Another new chapter

“She doesn’t even go here!” one might say, and rightly so: I am back here more than a year after the last post. I am such a bad blogger. Much has happened between then and now, so much that one post wouldn’t be enough and, let’s face it, I am probably too lazy to recount everything in detail.

So, in short, I spent summer 2015 in Nice, translating that surgical anatomy manual: challenging, but somehow I made it, in spite of the landlady of the house where I was staying, who was a bit… trying. The manual was promptly nicknamed “er tomazzo” (“big (nasty) tome” in Roman accent, that sounds funny if you speak Italian, I promise), because it was big and never-ending, but the experience in itself was very useful and, for a 22-year-old translator, it looked quite nice on the CV.

Speaking of CVs, that’s a sentence that I have probably now heard more times than my own name: the last year at university has been full of career fairs, career orientation sessions, meetings, networking events and the like. UEA is very helpful in this, the people at Career Central couldn’t be nicer and understanding, although it sometimes felt overwhelming. I don’t know what has been more challenging, finishing my degree or trying to understand where I want to go now that I am a BA Modern Languages. Exams were fine in the end, much ado about (almost) nothing, the final results came in and I was super satisfied, hard work has paid off. Then, Graduation Day, 18^th July, well, was a magical, magical one. Sunny and incredibly hot, even more so since we were wearing thick blue gowns and black mortarboards (and a pink  hood. Why, God, why?!). It’s been quite emotional, saying goodbye to UEA after four fun, special years. I have probably just used the dullest adjectives in the history of forever, but how on earth can you sum up four years of amazing friendships, life-changing experiences around Europe and the world, glorious pub crawls and less-than-glorious hangovers in dear old Norwich, sometimes absurd modules and exceptional teachers? You can’t. You just say “Oh UEA is wonderful”, or rather hum it, and bring those memories with you for the rest of your life.

Now real life starts. After a rather blue summer, spent worrying about the future and sending out CVs with no reply (“That’s normal, you have to send out tons and tons before anyone answers”), I have started translating as a freelancer, to get some much needed experience to find something else. I will probably need to move abroad again, maybe go back to the UK, see what’s out there for me. The future’s uncertain to those who are not sure of their plans. Even going back to the UK and start a new life, all over again for the umpteenth time, looks like a bit of a daunting experience. Like four years ago, I probably won’t have the courage to leave until I am there. All I can wish for right now is that it will work just as fine. London is big and full of spoilers opportunities, perhaps it’s the best place to start over. In spite of Brexit, this big, big question mark making our future even more uncertain.

Perhaps I have been a bit unfair, though. My summer hasn’t been entirely blue. Apart from Graduation Week, I have gone places and had fun, with family and friends. I have been to Prague, elegant, rich with history and culture…

Old Town Square

Old Town Square as seen from the top of the Old City Hall

Astronomical Clock

Charles Bridge and the Castle

… the Dolomites and Verona…

Passo Tre Croci, near Cortina d’Ampezzo

Welsberg Castle

Basilica of San Zeno, Verona

Scaliger Bridge, Verona

Museo di Castelvecchio, Verona

Piazza Bra and the Verona Arena

Getting ready for Verdi’s Aida

I went to Bucharest, Romania, for a few days to see some cousins, and then to Venice – where I spent a lovely afternoon getting (almost) lost in the calli with my friend Stefano, my super guide – and its surrounding area, to see some of the Palladian villas that I had studied in my history of art course in school…

The Grand Canal as seen from the basilica of Santa Maria della Salute, Venice

Villa Foscari “La Malcontenta”, designed by architect Andrea Palladio

Frescoes of Villa Widmann-Foscari

Villa Pisani

Villa Pisani

Villa Pisani’s Ballroom with frescoes by Giambattista Tiepolo

Villa Almerico Capra “La Rotonda”, designed by Palladio

Vigo Bridge, Chioggia

 

Plus, as per usual, I have made a decent dent in my to read list (David Baldwin’s Richard III) and watched some series and films. That hasn’t changed. I have been quite impressed with The White Queen, although it is a very fanfiction version of the Wars of the Roses: Elizabeth Woodville an actual witch, whose curses actually work, gifted with the Sight, like her mother and daughter? Oh, please… And [SPOILER] the finale with Richard III and Elizabeth of York, that was awful. Not because of incest, that was fairly common at the time (not between uncle and niece, true, but first cousins, very often indeed), but because it just came out of nowhere, it has not been confirmed as being more than just a rumour. Anyway, Aneurin Barnard as Richard, Duke of Gloucester and later King Richard III, Faye Marsay as Anne Neville and James Frain as Richard Neville, the Kingmaker, have been my favourites, it’s a shame that, for obvious reasons, none of them will be in The White Princess. Maybe just flashbacks, but I doubt it. Maybe Richard. Well, more Aneurin for everyone, he’s very talented. And really cute too.

Right now I’m watching Victoria on ITV, which is quite interesting, and I hope the next season of Once upon a Time will not disappoint me, although the focus on the couple Emma-Hook has been painful to bear, luckily there will be a double fix of Regina and Lana Parrilla to enjoy it.

The last big thing has been my short trip to London two weeks ago, to see my cousin and also Harry Potter and the Cursed Child and Kenneth Branagh’s The Entertainer. No spoilers in case anyone reading hasn’t read (very improbable, but it’s good to ask), just… wow. I am not easy to please when it comes to Harry Potter, but I can say this: it was worth the price of the ticket and going back to London (almost) just for that.

Temple Church, London. A recurring joke with some of my friends was that, for one reason or another, I would never be able to enter this church (mentioned in The Da Vinci Code, book and film, by the way), because the timetable is crap. I had tried six times, unsuccessfully. Attempt n° 007: MADE IT.

Now I’ll just wait for the autumn to start, to bring some new series. And yes, another job, possibly more permanent (please, EU DGT, take me into account!). And a new life. Post-UEA life, here I come!

Année à l’étranger, acte II: France

Hello!

Back again to this little blog, after 2 months, as per usual. In the meantime, quite a few things have happened: I’ve left Spain in June, nine days after the last post, and it was quite an emotional, bittersweet moment, as I had anticipated. I went back home for a week, which was refreshing, then off I went again, to France this time, which is where I am right now. I am in Nice, on the Côte d’Azur, on a sort of translation internship. It is more like freelance translation, actually: I have no fixed timetable, I don’t have to go to an office every day, and I am on my own for most of the day. I have only one task, but it is more than enough to fill this summer: I am in charge of the Italian translation of a French manual of highly specialised surgical anatomy, Atlas d’Anatomie Chirurgicale de la Face et du Cou, whose first edition, albeit shorter than this one, has been translated into English and goes by the title Atlas of Surgical Anatomy of the Face and Neck. It has been written by the doctor for whom I am working, it’s 335 pages and it’s quite challenging, which is good.

Before I started working on the translation, I had time to be a tourist in Nice. Here be some pictures:

Place Masséna, Nice’s central square

The Palais de Justice

Les jardins du Paillon

Le Miroir d’Eau

Promenade des Anglais

The Hotel Negresco

Musée archéologique de Nice-Cimiez

Apart from this, I’ve found time for some trips. When I arrived here, my original plan was to take a few days off and go to Paris to see my friends Georgia and Tatiana, since it’s been a long while since my last visit. But then, theatre got in the way, as per usual this year, and I decided instead to spend a couple of days in Avignon, the capital of the Vaucluse department, about 5 hours from Nice by high-speed train, for the Festival. The Festival of Avignon is a huge summer event that’s been around since 1947, and everything revolves mainly around theatre: I’m not joking when I say that the whole town was covered in posters of theatre plays, and there were so many people in the streets you almost couldn’t walk (although it all looks pretty tidy in the following photo).

Hôtel de Ville, Avignon

I went to Avignon to see only one play, a co-production between Madrid’s Teatro de la Abadía and the Festival of Avignon called Hacia la alegría – Vers la joie (‘Towards Happiness’) (extracts), an adaptation of the first chapter of Excelsior, the latest book by Olivier Py, a French stage director, actor and writer, director of the very Festival of Avignon (and Paris’ Odéon – Théâtre de l’Europe between 2007 and 2012). It was entirely in Spanish, but with French surtitles. It was a long, complex monologue, only one character on stage (played by, guess who?, my favourite Spanish actor. I’m basically seeing all the plays he’s in while I can, it’s highly unlikely I’ll see him in Britain or in Italy, so I’m seizing every opportunity, and I’ve been incredibly, incredibly lucky so far) and a string quartet (Nelson Quartet). The plot in itself is quite simple: a famous architect suddenly wakes up one night and has a sort of Joycean epiphany leading him to realise his life has lost its meaning and to reject all he has done, all his successful career implicitly based on society’s crave for the ephemeral products of consumerism, even in architecture, and goes out into the night, running through the glossy, rich neighbourhoods of the city towards the decrepit, poorest areas, to the filthiest places, where his run ends and he feels he’s got back to the genuineness of life he’d lacked. It wasn’t too long, only 1h30, but, as he later told me, he thought it was the most demanding role of his career, both physically and mentally (he kept running and speaking in a refined, philosophical lexicon all the time, I think I would have collapsed after 5 minutes). It was an amazing experience, just like the previous two.

