If you didn’t know, I’m in Brazil. São Paulo, to be more precise. There’s a metaphor somewhere in the fact that I spent eight months in a Roman colony and now have moved four hours behind England. Unsurprisingly, as has become part and parcel for my life recently, it’s not as exciting as it sounds or as it could be. Things are as they have been since October, in the sense that I am more or less alone, enjoying things as much as I can and knowing that there’s a bigger picture at play than the ones I’ve seen in art galleries.

Travelling so far (5,878 miles and 11hrs and 25mins, to be precise) to be alone is pretty tough at times. There’s something paradoxical about going to a museum by myself so I don’t spend time on my own. The modern art museum that I went to was impressive, in the middle of São Paulo’s equivalent to Hyde Park, but it was a bit like watching the final season of Game of Thrones alone, so thought-provoking at times that I needed someone to share my thoughts with. I went to the ‘sunset square’ as well, which was relatively impressive but I decided to leave when people started applauding the sun going down.

Understandably in a city with a population of 12 million you might be wondering how successful my search for friends has been, and whether or not it’s comparable to living in a city of 60,000. In short so far, it is comparable. It’s more difficult than I was hoping, but then I’m pretty out of practice these days so in hindsight that’s to be expected. It’s easy for people to say and to suggest going to a bar or a hostel for a drink, but doing that on your own is another thing. I enjoy lonely lagers with a book and I’ve got so used to it that I’ve become the type of person who now isn’t going to go up and speak to people at random, even if it’s a last resort. Sadly in my case it also has to be a first resort.

One evening I did go to an Italian. They did this weird thing where they mixed the spaghetti and the sauce in what I can only describe as a parmesan husk, it was about 50cm deep and strongly cheesy. Like you know how parmesan is before it is chopped into that convenient little triangle in Tesco, we’re talking factory parmesan. It was actually pretty innovative, and I’d not seen anything like it before, but I understood why when I tasted the pasta. I’ll leave the description at fermented.

They also do this ‘food’ called farofa with what seems like every meal. A quick google tells me it’s toasted cassava or cornflour mix. I had to google it because on taste I was rendered speechless for more than one reason. It’s often served with banana, which doesn’t make any difference. The stuff is like one of the Killers’ lesser-known albums. Sawdust. Farofa dries out your mouth and sticks your teeth to your lips as soon as you take it off the fork – leaving you unable to continue the conversation you were having (luckily in my case this hasn’t happened too frequently). Brazil does do excellent fresh fruit and veg, unsurprisingly. Some of the most exotic stuff I’ve ever tried. Big and green and orange and avocados the size of your head. Problem is I shouldn’t really need to write about how great Brazil’s fruit and veg is but if things had worked out differently then I’m sure I’d have clubs and drinks to recommend other than the bar on the corner called Choperia and an APA called Jupiter.

Living abroad does also make you realise just how good London’s underground system is. Being able to pay by contactless is underground-breaking. The metro here is efficient, undoubtedly. It’s a shame you have to wait for every third train because it’s so busy in the mornings. It’s amazingly clean for the amount of people that use it, but designing a metro that only has about four stops where it’s possible to change line seems truly bonkers. As long as you only need one line, it’s faultless, much like my social skills.

All in all, I feel like São Paulo has got a lot to offer, and it’s certainly a case of making the most of it while I’m here, as difficult as that might be at times. No promises that the next instalment will be any more exciting, though.

Até logo,

Bill x

My time in Spain has drifted towards an end really. A lot of cancelled lessons and sun-dodging. To think I’ve spent eight months here is strange, because it’s both flown by and dragged on. I’ve gained some vital work experience, undoubtedly, I’m just not sure how many jobs I’ll find which can cater to a 12-hour week and three-day weekend.

People say that a year abroad is one of the most amazing experiences of your life and that you learn so much – I only doubt this a bit. It’s a shame that I reckon most of what I’ve learnt can be placed directly in the bastion of underachievement along with my GCSE grades and wasted piano ability. Using over 30 metres of tin foil (some say wastage, others say recyclable); collecting 10 euros in 10 and 20 cents coins; and walking at least five kilometres a day.

