Ok I think I made that word up.
Things that have made me titter in Spain so far.
- All the Spanish staff in work don't eat their fruit like me, ie. stuffing it into your mouth. It's a very delicate process. They get a plate and a knife, then they peel whatever fruit it is, apple, pear whatever. Then they slice it into delicate little slices and feed themselves slices off the knife. Mouths are dabbed with napkins. It's so civilised! I feel like a slobbish glutton crunching into my whole, unpeeled apple.
One of the girls in work said that the last school she worked in, everyone did that too, and a colleague of hers was too shy to eat an apple in front of anyone for the first year of her job because she couldn't peel it in one slick move like all the Spanish staff. Poor girl probably has scurvy by now.
-People put olive oil on bread and toast. There's not a sliver of margarine to be seen. I thought it was weird at first at break time, pouring olive oil onto my bread slice, but I quite like it now, it's probably healthier too..?
-My middle name is prounouced 'Hané'. My middle name is no longer the most unimaginative middle name in the UK (Jane, apologies to all my middlenamedJane friends), but Hané, it sounds better.
-People are ridiculously lovely and friendly most of the time (I'm saying most of the time because the social security office man was a byatch, but I suppose that's most public sector workers for you)...in the shop last night the guy gave us free lollipops for D and J. At the post office today, the lady gave me a free mint, 'For my cough' she said :) I've died and gone to heaven.
-Old ladies laugh. This was not a regular occurence in Portugal, but I swear I have seen old dears laughing, and dare I say it, enjoying themselves!
-It's normal for kids to be up at 10pm. My boss said she keeps her 2 year olds up until 1am during the summer holidays. How do you cope I shrieked at her! Mine are usually in bed by 7pm so I can chill out and get a break. Last night we were at a swing park at 9pm, it was floodlit. Little kids playing out at 9pm. It's crazy to me. D and J really enjoyed it (and their free lollipops) and arrived home in a giggly, sticky-mouthed, tired, happy heap. This is better than going to bed early. I could get used to it. I suppose it's better for us all because it means we can actually do more stuff when I get back from work. No one bats an eyelid if you take kids into a café or restaurant late.
-I can't find sausages in the supermarket. Only chorizo, and me and mum have got sausage cravings (hee hee). Must find them.
-I might turn into a tortilla de patata. It's the free tapas of choice. I love that you get free food. There's a place in town where you only need to buy one drink and you get plates and plates of free tapas. You don't need to pay for dinner! (Ok this is not really perplexing me, just a statement that I might turn into a tortilla if I don't stop this madness).
..I can't think of anymore but I'm sure there are more. If I think of any more I'll be sure to add it. Or if you've got any please add! :)
xxx
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Doctor doctor
I have to say (as most of you know), that I love Spain. Love it. That does not mean that I'm not a little bit perplexed by some things. I am a dumn foreigner after all.
Things that have perplexed me...
- That it took me an entire day filled with bureacracy. paperwork, passports and visits to three different social security offices, the Town Hall and the local Council, and then the doctors, just to get me and the kids registered at the local health centre. People have told me the NHS in Spain is fantastic and that people come from within the EU to get treatment here, so I suppose it's not surprising that they're very careful about who they let sign up, and that you they know 100% that you are who you are! So I went to one social security office who told me that no, I had to go to another one (and the Council first), then I went to the Council who told me I had to 'empadronar' us, ie. register everyone who lives at our address. I couldn't get the kids' social security numbers until I'd done this.
Then the Council told me no, I needed an appointment first. This was not good, as I can't get to the offices during their working hours as I don't get back until 6pm and they close at 5pm. As I was off work with a chest infection (and struggling to talk!), I had to get all this done in one day whilst I was off work. I pleaded with the woman at the desk, that my kids had been sick for a week (true), and I needed to see the bloomin' doctor! She relented and said OK I could go to another Council building where you didn't need appoinments.
This building was in the middle of nowhere. I phoned Andy and asked him to google map it. He told me the road was tiny, and I'd never find it if I jumped the bus, so I got a taxi and he didn't know where it was either, hurrah. After him stopping the meter, and studying the map for 10 minutes, he reckoned he could find it, and he did, and I got there just before they closed yay!
