So This Week I’ve Been a Spice Girl, a Charlie’s Angel and Shakira

I’m sure most people who have been to Morocco for the first time will describe a huge culture shock. Indeed, it was unlike anywhere I’d ever been before and very clearly not a Western society. Though there were hints and traces of other countries I’d been to, seeing it all amalgamated together was a complete whirlwind and quite jolting. I think if I hadn’t been living in Spain for the last seven or eight months (how many months am I on now seriously??) I would have found it a lot more jarring than I did. However, in reality, it was really just an exaggerated version of the country I’m currently living in, blended with a little of Israel and a lot of France.

The French language might have even been the most startling part, as I struggled to drag out words far buried in my brain from three years ago when I last studied it. After seven (or eight, who really knows, let me count) months in Spain I pretty much understand everything and find it easy to communicate my needs and wishes. Here, I reverted back to a struggling tourist, shouting in English and throwing in as many French words as I could remember.

Accurate.

 

Thank goodness we had myself and Nishma in our group, me having an A2 in French and her an AS, because without our attempts at spoken French, we might have really struggled to make our intentions clear, particularly with the woman who let us into our apartment and spoke not one word of English. We resulted in sign language and shouting: ONZE DU MATIN, ICI. ONZE DU MATIN, ICI. (11 am, here).

It was not nearly as hot as we wanted in Marrakech (in fact we only managed two days by the pool) and we really could’ve done without the downpour, but we still managed to do everything we wanted to do and luckily got to ride our camels on the hottest day.

Because Sam had been to Marrakech earlier in the year (February, if I’m not mistaken) I couldn’t help but compare everything I knew about his trip to the reality of mine. He stayed in a hotel – one of the nicest in Marrakech as far as I could tell, my AirBnb cost 10€ a night and the electricity fused twice. He had sushi served to him by the pool; I couldn’t work out how to turn the hob on.

Send help.

But all in all, the accommodation didn’t actually matter to me too much: the bed was comfy, the shower clean and because it was a residential apartment, we pretty much had the pool to ourselves. That was on the one day we could use the pool as maintenance had decided that particular week was the perfect opportunity to clean the concrete, meaning the pool was filled with dirt the rest of the time.

And I’m sure Sam did not have the same experiences as us in the Jamaa el-Fnaa, the central marketplace of Marrakech. After settling into our apartment and spending a day relaxing by the pool, our visit to the Jamaa was our first real Moroccan experience. It is a bustling mass of people and voices, selling and shouting and chasing you with snakes. Thanks, but no thanks. Also no thanks to the offer of a Henna tattoo for 1 Dirham (equivalent to 1o cents here), which by the looks of the needle came with HIV for no extra charge.

Now I know we’ve all heard the stories about being wary in Marrakech, especially if you’re a girl. Trust me, I had at least 5 different people warning me to be careful and that I might be uncomfortable around the men. It’s not uncommon in Granada to be shouted at in the street, and I was even catcalled once at 7 in the morning as I headed to a taxi with my giant suitcase to go home. However, in Marrakech (especially in the market), it’s not a successful day for a man unless they’ve called after a girl with something they suppose to be charming. The many names we were called collectively included:

• Spice Girls
• Nice size, nice eyes
• Skinny girls (awh, thanks guys, I have been watching my weight)
• Charlie’s Angels (I’ll be Cameron Diaz thanks)
• Madonna (Jayne)
• Lady Gaga (Jayne)
• Shakira (Me)
• Kim Kardashian (Soraya)
• Beyoncé (Chanika)
• and a variety of places and countries. I’d list Soraya’s here, but I fear she might punch me.

I found it funny to be honest. It was a struggle to keep it together when they called after you and especially when one gentleman ushered me into his shop, only to pop up five seconds later with ‘Hello again!’ Perhaps I would’ve been more perturbed had I come straight from England, but in reality, it hardly bothered me at all.

Bow down to your Princess.

