#foreigner abroad

why you should stop drinking milk

why you should stop drinking milk

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At night, despite lights automatically going out at midnight, it’s hard to get any real sleep. And yes, the lights get shut off at 12 on the dot. Starting around 11PM, though, you get drunken partiers fighting in the yard beside my dorm (I’m on the top floor, and I’ve heard some really stupid shit go down), crazed cheering at all hours (I assume for school events of some sort in the undergrad division, but not sure why they’d go until 1 or 2AM), and of course birds that are peculiarly loud at night instead of day.

You’d think eventually there’d be quiet long enough to get some sleep. Nope. At 4AM the neighborhood dogs go nuts. Roosters start crowing - multiple ones, and then in between barking that fades in the distance (I assume someone rounds up the strays and takes them away), motorcycles rev up to get people to work.

So just sleep in, you might say. Hah. With the dawn comes the pigeon coos at frightening mutant volumes - I’m not kidding, when you can hear a pigeon cooing from across the hall past several doors and over your aircon, those things are abnormal.

And of course, you have classes and things to do during the day, so you can’t sleep in during the quietest part of the day - 10AM through 3PM is the quietest in the dorms, with noisy punctuations of people coming back from and going to class at either end of the lunch hour.

It’s not much better in the school buildings, where I try to arrive early on weekends so I can take advantage of the quiet as everyone sleeps in and slumps about. However, this...has not always worked. Some students see the weekend daylight hours of quiettime as their time to muck about.

As I write, we’re going into hour 6 of a group of students playing music loudly downstairs in the photography studio. They’re recording a music video. And playing their instruments. And singing. I know every spot in the tune where the drummer loses his timing because the lead singer pauses too long. The drumming reverberates through my feet and chair. The caterwauling hook in the chorus A leading to chorus B is consistently offtune with a lot of not-pretty scooping that always goes flat.

I stress, NOT a potential boyfriend. All shall be revealed.

On Monday I had to go to the foreign office to pick up my NIE. I could not remember for the life of me where it was, so I was wandering and wondering and eventually plucked up the courage to ask someone where the hell this place was. 

Imagine these dialogues in Spanish:

"Excuse me Miss, could you tell me where the foreign office is"

"No, I'm from Andalucia. There is one there if you would like to know where that is."

Thank, but, no thanks.

"Excuse Sir, but could you tell me where the foreign office is?"

"Yes, of course!! If you go back from whence you came then turn left you'll come to a cafe. Ask in the cafe and they will be able to help you."

Not quite what I was hoping for...

Then, suddenly, after an hour and a half of wandering around I remembered! So off I went.

The man there asked me if I was Scottish. I extended my passport and said "Yes, yes I am." He asked me what part of Ireland that's in. All my forms were filled in incorrectly. He then tried to blame me but I said, very firmly, "No sir, I know I am not from Ireland. I have never been under that impression. In fact, in all my documentation you have wanted to see, bank letters, passport, NIN, drivers license, housing contracts, all of them have said that I am from Scotland, UK." He sniffed and said, come back tomorrow.

So I did. And he stamped my shiny new green card. Before handing it back he said that I was very pretty, and that he would like to show his son a picture of me, and maybe we could go on a date. I politely declined. Anyone from the parentage that is able to confuse Ireland with the British Isles should probably know when to stop.

I've noticed a lot of people absolutely STARING at me in the streets. People slow down their cars and crane their next, they are one step away from shielding their children's eyes. So when I was approached in the bank by a man who "Just wanted to know [my] name and Just wanted to kiss [my] hand," I didn't think much of it. He thought I was French because of my accent when I speak Spanish. Tip - always try and put on a little accent when speaking foreign languages, you sound like much less of an idiot.

And finally. The border.

Yesterday I went for a coffee with the French teacher. He wanted to practise his eengleesh so I said I'd be happy to have a conversation class to help him. Nothing formal though. On the way back he took me around his local haunts and eventually went into his flat and I walked home. Or at least that's what I thought I was going to do. All of a sudden I had no idea where I was. I had a vague direction in my head and went with it, then when I came to a dead end I panicked and went where ever had a bit of light. 

I found hundreds of kids playing in a play park, so I asked one of the mothers if she knew where Avenida de Lisboa is. She ignored my question and asked where I was from. I said Scotland, UK. I thought I was going to have to perform CPR with the amount she laughed. After showing the lost Scottish girl too ALL her friends she pointed me in the right direction. Instead, I assaulted a taxi man, who was very nice and funny and he took me to Parque Ceuta, where I was going to meet Ana.

He told me that I was at the border when he picked me up. I had been texting Ana to let her know I would be late because I was lost, so when I told her I was actually at the border the whole time we both were inconsolable with laughter in the supermarket.