Overall, teaching has been fun. Whether or not it’s gone successfully or not is yet to be determined but I’ve certainly given my all when explaining about vertebrates in Britain or different ways of generating electricity. Pinocchio would be proud. Is it really my fault that they don’t know the difference between ‘e’ and ‘i’ when I’m dictating how to spell a word? They’ve been learning it since they were five for crying out loud, which they also do a lot of in class.

Spain is a superb country. It’s got so much going for it and without doubt I would say I’m glad I’ve spent a long period of time here, the country, that is, not the city of Mérida. Although you’d find more life in a cadaver than after 9pm in Mérida, and as such my social interactions have been greatly limited, the few people and teachers who I have met would be certain to welcome me back here any time. I always make sure I employ the Spanish subjunctive tense or ‘mood’ when they ask however, given that there is a high level of doubt and uncertainty that I will return here specifically. It’s definitely an option for a retirement home, mind.

I had a conversation with a teacher recently about how, in a way, I should bear some responsibility for not having done more to meet people and make friends, I do understand it – everyone should take responsibility for their actions. I am genuine when I say I don’t actually really regret choosing to spend my year abroad here, but I did envisage slightly more than 68.16 people per square kilometre when selecting ‘city in Extremadura’. Hindsight might make me want to change where I went, but it can’t make up for my lack of small talk when I do encounter somebody. At least now I have scientific proof that making friends is difficult, and I shouldn’t blame myself. Not that I really was, my own company is great – why else would I be writing this?

For sake of comparison (and to aid my argument, of course) Oxford has a population density of 3,270 people per square kilometre, and Nottingham 4,073 people. The weird thing is that whenever I go for a drink with Aiden we both still remark about how quiet it is, even though we’re both fully aware of the above statistic. It’s not that nobody between 18 and 30 lives here, it’s just that every time you look in a bar, hairdresser’s, or frankly anywhere, you see grey hair and people shuffling (not the dance, the walk). The best compliment I can pay the place is that its tourist attractions seem to be aimed at people over 60, so maybe in a way it is achieving something. Shame it can also go in the bastion of underachievement. I wouldn’t double-take if someone said they were born in a year BC.

I also keep being told that it’s not really that hot at the moment (it’s 26 degrees most evenings) and that in the summer I won’t be able to cope. I just reply that luckily I won’t be here to find out, which isn’t incorrect. However it mainly gives me a convenient ‘excuse’ for saying why it’s a good thing I’m returning home at the end of May.

I suppose in summation I’m probably not the best character reference for this place. I’ll leave that to the kids I teach, who when asked about what they did at the weekend they say they ‘went to the countryside’ or ‘to their village’. I thought I did have a house in the countryside but clearly if I had then I wouldn’t need my fingers to count how many new phone contacts I’ve got since October.

Hasta luego,

Bill x

(These photos are not in Mérida) I also went to Salamanca

Searching for some friends

More football

If pre-drinking on your own counts as a social activity, then my social life is riveting. I did get Alexa over Christmas though, so now if I ever miss the home environment I can just ask her to launch insults at me.

My life pretty much consists of weekends now. Monday-Thursday is about five hours of teaching each day, of varying degrees of difficulty. Try and get a group of 15-year-olds to pronounce ‘hypotenuse’, let alone understand what it actually means, and you might begin to understand the variation I’m on about. Then I’ll be doing a presentation on British weather to 11-year-olds and make jokes about how it is always grey and rainy in England, only for them not to know what grey or rainy means, or even where England is.

That being said, weekends make up for it without a doubt of a shadow. I’ve only spent one weekend of the last four in Mérida. It’s not that there’s nothing to do, it’s just that I don’t think washing and tidying are plans for a weekend when you’re 21. An induction hob can only get so shiny. Anyway, I’ve spent a weekend in each of Seville, Barcelona and Ciudad Rodrigo. That’s not the order of how good they were, it’s the order starting with which one I went to first.