In these marketplaces, haggling is key. Anyone who’s been to a Shuk in Israel knows that a seller can be bartered down and it was no different in the souks of Marrakech. Maybe even easier considering we were a group of five of the fairer sex, each with more sassiness than the next. We were unafraid to argue ’30 Dirhams or I walk. Fine, I’m leaving, I saw it for cheaper over there anyway’ and to walk away with an item for over half of the original price. In fact, Jayne managed to haggle down a 250 Dirham cushion cover to two for 100.

In actuality, anything and everything in Marrakech can be haggled down (except of course fixed price food and drink). Taxis, camel rides and souvenirs are all fair game and are often an open market. Be prepared in Marrakech to stand your ground and trust me, you won’t get anywhere unless you use your voice. Start at the lowest price you can and work your way until you meet in the middle.

Sass it up ladies.

Like most places, Marrakech has its beautiful parts and poverty stricken parts. We were staying in Gueliz, the urban centre of Marrakech, surrounded by Western shops like Zara and Mango (though the prices were bumped up from those we’re used to in Granada) and Western food chains (Starbucks and McDonalds). When we did our camel ride, we were up in the desert parts of Marrakech and had a first hand view of rural life. There was certainly a sharp contrast and juxtaposition between the two.

As for food, it is very easy to eat well in Morocco, provided you like Moroccan food. Of the four nights we were there we ate on panoramic restaurants three times (twice in the market itself) and once in a more Western bistro, having a break from the tagines and couscous I had had three nights in a row.

We also indulged in a more luxurious way of life, escaping our apartment for the finesse of the Sofitel hotel or the Azar Lebanese lounge for drinks. When you’re residing in an apartment for 10€ a night, it’s easy to wander up to the hotel and pretend you live there instead, whilst sipping cocktails chosen from a menu that lights up when you touch it.

Ooooh, aaaahhh

Overall I had a great time in Marrakech, and I’m certainly glad for the experiences. I don’t know whether I’d go there again but I think everyone should at least once. And maybe the heat of August isn’t the best time to go, if you don’t want to be ogled whilst wearing as little clothing as possible to escape the heat.

For anyone going, these are my top tips:

• It can get windy at night, even on the hot days: if you’re going out for the evening, make sure to take a jacket.
• Don’t bother booking camels before you go, or from an agency – they often rip you off. We just got in a taxi and asked him to take us to Palmarie, and more specifically, where the camels are. We got an hour on the camels for only 200 Dirhams (20€), which is usually the base price, even if they start at 350 – you can always haggle it down.
• And in that sense, HAGGLE HAGGLE HAGGLE. The only way forward really – why don’t we do this more in Europe?
• Girls: don’t worry about dressing conservatively if that makes you uncomfortable. You will get shouted at either way, whether you’re in a maxi skirt or in shorts, so go with what makes you feel comfortable and take it in your stride.
• The best places to stay are Gueliz or Medina. Gueliz is the more contemporary part with cheaper restaurants and lots of bars, Medina is the more expensive area but closer to the main Jamaa el Fna. However, everywhere in the city is pretty easy to get to and can be walked (if you’re not lazy like us) so pick either.
• Go-to restaurants:
  • Restaurant Marrakchi (I think that’s how it’s spelled!): it’s in Jamaa el Fna and has the best view of the market and is definitely the most upmarket of all of them. They have live music whilst you eat and it’s a luxurious setting with exquisite food. Make sure to book, there’s usually someone stood outside the door to make a reservation. If you’re lucky, like us, he’ll chase you round the market for the rest of the night trying to take you to another restaurant he works for. (Marrakchi has a connection with a Riad – or hotel – down the road).
  • Azar Lebanese Lounge: we only went here for drinks, but I wish we’d done the whole evening here. I didn’t get a good look at the food menu but the cocktails were incredible, there was a really relaxed atmosphere and there was live belly dancing. And Happy Hour was from 10pm!!
  • If you’re sick of Moroccan food (though really, who can be with those yummy caramelised onions on the couscous) we went to a Cafe Bar next to the Sofitel. I can’t remember the name but they had lots of Western food, including pizza, pasta, sandwiches and the smoked salmon panini I had. It was also pretty much dirt cheap for what you get so makes a nice change from the more expensive Moroccan food.
• All in all, the city itself is inexpensive (especially what you can haggle) but be careful with money. Dirhams are a closed currency, meaning you can only buy them in Morocco. My advice is change a little in the airport and then at a change point, which are pretty much everywhere (and they’ll change in the banks as well). However they only change back to Euros/Pounds in the airport and, obviously, won’t change coins, so be careful if you don’t want to be stuck with Dirhams.