With us now all 'empadronado', I could go to the social security office and get the numbers for D and J. Apparently as I'm working, they don't need separate numbers but they get affiliated to my number. When I got there they told me that they couldn't affiliate D and J to my number because they do not have NIE (foreigner residency numbers) yet. Noooo I say but their appointments aren't until March, as that was the next available free slots! So what can I do. The woman disappears. I am yet again close to tears. I just want to go to the doctors! She returns and says it's OK they can have separate numbers for now and then when they have their foreigner numbers you can return and affiliate them to you.
So I have my empadronamiento documents, I have our social security numbers, I have our passports and their birth certificates (just in case!-although they caused the Council woman some confusion as they were born in Portugal but are British), and I have a sore shoulder from my bag weighing my left shoulder down. I get to the health centre and hooray the guy lets us all register. He tells me some other really important information which unfortunately I don't understand because he speaks really quickly and my Spanish is still beginner. I try to make us appointments and we are all allowed to go the next day. Wow, the next day, I don't remember being able to get appointments that quickly in the UK! and we're all sorted...except, mum is also sick, with the same thing I have and she only has a European Health Insurance card. Do these things actually work? Has anyone actually tried it?
Mum is allowed to see the doctor at the same time as me, we traipse in (with the kids and the buggies, we look like the fricking Waltons), and the doctor sees me then her, but she can't get her prescription for the much-needed antibiotics as she doesn't have her passport with her so she can't get registered. We're going back tomorrow to register her and I think it's all ok now.
So the moral of the story is. Take your passport with you everywhere. You are nothing without it (and the authorities will all eye you up suspiciously, I mean honestly, who goes out without ID on them these days tut!).
...and don't get sick! (just kidding).
Ps. I did have some more things to add that perplex me, but I got sidetracked by the whole Dr thing. I will write another column.
PPS. I just want to add that all the Spanish people I dealt with were absolutely lovely and helpful, especially the doctor's receptionist who we must have really annoyed, because there was a big queue of people behind and it took ages to sort us out, yet she was so nice and patient. So top marks to Spanish people for being so nice!!
Byeee!
Things that have perplexed me...
- That it took me an entire day filled with bureacracy. paperwork, passports and visits to three different social security offices, the Town Hall and the local Council, and then the doctors, just to get me and the kids registered at the local health centre. People have told me the NHS in Spain is fantastic and that people come from within the EU to get treatment here, so I suppose it's not surprising that they're very careful about who they let sign up, and that you they know 100% that you are who you are! So I went to one social security office who told me that no, I had to go to another one (and the Council first), then I went to the Council who told me I had to 'empadronar' us, ie. register everyone who lives at our address. I couldn't get the kids' social security numbers until I'd done this.
Then the Council told me no, I needed an appointment first. This was not good, as I can't get to the offices during their working hours as I don't get back until 6pm and they close at 5pm. As I was off work with a chest infection (and struggling to talk!), I had to get all this done in one day whilst I was off work. I pleaded with the woman at the desk, that my kids had been sick for a week (true), and I needed to see the bloomin' doctor! She relented and said OK I could go to another Council building where you didn't need appoinments.
This building was in the middle of nowhere. I phoned Andy and asked him to google map it. He told me the road was tiny, and I'd never find it if I jumped the bus, so I got a taxi and he didn't know where it was either, hurrah. After him stopping the meter, and studying the map for 10 minutes, he reckoned he could find it, and he did, and I got there just before they closed yay!
With us now all 'empadronado', I could go to the social security office and get the numbers for D and J. Apparently as I'm working, they don't need separate numbers but they get affiliated to my number. When I got there they told me that they couldn't affiliate D and J to my number because they do not have NIE (foreigner residency numbers) yet. Noooo I say but their appointments aren't until March, as that was the next available free slots! So what can I do. The woman disappears. I am yet again close to tears. I just want to go to the doctors! She returns and says it's OK they can have separate numbers for now and then when they have their foreigner numbers you can return and affiliate them to you.
So I have my empadronamiento documents, I have our social security numbers, I have our passports and their birth certificates (just in case!-although they caused the Council woman some confusion as they were born in Portugal but are British), and I have a sore shoulder from my bag weighing my left shoulder down. I get to the health centre and hooray the guy lets us all register. He tells me some other really important information which unfortunately I don't understand because he speaks really quickly and my Spanish is still beginner. I try to make us appointments and we are all allowed to go the next day. Wow, the next day, I don't remember being able to get appointments that quickly in the UK! and we're all sorted...except, mum is also sick, with the same thing I have and she only has a European Health Insurance card. Do these things actually work? Has anyone actually tried it?
