A Foot in Two Campos

If there'd been a World Cup for sitting, Spain would have won it.  It's a daily activity and it is taken almost to an art form.  The best thing about sitting, is the practising.

Every Andulcían pueblo has its old benches with the old guys sitting there.  Busy doing nothing, but doing it in company.

I have no idea what brought out this extra burst of sitting activity in Colmenar this week - perhaps the fact that the road opposite them was being re-surfaced?  Or perhaps it was the day after Spain was knocked out of the football World Cup and it was a chance to sit in glum silence together.

The beaches along southern Spain are of course ideal for sitting.  This woman was soaking up the sun's rays on a remote beach.

San Juan is the night of pagan rituals, cleansing our sins by washing our feet in the sea at midnight, and jumping over fires (last year’s blog “Pagan Night” went viral as it was re-blogged by a couple of widely-followed pagan e-newsletters!).  These two lads stayed long after the midnight excitement, letting their fire slowly die down, and watching the waves lapping in as the hordes of people quietly drifted away.

Málaga's sea wall between the port and the Malagueta beach offers a picturesque spot to sit.  From a distance it is impossible to tell - a proposal?  a break-up?  or just deciding what to do next?

Back in the pueblos the men continue to sit.  These two can be found most days in the main square in Colmenar.  They get quite heated in their debates.  For these two, political debate over local and national events is their daily oxygen.   

Photo of the Month or perhaps Photo of the Year for me is this lovely snatched shot by Jess Lewis of Riogordo in the nearby village of Frigiliana.  It epitomises life in Spain.  He is, literally, the picture of contentment.  It's the old age we would all wish for.

(You can book a holiday staying in Riogordo and touring Andalucía with SpanishDetours which is run by Jess and her husband Shane).

©  Tamara Essex 2014

THIS WEEK'S LANGUAGE POINT:

Still learning conditionals in class, we have been practising giving advice.  For some reason we were discussing the parents of a wayward teenager.

Deberían ponerle limites - They should set limits for him.

Les recomiendo que le pongan limites - I recommend to them that they set limits for him.

Si fuera yo, le pondría limites - If it were me, I would set limits for him. 

Debes ponerle limites - You should set limits for him (this is much stronger).

Anyone who has worked in HR or who has been for a job interview knows the trick that interviewers use, of asking you to tell them about your greatest faults.  This is never a good idea.  As I found out when I started an interview for a volunteering role, by telling her about my poor Spanish.

If you are able, do read the Spanish transcript of the conversation.  It is funnier in Spanish.  However there is an English translation below.  Please also bear in mind that civil servants / funcionarios exist everywhere, even in the best of charities …….

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Si has trabajado en recursos humanos o has asistido a una entrevista de trabajo, sabréis que hay un truco que usan los entrevistadores, de pedir que les digas sobre tus mayores defectos.  Nunca es buena idea decirles, como descubrí yo cuando asistí a una entrevista para ser voluntaria, contándole sobre mi mal español …...

Yo:   "Hola, estoy aquí para ofrecerme como voluntaria.  Puedo hacer los bocadillos o cualquier otro tipo de cosas similares.  Solo me preocupa que no hablo bien español."

Ella:   "Pues, puede ser un problema, si no hablas español."

"No te dije que no hablo español, dije que no lo hablo con fluidez.  Podría cumplir órdenes, y estoy segura que podría trabajar en la cocina."

"Si pero el problema es que no puedes hablar español."

"Creo que sería problema cuando hable con las personas necesitadas.  Estoy acostumbrada a tratar con gente que sufre mucho, y he trabajado toda mi vida con los usuarios de las organizaciones de beneficencia.  Pero me preocupa que alguien tenga un problema mayor que la sola falta de comida.  Si yo no le entiendo la primera vez, tendría que repetirme su problema.  Y eso sería una mayor aflicción para él."

"Si, exactamente.  Ese es el problema.  No hablas español."

"Pues, estoy preocupada en provocar más sufrimiento a los usuarios.  Estoy segura que puedo entender las órdenes del jefe en la cocina.  Y pasado un tiempo, podríais decidir si es suficiente mi español para tratar con las personas necesitadas."