And that, I suppose, is my recap of Marrakech. We chilled by the pool, I read four books, we saw the Jardin Majorelle (with a stump dedicated to Yves Saint Laurent. If I were Yves, I’d like a better memorial, thanks), we experienced the Jamaa el Fna, we loved the Sofitel (and yes, I loved the cocktails) and we rode camels. What more could you want?? Good food, good experience and good people.

And now, can you believe it, I have less than 6 weeks left in Spain. I’m definitely going to make the most of it, especially as I just found out today is my last full day of classes!! So I think I should go to the beach this weekend, don’t you?

Obligatory Blair.

So What Happens in Ibiza Doesn’t Necessarily Stay in Ibiza

Mainly because I’m going to write about it in this here blog.

It’s late on a Monday morning, I’m extremely tired and I can feel the beginnings of a multitude of illnesses approaching. But this is, and only can be, a symptom of an amazing trip. I had it after camp, after tour, after Genesis Israel and now I can appreciate my Ibiza flu.

Because I had the most incredible time ever and I think I can safely say it has been the highlight of my year abroad so far.

Oh yeah.

It all began at midnight on Tuesday evening, when we boarded a bus filled with suitcases filled with alcohol. Oh the struggle of getting a suitcase with 4 bottles of vodka and 6 of gin on board. Fortunately, Soraya hits the gym on a regular basis so we were sorted.

Due to the late departure time, and the fact that we would be driving through the night, I was hoping to get some sleep. This was not to happen, because we had chosen to sit in front of a group of overexcited French ‘lads’ who were getting the party started ASAP, along with their new Italian friend who didn’t know how to keep her voice down and to whom I quite wanted to give a nice healthy smack.

Eventually we arrived at Dénia, where we got the ferry to Ibiza. At this point I found out that they’d got my names confused and thought I was called Rose. I was called Rose for the rest of the trip. Just no.

The ferry itself was fine, a little bumpy, but relatively quick.

After many, many, (many) hours of travelling, and a very unnecessary wait for check-in, we finally got to our apartment. Soraya, Jayne and I were lucky enough to have an apartment to ourselves and for the amount we paid, it was actually rather nice. For the 335€ we paid we got: travel to and from Granada, accommodation, entry to 4 clubs and travel to and from said clubs, a free drink every night, entry to a water park and a ferry to and from the island of Fomentera. Pretty decent if you ask me.

We unpacked and stocked up on supplies from a local supermarket and then we got to go to the beach.

What we’d all been waiting for, TANNING TIME.

BEACH BEACH BEACH BEACH.

We tanned, we relaxed, we gave dirty looks at anyone who squirted water out of water guns at us and we didn’t speak to anyone.

That night we had a ‘school party’. Though I’m not usually a fan of themed-nights out, it did make deciding what to wear easier. White shirt (H&M, 9.99€), pink tie (Chino, 2€) and denim shorts (wearer’s own). The co-ordinators had told us girls to wear extra short skirts, showing that sexism is well and truly alive in Spain.

At the end of the night, it was coming up to 6am and we were cold and we couldn’t find our bus, but we could find the Malaga bus, who were staying at the same apartment complex as us. They didn’t want to let us on the bus, even though they knew we were cold, tired and so done with standing outside. Luckily we had Jayne – or as she is now known, Janine (her drunken alter-ego) – who knew one of the Malaga co-ordinators (for what reason, we still don’t know, but he had her full name and ESN details saved in his phone) and he let us onto their bus.

The next day, ever the active participants, we eschewed the organised activities and headed to the beach to chill and tan. Perfection.

Beach vibes

In the evening we took a taxi to San Antoni, the more touristic area of the island and had a wander around the city centre and the port. We ended up having dinner overlooking the port at a health restaurant where all the food was organic – and incredible. I had a double decker roasted vegetable sandwich with sweet potato fries and coleslaw, with an energy water, which consisted of water with raspberries and lime. I’m still drooling about it now.