Mum is allowed to see the doctor at the same time as me, we traipse in (with the kids and the buggies, we look like the fricking Waltons), and the doctor sees me then her, but she can't get her prescription for the much-needed antibiotics as she doesn't have her passport with her so she can't get registered. We're going back tomorrow to register her and I think it's all ok now.
So the moral of the story is. Take your passport with you everywhere. You are nothing without it (and the authorities will all eye you up suspiciously, I mean honestly, who goes out without ID on them these days tut!).
...and don't get sick! (just kidding).
Ps. I did have some more things to add that perplex me, but I got sidetracked by the whole Dr thing. I will write another column.
PPS. I just want to add that all the Spanish people I dealt with were absolutely lovely and helpful, especially the doctor's receptionist who we must have really annoyed, because there was a big queue of people behind and it took ages to sort us out, yet she was so nice and patient. So top marks to Spanish people for being so nice!!
Byeee!
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Fly me to the moon...please.
Well I’ve had some requests to continue the blog (2 if I’m honest, but still). So it would be rude not to.
I would really like to say that the journey to Spain wasn’t that bad, and so people I know with kids don’t dread travelling, but I’d be lying. It was the single most unpleasant experience of my life.
The babysitter 'C', had agreed to come to Spain with us to work as a full-time nanny whilst I started my new job (it was only shortly after arriving that we realised that babysitters/nannies are paid a lot more than the going rate in Portugal and she wanted to leave, but that’s another fun chapter).
Thankfully she was flying with us, because logistically I’m not sure how I would have got 2 toddlers, rucksacks, bags and buggies from our flat to temp. accommodation in Madrid on my own. Andy was still in Lisbon because he had to work his notice. Also we were going to have to get the metro when we got there, from the airport to the flat, because we don’t have car seats so we couldn’t get a taxi. I suppose I could have bought 2, but it seemed a waste of money for one journey, and the metro had seemed pretty easy when I’d got it last time on my own.
The run up to the move was so stressful. Trying to rent our flat out, all the hassle involved, legalities, fixing things (for the tenants to still find strange things to complain about, ranging from: There’s a tree branch overhanging a bit onto the washing line, cut it down ‘fore it tickles my washing, to: Someone could scale your back wall and get in the back door). Err only if they were fecking Spiderman, and anyway we’re surrounded by grannies in our area, and also it’s Lisbon not ‘The Hood’. What are you going on about??!!
Only finding a removal company we could afford at the absolute last minute. Changing all the names of the bills, cancelling things being mailed there, packing, packing, packing. Thinking about what I had to leave for the removal, and what I needed to take for us whilst in temp. flat. Felt so stressed the night before we flew, thinking the journey through in my head. I was trying to be calm, like a calm, hippy mum, who doesn’t get flustered, but just breezes around travelling mannn, and not stressing out. I’ve come to the conclusion they don’t exist. Either they’re just really stoned, or they are really rich. If you’re the latter, then it doesn’t really matter what you do if you’ve got a nice fat Mr Visa in your pocket. I had about 100 Euros to my name, so not getting far really.
Also looming over me was starting my new job literally the next morning after we arrived. So I would only have after school and the weekends to find a flat.
So there we were in the airport waiting to check in (after a trip involving me on the bus with the 2 kids, and C in a taxi with the bags). Everyone was in quite good spirits. I took a photo to celebrate this exciting moment. This would be the last cheery moment to be captured on camera.
As soon, and I mean literally as soon as we’d sat down on the Easyjet flight, Jess started crying and freaking out. She was on my lap in the aisle seat. Dan sat calmly reading, C near the window. Jess wriggled, and shrieked for the full 40 minutes it took the plane to start its take off. Just then, the air host (ess), if it’s a man is it a host? Tells me Jess can’t sit in that seat for security reasons. I turn and snarl at the man, practically biting his hand. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before the plane started taking off then?’ Sorry, says he. She can sit on the other lady’s knee though. Ah, that’s ok me thinks, no faffing about getting out our seats, and feel strangely relieved that she’s not on my knee anymore! Funny that.