L’Autre Scène du Grand Avignon in Vedène, where the play took place

But this wasn’t all I did in Avignon. My train back to Nice was at 5 pm on the following day, so I had a whole morning and part of the afternoon to myself. I went to the Palais des Papes, the Papal Palace, which I had seen when I was a child but didn’t really remember, hence seeing it at 22 was much better. I got there quite early, so there was almost nobody around and I could see all those stately rooms and the gardens without any large tourist groups in the way.

Palais des Papes, evening…

… and morning

I also went to the Pont Saint-Bénézet, a medieval bridge on the river Rhône also known as Pont d’Avignon (the one of the popular jingle Sur le Pont d’Avignon).

Pont Saint-Bénézet

Avignon as seen from the bridge

Then, it was too hot outside to even think, so I retreated from the river to the city centre, had a salad and then went to the FNAC to spend an entire hour browsing books and dvds, and then I found this:

L’histoire de France selon Facebook (‘The History of France According to Facebook’). I frankly lost it at “Olivier Py likes this”. Yes, I know, it takes very little to amuse me.

I came back home from Avignon in very high spirits, even more so because I knew that a week later my mum would be popping to Nice for a short visit. When she arrived, on 18^thJuly, we realised we had seen almost everything Provence had to offer, apart from, well, its capital. So, off to Marseille!

It was an incredibly hot day, I even got sunburnt a bit, but it was thoroughly enjoyable (the trip, not my aching red shoulders). We didn’t have much time to spend there, we had but an afternoon, so we mainly stayed in the area of the Old Port and the lower part of the Canebière, the city’s largest boulevard.

Marseille, Vieux Port, Quai des Belges

The main highlight of the day, though, was the trip to the Château d’If, a 16^th-century fortress and royal prison that is one of the most iconic settings of Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo, one of my favourite novels.

“Dantès se leva, jeta naturellement les yeux sur le point où paraissait se diriger le bateau, et à cent toises devant lui il vit s’élever la roche noire et ardue sur laquelle monte comme une superfétation du silex le sombre château d’If. Cette forme étrange, cette prison autour de laquelle règne une si profonde terreur, cette forteresse qui fait vivre depuis trois cents ans Marseille de ses lugubres traditions, apparaissant ainsi tout à coup à Dantès qui ne songeait point à elle, lui fit l’effet que fait au condamné à mort l’aspect de l’échafaud.” (A. Dumas, “Le Comte de Monte-Cristo”, c. VIII)

The protagonist, Edmond Dantès, is imprisoned, albeit innocent, at the beginning of the story, and he’s kept here for fourteen years, together with his mentor, Abbé Faria. History and fiction combine as you enter the main court of the castle and see that, apart from Dumas’ opera omnia in the shop, there are some cells that held not only historical characters, such as Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, comte de Mirabeau, but also fictional ones. There’s Dantès cell, there’s Abbé Faria’s, they’ve even dug the small tunnel between them that Dumas created in his story, and then there’s the cell of the mysterious Man in the Iron Mask, an actual historical character also appearing in Dumas’ The Vicomte of Bragelonne, third and final instalment of The Three Musketeers saga. I’m quite a huge Dumas fan, so it was incredibly exciting.

The fortress

Inside the fortress

The happy memories I had from those days helped me cheer up a bit a week later, when, one evening, I had a bit of an existential crisis. I don’t exactly recall how it started, but what matters is that I got to the point of realising that I don’t really have a precise goal, an idea of an actual future job after university. I know I have to do a MA after the BA, and there’s one that might be potentially interesting, but the very thought of keeping studying is not at all appealing to me right now. Maybe it’s just a phase, but for an entire evening I felt like an utterly useless sort of future professional. I speak four languages, what now? Translators and, in general, language specialists are an invisible category, but this doesn’t mean, unfortunately, that we are éminences grises. We are more often than not shamelessly ignored. When I go to museums and I have a look at tourist guides in several languages, I often see that the name of the translator is nowhere to be seen. Maybe I stumbled upon the rare cases where the writer is a translator too and he/she translated his/her own text into other languages, but it can’t always  be like that. It’s statistically impossible. The translations are sometimes exceedingly good, and it pains me to see that the person who spent perhaps entire days on the text doesn’t have his/her work acknowledged on the final product. Of course they haven’t worked for free, or at least I hope so, but why then do we see on the translated tourist guide all the names of photographers, writers, historical consultants involved, and not the one of the translator?  I don’t know, perhaps I’m just very bitter and discouraged, perhaps it’s just another of my down phases, when I can’t see that there must be after all something I can do in this world, that I’m an intelligent person with some useful skills, but really, I would just like to finally find something to do, because this confusion is sometimes too frustrating to bear. And, for once, I would like to have someone, preferably a friend, telling me “I know it’s hard, but we can make it through, you don’t have to be alone”, instead of the usual refrain I’ve had to hear all my life: “But you’re so good, I’m sure you can cope, you’ll figure it out and make it through. Tanto tu sei brava.”. I know I can be good and figure it out by myself, thank you very much, but for once I’d like to be the one receiving help instead of giving it.

Phew.

Writing that down helped quite a lot. Whoever said that writing about your concerns to explain them to other people is cathartic was bloody right. I hope the new year at UEA will help me realise what I want to do with my future, but in the meantime I’ll just keep working on my anatomy tome and enjoy my French stay.

I don’t know when I will write next, perhaps in Norwich, after my theatre day in London (Hamlet with Benedict Cumberbatch and Farinelli and the King with Mark Rylance, it’ll be a great day!), or shortly after.

Until then, have a lovely summer break!

À bientôt!

Ps. If I’m enjoying Nice this much, it’s mainly thanks to one person, my friend Vanessa, who’s been not only a fantastic tourist guide, but a great friend too. And a person with the quite astonishing ability to read me like an open book, which I myself can’t do. Thanks, Vanessa, and thanks to lovely Sandra and Sarah. 😀

To these memories I will hold, with your blessing I will go

During this long year in Spain, I’ve learnt many funny words, idioms and expressions. Among them, there’s a verb I found particularly nice and, well, of personal importance: encariñarse, which means ‘growing fond of something (or someone)’. I said ‘personal importance’, and I mean it. Against all odds, against my own expectations, which, I admit, were set very low, I ended up being fond of this life I’ve crafted out of somehow not entirely promising premises. Es decir, he acabado encariñándome con mi vida española. A Spanish life which is now about to end. Or, rather, end in the way it has been for the past nine months. Another life change, albeit smaller, is about to take place, as I take the final exams here and I move on to the next leg of the journey, the translation internship in Nice, southern France, before returning to the UK for my final year at UEA.

I don’t know if this melancholy I feel right now is due to the thought of once again moving to a new place, after less than a year from the last time, or of leaving Spain in general. I’m not really sure I will figure it out, if at all. In the meantime, I’ll have fun with a hopefully objective list of pros and cons of this Spanish year. I couldn’t decide which to put first, so they’ll be mixed.

Español ya está, aber nur ein bisschen Deutsch

One of the most positive aspects of the year abroad is the improvement of language skills. I’ve improved a lot in Spanish, and I don’t think I could have done as much had I stayed in Italy/England. Not saying I’m bilingual, of course, I’m not bilingual even in English, let alone in a language I’ve been speaking for barely three years, but still, it is great to be able to speak and understand almost everything Spaniards say.

I’ve also had the opportunity to learn German, whose basics I now more or less know. I can understand simple written texts and basic conversation, and I guess I would now be able to survive in a German-speaking country for a short period. I would surely be much better at finding my way around a German-speaking town now than when I went to St. Gallen, Switzerland, last August (x). I will never forget how difficult it was to try and understand someone speaking in a pretty much unknown language, especially because that someone was the hotel owner and I had to get my room keys and learn how things worked, particularly the wifi. To complain on the social media about such inability to communicate, ça va sans dire.

Downside of a year in Spain: my French skills seem to be slowly regressing and dying. It’s not as if I haven’t been practising this year, I’ve enrolled in various French courses here and have been doing well, but I don’t feel like I’ve improved at all. I feel as if I knew even less French than when I left UEA. The internship in Nice will be fundamental to revive it, otherwise my final year at UEA will be even harder than it’s supposed to be.