NOM.

After dinner, we walked back along the port to the legendary Café del Mar, which is famous for its chilled-out playlists and stunning views of the sunset. We managed to nab a table right on the terrace and had some cocktails as we watched the sun go down.

That night was the Water Party – possible the night we had been anticipating the most, because we had no idea exactly what it would entail. We’d YouTubed it before and had an inkling that the water rose up from the bottom of the club and we might get a little wet. They also told us to wear closed toe shoes, so I made sure to buy some 10€ trainers before the trip.

As alcohol is the ultimate liberator we managed to make some foreign friends on our way there. They taught us their songs and chants and we in turn taught them ours. By the time we were off the bus, we had them running down the street, screaming ‘YOU WOT, YOU WOT’ at the top of their lungs. Nothing quite like cultural amalgamation.

For the first four or so hours, it was like a normal club, with very good music and the usual antics. Janine was swinging from a chandelier and Soraya did pull-ups on the very same chandelier. No issues there.

By the time we got to four/five am, we were all in the central pit where the water was meant to come from. It was a sweaty, clustered trench filled with perspiring bodies and major overheation (hi mum). People were stripping left, right and centre into bikinis and swimwear we had luckily put on underneath our clothes. In the sticky mess, we began to chant: “AGUA, AGUA, AGUA, AGUA”. Half an hour later, we would not be so desperate.

After what felt like hours, water began to drip from sprinklers above us and within seconds, we were drenched. Full on drowned rats.

So much worse than this.

The pit filled up to waist height and we were clinging to each other for dear life as the water drowned us and we struggled to stay standing. I’m quite proud to say that only myself, Soraya, David and Freddie made it to the end – though as I’m the weakest and littlest one, I have to thank them for keeping me alive.

Well, don’t.

At the end, we waded out of the pool, sopping wet but feeling exhilarated. We had packed dry clothes into a rucksack and stored it in a cloakroom, so went to change out of our sodden rags that were once clothes. I also fell down the slippy stairs on the way and have a cracking blue bruise to show for it.

You’d think after nearly drowning, we’d be pretty down, but we were so happy and proud of our achievements. We went home on the bus, watched the sunrise and had some toast to celebrate.

Survivors: post-agua.

The next day, we were treated to yet more water, in a more relaxed form. We had entry to Benimussa Water Park, where we chilled out with music, drinks, a pool party and a foam party. If I’m being honest, the foam party wasn’t exactly chilled. I’d been to one before in Birmingham, where foam fell from the sky in light bubbles and we played around in it and threw it at each other and it was very safe. This was nothing like it.

This foam party was rammed with people and had a great, huge, foam gun that shot out foam and within 5 seconds my face was covered, I couldn’t see, it was up my nose, in my ears, down my throat. Of course, because I’m so small, it got me even worse and I thought I was facing the end. Even screaming for help did not help. I was like Will in the Inbetweeners, stuck and helpless.

Mummy, or ambulance.

After standing for a moment and screaming for help, I decided I couldn’t find my friends and it would be safer to just fight my way out. I struggled out of the crowd, coughing my guts up and was finally free from the foam. An hour later after we’d all calmed down and started to see the funny side, we returned to the scene of the crime to throw the lingering foam at each other and take a photo with some strategically placed foam.

Survivors. Again.

We chilled out by the pool, danced to the music and eventually made our way back to the bus feeling extremely satisfied and happy with the day. It was becoming difficult to decide which day had been the best of my year abroad. I was thinking the day before, but after the neon party that night, I might have been prepared to change my mind.

The club we went to was within walking distance so we made our way there on foot, covered in neon paint and with our matching neon sunglasses that were gifted to us by the co-ordinators. Obviously mine were pink and nicely matched my clothes.

Once we were inside we partied the night away and raved it up until the early hours. Jayne made lots of friends and achieved two targets she had set herself earlier in the day. Congratulations Janine!!

