More holidays coming up…

Hey y’all

As if my last couple of years travels weren’t enough, I’ve had (yes, just HAD to, my arm was twisted and all that) to go and book a couple more jolidays.

Joliday no 1 is to Spain… Asturias to be more specific. Los picos and cidre, a hire car and the lovely Drew. Should be a good couple of weeks in the relaxing sunshine, pootling, enjoying vino and tapas.

Joliday no 2 is a week in China… so not so much opportunity to use my Spanish then… I’m piggy-backing on a friends’ trip out there and going to see if a 15 hour flight really does deserve more than a 6 night stay. If anyone’s got any advice of things to do in and around Hong Kong, Macau or Gunang-somewhereorother, please let me know. I’m currently on Chinese guide-book number 3 and it’s all a little overwhelming… I thought Argentina was a big place… well China it seems is even bigger still.

Got my fingers crossed for another trip at the end of the year too… hopefully South America again… but we’ll have to see.

Hasta la proxima mis amigos! Suerte!

What’s worse than dragging your boyfriend round the shops on a Saturday?

Dragging your boss and CEO around the whole of Macy’s in Manhattan.

Final purchases were;

Jeans – tried on about 6 pairs, bought one

Calvin Klein dress – carried around for 2 hours and then put back

Comedy designer unwear for my brother – expensive and soooo cool

Handbag – short listed three, then talked my CEO to tears trying to choose one (bought most expensive one)

Earrings – Impulse purchase at till

Honestly I wasn’t ready to leave… but we had to. 

Finally to cheer things up, we then went for cocktails at the top of the Mandarin Oriental hotel, overlooking Central Park. Very nice.

More meetings today, but see you back in blighty at the weekend.

“Do you work for google?”

I’m at SMX in New York this week. And it’s been a really great few days. Once I got my head past the relentlessness of the days… back to back search sessions followed by search chit chat, search lunches and my growing collection of search-related freebies from the sales stands.

I spent a lot of time chatting to a very helpful Analytics expert on the Google stand; going back every break to ask more questions I’d forumlated to solve various mini-hurdles my clients have. He was fab, and gave me work arounds, pointed out extra functionality I’d never spotted and explained other things I might like to try. All in all, he made my trip completely worthwhile.

So much so infact that as I left the stand and pootled off to yet another session, a delegate caught me up to ask “Do you work for Google?”

…

…

Tempting though it was to say that I was a Harvard graduate who’d battled through 20 rounds of interviews to work at arguably the most influential company in the world… I’m afraid I had to admit, that “No”.

I’d just been hanging around on the stand for the silly putty and to ask some client-questions.

…

…

Well, for a moment at least, I’d reached my nirvana.

Barcelona

Despite being back in England, with permanant work, I’m very happy to report that I’m still able to travel about. Yipeee.

Last weekend I braved the best of the North of England’s British transport and headed from Huddersfield to Manchester and then by a Terravision (the unlikely name for an Italian bus company, staffed entirely by Eastern Europeans, operating airport services throughout Europe) service to Liverpool John Lennon Airport.

Fortunately I wasn’t carrying annoying little bottles of liquid in my luggage, and so I didn’t have to put 50p into the automatic crisp machine, which instead of crisps sold only empty plastic zip lock bags. Two and a half hours later… and a long chat with a very friendly, heavy smoking, wrinkly, sun-damamged old lady on the plane… and I arrive in the warm, sunny, palm-treed climes of Barcelona, Catalonia.

No coach to the Costa Brava or squeals of the hen do for me… my host, an easy going Catalan – Xavier – who I’d met out in Ecuador, was grinning as I came through the arrival doors.

We whizzed through the streets of Barcelona in his people carrying van to an underground car park, then walked round the corner to his flat (about 15 mins walk from Las Ramblas, for any of you who have geographical knowledge of Barcelona). A quick snack and out to the pub for the first of my team Barca footie matches.

The lads who hang out at Rafa’s bar have all been friends since school. Their lives very different now… ie suited, blackberry carrying types, a green-grocer and Xavi, outdoor mountain guide. They’re all turning 40/41 and most have kids. Some are divorced, others married. In the bar however it’s a bit like meeting them all in the playground. It’s a relaxed place and they take over the main part of the bar, squeaking stools into position to view the telly and have a bar end to put their VollDam or Estrella on. Rafa, is a cross between Danny Devito and Uncle Fester, and supplies drinks, which everyone pays for at the end of the night… I’m not sure who keeps count…

Amazingly I actually enjoyed the football. (A complete first actually). Thierry Henry played like a man possessed and in the final few minutes put a goal away that gave Barca the game. The shouts and cheers were loud, as 17 or so men celebrated. Rafa and I just looked at each other and smiled.

After the game, we moved onto Paco’s bar. I’d love to work in Paco’s. Like Mojo 10 years ago. A galley layout, with a dance studio at the back. Paco’s in his 60s, a refined gay gentleman, a dance legend in his time and a complete character. He runs the bar on his own, no matter how full it gets on a Saturday night. His face is stencilled onto the toilet seats.