"Pero no puedo ver cómo podrías ser voluntaria, pues no hablas español."

"Puedo ser útíl, porque como extranjera, podría trabajar las fiestas cuando los españoles quieran estar con sus familias, como el 24 de diciembre o el 5 de enero."

"Si, es verdad que siempre es difícil encontrar voluntarios para esos días.  Pero el problema es, como has dicho, que no hablas español."

"¿Y te das cuenta de que estamos hablando español ahora, si?"

"Pero para ser voluntaria aquí, tendrías que hablar español."

"Hombre - ¿cómo ahora, no?  ¡Como lo estamos haciendo!  Si hubiera sabido que tenía que ser hablante nativa, no habría venido por aquí."

"No te digo que tienes que ser española, solo que tienes que hablar español."

"¡Estamos hablándolo!  ¡Vaya!  Te he entendido, me has entendido.  Y una cosa más …. hace un momento usé el tercer condicional, y es muy complejo!"

"Vale, pero no podemos aceptar a alguien como voluntaria si no puede hablar español."

"Vale.  Voy a hacer una sugerencia.  Yo me voy ahora para aprender español.  Y cuando pueda hablar tu lengua, regresaré.  ¿Estaría bien?"

"Si, ésta bien.  Solo es que pienso que tienes que hablar español para ser voluntaria aquí ...."

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And now the English version.  For those reading this part, just keep in your mind at all times that the conversation took place in Spanish ……

Me:  "Hi I've come to find out about volunteering.  I'm happy to make the sandwiches or anything that needs doing.  The only thing is I don't speak Spanish fluently."

Her:   "Hmmm that could be a problem, if you don't speak Spanish."

"Well I didn't say I don't speak Spanish, I said I don't speak Spanish fluently.  I can take instructions, and I’m sure I could work in the kitchen."

"Yes but the problem is that you don't speak Spanish."

"I think where it would be a problem is speaking directly to the clients.  I'm used to dealing with people in distress, and I've worked with clients of charities all my life.  But it would worry me that if somebody had a problem over and above needing food, if I didn't understand them the first time they might have to repeat their problem and that would just make things worse for them."

"Yes exactly, that's the problem - that you don't speak Spanish."

"Well my worry is only that I don’t want to create more difficulties for the clients.  I am sure that in the kitchen I would be able to understand the instructions from the supervisor.  And over time you could decide if my Spanish is adequate for me to deal directly with the clients."

"But I just don't see how you could be a volunteer as you don't speak Spanish."

"I could be quite useful – as a foreigner, as I could work on the holidays that are more important to Spanish people, like December 24th and January 5th."

"Yes those are always difficult days go get volunteers, but the problem, as you said, is that you can't speak Spanish."

"You do realise, don't you, that we are speaking Spanish now?"

"But to be a volunteer, you'd need to speak Spanish."

"What, like now, you mean?  Like we’re doing?  If I had known I had to be a native speaker, I wouldn't have come here."

"No I'm not saying you have to be Spanish, only that you have to speak Spanish."

"We ARE speaking Spanish!  Pffff!   I have understood you, you have understood me.  And another thing - a minute or two ago I used the third conditional, and actually that’s really quite complex!"

"Yes but we can't take someone as a volunteer if they don't speak Spanish."

"OK here's my suggestion, I'll go away and learn Spanish, and come back when I can speak it, would that be alright?"

"Yes that would be good. I just think that you need to speak Spanish to be a volunteer here ...."

©  Tamara Essex 2014

NB - for obvious reasons there is no Language Point this week.  After all, I don't speak Spanish.

Many thanks to my three teachers:  Juanmi (my “proper” profe), Jose (always my best resource), and ‘Dolfo (for the creativity).

I could have hugged her forever.  I wanted to hold her until eternity, hold her safe, never to let anything bad happen, ever again.

But finally I had to let go my grip.  They had saved us our usual table - even moved people off it for us.  With one of England's most beautiful views outside the window I gazed at that most beautiful face and bit my lip, failing to hold back the strength of my feelings.  She's here, she's alive, she's missing a chunk of her, but with it went the bad stuff, the stuff that kills.  This thing won't kill her, but she faces a horrible time, allowing the poisonous chemicals in, in order to live better afterwards.