Many meetings

Another great thing about this year, perhaps the greatest. No, definitely the greatest. When I arrived, I seriously feared I wouldn’t find any friends, and, given how solitary I usually am, I thought I would be doomed to nine months of solitude, more or less. Luckily, this wasn’t the case. I found some lovely people in my French courses, and the friends I made in the German course are just awesome. The German classes were the ones taking place in the late afternoon/evening, but they didn’t feel like a burden at all. Better than French, responsible for the 8ams I’ve had all along this year. I genuinely had fun during German class, something I hadn’t felt for a while, I got to learnt a lot in a short time and the teacher, Belén, really knows her stuff, she’s passionate about her job and an absolute badass. The first semester was much more about the work, I focussed on the courses and that was mostly it, although I had already made some very good friends. It was in the second semester that I sorted out my priorities and decided that I cared more about myself and people than about work. There’s a side effect to this, of course, to this both beautiful and dangerous encariñarse: now that it’s almost time to leave, now that nine long months have passed, saying goodbye to these wonderful people is more painful than I can possibly say. It’s nothing new, of course, it’s happened several times in the past, but I haven’t got used to it yet. Never liked goodbyes. I will try to get the most of the three weeks that remain and not think about the last day. And to think that I couldn’t wait to leave…

The last German class at UA, 20th May. From left to right: me, my teacher Belén, Yaiza, Bárbara, María and Marta. Courtesy of Bárbara.

Post-French Phonetics exm, 21st May. From left to right: Concha, Julieta, me, Mireia, Elena. Courtesy of Ilda.

Theatre, or Fangirling Rewarded

In moments like these, when I feel blue and all I want is to curl up in a ball and eat Nutella, I try to think about happy memories, and, whilst in the first semester they mainly came from the recent past (Norwich, UEA and my English life in general), now they derive from the theatre plays I’ve been lucky enough to see this year, Los cuentos de la peste at the Teatro Español in Madrid on 19^th February and Ruz-Bárcenas at the Teatre Talia in Valencia on 9^th May (trailer).

Teatre Talia, Valencia

I don’t just have these two moments to cherish, of course, but they’re the only ones with no bitterness nor sadness whatsoever to tarnish them (looking at you, Richard III: wonderful play, but damn you stage door!), hence they’re special. I enjoyed two amazing plays, very different in themes and style: the first narrative and poetic, based on Vargas Llosa’s adaptation of one of Italian literature’s masterpieces, the second an example of political theatre on the corruption of Spain’s ruling party, the Partido Popular (PP), a word-for-word transcription of the minutes of the second interrogation of PP’s ex-treasurer Luis Bárcenas (played by Pedro Casablanc) by judge Pablo Ruz (Manolo Solo) on 15^th July 2013. I’ve seen my favourite Spanish actor on stage twice in these plays, and I managed to talk to him both times, delighted to see that he remembered me. Like the first time, in spite of having talked for more than an hour, listing names and figures at the speed of light, he was extremely nice and patient and generally lovely. I wasn’t sure whether to remain there after the play to wait for him or not, seeing him once should have been enough, but before I could make up my mind he came out of the theatre door with his colleague, so I didn’t need to make a choice. All the better for me, because I would have probably left and regretted not staying. I am not accustomed to my fangirling being acknowledged or satisfied in any way, so it was quite uplifting. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that night, which, by the way, crowned a glorious day of tourism in Sagunto and Valencia with my mum. Everything was literally perfect, rainbows and unicorns everywhere. I smiled like an idiot for days on end after the play, just like the first time. [Fangirling mode: OFF]

Before Ruz-Bárcenas, having a look around in the theatre

Travelling

In spite of being confined in a corner of Spain, in a town offering but a few things to see, which could be dealt with within a week or two, this year I managed to travel a bit. I’ve always been fond of travelling, exploring new places, being surrounded by history, culture and art. Travelling also means forgetting about everyday concerns and problems for  bit, enjoying some time with the people I love, so it was all the more welcome. Granada was stunning, and so was Madrid, I went four times and I wish I could go again. I will really miss Madrid next year. My tour to Castile is among the best trips I’ve ever had, and Sagunto and especially Valencia exceeded expectations. I’ve still got much to see here in Spain, but in these final weeks I can’t possibly travel, it’s time for many goodbyes. That means, though, that I have the perfect excuse to come back, one day, as a tourist. I’ve seen so little of Andalusia, and nothing of the north of Spain. Let’s face it, almost all of the country is still to explore. This means having to come back more than once. Good. Have some photos of the last trip to Sagunto and Valencia:

Sagunto

Sagunto’s Castle

Sagunto’s Roman Theatre

Palau de la Generalitat Valenciana, Valencia

Plaza de la Virgen, Valencia

Plaza del Ayuntamiento, Valencia

Torres de Serranos, Valencia

Pequeñas valencianas en traje de falleras – Valencian girls dressed up in the traditional ‘fallera’ costume

“She needs to sort out her priorities!” aka Life choices (sort of)

Living in Spain for a year has been quite helpful to figure out some important things, given that, in spite of the company of great friends, I’ve also had much alone time. I love spending time with friends and family, but I feel the need to devote at least 50% of my time to myself. Social gatherings are a great thing indeed, but they drain me, so I have to compensate with long periods of alone time, just me, my book/pc and my music. It’s not always possible, of course, especially when you have to attend uni classes and they tend to be quite long, but, with a bit of luck, you can figure out interesting things about yourself and your life, where you want to go with it, what you want to be, stuff like that.

The first, immediate thought when I got to Spain was a comparison with my home country. Now the contrast is less striking, after nine months, but at the beginning I kept thinking that, after all, Italy is not so bad. I suppose living in another Mediterranean country, similar but not quite the same, with the same kind of problems, made me realise we have good things too. When I live in England the comparison is almost never favourable to the Boot, so this was an indirectly positive part of my Spanish stay. Not very flattering to Spain, I admit. Oh well…

Secondly, staying here, translating on a regular basis, made me realise I’ve made the right choice when I decided to prefer modern languages to medicine or law. This doesn’t mean, though, that medicine and law can’t be a shade of my choice, which is why I have decided that, in the future, I would like to specialise in either medical or legal translation (more probably the latter, it’s easier to find a job, although I prefer the first), and see what happens next. I hope this conviction lasts. Fingers crossed.

Minor things, good and bad

• Spanish cuisine (here be stereotypical Spanish food, but hey, it’s good): sangría, paella, tapas in general, patatas bravas or with allioli sauce, tinto de verano, olleta, tortilla de patatas and all the wonderful typical Spanish/Valencian/Alicantine dishes I’ve tried… Pure bliss. I will miss all of this next year, that’s for sure. Together with the wondrous thing that is 100 Montaditos.
• UA’s timetable: “The horror, the horror!” Starting at 8am and finishing at 9pm: NOT ok. I swear I will never complain about UEA timetables ever again (unless they give me all 9ams, which would be almost as NOT ok as my timetable here was).
• UA’s courses: German, French Phonetics and General Translation from English into Spanish and vice versa have been great. The Eng-Spa Translation course put great emphasis on theory, which wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, but it was only two hours a week, and the teacher, Juan Miguel, nicknamed ‘Juanmi’ by pretty much everyone, even by students who address him like that (!), is not only very knowledgeable in his field of expertise, as you would imagine, but also very nice, patient and delightfully ironic, which made classes quite fun.

Good and bad things have happened this year. I’m pleased for the first, I’ve learnt from the second, and I’m happy to have had this Erasmus parenthesis as a page of the book of my life. Now it’s almost time to turn the page and start another adventure: ten days left until I leave Alicante for Milan, seventeen till I start my two-month adventure in Nice. I suppose the next blog post will be from the Côte d’Azur.

Until then, ¡hasta luego!

xx

Francesca

On the trail of Isabella: Castilla y León and other places

Hello everyone!

After almost two months, here I am again. I won a BAFTA for most unpredictable Boswell blogger, after all, it would have been unusual had I returned sooner. The past two months have been quite busy, but, thankfully, not entirely because of uni. I haven’t got much to say about it, actually, French Phonetics is fine, German too, and the Translation from English into Spanish course is ok, apart from an excess of theory and my constantly feeling like an idiot when we correct the translation in class, since I can’t help my classmates in any way and provide but an acceptable version into the target language. From 2^nd into 4^th language, I am already doing well, I guess. Wish I could translate into Italian sometimes. I would be a good translator, I think. Most of the translations that now take me hours to translate into Spanish would be done a hundred times more effectively into Italian. What a pity no one cares about translations into Italian. Italian doesn’t matter. But I’m digressing and getting bitter, so let’s get to the point, which is much more cheerful and interesting.