Xavi and the lads are regulars here too. Paco just gave us the glasses with ice and passed the spirits bottles over the bar so we could pour our own. Some time later, we went home.

Sunday was the complete 1-day tour or Barcelona… from the Olypmic Stadium at MontJuic, walking round the harbour and cycling down the Ramblas… I was frequently tested on street names and what hill or monument was what. Not to mention following Xavi, duckling-style, down the cycle lanes and up and down tricky kerbs, on my little red bici.

Monday, picnic packed, we drove out of Barcelona and followed the coast round up to the Costa Brava before turning inland towards Figueres (map of Catalonia here). On the way… and as we were getting a bit peckish… Xavi remembered he had a friend – Ignacio – who has an outdoor adventure park in the countryside. So we called in, I petted the two mangey alsatians while the boys talked outdoor tour guiding business in Catalan. We had our bocadillos and then strapped on our harnesses and made some free use of the high adventure stuff… some walking on very wobbly high wires and planks… then a double zip line descent (twice). All fab. And free.

Did I mention that Xavi doesn’t speak English, infact with most people he’s speaking Catalan. But because Franco was in power when he was in school, he was schooled in Castellano until he was 10 or so. Anyway, he switches between the two languages like we blink. Oh, and he speaks french.

After a bit of high wire action, we headed onto the Dali museum in Figueres. An old theatre, bought by Dali, and filled with art and sculpture. It’s a very special place. Lots of hidden treasures and random bits of art to stumble across, we explored the 20 or so rooms for a couple of hours, before retiring to a leafy square for a couple of beers. Me in the sun (like a true ‘Gidi’ – foreigner), and Xavi (already tanned brown from a summer working outdoors) in the shade.

We made our way further up into the Pyranees, heading for a little place called Ogassa, where, up a hillside, in a beautiful stone house which they designed themselves live Xavi’s young hippy-like aunt, uncle and daughters.

Hometime

Two weeks ago I came home, back to England.

It wasn’t a quickly taken decision on my part, although the flight was bought last minute and my arrival home saw a few friends and relatives agog on their doorsteps.

The long and short of it was there wasn’t any work where I was living in Argentina. If I’d stayed out my time at the Estancia I would have still been in Argentina, but I’m still glad I made that decision to leave there, it was the right thing to do.

Since leaving I had my fabulous holiday with the girls, and a very chilled out week in the Recoleta district of Buenos Aires in the amazingly generous Tony’s flat.

Whilst there I looked into teaching, but having talked to others doing the same, the hours worked were very changable and never seemed to come close to covering your costs. Even a post as assistant manager at the South American Explorers club in BA would only just cover my accommodation, but not my living costs.

Up in el campo to the north of Cordoba, I looked for work outdoors with horses. I had an interview, all in Spanish, at a polo estancia which took me the best part of a morning to get to and the rest of the afternoon to get home from. The answer, although very politely put, was the same I heard all over, “It’s Winter, it’s an expensive time for us to keep animals, and the horses we have are all turned out, on a break, after the polo season. Can you come back in September?”

So despite the best efforts of some friends of mine, Antonio and Julio deserving honorable mention, I was having to inch into my savings to stay on. This clearly wasn’t part of the plan, and not something I wanted to resort to without a “very good reason”.

Looking around, underneath rocks and suchlike, sadly did not unearth a “very good reason”.

So despite the general cheapness (although the Argentines are feeling the cost of inflation just as we are in England) of living in a village in the middle of hours and hours of nothing (aka flat soya plains) I knew my Argentine days were numbered.

In the fortnight before I left, I threw myself into housewifery. Cooking, cleaning and ironing for my Argentine flat mates Julio and German. My sponge cakes crammed with dulce de leche were going down very well, as was the washing magically being done and the lads never having to press their biscuit factory uniforms. I was feeding the dog, making the meals, paying the bills at the local post office and running erands while they were out at work.

However, there comes a point when a girls existance demands a little more. I wanted to leave when it was still going well, not when I’d become that foreign girl who doesn’t pay rent.

It was – as I’m learning these things usually are – very, very sad. I was going to have to leave my grapefruit tree in the backyard and my little begonia Julio had bought me (No Julio, I can’t take it on the plane, they scan your bagage). I’d cried and not managed to utter a word when I left Pintag back in February; and this time I cried on the pavement in Cordoba as Julio gave me a bag of chocolates to take with me. (Argentines always give you lovely little chocolates and sweets when you go away, to remind you of them while you’re apart). Very, very sad.

The journey home was interminably long, and not made any easier by the striking hauliers and farmers who are bringing parts of Argentina to a standstill with their road blocks over increased taxation on exported soya and grain.

I had intended to take an overnight bus, 10 or so hours, to Buenos Aires to catch my flight home. However I managed a last minute purchase of an internal flight from Cordoba to BA, then BA to Paris, and finally Paris to Manchester and a quick train ride from there to meet my brother (the only one who knew I was coming home). Quick, sharp, elbowy, mention must be made of the unbelievably fidgetty grown up lady who sat on my left from BA to Paris and who gave no consideration whatsoever to the arm rest which by it’s very existance DIVIDES ONE SEAT FROM ANOTHER. So as she lolled, poked and generally cast her blanket all over me for about 12 hours I wished that I’d gone some other route and had two weeks in Cuba.

