Showing posts with label public transport. Show all posts
Showing posts with label public transport. Show all posts

Wednesday, 29 June 2011

Things to miss about Madrid - By Kate

After two and a half years of life as Madrileños, our flat is now empty of our possessions and we've said our goodbyes to the friends we've made here and we're en route to board a boat for Blighty.

Not surprisingly, I'm consumed with mixed feelings. I'm looking forward to living closer to our families and our old friends in England again. The ease of living in a country where I can speak and understand the language is definitely something to be appreciated. And having "the knowledge" of a place - all those little details that make life easier, which has to be learned from scratch in a new location - is something I now appreciate like never before.

But there are plenty of things I shall miss about living in Madrid and indeed Spain. Here are the main ones in no particular order:

The sunshine. There's a lot of it. Sometimes too much. But especially during Spring and late Autumn, it's wonderful.
The fresh fruit. It's great to be able to eat things like mangoes and Kiwi fruit, knowing they haven't been imported. And I shall really miss things like brevas (a large, early type of fig) and picotas (wonderfully sweet dark cherries).
The Hispanic love of babies and small children. Everywhere you go your little cherubs are routinely admired and welcomed by people of all ages and in all places. Where many in the UK tend to assume a slightly pained expression suggesting a bad smell under their nose when they catch sight of children, Latinos smile indulgently and affably chub their cheeks. Even tantrums are greeted with sympathy tinted with the knowing amusement.The breathtaking number of children's play parks. The generosity of spirit extended towards little nippers isn't confined to the general public, Spain's local authorities also make sure their younger citizens are amply provided with places to have fun and let off steam.
The easy give-and-take of high-density living. Take noise, for example. We've never once experienced any dubiousness towards the inevitable noise made by Rosie both as a baby and an energetic toddler. In fact, one set of neighbours came round specifically to tell us not to worry about it. When we've wanted an early night and the sound of loud TVs or music have penetrated our flat, a simple knock on a wall, ceiling or window or (in a couple of cases) a polite request to turn things down have yielded a generally good-natured and prompt response. Why do so many people in the UK take umbrage if requested to keep it down as a mark of consideration for those who live nearby?
Friendly neighbours. Related to the above. We hadn't been living here long before we knew the names of those also living on our floor and were on "que tal?" terms with many more. And although they don't know us well, many have expressed regret when we've told them we're leaving.
The drinking culture. Spaniards love to drink, especially en masse and for extended periods of time. But they don't usually drink to get drunk and it's very unusual for people to show aggression after they've had a few. I can walk through Madrid's busiest nightlife areas on a Friday or Saturday night, surrounded by people drinking and not feel the slightest fear that a fight may break out near me or I might get accosted by an inebriated arsehole who can't see straight. You can't say the same thing about many of the UK's towns and cities, unfortunately.
The public transport. Madrid's system of underground trains and bus routes is excellent. Generally clean, air-conditioned, inexpensive and very frequent. AND the bus drivers don't throw a hissy fit when you board their vehicle pushing a baby buggy.
Non-homogenous high streets. There are still large numbers of independent specialist retailers in Spain and each barrio has its own particular character.
The cafe/bar culture. With lots of outdoor seating and food served all day. Plus the free tapas, of course, meaning ordering food is often not necessary.The trees. Madrid is the most wooded capital city in the world - thankfully, the shade provided is desperately needed during the summer months. Mind you, it does make for an awful lot of municipal leaf-blowing during the winter...
Cheap but stylish women's hair-cuts. There are various things that cost less in Spain compared with the UK, but this is the one where the gap seems to be biggest. €12.50 for a cut and blow-dry....
The sense of satisfaction the comes from communicating in non-mother tongue. The flip side of struggling to understand and be understood. One source of regret is that we're leaving just as I was starting to get a handle on Spanish to the extent that I can at least have a basic conversation with someone.

Naturally, there are aspects of life in Madrid I definitely won't miss:

The summer heat. It quickly becomes unbearable and despite awnings, shutters and ceiling fans, sleep is a restless business when temperatures hit the high thirties. On the other hand, laundry is dry within a few hours of being hung out, so it's not all bad.
Language befuddlement. I've still got a distance to travel before I'm truly comfortable operating in Spanish. It's frustrating to be unable to express myself to someone or to not understand what they're telling me. I can "get by" in Spanish, but to my regret, that's my current limit.
Doggy do's. Urban Spanish dog-owners are somewhat behind their British counterparts when it comes to cleaning up after the family pet. Apparently, they're a lot better than they used to be - which makes me shudder to think what state the streets were in a few years ago.
Over-packaging. Especially fruit and veg. Shops are now beginning to be less generous when it comes to dispensing plastic bags, but there's a way to go yet.
The paucity of charity shops. We found one not far from our barrio, but they are few and far between. Second-hand shops do exist, but the time and energy needed to dig through the jumbled heaps of unsorted clothes to find a decent bargain is usually more than I'm willing to give.
Screeching washing lines. Aerial clothes lines tend to operate on a pulley system and unless you're an abseiler, its very hard to lubricate the metal wheels, which get steadily more oxidised as the years pass. Therefore an alarming series of banshee howls as someone hangs out their laundry is inevitable. And responsible for many a disrupted nap (in my case - Rosie seems to be able to sleep through them, thankfully).

One thing's for sure - as a first experience of living in a country other than the one where I was born it's been a fantastic adventure. I return with a wealth of experience I would never have otherwise had. Not to mention as mother of a daughter who was conceived and born in Madrid. That's an incredible thing in itself.