Then Dan starts crying.
Then the plane takes 40 minutes to do its descent, and the turbulence is terrible. It’s like constantly falling. I feel really queasy by now.
Then Dan really starts screaming. Oh crap. Literally. I can smell it.
I need to clean him up because we can’t sit like this for the next half hour, plus it smells, plus he’s really uncomfortable and won’t stop screaming. I can’t get out my seat though. We’ve had the fasten seatbelt signs on for about 40 minutes. I start doing it there in the seat. There’s no other option. I turn my back to the other passengers and swivel round so no one can see him. As I change him, more starts coming out. I’m literally catching it with a sick bag. Then the cherry on the cake. Dan pukes up everywhere. No doubt, because we’ve been swooping down for the last 40 minutes. It. Is. Everywhere. Especially, quite handily, all over my laptop bag that was under the seat in front of him. Now he really starts screaming. I am catching fluids from both ends. My life has reached a new low.
The Brazilian teenage lads, who up until now had thought the whole thing really funny, and been laughing their heads off in the seat next to us, now really start wetting themselves. Their relatives start cracking jokes about ‘Open the window etc’. Ha ha. I hate you. I hope you have a terrible holiday and one day, an unpleasant experience such as this happens to you.
I wipe everything up and stuff it all into a sickbag.
Dan falls asleep. I have my head in my hands and 5 minutes later we land.
The air hostess tells us they can't give us our buggies back and we need to get them from the baggage carousel, thus heaving all the bags and carrying the kids at the same time (well Jess anyway).
I hate Easyjet.
I long for travelling as a single person when all I had to think about was what album to choose on my ipod, and whether a glass of vino would be nice or a cup of tea.
…but at least we’ve still got the fun journey ahead all the way to the centre of Madrid on the metro with a buggy each and dragging a huge bag behind us. Hip hip hooray.
I won’t bore you with all the details, but basically it took us a long time! And we nearly lost a baby or a bag at every train change….but we made it. We stayed in a tiny apt. for 3 weeks, I started my new job the next morning. The kids cried every night as the area was party central. No one slept. I found a flat, and things seem ok now. The babysitter left (her visa was running out and also FT babysitters get a lot more money here which we couldn’t afford), so my new search was not for a flat but for an affordable nursery. I found a nursery. It closes too early though, so my mum’s quit her job in Qatar and come to help dropping them off and picking them up. We worked out Andy can’t afford to work as an English teacher here, so he had to stay on in Lisbon and he’s job-hunting, and that’s about everything. I need to learn Spanish (and not speak Portuglish or Spanglish) I need to find the time to discover Madrid. I’ve only seen a little bit. Bit by bit it will get easier.
I don’t regret moving, and I love Spain.
I am never flying again until Dan and Jess are at least 5.
xx
I would really like to say that the journey to Spain wasn’t that bad, and so people I know with kids don’t dread travelling, but I’d be lying. It was the single most unpleasant experience of my life.
The babysitter 'C', had agreed to come to Spain with us to work as a full-time nanny whilst I started my new job (it was only shortly after arriving that we realised that babysitters/nannies are paid a lot more than the going rate in Portugal and she wanted to leave, but that’s another fun chapter).
Thankfully she was flying with us, because logistically I’m not sure how I would have got 2 toddlers, rucksacks, bags and buggies from our flat to temp. accommodation in Madrid on my own. Andy was still in Lisbon because he had to work his notice. Also we were going to have to get the metro when we got there, from the airport to the flat, because we don’t have car seats so we couldn’t get a taxi. I suppose I could have bought 2, but it seemed a waste of money for one journey, and the metro had seemed pretty easy when I’d got it last time on my own.
The run up to the move was so stressful. Trying to rent our flat out, all the hassle involved, legalities, fixing things (for the tenants to still find strange things to complain about, ranging from: There’s a tree branch overhanging a bit onto the washing line, cut it down ‘fore it tickles my washing, to: Someone could scale your back wall and get in the back door). Err only if they were fecking Spiderman, and anyway we’re surrounded by grannies in our area, and also it’s Lisbon not ‘The Hood’. What are you going on about??!!
