvia. He was cheering on Scotland, as they were playing Lithuania, the neighboring country to Latvia. Apparently he had some work mates from there that he had bet money with. Well, one thing led to another, and suddenly I was four pints in and trying to remember what time I’d said I’d be home. Latvian Steve and I continued to talk (he’s a Chelsea fan) about football and whatnot, then Lynne called to see if I could pick up some Dippas on the way home. (note- Dippas are basically Tostitos, but made by Doritos). Sure, no problem, I said. Another pint and two shots of VODKA later, and I said, enough. I told Steve I had to go home, then weaved down calle de la Paz to El Corte Ingles to buy chips and ciggy, then boarded the metro for home. Joder.

I told myself on Thursday that I would not have any beer that day, only to find myself sipping a Mahou at Maria’s house as we finished up their presentation. The girls were to leave for Jordan on Saturday, and this was our last night to prepare and make sure their English was up to snuff.
At 8pm, I wished them both well, then met Lynne for a quick dinner (sandwich and, er, a beer) before choir practice. It was really nice to see everyone from the choir again, but even nicer to finally get to bed at midnight.

My workweek finished with a two and a half hour conversation class on Friday evening, and I was pretty tired when I got home. After a movie and a pizza, I was asleep.

I really haven’t done much since then. Saturday was slow, and Sunday was slower. A couple of movies (yes, Pablo, I have now seen “Kiss Kiss Bang Bang”…good stuff), several coffees, and that’s about it.

So today it’s Monday, 911. The five year anniversary. School started today in Spain, but Daniel didn’t go because he had a fever yesterday. After a morning workout, I really didn’t do all that much, choosing to be a bit lazy. True, life is a bit slower at the moment, but that doesn’t mean that I get that many chances to sit around doing nothing. Today, I just didn’t feel like doing much.

I got to thinking about the events from five years back, then got a bit irked as I thought about the movies that have recently been made in Hollywood…I think there are two or three. I think I now might have some idea how someone my grandfather’s age felt when the first movie about World War II was made, or even how they felt years later when Saving Private Ryan came out. It’s probably the same way some Vietnam vets felt when Platoon or Hamburger Hill was released. When I was seeing those films, I was like, “wow, really powerful film,” and perhaps that wasn’t the same reaction from vets. Maybe they were saying, “Bad deal. Really bad idea to throw the cinematic drama into this.” Or maybe not. I just know that I don’t see myself running to see any movie about 911 anytime soon.

On that particular morning five years ago, I was waiting for my latte at Travis Walk when one of the baristas said, “ohmygod, something has happened in New York.” Ten really shitty hours later after the story had unfolded, Chris, Bennett, and I went to the patio of the Old Monk and sat outside to avoid the CNN, Foxnews, etc. OK, so Bennett wasn’t old enough to sit inside, either, but that’s another cosa. We really didn’t want to sit inside with the television media, anyway.

So after dinner this evening, I skipped the documentaries showing on tv and came upstairs to write. I’ll remember the past without the aid of repeated video footage of first one, then a second tower collapsing in Manhattan. Freddy Mecury sang it, and I saw the same theme last week when I watched Moulin Rouge! The show must go on.

One of the best things about my life right now is that I can better avoid the media. It’s difficult to get CNN, FOX, or whatever broadcast in English. You can do it, but you have to make an effort. I choose not to make that effort, for the most part.

On the other hand, the Spanish media gets going themselves, and it can be a bit much.
However, since I’m still learning Spanish, I can sort of tune out whenever I want.

This is not to say that I’m trying to live under a rock, but I do like the ability to sort of control my knowledge intake.

I wish that I could use better personal restraint with the media relating to European football. Something in me just gets pretty wound up this time of year when the leagues start.

I’ll keep the soccer moment brief, then let you go.

Arsenal. Serious questions must be asked. We’re three games in, and they’ve earned two points. They haven’t won a game yet. Not good. I’ve always been fairly positive about this stuff (that doom and gloom shit I do is more for show…though I do like to brood), but somewhere in Dallas I’ve got a friend who has probably just filled a 30 gallon trash sack with shredded coasters. Be strong, Steve, be strong. (you, too Elizabeth….this has to be particularly fun for you).

All I can say is that Champs league kicks off Tuesday, and Arsenal play Hamburg Wednesday. They go to Man U on Sunday. It stands to be an emotional week. Get those coasters ready.

keep the faith
bryan
c/ Tomas Trenor
09/11/06