Seville was easy. Two hours on the bus, on Spanish roads as quiet as my one-man flat, and I’d arrived. It’s a really nice place, and has a proper city feeling. I don’t know if I’m just saying this because I now have a bit of a warped sense of city-life, given that I live in one, supposedly, and yet it is invariably called a pueblo by most who live here. Airbnb is truly a great modern invention, and at this time of year – off-season, I believe it’s called – we managed to land quite a tidy one for not very much money. I went to a gay club for the first time, which was great. In my, albeit limited, experience, gay people have always been really friendly, as have Spanish people. Thus, gay Spanish people were probably the nicest people I’ve ever met. Seville also has possibly the only fully vegetarian tourist attraction I’ve come across, named the setas, and more commonly known as the mushroom. For this reason, I enjoyed it. Apart from that, I also found out, reluctantly at first, that gin and tonics are a great drink, both refreshingly enjoyable and more than excellent value in Spain. Don’t say I’m out here not appreciating the finer Spanish lifestyle.

Barcelona wasn’t easy. After a combination of four modes of transport over nine hours; I arrived. A bus at one in the morning to Madrid and a flight from Madrid at nine was not my ideal night in/out, but it does come in ahead of pre-drinking alone. After the discovery in Seville that Cava was both extortionately cheap and a great celebratory drink (admittedly this fact was not discovered by us, last weekend), it was one of only a few things we picked up at the supermarket. I also came across turmeric, which I’ve been looking for ever since arriving in Mérida but reluctantly thought that I’d have become a bit/lot (delete as applicable) of a sad man if my highlight of the weekend was seeing that lovely yellow spice. Barcelona also had a proper city-feel (you see what I’m getting at, I’m sure) and I’m glad I’ll be able to compare some before/after photos of the Sagrada Família, if they ever finish it. There’s something incredibly frustrating about people not appreciating foreign culture. How we ended up in an Italian restaurant is a reason known only to Will Curtis, or why eating after 10pm is an issue (again, Curtis) but I’m glad that it was only a weekend, and not a week away, because we would’ve probably come to blows.

Moving briefly onto Ciudad Rodrigo, I spent it with some family friends, who comfortably out-aged me at least 2:1 and comfortably out-drank me 100:1. It’s another pueblo, so I felt right at home almost immediately. On some levels it was educational, I’m just not sure which levels. I know I speak a lot about toilets, but there was a true pinch yourself moment that the country you’re living in can’t honestly be as backwards as it is (see below). My small talk isn’t great, it gets worse in Spanish. Usually it starts and ends with ‘how long have you been living here for?’. After that, I just nod and say ‘ahh, sí’ a lot, feeling much like I’ve just asked a student if the example sentence is affirmative, negative or a question and they say ‘yes, yes’. There’s nothing like making small talk on a tour of 20-foot high city walls at four in the morning. One of us might have felt like throwing themselves over them – and I’m sure my small talk could take most of the blame.

Hasta luego,

Bill x

Sagrada Família, before

Sagrada Família, before

In a way, I’m entering the final week of the first part of my year abroad. The excitement about the thought of returning to England is genuine, so it’ll be a massive disappointment when Joshua doesn’t even get off the PS4 to say hello to me. There’s a lot that I’ve missed while being out the country, but mainly a manoeuvrable pillow (not these long things akin to swimming noodles), the ability to determine whether the toilets are male or female and a social life are top of my list.

I’ve learnt a lot since coming to Europe, but the main takeaway (Chinese is the most overrated) is that our country is more of a laughing stock than Helium-infused OXO. Theresa, sort it out would you? It’s a shame really, because Spaniards and Portuguese are just lovely and always have time for you. A quick hello in the corridor turns into a longer chat, much to the detriment of the kids who I’m trying to teach. But alas, I’m here to improve my Spanish so their conversations about what room they’d like to book in a hotel can wait. I’ve also got used to not being understood at all, invariably the kids answer ‘yes’ to whatever I’ve asked, which I’m not sure about as a general policy in life.

I went to a club recently (I say ‘a’, it should be ‘the’ as it is the only one in Mérida) and it’s called Diversis. The name is an odd choice given that it is full of white people aged 18-25, only plays reggaeton music and serves a choice of two alcoholic drinks, but it is highly possible that for Extremadura this is indeed diversity in action.  It’s a far cry from Question Time having a female host, I’ll tell you that. My ID is a fairly old photo, and the bouncer was at first sceptical. I presumed he was going to ask me to prove that it was me, but instead decided to enquire about my rugby-playing ability, which last time I checked isn’t indicated on my ID and so was only a logical question to ask.