On 11^th April I came back from my short holiday back home, in Italy. Achingly short, but what can you do. There was something to look forward to, though, so coming back to Alicante for the last time wasn’t that bad: a great trip to the region of Castile and León with Stefano starting on Tuesday 14^th April. We’d been thinking about it for a while, and I really couldn’t wait. Being confined in a corner of Spain, I hadn’t thought I could ever get the chance of going somewhere interesting and see some of the many places of Spain I would have surely seen had I chosen, as I should have, to go and live in Madrid for the Erasmus (crying-over-spilled-milk-mood ON and OFF).

So, when I realised that, after the end of the holidays on 13^th April, there would be two days of class and then two more days off thanks to a local holiday, Santa Faz, on 16^th and 17^th, I immediately decided I needed to get the most of it. ¡Hasta luego Alicante! I got to Madrid on Tuesday night and, given that Stefano had to work on Wednesday and couldn’t travel with me on Thursday, I had two days of tourism on my own. I was exhausted after a 5-hour bus trip, although it had been very comfortable (thanks, Alsa!), but on Wednesday morning at 7.30 I was already on my first Cercanías train, heading to the first destination: Alcalá de Henares. The city centre was nice, I enjoyed the walk from the station to the cathedral in spite of the weather. The university, or what I could see of it, was stunning (it had been the third-choice destination for my Erasmus), and the cathedral was worth a visit. I had come just for a few things, namely seeing the tomb of archbishop Carrillo in the cathedral and the statue of Catherine of Aragon near the archbishop’s palace, because they’re among my favourite historical characters, so, after that, the deed was pretty much done.

University of Alcalá de Henares

Tomb of His Grace Alfonso Carrillo de Acuña, Archbishop of Toledo and, for many years, powerful advisor to the Infanta and then Queen Isabella I of Castile. Born in Carrascosa del Campo, near Cuenca, in 1410, he died in Alcalá de Henares in 1482.

Statue of Catherine of Aragon, youngest daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, the Catholic Monarchs, and Queen of England as the first wife of King Henry VIII. She was born in the Archbishop’s Palace in Alcalá in 1485.

I got back to Madrid, sleepy but excited, ready for the next leg: Segovia. The journey took about 30 minutes, plus 15 more to get from the station to the actual town (the high-speed train station is in the middle of nowhere, nothing to see but green fields and snow-capped mountains, quite Brontean). Once I got there, the first spectacular sight was the Roman aqueduct:

The Roman Aqueduct of Segovia

I then walked through the centre towards the Cathedral and the Alcázar. It wasn’t a short walk, but it was definitely worth it:

The Cathedral of Segovia, as seen from the Plaza Mayor

Alcázar of Segovia

View from the top of the keep of the Alcázar

In this moment I am quite interested in Spanish Medieval history, particularly in the reign of the Catholic Monarchs, even more particularly in Queen Isabella of Castile, hence visiting the palace where she so often resided was quite a special moment.

“Tanto monta monta tanto Isabel como Fernando.” (‘Equal opposites in balance, Isabella and Ferdinand’)

I really liked Segovia, there are lots of places to see, the very buildings are imbued with history and culture, I was quite sorry to go…

The second day was to be dedicated entirely to Toledo, about one hour far from Madrid by bus. The weather wasn’t really nice when I got there, it even rained when I was in the Alcázar, visiting the Army Museum, but it got better as the day progressed and I left, at the end of the day, under a scorching sun.

The historical centre of Toledo as seen from the bell towers of the church of St. Ildephonsus, with the Cathedral (on the right) and the Alcázar (on the left)

I visited the Cathedral, one of the three 13^th-century Gothic cathedrals of the country, together with León’s and Burgos’, and the abovementioned Alcázar. Had I been more interested in military history I would have surely enjoyed the latter more, but the architecture of the building, both on the inside and the outside, and the views from its terraces made it a nice visit.

The Alcázar of Toledo, now housing the Castilla-La Mancha Regional Library and the Museum of the Army.

The most enjoyable part of the visit, though, was probably just walking along the streets of the centre, in spite of sudden outbursts of heavy rain and large student and tourist groups.

I got back to Madrid and didn’t even go home, as Stefano had planned to pick me up at the station and leave immediately for Salamanca. We drove almost in the dark, which meant that the first view of the city was an amazing skyline, with lights and, standing out against the black sky, the cathedral. I didn’t get the chance to take a picture, but this one I found on the internet is exactly what I saw:

Salamanca by night

We had the chance to meet some friends, Flo and Harriet, in a nice pub with good music, although I think I was perhaps too tired to enjoy it to the full. The evening and following day were entirely spent visiting Salamanca:

Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor

The Cathedral of Salamanca

The Roman bridge

Library of the University of Salamanca

Then, on Saturday, we went to Medina del Campo…

Castillo de la Mota

Queen Isabella’s Palacio Real Testamentario (‘Royal Palace of the Last Will’)

… Tordesillas …

Statue of Queen Joanna I of Castile, known as Joanna the Mad, mother of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor. Deemed mentally ill in 1506, she was confined in the convent of Santa Clara in Tordesillas, where she remained until her death in 1555.

Casas del Tratado: the palace where, in 1494, the Catholic Monarchs of Castile and Aragon, and John II, King of Portugal, signed the Treaty which established the division of the newly discovered lands outside Europe, following Columbus’ second voyage to the New World.

… and Valladolid.

Plaza Mayor de Valladolid

The very last day was spent first in Arévalo, almost a ghost town (there was literally nobody around, I hope it was because it was Sunday) which I had absolutely wanted to see given its connection to the youth of Isabella of Castile (Stefano was nice enough to indulge me in such a bizarre whim).

Castle of Arévalo

Then the last leg, Ávila, surrounded by  a 2.5 km long wall with 88 towers from which there was a lovely view on the surrounding countryside and rest of the city. The weather was so nice, sunny and windy, so it was even more beautiful to have a walk on the part of the walls and on the towers that were accessible to pedestrians. I had fun trying to imagine where the Farce of Ávila might have taken place back in 1465, since I had been told at the tourist office that it hasn’t been located, but any of the vast, emerald-green fields surrounding the walls might have served the purpose.

The walls of Ávila

Panoramic view of Ávila

So, this was the big trip on the road. A very Isabel de Castilla tour, I have to admit, but I thought, If not now, when? It was the right time to do it. I know I haven’t really described much, and let the photos talk for themselves, but I think pictures are sometimes a lot better than words. It was an amazing trip, just what I needed to recharge my batteries and be ready to face the last four weeks of classes, and then exams, of this long year in Spain. I really can’t wait to write the next post of this blog, after the last exam on 9^th June. Until then, I’ll disappear once again.

Hasta luego, amig@s.

Los cuentos de la peste

And the BAFTA for most unpredictable blogger goes to…

Hello. I’m back. I know, it hasn’t been long since I last wrote, last time I left a two-month hiatus between the posts and now I’m here, writing for the second time in less than two weeks. Even I wasn’t really sure that I would be here again so soon when I wrote “Until the next post, hopefully in less than two months!”. Odd, how these things go. But I have good reasons to be here: something nice and heart-warming, for once, and not just exams and complaining about uni life in Spain.

It all started when I still was in Madrid, during my second, fabulous weekend in the capital with my friends. I mentioned it briefly in my last post, but it’s worth recalling. We were enjoying a lazy stroll in the city centre, close to the Prado, when, suddenly, a poster of a theatre play hanging from a street lamp caught my eye: Los cuentos de la peste.

There was something familiar about it. The man on the right. A face I had already seen somewhere else. “Wait a sec, I know you!” I thought, and then I realised it was a brilliant actor I had seen in my favourite Spanish drama series, Isabel. The character he played in it was arguably the most interesting, a Machiavellian and ambitious archbishop (well, he was more of a politician to be fair) helping the Queen on the way to her throne. I just stood there, mesmerised, for a second, then ran after my friends, who hadn’t noticed anything and kept walking. I had many other things to get distracted with at the time, and places to see with my friends, so I just dismissed the thought of the play with something like “It’s out of the question, coming back here again for the second time in less than two weeks for a theatre play”. I was so, so wrong.

There were so many posters of the play around the city centre that I couldn’t really forget about it. So much so that, when I last wrote on the blog, another trip to the capital seemed like a viable project. The point is, I didn’t think I would ACTUALLY do it. But then, after all, I am soooo changeable.