Highs and lows.  Fear.  Terror even.  Heartwarming but unsurprising stories about the love and support from her family.  He's like a rock, and that's no surprise at all.  He's a top bloke.  Brilliant work from the NHS and from that great charity Macmillan - information, advice, and a lady in the next village who makes heart-shaped cushions to put under your arm when you sleep.  Disparate people all playing their part in making it as good as it can be.  Even when it really isn't very good at all.

And the misunderstandings.   An early tentative trip into town, soon after diagnosis, before the op, wanting to avoid questions, heading into the supermarket, determined to remain strong and silent and to say nothing.  Met by the long-standing greeter - "Hello, how are you?"  "I'm fine thank you."  Success, giving herself a little tick.  Then he catches her again by the tills, just after paying.  "Where do you get your energy from?"  Feeling the prick of tears, against her better judgement she blurts out "Well I don't feel very energetic actually, I've just been diagnosed with breast cancer."  There it's out.  Another hurdle crossed.  "Yes but where do you get your energy from?" came back the question.  "There's an offer on this month if you switch to Eon."  Only then did she notice the stand and the Eon energy posters inviting customers to switch.  The tears pricked but so did the giggles.

Later, after the op, her daughter calling up the stairs that "Dinner is ready when you want it!" misheard by an appalled friend who thought she had shouted "Dinner is ready for you, one-tit!"

Having to manage other people's reactions.  Having to tell people how to react.  Having to deal with friends' emotions as well as her own.  Dealing with all her stuff, more than we can imagine, and then dealing with our stuff as well.  "It's worse for you all" she says.  Followed immediately by "Well no, it isn't" and another giggle.  No it isn't, and we know it.  But helplessness in the face of something you want so much to fix, is horrid.

So lunch and hugs and laughs and extra clotted cream on the cake is all I can offer.  She knows, and expects nothing more.  I know too, and try to be satisfied.   At least we're in the same country, albeit briefly, and the hug is good, and the warmth of her body is the best feeling in the world.

Then Ryanair takes me away again, takes me home, 1400 miles away.  And now it doesn't feel quite so far.  The elastic stretches but it doesn't break.  Landing at Málaga and that wretched triumphant fanfare blasts out.  "Another on-time flight from Ryanair" bellows the recorded announcement.  And for the first time, it's not so annoying.  I'll pop back again soon, for a cup of tea and a hug.  Good old Ryanair, shrinking the world, flying me back to see friends, and flying me home again.  It's not so far, really.

©  Tamara Essex 2014

THIS WEEK'S LANGUAGE POINT:

A few World Cup language points?  Oh why not ….

Goalkeeper – portero
Coach – entrenador
Players – jugadores
Forward – delantero
Defender – defensa
Goal line – linea de fondo
Out of play – fuera de banda
Corner – esquina (they sometimes also say “corner”!)
Goal kick – saque de puerta
Throw-in – saque de banda
Goalpost – poste
Top bar – larguero
Offside – fuera de juego
Foul – falta
To blow the whistle – pitar
To win – ganar
To lose – perder
To draw – empatar
Injury time – tiempo extra
Extra time – prórroga
Yellow card / red card – tarjeta amarilla / roja
Make a change / substitution – hacer un cambio

Sometimes it's easy to remember where you were on a certain date, what you were doing.  Kennedy's assassination, Diana's death, the twin towers - those big, shared experiences.  And some of the big royal occasions.  For a non-Royalist, how odd that big moments in my life seem to have been marked by the Queen's jubilees.

I remember the silver jubilee in 1977 because I was a reporter on the Windsor, Slough and Eton Express and it was my first job.  Every local newspaper in the country was filled with Jubilee-fever but for us we had the added bonus of being the Queen's own local.  As a junior I was sent round all the street parties, certainly not allowed anywhere near the Queen.  On her golden jubilee in 2002 I was in Shaftesbury, just settling into the home I thought I'd be in for the rest of my life, and spending the day dancing on Park Walk to a Beatles tribute band.  On the morning of the diamond jubilee, Monday 4th June 2012, I chatted to Mum and told her my plans for the day.  I needed to go to see my friend Margaret to deliver a jubilee mug and I'd already put it off from Saturday, then from Sunday, so really I needed to go that Monday, the Jubilee Monday.