Only finding a removal company we could afford at the absolute last minute. Changing all the names of the bills, cancelling things being mailed there, packing, packing, packing. Thinking about what I had to leave for the removal, and what I needed to take for us whilst in temp. flat. Felt so stressed the night before we flew, thinking the journey through in my head. I was trying to be calm, like a calm, hippy mum, who doesn’t get flustered, but just breezes around travelling mannn, and not stressing out. I’ve come to the conclusion they don’t exist. Either they’re just really stoned, or they are really rich. If you’re the latter, then it doesn’t really matter what you do if you’ve got a nice fat Mr Visa in your pocket. I had about 100 Euros to my name, so not getting far really.
Also looming over me was starting my new job literally the next morning after we arrived. So I would only have after school and the weekends to find a flat.
So there we were in the airport waiting to check in (after a trip involving me on the bus with the 2 kids, and C in a taxi with the bags). Everyone was in quite good spirits. I took a photo to celebrate this exciting moment. This would be the last cheery moment to be captured on camera.
As soon, and I mean literally as soon as we’d sat down on the Easyjet flight, Jess started crying and freaking out. She was on my lap in the aisle seat. Dan sat calmly reading, C near the window. Jess wriggled, and shrieked for the full 40 minutes it took the plane to start its take off. Just then, the air host (ess), if it’s a man is it a host? Tells me Jess can’t sit in that seat for security reasons. I turn and snarl at the man, practically biting his hand. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before the plane started taking off then?’ Sorry, says he. She can sit on the other lady’s knee though. Ah, that’s ok me thinks, no faffing about getting out our seats, and feel strangely relieved that she’s not on my knee anymore! Funny that.
Then Dan starts crying.
Then the plane takes 40 minutes to do its descent, and the turbulence is terrible. It’s like constantly falling. I feel really queasy by now.
Then Dan really starts screaming. Oh crap. Literally. I can smell it.
I need to clean him up because we can’t sit like this for the next half hour, plus it smells, plus he’s really uncomfortable and won’t stop screaming. I can’t get out my seat though. We’ve had the fasten seatbelt signs on for about 40 minutes. I start doing it there in the seat. There’s no other option. I turn my back to the other passengers and swivel round so no one can see him. As I change him, more starts coming out. I’m literally catching it with a sick bag. Then the cherry on the cake. Dan pukes up everywhere. No doubt, because we’ve been swooping down for the last 40 minutes. It. Is. Everywhere. Especially, quite handily, all over my laptop bag that was under the seat in front of him. Now he really starts screaming. I am catching fluids from both ends. My life has reached a new low.
The Brazilian teenage lads, who up until now had thought the whole thing really funny, and been laughing their heads off in the seat next to us, now really start wetting themselves. Their relatives start cracking jokes about ‘Open the window etc’. Ha ha. I hate you. I hope you have a terrible holiday and one day, an unpleasant experience such as this happens to you.
I wipe everything up and stuff it all into a sickbag.
Dan falls asleep. I have my head in my hands and 5 minutes later we land.
The air hostess tells us they can't give us our buggies back and we need to get them from the baggage carousel, thus heaving all the bags and carrying the kids at the same time (well Jess anyway).
I hate Easyjet.
I long for travelling as a single person when all I had to think about was what album to choose on my ipod, and whether a glass of vino would be nice or a cup of tea.
…but at least we’ve still got the fun journey ahead all the way to the centre of Madrid on the metro with a buggy each and dragging a huge bag behind us. Hip hip hooray.
I won’t bore you with all the details, but basically it took us a long time! And we nearly lost a baby or a bag at every train change….but we made it. We stayed in a tiny apt. for 3 weeks, I started my new job the next morning. The kids cried every night as the area was party central. No one slept. I found a flat, and things seem ok now. The babysitter left (her visa was running out and also FT babysitters get a lot more money here which we couldn’t afford), so my new search was not for a flat but for an affordable nursery. I found a nursery. It closes too early though, so my mum’s quit her job in Qatar and come to help dropping them off and picking them up. We worked out Andy can’t afford to work as an English teacher here, so he had to stay on in Lisbon and he’s job-hunting, and that’s about everything. I need to learn Spanish (and not speak Portuglish or Spanglish) I need to find the time to discover Madrid. I’ve only seen a little bit. Bit by bit it will get easier.
I don’t regret moving, and I love Spain.
I am never flying again until Dan and Jess are at least 5.
xx
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)