On Tuesday 17^th, after a French class whose main feature of interest was the announcement that the following lesson, on Friday 20^th, would be cancelled, I started wondering on the possibility of going back again to the capital (French is the only useful class I have on Friday, the English into Spanish translation class is all theory, so IRRELEVANT). I tried to organise everything as efficiently as I could, and on Wednesday night I had my train tickets for the following day. Yes, the following day. Very expensive train tickets, that goes without saying. But I was going to make them worth it. If there’s one person I need to thank for this, for making my amazing little adventure possible, it’s Stefano, whose help and hospitality have been incredible, in spite of me monopolising his free time at such short notice. I couldn’t have done any of this without him, hence I’m immensely grateful.

El Teatro Español

Having the tickets for the theatre play, though, was an entirely different matter. I won’t go into details, all I will say is that I have been extremely lucky in finding a ticket for that night, which, incidentally, was exactly the one when there would be the only Q&A with cast and crew of the entire run. I didn’t know about it, so it was a lovely surprise. After all, the writer of the play, who starred as one of the protagonists as well, was Mario Vargas Llosa, recipient of the 2010 Nobel Prize in Literature, so listening to him talk about his work would be very interesting.

The play in itself was wonderful, rarely have I seen Boccaccio’s Decameron brought to life in this way, so lively, sexy, cheeky, full of joie de vivre. There was no actual wooden stage, it was just like a Roman theatre, with the first rows of the public being very close to the large, oval space where the actors were. I think it made it all quite personal, all close together in a not-so-big space. A theatre play is an experience for the soul, quite intimate and personal in itself, but the setting can definitely help creating the mood for it. Those two hours flew by so quick I almost didn’t realise the time for the Q&A had come.

Inside the theatre

I don’t think I could do justice to what was said there, I listened, sure, but not in the way I’d do at uni, to later critically comment and analyse. I just listened as Vargas Llosa talked about his work, about a decade of work out of love for Boccaccio’s Decameron, about the genesis of the play. I listened to the cast talking about how this experience had somehow created a family out of a group of strangers, something I can personally relate to, since it happened to me last year when I played a role in Un chapeau de paille d’Italie, UEA’s 2014 French play. In short, I felt quite happy my Spanish was good enough not to miss a single word, I only wish I could tell you more.

The Q&A (source: https://twitter.com/piquemen/status/568683773203750912)

It was a rather long Q&A for a theatre play, many people had questions for Vargas Llosa, but it was almost midnight and the theatre had to be closed, so, at 11.40pm, both cast and public rose up and chatted a bit before heading towards the doors. It was then that I thought I didn’t want a second Martin-Freeman-as-Richard-III disappointment, so I just went up to where my favourite actor was, luckily on his own as the rest of the cast had followed Vargas Llosa, and told him he’d been great, that I would gladly come back again if I could, and then, well, I think my voice basically disappeared, I was so nervous. I’m astonished I managed to speak in Spanish, when all my brain desperately craved was switching to either Italian or English. However, he was incredibly nice, he asked my name and whether I was a Spaniard living in Italy, and when I told him it was the other way round he seemed surprised and said I didn’t have an Italian accent in Spanish (no matter what people might say on the point in the future, I have this opinion to cherish and I’m chuffed, case closed). As he signed my ticket, I told him that the character he played in Isabel was my favourite and, again, he looked surprised, I suppose he didn’t expect Italians to know about the series, but smiled. Then, two other girls who were standing by asked for a photo together with him, and he asked me if I wanted to take one too. I could barely speak then, so I just nodded, smiling widely. After that, he gave me a hug, smiled and said bye, heading towards the rest of the cast. As for myself, I walked, well, ran out of the theatre into the square, without even putting my coat on, and it was a chilly evening, mind you. I just didn’t need it. What cared I for colds when my thoughts were entirely elsewhere? For a moment, just a tiny, precious moment in all these long, melancholic Erasmus months, I felt completely, blissfully happy. I almost couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it now, after a week. I tweeted my impressions on the play, got a retweet and now I have a new Twitter follower, which came as a most welcome surprise. I will use Twitter a tiny bit more from now on, I reckon.

Here’s the trailer, so you can have an idea. It’s in Spanish, though.

The rest of the weekend went as smoothly as one could possibly wish, I was in a perfect mood and Madrid seemed even more exciting than usual. I went on my own to the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, an art gallery close to the Prado hosting one of the largest private collections in the world, and then, on Saturday, Stefano and I went to the monastery of El Escorial, a historical royal residence located about 45 kilometres northwest of Madrid. The wind was so strong we could barely walk, but the site was so huge and there were so many rooms and floors that most of our time was spent inside. I was particularly impressed by the library, and by how generally stately and grand the whole structure was. Besides, it was a bright, cloudless sunny day, so the contrast between the grey-white walls and the clear blue sky made it all the more impressive.

El Escorial

On Sunday we didn’t really know what to do, so, together with a new acquaintance, Federica (new for me, she used to be a flatmate of Stefano’s), we went for a walk in the city centre, back to the Royal Palace for an exhibition of portraits on the history of the Spanish monarchy and to the Temple of Debod, an actual Egyptian temple in the heart of the capital.

Temple of Debod

In the end, the only sad thing about this perfect weekend has been having to go back to Atocha Station to leave for Alicante. When you get a taste of a different, more lively lifestyle, such as the one Madrid and, in general, capital cities can offer, it is even harder to get back to a corner of Spain where all you can do has already been done over and over again. If it weren’t for the lovely people I’ve met, living here would be even more mortally dull than it is. But let’s not dwell on the bad parts of this year abroad, however big they might be. I have this weekend’s memories to cherish, and no one can take that away from me, so, for the time being, I’m over the moon and intend to stay here indefinitely.

Until the next post!

xx

Impressioni di febbraio

It’s been a while since the last post. Nearly two months. Time flies. Although I can’t be blamed too much for it, these two months have been quite busy: I went back home the day after I wrote the last post and saw many people I sorely missed (and still do), family, friends, loved ones. Hence, I didn’t really feel like taking care of my virtual life. On top of that, my pc was being repaired, so I was left with my 5-year-old Nokia, which has to be treated with respect and not mistreated with too much FB/Tumblr. I spent much time out with my friends, apart from New Year’s Eve (I’ve developed a repulsion for parties held on this particular night), and shortly before leaving I went to the cinema to watch The Imitation Game (I don’t care about the Golden Globes, the BAFTAs and the Oscars still to come, which will be lost to someone else, it’s still a masterpiece). Needless to say the last days at home were tinged with melancholy, and the first day back here a bit of a trauma, but I had many ways to get distracted: I had a huge family lunch with my friend Ana and her relatives, I had never seen such a big table in a comparatively small sitting room. Tardis technology. Ana’s a Whovian after all, that’s probably because of that. The other distractions haven’t been as nice, to be fair: I studied for my three exams, which went very well, in the end. Even Analysis of French Texts, in which I shamelessly invented an answer or two (invented in style, ça va sans dire, I’m a third-year in a first-year module after all). I’m particularly pleased about German and Spanish into English Translation, the ones that actually matter something to me.

The day after the last exam I flew to England. I can’t even begin to describe what I felt when I landed. I didn’t even care about the cold and the rain, I was just ecstatic at being back once again, albeit for a few days. I went to the Museum of London as soon as I reached the capital, as there was an exhibition I had wanted to see for a VERY long time, and then had a long stroll from Barbican to Trafalgar Square. Not seeing anything in particular, it was well past 5pm and many places of interest had already closed, just enjoying the sensation of coming back to life. There weren’t many people around, so I could enjoy it even more.

Sherlock Holmes: The Man Who Never Lived and Will Never Die

On 22^nd January I went to Norwich and started doing what I had formally come to do, which is, finding a house for next year. In the end, it turned out to be the first one I had seen, which is not far from where I lived last year and close to the bus route. I confess, though, that apart from finding a house, which I had been worrying about for a LONG time, the two best moments of my short stay in Norwich have been being back to my old house, and to UEA. I could see the life I have put on a hiatus for a year as if through a veil: I felt like a ghostly presence, gliding through familiar places, seeing everything, registering sounds and sensations, trying to get a memory which would last for the long months still to pass. I did what I had actually come to do, which is, seeing the people I missed the most, and it was both beautiful and painful, because, even though the year abroad has its advantages, missing home, or the second home, is surely not one of them. Some people I am not even sure when I’ll see them again (not putting an “if”, that’s too drastic, although for the sake of my usual tendency to drama I am very tempted), so I tried to get the most of every instant. I know, I’m being very, very soppy, but I’m not sure I should apologise for that. Sometimes you just want things to lack the usual sharp irony and be naïve for once.