In amongst all that excitement, I did celebrate my 21st birthday and thank you to Pops for coming out here to join me. It would’ve been a lonely day on my own, so I was glad to be able to share what will soon be consigned as another day in Mérida with him. One of the best things he brought was a bag of celebrations, which I promptly put into a pyrex dish and on the living room table. Thus it enabled me to turn my studio-apartment-without-any-doors-apart-from-the-toilet into a real home. It’s the little chocolate things.

One great addition to my life has been private tutoring, if you can call it that. It’s a bit of a strange situation in which a lot of the time I’m being paid to ask kids questions and encourage them to talk, but often for the hour duration they’re too shy/don’t have the ability to express themselves as they like or just keep answering yes and then looking at me like I’ve just explained how eating dinner at 5PM can seem normal for some people. I may not be the oracle I think I am, but rest assured to these kids I’m a fountain of knowledge. Ego: boosted. It is, in effect, an hour of me talking to myself for which there is  financial reward – which is great considering I have to do it unpaid at home so often. I remember being told a fair few years ago (and I can’t confirm the accuracy of the claim) that talking to yourself is one of the signs of madness, but I hope for me that it comes from a complete lack of alternatives, which isn’t such a bad diagnosis. It’s also one without much remedy here, which bodes less well for post-Christmas. This is basically a long way round to saying that I keep being given seeds whenever I go shopping and so in the Spring I cannot wait to be able to plant these and see what wonders will be produced.

All in all, that’s been about it. If you managed to get this far, and have read the other blogs, then thanks a lot and I hope your life has more going on than mine and that you don’t find the need to write a blog about nothing happening.

Feliz Navidad,

Bill x

Spanish schools don’t have half term. It’s a bit long to be honest, and takes getting used to. They do, however, have this thing called ‘puentes’. There’ll be a public holiday which falls on a Wednesday or a Thursday, for example, and they just sack off the rest of the week. I recently found myself the the beneficiary of one of these ‘puentes’ and took the chance to visit Lisbon with Aiden, who still remains my only friend in Mérida – it’s not that I’ve not been socialising, it’s just that I’ve not found anyone to socialise with. Anyway, it was a bit strange being back in a city which I had got to know briefly a mere couple of months ago, but which also felt like it could’ve been last year.

Lisbon is a properly cool city. It’s got loads of little crooks and nannies to discover, and it’s teeming with bars and museums. To my surprise, my Portuguese had indeed improved since the last time I was there, and I could make out at least half the words which would be uttered through a mouth as open as Spanish banks after 2.30pm. I’d like to think that I made a great tour guide and generally solid travelling companion, given it was Aiden’s first time in Lisbon, but the truth is probably that without google maps we’d have been pretty lost, and without Sam’s recommendations from last time we’d have ended up in Irish bars the whole time. Without doubt, the highlight was breakfast at O Ninho cafe, home to the best yoghurt and granola and scrambled eggs you’ll ever have. (Disclaimer: I had one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever experienced so the accuracy of this statement cannot be confirmed). We did the other tourist stuff, like the national tile museum (far more interesting that its name would suggest) and the Tower of Belem but nothing quite scrambled our eggs like that breakfast.

Before all that excitement, I had the pleasure of Mum and Joshua coming out to visit me. There’s still food in the freezer and I’ve only just had to do a wash for the first time since she left, so to say I appreciated Mum being here would be a massive understatement. The only good thing about them leaving was the fact that I didn’t have to see Joshua’s awful trim anymore. To everyone’s general surprise, Mérida has some quite cool attractions and the Roman remains are actually pretty incredible. Yeah, I’m talking about them gain because there’s not a lot else here. It’s probably a bit depressing that the highlight of most of my days is walking along the Roman bridge to go to work, but I have turned into a sad little man with few friends so I appreciate these wins nowadays.