I’m proud to say we were the last ones in the club and at 6.05am we were still dancing away in an empty room. GIRLS NIGHT WITH DAVE. ❤️❤️

LAST ONES IN THE CLUB.

I can’t even describe what made it so fun that night. We just loved the music, loved each other and loved Ibiza. We were high on life. After being escorted out by security who were ready to close up the club, we had a leisurely stroll back to the apartment as the sun came up. It was blissful.

 

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As we had to be up and out of the room at half 10, we fully intended to stay up and pack for leaving Ibiza, but by half 7 I was majorly struggling to keep my eyes open and passed out for a couple of hours sleep.

We could have afforded more sleep, because even though we were up and ready at half 10, the co-ordinators obviously weren’t and we had to wait another hour or so to actually sort out the activity of the day.

For the day, we got a ferry over to the island of Fomentera, which is the most stunning island with a series of gorgeous beaches. In our hungover and exhausted states, somehow us three managed to forget to bring bikinis, towels or flip flops. Or sun cream. To the beach. Idiots.

When we arrived at the beach, it was the most blissful sight.

Ahhhhhh

We relaxed all day on the sands, eating the most unhealthy food possible and paddling in the waters. We also climbed up some rocks to the other side of the beach for a secluded sight of even more stunning views. We also saw some unexpected sights as it turned out we had found the nudist beach. 👍👌

I had my first ice cream of the season that day and also spent the day attached to my phone waiting for any and every news of the royal baby. Welcome to the world, Princess of Cambridge. By the end of the day, everyone was pretty much sick of my royal family adoration.

Crew love

For the final night, we had the White Hippie Party, where our overuse of peace signs finally came in handy. We attempted to pack as much as possible beforehand as check out was at 9am the next morning, but somehow at 8am I found myself still a little tipsy, trying to remember to pack everything.

For the Hippie Party we went to Eden club and tried not to get too upset about our final night in Ibiza. It was like a dream. We danced and partied, and ended up peaking a little too early and left before the coach did to get some much needed rest. Maybe I would’ve stayed longer, maybe I should’ve stayed longer, but in my head, the perfect thing to do would be go back to the apartment and get a McDonalds.

Unfortunately, the cab driver had other ideas and refused to take us to McAuto – Spain’s answer to the Drive Thru.

We returned to the flat and Soraya and I became chefs, making fried mushrooms and tomatoes on toast. Yum yum yum yum yum.

Hippie life. So much love.

The next day was our return to the mainland. A long day of much travelling and exhaustion, but mainly reminiscing on our amazing five days on the island. Without a doubt, that trip was the epitome of what a year abroad should be: sun, sea and super friends. And Spanish of course, which we practiced a lot with the Italians.

And now, I’m sat in class, attempting to concentrate and wishing I was back on that beach. Even if I fail all my exams, at least now I know that my year abroad was a success because of that trip – the trip of a lifetime. So thank you ESN Granada, thank you my friends and thank you Spain for giving me a real treat and a real experience.

Obligatory Blair gif: Me in Biza.

I’ll always have Ibiza. Or Beefa, as we lovingly call it in our common English accents.

#peaceout

So We’re On The Home Straight

I can barely believe that I only have three months left on my year abroad. It feels like just yesterday I was terrified, boarding a plane with Mum and Dad, and a bunch of drunk middle aged men at 7am. This year has gone ridiculously quickly. Or no, the last three or four months have gone ridiculously quickly.

I feel like I’ve kind of neglected my blog in those few months, not because I wasn’t having an amazing time, but rather because what I was doing became routine and maybe whole blog posts about going to the supermarket became unnecessary.

Because my life now has become about work, work and work. These Spaniards work ridiculously hard, and I’ll tell you something, I am looking forward to going back to Birmingham where my longest day at uni consisted of 4 hours. At the moment I’ve got 3 exams and a ten page essay to write, and we’re not even into final exam season yet.

Plz just take me to Wonderland.

I haven’t even been clubbing in months. Oh wait, no Barcelona. Whoops. But it doesn’t really count when it’s in another city.

I guess I’m just scared that time is hurrying up and I’m not making the absolute most of my year abroad. But the truth is I don’t have time to in the middle of all this studying!