The nurses had stopped me going on the Saturday, and on the Sunday.  I'd only be away a few hours, I'd explained, but their looks said I should stay.  Mum couldn't tell me what she wanted me to do, so I did what the nurses thought I should do.  So I sat with her on the Saturday, and I sat with her on the Sunday.  But on the Monday I had to take my parcel to Margaret or the jubilee would be over.  So I told Mum what was going on and walked out of Abbey Room, the private room at the end of the corridor in Shaftesbury's little hospital.  The nurses looked reproachful. 

And finally Mum had the freedom she'd been waiting for.  I firmly believe people can control their own timing.  Did she seek to protect me from the saddest of moments?  Was she protecting herself from my reaction?  Did she think I would try to keep her beyond her time?  A mixture of these, probably.  Whatever it was, it took me 25 minutes to get to Margaret's house and as the kettle went on, my mobile phone rang.  Before I could reach for it the signal cut out, as it usually did at Margaret's house.  I took it outside and wedged myself between the trampoline and the chicken shed and called the ward to hear that I had become an orphan.  Expected, and shocking, all at the same time.

If I wasn't to be beside Mum, there wasn't any better place to be than in Margaret's kitchen with a mug of tea.  Her brother and his girlfriend bounded in from their walk.  "This is Tamara" explained Margaret, waving towards the snivelling snotty mess of a person beneath a mountain of damp tissues.  "Her mum's just died."  You've got to respect their upbringing and their good nature - a mucousy hug, a second cup of tea, and they took over preparing the lunch, leaving Margaret to hold my hand and put me back together.

Bank Holiday Jubilee Monday.  No doctors to sign my mother's death certificate.  Undertakers not in their office.  The duty undertaker, or rather the call centre, went through the script.  They were sorry for my loss and then asked if my "father" would be buried or cremated.  A tad insensitive but you can decide not to be bothered.

What do you do on the day you lose your Mum?  Nobody gives you an instruction leaflet.  I watched the hordes of happy people on the television waving flags and felt very detached.  In the evening the Diamond Jubilee Concert filled some time, whilst failing to fill any of the gap that I began to feel opening up.  The nation was partying, but the only diamonds I saw were splashing down onto the hands clenched around my umpteenth hanky.

I think that by staying with her, I had inadvertently put pressure on her to keep going.  Five months later, a dear friend was begged by her husband - in the same Abbey Room - not to let him die alone.  He could express his wish, and she kept that promise to him as she had all other promises.  Mum couldn't tell me what she wanted, but several days before when she whispered "I think I've had enough now" I had known she didn't mean the water I was dripping onto her lips and tongue.  What I didn't know was that she wanted me to get on with my day, my week, my life, even as hers was ending, so she could do things in her own time, on her own.

So in the end the date I will always remember, Jubilee Monday, 4th June 2012, was decided because I had to deliver a Diamond Jubilee mug to Margaret before the end of the jubilee holiday, despite the nurses' reproachful looks.  Finally I got in the car and drove away from Abbey Room and along the winding top road to Blandford Forum.  And as soon as I had gone, so had she.

Outside, on my Andalucían patio, the lemon tree I planted for her is thriving.  This morning, 4^th June 2014, new life peeped through the leaves.

©  Tamara Essex 2014

THIS WEEK'S LANGUAGE POINT:

Lemons – limones 
Lemon tree – limonero
Oranges – naranjas
Orange tree – naranjo

This last is important as the famous square in the centre of Marbella is actually called Plaza de los Naranjos (the square of the orange trees) but is mis-pronounced and mis-written by a majority of non-Spanish folks who assume it is the Plaza de las Naranjas.  The pretty tiled streetnames DO correctly say los Naranjos but to little effect!