So now I’m home. Temporarily jobless. And more than temporarily living at my brothers house (my place still being rented out). The job front looks reasonable to good, and hopefully I’ll be gainfully employed before too much longer.

As for if I’ve got South America out of my system yet… I don’t know. I do however have a very spacious, some might say empty, bank account. So that at the very least will give me reason to stay. For now I have no plans to return and instead I’m keen to continue my Spanish, take a look at the North of England polo scene, and actually use the grey squidgy stuff in my head properly again. I’ll keep you updated…

Yes, I am still alive

Just incase some of you thought I had fallen off the edge of the world somewhere on the wrong side of Argentina, I can confirm I am still alive and quite happy thanks very much.

The girls left almost two weeks ago, and we had a fab time drinking wine, long distance bussing it, horse riding and walking around parts of Argentina. My week to learn tango in Buenos Aires, didn’t get off to a great start. The price of tango shoes is… rather expensive and as I asked Porteño after Porteño if they danced tango, and each consistently said “no”, I began to think that tango was just another  another sneaky plan intenvented to usurp more money from the poor ripped of tourist already battling with fake notes and rip-off taxi drivers.  Also the tango hostel I had booked in for some months ago was cruddy, loud, cramped, dark and apart from me and a Brazilian mother and son completely empty. Anyway, I paid a random figure to leave and hot footed it back to Tony’s fully funrnished (internet, telly, projector for movie watching) apartment in up market Recoleta and renewed my acquiantance with the doorman (aka Gorilla man) who then helpfully pointed me in the direction of cash points, laundry places etc. (As Averil can verify, my sense of direction and ability to orientate my map in the early in Recoleta was a little… um… variable). So the tango never really happened.

After a week of museum going, tramping to the cemetry or park and catching tubes (Subt as it’s called in BA, which only has 5 lines and is a compelte doddle, not to mention cheap as chips… 15p a ride) I can say I now feel pretty well orientated in Buenos Aires, and can say I felt very safe wandering around doing my thing day or evening.

I went along to a language group one Friday evening and met some nice people, some native English Speakers and others locals who speak fluent-ish English. So that was nice. Made it to the pub one night with some of them and had a lovely day up the Rio de la Plata to a town called Tigre with a beautiful America girl called Andrea who’s living in BA working for American Express.

Another day I took the Buquebus (sounds a bit like Boogie-bus when you say it) across the river (which really feels like you’re crossing the channel!) to Uruguay and a port town called Colonia. I’m afraid I don’t know much about the history, but it’s a pretty little place (which has a Thomas the Tank Engine style turn-table made in Carlisle right outside the ferry terminal!) and I managed to while away 4 hours - and buy a pair of Uruguayan Gaucho Boots to replace my others which are getting a bit battered – and re-enter Argentina again at tea time with a new tourist visa stamped in my passport. So I’m now legal again until August 30th.

After some major headache I decided to head back up to Cordoba province and see if the chance of a job at the polo place in a village called Ascochinga was going to be a goer. I bought my overnight bus ticket, but couldn’t sleep on the bus for some reason (and rather unusually for me). So I ended up downstairs at the front of the bus with the two drivers sipping mate (pronounced Mar-taaa) through the night. (In case you haven’t heard Argentina would fall apart without Mate or Beef). As we drove through the night we passed lots of tractors and tents parked in the road at major junctions. These were the protests and strikes which Argentina has been battling with for 3 months now. Fortunately there were no people when we drove through. However the strikes have started again and the government seem to be making a complete hash of coming to any agreements with the people in the countryside. Does this stuff make the news at home? Out here the whole countryside is up in arms over the increased taxes on crops for export like Soya.

Anyway, I’m up in a little town called Villa Del Totoral right now. Staying with two complete sweethearts Julio and Herman. I’ve got myself a little Spanish 1-page CV and am touting it around the local people who have horses or involvements in polo, but things don’t exactly move quickly out here. So in the meantime I’m playing the little woman indoors. Quite a novelty, and one I’m sure will soon wear off! But for now, I’m ironing and cooking for my keep.

Totoral itself is a lovely sleepy little town, where pretty much everyone works at the Arcor biscuit factory. I hadn’t heard of Arcor, but it would seem they are the largest confectionary producer in the world (nb the English Translation of their website is “proximente” i.e. coming soon… hmm). And the more people I meet the more I learn about different parts of the factory production… so far I’m pretty good on the cream cracker production line, electrics and machinists, plus quality control and packaging. No seriously, everyone I’ve met works there in some way or other. Wonder if they need an English Speaking marketeer??

Would love to tell you more about this little town, which is largely dirt streets (when you get to the asphalt street you turn left and that takes you to the main square), where I go and do the shopping and have coffee and read the Spanish paper, while Julio checks the classifieds for reasonably priced Ford Escorts, but I have to go and make lunch for the lads.

Spanish coming on a treat. And have an English class to prepare for tonight. Surely there’s a bi-lingual job out there for me somewhere? anyone?