I’ve been on some brilliant hikes, I’m a firm favourite in shops like Zara and Bershka, but is that really it? I feel like I should be spending every day on a terrace somewhere sipping Sangria. But when uni starts at 8.30am the next morning, it’s hard to get anyone to drag themselves out.

I guess I just really need to make the most of the time I have left. Which is why I’m going to Ibiza next week!

Get down girl…

I promise it won’t be anything like Barcelona. It will be BETTER (and more memorable) than Barcelona. Tanning all day, dancing all night. I’m really excited to go.

So keep watching this space, because I’m sure there will be some exciting stories to tell.

Once my extra Spanish classes end at the CLM, in roughly two weeks, that will free up not only my afternoons, but my friends’ evenings, as their classes go on until half 9 at night. So maybe there’ll be more evening Sangria opportunities then. Or if not Sangria, at least Smooy.

In other news, 3 week countdown until Mummy and Grandma come to Granada! Or as Mum called it ‘Girls on Tour’. Can’t wait to have my twinnies in Granada and maybe do some shopping?

And if it’s 3 weeks to Mummy and Grandma coming, then it’s four weeks until Morocco!

So I guess I really do have a bunch of exciting things coming up…

With only – checks countdown – 75 days left, it’s a serious business now about making this year the best it can be. Don’t misinterpret my countdown, it isn’t because I can’t wait to get home (though I can’t), it’s more to remind me how precious this time is and that if I’m ever in the house all day watching Gossip Girl, I need to get outside and make the most of my final days in the sun.

Not that there’s anything strictly wrong with 5 episodes of Gossip Girl a day.

Blair approves.

Until next times, besos.

So It’s Been A While

Helloo friends! Apologies for not updating in a while (since before Christmas, eek!) but admittedly life in Granada has not been too exciting of late. But since I finish my exams this week and everything will pick up again, I thought I’d give you all an update on what I’ve been up to, before the madness starts again.

Christmas was indeed, the most wonderful time of the year. I was so beyond happy to go home and spend quality time with the most important people in my life – my family and friends. The nearest and dearest. If I’m honest, all I did for two and a half weeks was eat loads and smile constantly. There is nothing more perfect than good food and a warm house (both literally and figuratively – seriously, why does this country have no heating??)

Hugs all round.

Mum and I went to see Billy Elliot The Musical in which the dancing was fantastic; I ate a triple decker burger the size of my head and I spent New Year’s Eve eating, drinking and playing DreamPhone with my bests. Couldn’t ask for anything more.

I came back to Granada to cold weather and even colder studying. (Does that make sense? Either way, it was exam period). Even though we had three weeks left of term, the lecturers seemed to be wrapping things up pretty quickly, meaning I found their lectures increasingly pointless and after one and a half weeks of this, I figured that a more useful way to spend my time would be in the library revising.

Speaking of libraries, it is no 1C here, I will tell you that. The chairs are not comfy, there’s no heating (again) and it fills up twice as fast. Also, no libraries are open at the weekend here. Hilarious. It’s not as if we have exams to revise for or anything.

Luckily Jayne and Nishma provided and their apartment has been turned into our temporary library. Useful because:

a) we’re all studying

b) there’s always tea

c) we’re all there when we get a bit delirious and end up listening to a 10 hour Chinese rap song

d) there’s usually a takeaway at the end of the day. Lusm Pad Thai Wok.

I actually think I might miss our studying sessions…

Alright Hermione, chill.

I was super excited to go home last week and surprise Marissa for her birthday. She had absolutely no clue and her double take when she came into the room and I was sat there was one of the best looks and moments, which I will never forget. We had an incredible weekend with Jamie’s Italian, chicken goujons, long missed snuggles and the icing on the cake, B4J.

If anyone’s ever looking for a confidence booster, go away for six months and come back and surprise people – it’s a total thrill.

But seriously, I had the most amazing time at B4J and didn’t realise just how much I’d missed Birmingham. Now I’m just so excited to go back in September. After I get the rest of my year abroad done (I’m of the full belief that it will become even more incredible as soon as the weather turns, so that’s something to look forward to).