On Saturday 24^th January I had a most lovely day in London with two of the best people I know. We went to the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, then from St Paul’s to Waterloo walking along the Strand (I am 85% sure we saw Tom Baker, or his twin), then to the Tate Britain. After that, we just walked, a 7-mile stroll around the city with a 5 kg rucksack on my back (my legs are still complaining about that). The weather was sunny and perfect and I just wished it would never end. I watched some films in the evening to avoid thinking about the flight back the following day, wrote important things and solved problems. Solving problems meant feeling both wonderful and awful at the same time, an explosive mix of feelings I wouldn’t recommend to anyone, but luckily I had time to get over it. And now I’m fine. Or, rather, I am distracted by more pressing matters, such as frustrating subjects, shitty timetables I’ve managed to make a tiny bit better only yesterday, lots of things to do in general. In short, Spanish-uni student life. My royal self is NOT amused. One good thing, though, is knowing more people than I did in September, so now I’m trying to have a bit (just a bit, not too much) of social life. I’m planning some trips, I’ve already had some and, in general, I want to get as distracted as possible. The more time I spend brooding, the sadder I get, and I don’t need that. Not now that my inner balance is even more fragile than usual.

l spent a most wonderful weekend last week with my friend Veronica, with whom I basically fangirled all the time. She’s been a delightful presence here, a great company breaking the routine of my Spanish life. We even managed to watch the BAFTAs, and curse in all the languages we know for the results. I know that The Theory of Everything is amazing, I watched it, but seriously, that’s taking it a bit too far.

Veronica and I on the Playa del Postiguet (courtesy of Veronica)

Then, last weekend, I was in Madrid with Stefano, Georgia and Nadine, seeing both old and new places and, in general, having great fun. We went to the Reina Sofia Museum, mainly to see Picasso’s Guernica, and then, well, we just walked around the city centre. You really get to understand how lively a capital city can be when you walk down the streets and see all sorts of people, that’s just exciting!

The Four Musketeers in the Parque del Retiro

Plans for the future? Well, trying to get those two commentaries for French done and the dissertation for UEA, then getting the most of the remaining months here. By 1^st March I will have been in Madrid for the last time, there’s a theatre play I absolutely want to see (Los cuentos de la peste, based on Boccaccio’s Decameron, with an actor I particularly like), and there still are Villena, Murcia, Valencia and Sagunto to see. Still determined NOT to go to Benidorm.

I now think that what I had meant to be a short post has become a novel and it’s time to go on with my plans for the evening, namely watching Wolf Hall and perhaps reading a bit of French.

Until the next post, hopefully in less than two months!

The Last Goodbye

I’ve been thinking about writing a post on the end of the semester for a while, and I will do it, sooner or later. An overall opinion of my first term in Spain, the courses, exams, in short, important stuff… which can – and will – wait. As it happens, I’ve just come home from the cinema, where I’ve watched The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies. Being it among the aforementioned obsessions, in spite of the fact that I’m leaving quite early tomorrow (well, today) for Italy, I have to write something about it. I’m too excited to express my thoughts in one long and coherent piece of writing, so I will use my trusted bullet points. I also know I won’t be able to say all I’d like to say, I’ll try to remember as much as I can.

Ps. It goes without saying that this post is dark and full of spoilers, so, if you don’t like them, please stop reading.

• Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage)
  The sequence where Thorin re-emerges from madness and paranoia to be once again his old, honourable self was thrilling, especially thanks to the visual representation of it through the metaphor of the golden vortex with him in the middle.
  The battle on the ice with Azog kept me on edge, I knew what was bound to happen, but I really didn’t want the White Orc to win, it wouldn’t have made sense, it would have been unfair. Thus, the way Thorin defeated him was quite appropriate, and I liked the detail of the frozen waterfalls tinging with blood.
• Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman)
  What can I say? Flawless, from the beginning to the very end. Yes, I know, I’m biased when it comes to MF, so I will try to give reasons. He has often said, in the past, that he can replace several lines of a script with a look, and, once again, he nailed it. His face is like the sky, with the feelings he wants to convey as its clouds: an ever-changing, intense, endless sequence of disbelief, irony, sadness, wonder, cunning… and a tiny bit of sass, his trademark, we might say (i.e. the scene in the tent with Gandalf, Thranduil and Bard). I have no words to describe the moment when he mourned Thorin’s death on the ice (it reminded me of another scene where he mourned the death of a friend, but perhaps that’s just my obsession talking), or when he bid the Dwarves farewell, or returned to Bag End to his life, which, as Gandalf had foreseen, “would never be the same”. Then, we hear the theme of the One Ring, and we know it’s not over. At all.
• Closing the ring (pun intended): it started with Ian Holm on the day of Bilbo’s birthday, so it seems to me more than appropriate for it to end with our now 111-year-old hobbit seeing Gandalf again, after all those years. And seeing Bag End restored to its former splendour, as we see it in LotR, was heartening.
• Legolas (Orlando Bloom)
  A badass elf prince defying gravity and the laws of physics. More than once, when he was fighting Bolg, I wondered, “Isn’t what he just did a tiny bit too much to be realistic, even for him?”, but then I thought, “Nah. He’s Legolas, he can do things ordinary mortals (and elves) couldn’t even dream of”. Besides, his love for Tauriel is delightfully intense (the scene where he confronts his father is perhaps the best example), and it was touching  to hear Thranduil speak about his beloved wife and her love for their son.
• Elrond (Hugo Weaving), Saruman (Christopher Lee) and Galadriel (Cate Blanchett)
  The fight in Dol Guldur against the spirit of Sauron and the Nazgûl was… wow. Brief glimpse of Galadriel’s true powers at the beginning (she’s the most powerful of the Eldar remaining in Middle-Earth in the Third Age, after all), then we see her like we’ve (almost) never seen her before, displaying them to the full. Elrond and Saruman coming to the rescue were great to watch, but then the latter said, “Leave Sauron to me.” My thoughts immediately went to LotR and I wondered if the corruption of his soul had started there. I should go back to the LotR Appendix and check.
• Tauriel (Evangeline Lilly)
  I know many people don’t like Tauriel, but, honestly, right now, I couldn’t disagree more. I never disliked her character, although it seemed it had been put there only for the sake of the presence of a love affair; it might as well have been so, but seeing her inner struggle between leaving Kili to his people and fulfilling her duty, which she then did by riding north with Legolas to discover the plans of the enemy, was positively endearing to me. Besides, it was heartbreaking to see her mourn the death of Kili and beg Thranduil to put an end to her sorrow.
• Thranduil (Lee Pace)
  The Elvenking with a frozen heart turned out not to be frozen-hearted at all. Hearing him mention his wife explained quite a few things about his past choices, the fierce protection of his realm and so on, and I think I hardly managed to stifle a sob when he acknowledged Tauriel’s love had been true, and hence it hurt even more then, with her being alone, just like Thranduil himself.
  Ps. I should perhaps mention how majestic he looked, riding his elk to fight the orcs.
• Kili (Aidan Turner) and Fili (Dean O’Gorman), dying like heroes to protect their loved ones; I am a bit sorry, though, that Fili didn’t get as much attention as Kili did, he deserved more. However, the final sequence of the deaths of the heirs of Durin made me cry. A lot. I’m glad I was almost alone in the cinema.
  Gwaihir’s eagles came once again to the rescue, thanks to the intervention of Radagast (Sylvester McCoy) and they were very welcome to do so. The same can be said for Beorn (Mikael Persbrandt).
• Random memories:
  • Bard (Luke Evans), finally showing to the people of Esgaroth how a true leader, and a good father, should be.
  • Dwalin (Graham McTavish), proving himself to be not only a fierce warrior, but a genuinely caring relative towards his kin.
  • Gandalf (Ian McKellen), whose portrayal of the character needs no further description, exceptional as per usual;
  • My heart missed a beat when they mentioned Aragorn. Just saying.
  • Last, but not least, Smaug (Benedict Cumberbatch). It was but a brief appearance, as it should be (luckily for the people of Lake-town), but I enjoyed it anyway. His final seconds were a very emotional moment for Bard and his son Bain (John Bell), and the way he fell into the lake reminded me of Voldemort’s death in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the way he hit the floor (well, water) “with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken”, like an empty shell.

I am sure that many more memories will come to mind later, but for the time being I think I’ve said most of what I wanted to say. In a day or two I might think this wasn’t the best movie I’ve ever watched, or any other superlative definition I could come up with, but it is, without a doubt, joining the rest of the saga in my heart, and I can safely say that means it’s forever.

Seven is a magic number: who I am in seven obsessions

This time, I decided to write something a bit different.