Will we come back to Spain to live? Perhaps. Certainly, our sojourn here has done nothing to put us off.

Meanwhile, we will do our best to keep our Spanish alive and encourage Rosie to grow up with a grasp of the language from the country of her birth.

Friday, 30 January 2009

Of Teaching And Beer

After five days of intensive training with a English teaching company based in Madrid, I sallied forth to the Spanish HQ of one of Europe's largest beer-sellers. My pupils are some of the company's top executives, which felt a tad daunting to begin with. Also, with precisely zero experience in teaching Business English and only a few hours of one-to-one teaching under my belt, I had to throw out the "discuss in pairs" and "compare answers" basis to my CELTA qualification and make some serious modifications. Oh, and there are no textbooks to act as a guide and conveniently provide me with off-the-peg lesson themes and exercises. I have to invent every lesson from scratch.

Given that it takes me around an hour to reach the office where I teach and most of the lessons are individually timetabled at an hour and a half, it's not proving very time-efficient so far. Luckily, the cost of the one-change metro-and-then-a-bus journey works out at 77 cents a time, so at least the travel is cheap. I'm getting lot of reading done on Madrid's public transport and sometimes I even attempt to improve my (slightly better than non-existent, but not much) Spanish. As an added bonus, I haven't yet had anything nicked by Madrid's legendary pick-pockets either - touch wood.

On top of the journey time, the lack of handy teaching materials means it's taking me around two hours to plan each lesson. Tot that up with the travel and it's costing me four hours of time for every hour and a half taught. Not what you'd call breath-takingly effective.

But these aren't complaints. Mainly because at the moment, I'm enjoying both the lessons themselves and the planning process. Fashioning a fully-functioning, interesting and bespoke English language lesson out of nothing actually feels rather creative. Also, I'm well aware that the more material I produce now, the more I can adapt and re-use in the future. As we're in the business world of teaching English, let's call it a time investment. Ah, that feels better already.

Then there are my pupils, who are all very likeable, very attentive, all do their homework and in one case, even give me a lift to the office on Friday mornings. Compared with the ten crazy nine-year-olds Theo does battle with, they're a breeze. And I'm learning all about beer, which just goes to show my students aren't the only ones getting a useful education.

Friday, 5 September 2008

Ich bin ein Berliner

Berlin. Of all the cities we have visited so far it's easily the one which has had the greatest emotional impact. Probably because some of Berlin's most significant historical events have happened within our lifetime, or at most, only a couple of generations removed.
As you stroll through the German capital you get the feeling the once-divided city is gradually becoming at peace with itself, as well as with the rest of the world. Theo remarked that it carries the weight of Germany's recent past and that is clearly something it takes very seriously.
We were both compelled and appalled as we read the searing accounts of the holocaust by some of its millions of victims in the bleakly honest information centre beside the Memorial For The Murdered Jews Of Europe.

The memorial itself is an extraordinary piece of work - an expanse of ground given over to thousands of "stelae", huge, dark grey slabs of concrete laid out in a grid. At first you look at it in some doubt as to what it signifies and what emotional response it demands. Then, when you walk among the stelae until they tower over you and you are completely surrounded, trapped and overwhelmed, you understand.

But only a few hundred metres away is the triumphalist Brandenburg Gate, the chariot on its summit turned to face west since the reunification of Germany in the '90s, signifying glory and a nation holding its head high.

I vividly recall my emotional reaction to the news the Berlin Wall had come down in November '89 and seeing some of the few remaining sections of the hated Mauer - the much-graffitied East Side Gallery and the recreation of the Death Strip in Bernauer Strasse - brought it back. As we read the history and looked at footage of the Wall's construction, the escapes and its ultimate demolition, I don't mind admitting that at times I was moved to tears.

Yet, even now there is an invisible East-West divide in Berlin, increasingly blurred though it is. Theo and I found ourselves most drawn to the East side, especially some of the anything goes districts like the grungy, alternative Friedrichshain or the laid-back cafes and bars of Prenzlauer Berg.

The latter set the stage for a somewhat alcoholic and suitably pan-European night out on the eve of our departure from Berlin after a four-day stay. We met up with Theo's doctor friend, Dora, her half Iranian boyfriend and a couple they knew, an Italian and a Greek who had met in San Francisco and now lived in Berlin. With neither speaking the other's language, English is their lingua franca, which certainly made life easier for Theo and me as our German is patchy to say the least.
We partied in four different bars, including one where you paid a Euro for a wine glass, refilled it as often as you liked then paid what you thought it was worth at the end of the night. With admirable stamina, as they all had to work the next morning (Dora having to start a 24-hour shift in the hospital from 0800), we parted company with our new friends after two. But, despite the late-night public transport's Teutonic efficiency, we didn't get back to our campsite at Kladower Dam until half past four.

Finally, it should be mentioned that Berlin is big. It spreads out over a great, flat expanse of land, further than the eye can see. As we stood looking out at the city from the Norman Foster-designed Reichstag glass dome, Theo and I marvelled at the widely-spaced, sprawl beneath us. There are scarcely any hills to be seen, the main landmarks being the once East German TV Tower, the Angel of Victory, the glass skyscrapers of Potsdamer Platz and the cranes building Berlin's next shopping super centre at Alexander Platz.

It is an impressive sight of an impressive, visceral, fascinating and compelling city.