Apart from my time in Birmingham, I also got the chance last week to spend quality time with my family and see my favourite, Rebecca. So all in all it was a pretty perfect week. And Mummy and I went to Coronation Street!

Only the best for the best.

And now I’m back in sunny España. Despite the freezing cold temperatures, it’s still managing to be quite sunny here. Though props to Soraya for convincing me that I was coming back to blizzards and thick snow. Not a drop of the white stuff in sight. Ha-ha.

So on Wednesday my exams finish, I’m finally hitting Mae West again after a lengthy absence and next weekend we grace Cádiz, for another 24 hour extravaganza a la Salamanca. Should be a riot. I’ll keep you posted.

Until next time….

So The Countdown Begins…

Here in Granada we have begun the countdown to Christmas. At least, us English students have. We can’t wait to be back in England with our families and just not be Spanish for five minutes and not have to deal with the Spanish problems (dodgy internet, I’m looking at you). Though it did rain last night, which made it feel a little closer to an English winter. However, the truth is there is just a distinct lack of Christmas spirit here. Correct me if I’m wrong, but at home the Christmas lights are on and Christmas music is beginning to appear here and there?

Well, the lights are up here but there’s a bit of a debate amongst the students about when they’ll be turned on… I’m thinking it should be now, please, and we wouldn’t mind a Christmas tree dotted about or a spot of festive music.

Ah well, in three weeks I’ll be home for Christmas, snuggled up on the sofa with Mummy watching The Holiday, just how I like it.

No Jude Law, you’re lovely.

I just have to get through two pieces of coursework and an exam in Spanish first. The first piece is just about completed. What was intended to be a five page analysis of publicity ended up as twelve pages of Spanish drivel… I’m so looking forward to my Spanish friends tearing my grammar apart when I ask them to check it for me!

Oh and there’s the plans to bob up to Salamanca for what is apparently the best party of the year. Keep your fingers crossed for me…

I was so lucky last weekend to have my lovely, wonderful best friend Rebecca come and visit me. I know she’s been waiting desperately for a feature in my blog, so darling Rebecca, here you are.

Oh look and here you are again. There, that’s you and me…

It was so good to just not do anything but spend time with each other. We went shopping, we went to the Arabic Baths and we ate (a lot) but more than anything we just caught up and cherished being with each other. I don’t know about Rebecca, but all I wanted to do was see my best friend, have cuddles and spend our time together the way we always do… watching TV in bed (which we did).

We didn’t need to be tourists, see the Alhambra or be active all day every day. We just needed to be together. And I’m so eternally grateful for her for coming out to visit me and I love you so, so much. Another three week countdown until we’re reunited again and you promised to take me for sushi!!

Apologies everyone else, but here’s a little gallery of gifs for you B, of you and me, to show how much I love you.

In other news, my blog would not be complete without another tale of another Erasmus party. On Friday night I went to Soraya’s for a ‘fiesta’, not realising that it would become a full-blown Erasmus carnival. We had been planning to go out afterwards, but when 4am hit and we hadn’t left yet, my feet were sticking to the floor and Soraya was on FaceTime/in bed, I thought it was time to call it a night.

I could probably name about twenty people I knew at that party, but the flat was rammed from wall-to-wall. It was impossible to move for people squished together, there was a pungent smell of smoke and alcohol in the air, and the floor was so slippery and sticky at the same time, that of course I managed to fall down the stairs as I left. Nobody laugh now.

A special mention has to go to the one and only Martin Carroll, smooth criminal, to whom I promised a dedication. Sorry, I couldn’t gather enough material for a full blog post.

Martin Carroll. Not Ryan Reynolds. I swear.

For those of you who don’t know Martin, he’s not a man of many words. As Soraya pointed out, he speaks when he needs to and not if he doesn’t. Unlike Soraya who is happy to keep talking even if no-one is listening. Actually, that’s just like me as well. I suppose that’s why I have this blog as well, because it just lets me ramble on and on, even if no-one’s reading.

Anyway, back to Martin. Some may say this no talking thing is an awkward trait. Some. But no, in fact, reports confirm this is simply another way of showing just how smooth Martin Carroll really is. From his dance moves to his reputation with the ladies, he is the smoothest criminal I know.