Spaniards are, in honesty, a bunch of melts when it comes to the weather. I wouldn’t say that the temperatures have dropped significantly recently, but they seem to have got out their ultra-winter wardrobes already: hats, scarves, snoods, the lot. As someone who has at least 50% hardy Scot in his blood, the cold has never really bothered me. I’ve been looking around at these lot and wondering how they’re wearing so many layers. Like, in the day, you can walk around outside (just about) in a t-shirt. It came as a great surprise therefore, to find myself in a home store the other day purchasing a blanket/duvet type thing and only confirmed to me that being abroad does indeed change people, and not necessarily for the better. I’m trying to justify it by telling myself that it’s better to buy a blanket than put the heating on in my flat, but the reality is that I neither know how the heating works nor have time in my four-day working week to try and find an instruction manual.

This read might seem more boring to you, and the reason it might be true is that I’ve now more or less settled into life in Spain. I’ve decided coffee is actually quite nice and absolutely vital when I have to teach 11-year-olds about outer space at 0820 (just beam me up, instead); drinking cañas is better than drinking pints; and having to go into a bank to obtain a pin for a bankcard is something which just becomes part of the daily bureaucratic struggle.

That being said, I’m looking forward to returning home at Christmas for a couple of weeks – mainly to test out if I’ve also become a melt and am going to need to get out my snood and hat in Oxford, which I don’t remember normally having to do.

Hasta luego,

Bill x

I’m writing this having just completed my first week of teaching. Well, all twelve hours of it. I’ve been posted in two schools in Mérida, in Spain. It would be an understatement to say one of them is remote – in a village called La Zarza, which translates as bramble, and probably says enough about it. I’m effectively a language assistant for various classes (English, maths, geography to name a few) and I’m just so frustrated at myself that I didn’t have the foresight to bring my CGP Key Stage 3 Maths revision guide because it would be handy to be able to look over Lowest Common Multiples and Greatest Common Factors again.

The journey to get to Mérida, from Madrid and via Cáceres was one which I’m glad I won’t have to do too often. After being seriously impressed by Spanish trains and the train system, it was no surprise that the train two English blokes were catching (myself and Aiden) was delayed. This was no AVE (Spain’s high-speed trains which connect Madrid with the south and east), and we were heading west. Tired, hungover and not looking forward to nearly five hours on a hot train; we knew we’d need some nourishment. We found a suitable-looking cafe with the option to take food out, which we did. To be honest, we should’ve known better. Any place which sells single sandwiches in a box, more suitable for playing jenga than for actual human consumption, was one we should have steered well clear of. The less said about the fillings the better, but anchovies, peas and mayo; cheese (creamed, but not cream cheese) and nuts; and blended cheese and tomato mix (not sliced), were what we had chosen.

Anyway, we arrived at Cáceres station, where we had a one-day, overnight meeting with the people organising our placements. To say the accommodation was poor would be a compliment. Sockets which didn’t work, doors without keys and showers which were more like gutters during one of those random, heavy downpours (not quite the reminder of home I was looking for) all made us feel very welcome. A salad which comprised of quartered tomatoes, quartered raw onions and boiled eggs chopped in half was in the top one of least-appetising salads I’ve ever seen. I promise I won’t talk about toilets in the next post, but the the town of Cáceres offered probably the most pointless and horrid toilet I’ve ever seen. It is truly baffling that it existed (see picture below). If you can find any use for a toilet without a flush, toilet roll or taps then please let me know.

Prior to all this, I spent ten days or so in Madrid, which quickly became one of my favourite places in Spains. I’m not sure what the collective noun for museums is, but there was a gallery of museums which were all superb; the Prado, Thyssen and Reina Sofia are all definitely worth visiting. I managed to get in another football game, unsurprisingly, making it to Atlético Madrid’s mighty new stadium, the WANDA Metropolitano to see them beat the less mighty Huesca, 3-0. I introduced Chevans to the wonders of 100 Montaditos (think Wetherspoons, but better everything for even cheaper), and we proceeded to eat there whenever he fancied a snack, which was at least twice a day. I must say thanks also to Zoe, Anna and Emma for letting me stay in their dangerous AirBnB for a few days as well. Retiro(w) Park is great, and if you’ve ever thought about rowing but not sure how you’d fare, then going to the park and paying €6 for 45 minutes on a boat is a must. And no, even with a river in Mérida I won’t be going anywhere near a boat anytime soon, if you were wondering.