I’ve realised that all of my posts are dedicated to the year abroad, which is fine, considering this was the purpose: what I do here, trips, university, nice photos and, mainly, lots of complaining. In short, all very nice slash fun, but it could be anyone writing. And, after all, this is my blog. My friends more or less know me, but I want to leave something behind, something that, in 40 or 50 years’ time (hopefully), I could look back to, to remember how I was, my obsessions interests, in short what made my 21-year-old self… myself.

I might regret writing this, so let’s write while I’m still in the mood. Films, books, tv series, mainly. I don’t need much, really. That and a good internet connection, otherwise I might freak out. (Katy called it my need for an “internet fix”, how true…)

1. Harry Potter

I can’t even begin to describe how big an impact this series had had on my life, especially the books. I received a copy of the Italian translation of the Philosopher’s Stone on my eighth birthday, a lovely gift by my friend Giulia, so it’s been 13 years now, almost 14. I didn’t know this then, of course, but I am now fully aware that a chain of events started then, leading to myself attending a British university and, probably, if everything goes as planned, spending the rest of my life in the UK. I learnt first proper Italian with the translation, and English the way I know it, which I suppose isn’t that bad, thanks to the original. It’s the book I always turn to when I’m upset, when I’m sad and nothing else works. Besides, I don’t know what came first, liking Hermione or growing up to be like her. There’s no literary character I’ve ever felt this close to. I’m not as remotely intelligent as she is, of course, and she’s far braver, but her decisions could be mine, the way she deals with feelings, the willingness to learn, her inner strength and her frailties… Plus, she’s a badass.

I might not always think about Harry Potter, in fact I might not think about it for months, but then, all of a sudden, memories come back from the past and I realise how big it has been. And the best thing about it is that I’m not the only one. Harry Potter has been the highlight of my generation, and of this I’m very proud.

2. The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit

The other huge part of my childhood, that’s what Tolkien’s world has been to me. The Lord of the Rings is a tale of epic proportions, together with film trilogy, which, to be honest, came first. I had tried reading the book by myself when I was 8, but it was maybe too early. I set things right at 12 and now Middle Earth is a world I wouldn’t be able to leave even if I could: it is the archetype of fantasy, but there’s so much more. History, a language created from scratch, poetry and universal values, that’s what makes this story so special to me. On a side note, Eowyn is badass as well.

The Hobbit has not marked my childhood, of course, but I see it as a natural continuation of my LotR love, albeit as a prequel. I think a tiny but persistent crush on Martin Freeman is due to this film. And it was partly thanks to this that I got to obsession n.3.

3. Sherlock

You know those moments when your life completely changes? That’s basically what happened to my 19-year-old self in the evening of 27^th January 2013. My friend Ana had told me: “Have you watched BBC Sherlock? I think you might like it.” And she didn’t know how big an understatement that was, although I don’t know how I got to be this hopelessly devoted to this show. It has honestly been a turning point in my interests: I love how witty the plot of the episodes is, the depth of the psychological characterisation of protagonists and secondary characters alike, the numerous and clever winks to the Canon and the complex nature of John and Sherlock’s relationship (I will just leave it there on this particular point…). Hermione is, after all, a young Sherlock Holmes (maybe that’s why I love both to bits), a huge part of crime fiction literature derives from A. C. Doyle’s creation, and that’s mainly thanks to Sherlock that I got interested into certain specific social themes. I’m not sure that was exactly the point of the show (although I could give a thousand reasons why it would be the second endgame), but that’s the result. Together with a huge, undying crush on Benedict Cumberbatch.

4. Doctor Who

Ana’s second big mistake was telling me about Doctor Who and how amazing it was. I knew it was a very big part of British popular culture, so I was bound to watch it sooner or later, but I couldn’t imagine how it would grow on me, how fond I would become of it. I loved the first four series, basically the R. T. Davies era, and I have a very difficult and ambiguous position on the Moffat era (Moff, please, go back to Sherlock, I like you better as a writer than as a showrunner). I like how sci-fi and the human, emotional side of the characters manage to coexist here. Love, friendship, courage and an awful lot of humour, what else could I desire? (The little crush on David Tennant goes without saying)

5. Downton Abbey

I started watching this series last summer because my mum, who’s not the average soap-opera viewer (I doubt she ever watched an episode of The Bold and the Beautiful, which is unfortunately very popular in Italy, and I don’t think she’d ever want to know about British soaps) literally loved Downton to bits, and this made me curious. I watched the first episode and I was interested. I watched the second and I quite enjoyed it. From the third onwards, I was completely hooked. And so it happened that I got to the end of series five a few weeks ago (it premiered on ITV on 21^st September 2014). Romance, social classes either co-existing or clashing, this is a period drama with all the characteristics of its genre, but with unexpected plot twists, lavish costumes and a stunning Hampshire manor as the main set.

6. A Song of Ice and Fire

Violent, brutal, realistic, but with remarkable character psychological analysis and development, ASoIaF is a rougher, more down-to-earth homage to The Lord of the Rings. The plot is incredibly varied and complex, although the huge quantity of names that seems to trouble the majority of the fans has never really bothered me. The narration, split into points of view for each character, is quite interesting, and there’s a wide variety of well-developed female characters of every age and social class. My favourite character is Tyrion, the young dwarf whose weapon lies in his wit. I liked the first TV series, Game of Thrones, whilst the others were too much of a fanfiction of the books, so I watched, but didn’t get myself too involved with the fandom and the shooting of the new series. I’m waiting for the 6^th book, but I don’t know what will come first, this or Sherlock series 4.

7. European history

There’s not much to say about this: I’ve always loved history, ever since I was a little girl. One of the first books I read was Mino Milani’s The Story of Henry VIII and His Six Wives, which made thi kings life and achievements very appealing to children, and then, well, historical films, period drama and reading of biographies. My favourite is Carolly Erickson’s The First Elizabeth, but there have been many others. If it weren’t for the fact that it weighs at least 1 kg, I’d have brought my Françoise Hildesheimer’s Richelieu, but, alas, it seems clothes and French grammar books were more important items to bring to Spain. In my opinion, biographies of people who lived in a certain historical period can help us understand a lot more about history than schoolbooks, which are indispensable, sure, but lack the passion, the feeling and the logic, and, sometimes, the motivation behind every act that ever happened in history.

The Pomegranate and the Bear and Tree: Granada and Madrid

7.39 pm. I’m on a high-speed train from Madrid to Alicante and I’ve realised I have more than two hours to write a new post. More than two hours to write about two of the happiest weekends of my Spanish stay. More than two hours to try to get rid of this awful sensation of dread slowly taking hold of my soul. Writing has always been cathartic for me. Let’s see if it works this time, once again.

Last week, on Saturday 15^th November, my mum came to visit. Apart from being glad to be together again for a few days, her arrival also meant something else: a 700-km day trip to Granada. We left directly from Alicante airport and travelled through all sorts of Murcian and Andalusian landscapes towards the beautiful capital of Andalusia. It was a cold, bright sunny day, not a cloud to be seen, and we easily got to the Alhambra, the purpose of our trip.

Entrance of the Alhambra

The palace, built in the 11^th century by the emirs of Granada, is situated on the top of a mountain, surrounded by woods and splendid gardens and fountains. Such a position grants a breathtaking view on the city, more specifically on the Albayzín, the district with narrow, winding streets of Moorish origin. Here it is:

The Albayzín seen from the Alhambra

Every room’s walls are finely engraved and there are columns, arches and vaults as far as the eye can see, which create striking optical effects leading to see the space as much bigger than it actually is. Water is an ever-present element in this place, as it was often the case in Moorish palaces.

Example of decoration of the Alhambra

Patio de los Arrayanes

Patio de los Arrayanes (II)

The central court

A particularly stunning star-shaped engraved chapel ceiling

My mum was very happy to see it again, as she had already been there in the early 1990s, and, although she had seen it in summer, with all the flowers in bloom, she enjoyed it, and so did I. I had desired to see the Alhambra for years, even more so during the second year at UEA, when we had to translate passages from a book which was partially set here (Tariq Ali’s Shadows of the Pomegranate Tree, which will sound awfully familiar to the majority of my colleagues), as part of the Spanish course. I can honestly say that it was worth such a long journey, and Granada has much to offer as well: for example, there’s the Cathedral, with the Royal Chapel with the tombs of the Catholic Kings, Isabel of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon, of their daughter, Joanna of Castile (unfairly known as Joanna the Mad), and her husband, Philip the Handsome. I have a rather strong interest in the figures of Isabel and Joanna, hence it was with a sort of reverential awe that I went into the chapel. A bit like entering Westminster Abbey.