And I really do have to thank him for protecting me and my white top from a possible nightmare spillage situation.

This brings me to the end of another blog post, as always featuring food and fiesta. Hopefully I’ll be back again soon with another update, but since we’re nearing the festive season, I think it’s safe to post a gif dedicated to one of the best Christmas movies of all time, (definitely in the top ten).

KEVIN!

So One Starbucks, Six Dolphins and No Sleep = A Weekend in Valencia

Sorry Mummy and Daddy but I’ve had to take the morning off uni to recover from my amazing weekend in Valencia.

The trip started by waking up at 5.00am on Saturday morning for an 8-hour coach journey.

Just no.

We rocked up to Valencia at something like two or three in the afternoon, whereupon I treated the bus to my guide of all the shops I could see out the window and Soraya immediately Google-Mapped where we could find the nearest Starbucks.

Our hostel was to be expected (for 45€): bunk beds (where my bunk mate turned out to be a 30-year-old Frenchman named Pascal, who was travelling alone with a group of students and snored far too much for my liking) and shared bathrooms (which I could have done without).

Pascal. Kind of. (Jayne’s Rapunzel in this gif.)

Soraya and I ditched our bags and rushed off to find the Starbucks arriving back at the hostel in the nick of time for our tour. It was totally worth it to get my Lime Green Tea Refresha.

On our ‘tour’ we visited the Towers of Valencia where there were some beautiful views of all of Valencia, we saw the Cathedral and we saw some lovely parks and plazas. Most importantly, we abandoned the group in favour of having some paella in the Plaza de la Virgen, looking at a gorgeous fountain.

But the fountain wasn’t the only sight to see. We also witnessed a rally to do with price cuts or taxes or homelessness or something. Whatever it was, an old man came up to us and shouted at us, telling us this rally was for ‘our futures’. Except that we don’t actually live in Spain.

We returned to the hotel to chill for a couple of hours before a night out in Valencia. At pre-drinks we managed to convince the entire group to listen to Anaconda, even if they didn’t want to.

And then we went out. If the boys are annoying in Granada, they are ten-times worse in Valencia. Why are you always lurking? Why are you obsessed with blonde hair? Why won’t you leave us alone?

And eventually, an exact reenactment of Clueless happened.

Always channel your inner Cher.

But in between the bar and the club, we had possibly the best taxi ride of all time. Our driver had made his own mix CD and enjoyed singing along to his tracks. When the song changed to Bon Jovi’s ‘It’s My Life’, we just had to join in… and so we cruised the streets of Valencia, screaming to Bon Jovi with our new best friend.

Eventually we tumbled into bed at 6am, after a fun night of drinking, dancing and desperate Spanish boys. Of course Pascal’s snoring meant I only got three hours sleep and woke up feeling less than fresh but still alive. For now.

On Sunday we went to Oceanografic which is the biggest aquarium in Europe and we were like children in Disneyland. It was incredible. We saw fish and sharks and walruses and whales and coral reefs and there were the tunnels where the fish swim over you and we had a buffet lunch and we saw a dolphin show.

It was like Sea World but better.

After the wonderful dolphin show the tiredness had hit. We were flagging majorly and crawled back to the hostel to wait for the bus home. Our tiredness had made us go a little bit crazy, so we raced to the bus to get the prime front row seats to put our feet up for the journey home.

I wish I could say more about the travel home but it’s all a bit of a blur to me. There was some deliriousness going on and all I can really remember is tea, giggling about bread with Soraya and lots of Taylor Swift.

We finally made it home at 4am and I unfortunately didn’t make it to uni this morning. But it was totally worth it.

Life.

In other news, I had a fantastic weekend when Mummy and Daddy came to visit and now I’m just counting down to seeing them again at Christmas (31 days!). I also went on a tour of a music museum, found some Heinz beans and successfully made it through a Spanish presentation.

Now I’m just excited for Rebecca to visit this weekend and for her, I dedicate this gif of our main gal, who perfectly represents my emotions right now.

B is for Becky and Blair.

If only she’d book her coach tickets…