Lastly, I must reserve a few lines for bureaucracy in Spain. I cannot fault it enough for being comfortably the slowest and most backwards system I’ve ever encountered. I don’t think there’s a correlation between Mérida having some of the oldest preserved Roman ruins in the world and the bureaucratic system being archaic, but I can’t be sure. “Just make an appointment by phone” is the most common line, despite being told this while standing in an office and speaking to the same person who would pick up the phone if I were to call.

Thanks if you made it this far with mainly moans from me, but rest assured Spain is still a fantastic, welcoming country and, with cans of beer for as cheap as €0.22, I’m much looking forward to spending the next eight months here.

Hasta pronto,

Bill x

As I’m sure many of you know already, I’ve begun my year abroad, and will be heading to Spain to teach English after doing a brief language course in Coimbra.

There’s a few things which, to be honest, I’ve struggled to get to grips with (this disregards the language, of course). Urinals with lids on? I’m unsure if this changes its function, and didn’t think it would be the best first impression if I were to do anything untoward. Smoking indoors? This is indeed 2007, and the third generation of the Ford Mondeo has just been launched. Cobbled roads everywhere? Obviously it didn’t rain in the 1100s and people were just better equipped to deal with sliding up and down.

I spent a few days in Lisbon with Sam from uni, and he proved to be an excellent tour guide, given it was my first time in the city. This came as an unexpected surprise given that his knowledge tends to be of obscure vines and Peep Show references. Benfica’s Estádio da Luz was suitably impressive, I imagine more so than its namesake in North East England. The standard of football was probably similar, however, with Benfica only managing a 1-1 draw with Greek side PAOK. I became accustomed to ordering an imperial, which I’d previously only heard in a listening exam in first year. It has proved vital knowledge, and although only 200ml, enjoying a beer that stays cold in the glass for the length it lasts is something which cannot be understated. When the sun disappears, canecas are more in order. In honesty, I would’ve liked more time in Lisbon as by the time I’d settled and felt comfortable, it was time to move on to Coimbra.

Coimbra has been lovely for the week and a half that I’ve spent here so far, but I’ve steered as far clear from Fado as possible. It’s not that I’m not a fan, it’s just people droning on about lost love all day isn’t my go-to music genre. I can understand why the star system isn’t in place for hostels, which is where I’m residing for these three weeks. I’m enjoying having cheetos every so often for dinner when someone has taken the lighter for the hob to smoke yet another cigarette. Cheers mate, it was only pasta or rice I’d be doing for the seventh day in a row, but you enjoy your fag nonetheless. I recently visited Aveiro, which I can’t say I’d recommend massively. It was a bit like Birmingham, in that, I wasn’t expecting much and yet still left disappointed. The fact that I didn’t understand much of what people were saying only served to reinforce its similarities with Birmingham. Most shops seemed to have signs saying ‘volto já’ on them, which roughly translates as ‘back soon’, but I’m sorry that they won’t be getting any custom from me as I don’t intend to be ‘volto já’. Apparently there are some nice houses somewhere down the canal there, but I can’t confirm this information. I did eat a nice swordfish, only to be asked why I’d not left the bones on the plate.

The Mondego River in Coimbra isn’t too exciting, and a week walking along it hasn’t enabled me to tell you which way it flows, but there’s a tidy little pedestrian bridge and a place where I was able to learn that my limited football skills serve me little use. Within a few seconds of striking up a game of two-a-side with a couple of Brazilian students, I’d been both rainbow-flicked and back-heel nutmegged. Thankfully they were more merciful when we had a beer.

In terms of language improvement, which, really, is what I’m supposed to be doing here, I’ve already noticed some improvements and I’d hope that the language course which I’m doing will reinforce what I already know and highlight the fact that my limited vocabulary is something which I need to address on a daily basis. One of the hardest things with Portuguese is actually picking up any of what people are saying, given that when they speak their mouths open about as much as the shops do in Aveiro.

Anyway, I think that’s more than enough for now.

Até logo,

Bill x