The rest of my weekend with mum was marked by nice chats in Italian (I sometimes don’t realise how much I get to miss my mother tongue), long strolls by the sea on the Esplanada, and studying for a bloody French exam that turned out to be one of the most surreal I’ve ever had, as I’ve already said elsewhere. Mum left on Tuesday. I never thought I would say it, but every time I see my parents, or my friends, I realise there will always be a part of Italy I will never not miss when I am away. Especially now that I’m not in England. England is a second home, the country I’ve chosen for my life, where I can be myself. Spain isn’t. Don’t get me wrong, it’s lovely here, people couldn’t be nicer to me, the weather is mild and it’s incredibly useful to speak Spanish every day in everyday situations, but… it’s not my place.

I had another exam on Thursday, a Spanish culture, vocabulary and grammar test with which the course is finally over (4 hours less per week, yay!). The essay topic was particularly interesting (“Do you support LGBT adoption?”), so I daresay it was ok, I’m not worried about the result. Not that it matters, anyway.

On Friday I ran away from UA as soon as my translation class was over to catch the 20.10 train to Madrid. I arrived at Puerta de Atocha Station on time to find my friends Gemma and Stefano waiting for me outside. I swear the best moment of a journey is arriving and finally seeing again the people you’ve missed for a long time. I know, they were here not a month ago, but it seemed like it had been ages. I immediately decided that Atocha looked more like an airport than a railway station, and without Stefano and Gemma I might have easily got lost. We celebrated my arrival by having a late dinner (it was well past 11 pm) at the nearby Cien Montaditos (it’s everywhere!) and resolved to meet the following day at 2 pm, to fetch Georgia, who would be arriving then by bus from Santander.

The following morning I translated a bit of my homework for tomorrow(I know, I am a very depressing human being), which I didn’t finish anyway (I managed to do so at the end of the day, working until 4 am, what a nightmare!), then we caught the metro to meet Georgia and subsequently went to the Prado Museum, one of the must-see of the capital in my opinion. It reminded me both of the National Gallery and the Louvre in Paris and there were many works by artists I had studied and loved: Titian, Caravaggio, Raphael, El Greco, the Carracci cousins and many more. The one I had particularly been looking forward to was a very famous portrait of Queen Mary Tudor by Anthonis Mor, it was great to finally see it in person.

The Prado Museum

After the Prado we had tapas and went on the terrace of the Corte Inglés close to the Gran Vía to have a look at the Madrid skyline: stunning. We then had a long walk before dinner: the Opera, the Palacio Real, the Italian Embassy and the Plaza Mayor. We had dinner at a Thai restaurant (delicious!) off the calle Arenal, and, sitting by the window, I had more than enough time to observe the people on the street, bustling in and out of restaurants, bars and shops, laughing, chatting. In that moment it struck me how much I had missed all that: the huge, anonymous, lively crowds in which, if you know how, you can move like a shadow, unseen, unheard, towards your destination. I like the idea of being an invisible presence if I so wish, it has always been a peculiar and strangely appealing thought.

Palacio Real (side)

Madrid skyline from the Corte Inglés

Madrid is a very lively city, I have been there but for a weekend and I already get the impression that it’s impossible to get bored. Also, there’s plenty to see for every kind of tourist: this morning we went to the Palacio Real, a spectacular visit: the elegance, the splendour, the power expressed by each of the owners during centuries in those stately rooms, crafted with art and skill, will never cease to amaze me.

Palacio Real

After that, we had a long walk in the city centre, then a quick snack and a stroll in the Retiro Park, where we had fun “deducing people”. I know, I might be strongly biased in my choice of expression, but that’s exactly what it was: we invented the most absurd stories about passers-by, who they were and their relationships to each other.

– “Those two have known each other for a while, but she’s not yet sure of her feelings.”

– “Those three: clearly a couple and a third weel.” “How bad.”

– “What about those four? The guy with the three girls?” “Oh, no, those are just mates.” “I really don’t like his jumper, I would never wear such a thing.” “Nope, it looks like a Christmas jumper.”

And so on. Memories and thoughts came to mind, of last year, of travels past and gone, and I wished it would never end.

Parque del Retiro

Alas, as my favourite French play said, “c’était divin, mais les plus doux plaisirs doivent avoir leur fin”, even the sweetest pleasures have to get to an end. So it was that, after a very tasty cup of hot chocolate with churros in a bar off Puerta del Sol and a hurried trip home to fetch my bag, we returned to Puerta de Atocha so that I could get my train back to Alicante. I swear the worst moment of a journey is leaving, not knowing when you’ll see your friends again. Back to uni, to my wonderful courses. How charming.

It’s now 9.47 pm, the train has reached Alicante and I’ve finished this post. Uni starts early tomorrow, so I’d better go home, have dinner and very quickly post this, because otherwise I will never get up on time.

Until the next update, who knows when.

Adiós, amigos!

After an unusually amazing weekend…

Here I am again, after two and a half amazing days spent with some of my dearest friends: Gemma, Georgia and Stefano came from the north of Spain (well, compared to Alicante, many places are “north”, even the central Madrid; Santander, however, is undeniably “north”) to stay with us for the weekend and we’ve had a great time, I already can’t wait for the next LCS reunion. 😀

We went to the beach on Saturday afternoon (I managed to fall asleep whilst sunbathing, listening to Cabin Pressure: still have got to listen to half an episode – Xinzhou – and get over a slight sunburn), to Santa Barbara’s Castle and to the city centre. We had dinner at an Indian restaurant by the sea on the first evening, renounced to a Chinese dinner and had Italian instead on the second (my spaghetti alla carbonara were kind of acceptable, but my friends were quite happy with their Vesuvio pizzas, so I guess it was satisfying overall), and had many ice-creams in between. I even tried a flavour called Magna Graecia, with extra-virgin olive oil and laurel, oddly delicious.

At the castle (courtesy of Georgia)

 

At the New Delhi Indian restaurant on the Esplanada in Alicante (courtesy of Gemma)

This weekend has been long and nice, and it’s a pity that a new week is about to start, with the usual Monday 8am French class. I am happy to have a routine and to know what to expect from the courses, to have a fixed timetable, but I always crave for the weekends, seeing other people, doing something different, unexpected. In short, doing what I like the most. I sort of enjoy the courses I’ve chosen, some more than others, but a bit more time to engage in activities I actually enjoy would be quite appreciated. Frankly, I’d prefer to read Harry Potter in Spanish rather than Garcia Márquez’s Relato de un naufrago, but, as it is, I finished the latter, which I was supposed to read for my Spanish course for mid-November, at warp speed, whilst Harry Potter is still waiting on my bedside table. Why they need more than 20 contact hours I will never understand (and in Italy it’s even worse, probably, so I’ll be careful not to complain too much on this blog)…

Sometimes, though, you have unexpected breaks from the routine: last Monday my dear friend Christine came to visit, it was a great surprise and I loved it, it’s always nice to catch up with friends you haven’t seen in a while. Same can be said for Ana, the loveliest person in the world without whom I probably wouldn’t be here, who came for a week from Germany and left again on Saturday (I already miss you Anita, please come back, those German little devils at that school don’t deserve you).

With Ana

With Christine

However, given that I can’t always expect people to surprise me and cheer me up, I have come up with some plans for the next weeks. My mum is coming on 15^th November and we’re going to Granada, I’ve already booked the tickets for the Alhambra! I honestly can’t wait, I am very curious to go and see, and it’ll be easier than going on my own by train, because we’ll be driving there. Then, after that, we’re planning another LCS Spanish weekend, perhaps in November, in Madrid. If “Paris is well worth a mass”, then Madrid is perhaps worth a €100 return ticket. It definitely is, at least for my friends. In this moment, Georgia is still here, but Gemma and Stefano have already left and I miss them an awful lot. Beware, Madrid, I’m on my way!

In the meantime, for my long evenings here, given that it’s starting to be a bit chilly in the evening and, anyway, going out is not really my cup of tea most of the time, I have enough books/epub files to keep me busy, and many, MANY tv series and films. I still have to finish Elementary, but the lack of a story arc makes me less and less willing to continue as the story goes on. I’ll watch my beloved Sherlock in Spanish just for exercise (although it’s so, SO odd, it makes me cringe at times) and, then, relax with Downton Abbey, The Great Fire and Isabel. Doctor Who‘s finale is about to unveil and it looks epic judging by the trailer. Let’s just hope it’ll finally be worth it, this series has been a giant question mark since the very beginning, apart from Peter Capaldi’s great interpretation of the Doctor and Jenna Coleman’s of Clara (although, personally, I don’t really like/know what to make of the character).

I’ll write back when I have some news, and possibly some nice photos of the Alhambra.

¡Hasta pronto!