Lost In Translation

I’ve been back on the ‘figuring out the foreign language’ lark at work this last week....this time it’s a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese, and the documents have actually been translated...well sort, but we still have to trawl through thousands of pages and decipher some of the oddities of the translation process. Sadly, the documents are more concerned with the legal aspects of running clinical trials, so it’s just a shed load of ethical jargon...pretty mind numbing stuff and almost certainly no use to me on my travels.

My grasp of Spanish is very poor...it should actually be a bit better considering I lived in Barcelona for 3 months, a decade ago. My PhD dissertation was in collaboration with the University of Barcelona's School of Pharmacy, who very generously sponsored me to go over and spend time in their labs, using their high tech equipment to figure out the chemical structures of the compounds I was extracting from herbal medicines. Your eyes are most probably glazing over by now, so enough already of the Geek Speak. Suffice to say it was a golden opportunity, academically, and the sole reason I managed to finish and publish my doctorate in less than 4 years. I was thrilled by the chance to travel overseas...I’d been to the UK with my family as a child, but mainland Europe was an unknown entity.

It was also one the hardest times of my life - the longest time I had ever spent away from B, and I felt very isolated in a city where few people spoke my mother tongue. I stayed in a students’ residential hall, in the section reserved for visiting post grad students and guest lecturers. Other guests came and went daily....it was just me there for the longish run. I had a reasonably nice room with en suite bathroom and there was a communal lounge and kitchenette at the end of the corridor. So I was comfortable, just incredibly lonely. During the week, I worked really long hours, never leaving the lab much before 9 every night. The other students (mainly South Americans) were all very friendly....we’d all break for coffee around 5 in the evening and get together in the student cafe for a bit of a gossip. They all spoke fairly good English and wanted to talk to me to practise as much as possible, which was great... it just meant I didn’t learn much Spanish!

But when the weekends came round, I was pretty much on my own and that’s when I felt the isolation. I would spend all my free time exploring Barcelona...I grew to love the city and got to know it very well. As I was on a really tight budget, I tried to walk everywhere, only using the Metro when I was venturing really far from my res. All this exercise meant I lost a load of weight (two bouts of a particularly nasty stomach bug also helped) and I felt very fit by the end of the 3 months. I had a few close shaves when I wandered into some dodgy neighbourhoods, and once I was followed for over an hour by an even dodgier looking man, but on the whole I felt safe and just seemed to blend in with the locals....to the extent that tourists were always coming up to me and asking me if I spoke English and if I knew the way to the train station. Most days I was generous and helped them out; once or twice I pretended “No entiendo” (one of the few Spanish phrases I did pick up) shaking my head tragically.

Parc Guell

One day, I helped a lady of Chinese descent find her way to the Placa Catalunya. She turned to me and said “You speak good Engrish...where you from?” I’d given up telling people I was originally from Zimbabwe (this just drew blank faces), so I answered “South Africa”, as it is the one African country most people seem to know and technically, I was representing my South African university, my home for 9 years. To my astonishment, the lost tourist’s jaw dropped and she blurted out “South Africa? But you can’t be.....you white!” How do you respond to that? Do you query “If there are no white people in South Africa, how did apartheid work then and why did Nelson Mandela have to walk a long road to freedom?”. Tempted as I was to reply: “Well you see, I was black when I left but as soon as landed in Europe, I turned as white as snow”, I bit my tongue. Some people are just best left alone to mull over their own ignorance.

Sagrada Familia

Years later, after we’d moved to the UK, I returned to Barcelona with B for a long weekend to celebrate our sixth wedding anniversary. I’d been itching to show him the city I’d explored that lonely Spring back in 1999. Isn’t it sad when you build up a place to be so wonderful....and it fails to deliver? Don’t get me wrong, we had a great weekend... but to me, Barcelona had changed. It had become far more tourist-orientated, scarily expensive and it all felt a bit tired. It probably didn’t help that almost all the city’s landmarks (those architectural wonders I’d raved about) were covered in scaffolding for repairs (Gaudi’s unfinished Sagrada Familia excluded....we expected to find scaffolding there!), so she wasn’t looking her best. Maybe we picked the wrong time of year (mid December is freezing cold!) or maybe I’d become jaded from all the travelling we’d done in the interim, but somehow the magic just wasn’t there for me anymore.

The one thing that hadn’t changed though....the delicious hot chocolate! Spanish hot chocolate is the best in the world....gooey, thick, creamy and really, really chocolatey.....

And amazingly, the Spanish Chocolate company is now marketing their gorgeous product in the UK. I picked up a tin last week in Tesco....and it’s the real stuff! Chocolate heaven....and not really  all that indulgent at a surprisingly low 91 calories a cup...yummmeeee!

Holy Moley!

I have a lot of moles....

No, not the furry little creatures that dig up your lawn...but the brown spots that may turn ugly and grow into melanomas. Since my dad was diagnosed with cancer earlier this year, I’ve become a lot more aware of the dreaded disease in all its devious shapes and forms. B has also been nagging me the past couple of years to “get that thing checked out, it’s growing”, referring to a particularly large one that I’ve worn on my neck all my life. There was a time in my youth when I vainly (in all senses of the word) hoped it could be considered a beauty spot à la Cindy Crawford....

Given that my childhood was spent playing barefooted/ faced/legged/armed under a hot African sun... and that my fair skin freckles the moment I step into the sunshine...my GP decided to refer me to a dermatologist. Joy and delight, this meant a trip to our local hospital today, but I did feel a huge sense of relief to be given the all clear from a Mole Guru. It’ll be SPF 50+ from here onwards...

Quick update on my dad:

He started his 12th chemo cycle today and is still going strong....he is an amazingly resilient man. We will know more about his progress after his scan and oncology appointment the week after next.

Child's Play

This past weekend, our 16-month-old goddaughter came to visit with her parents and 4-year-old sister. A and M are really delightful children - sweet natured, fun to be around and easy to please. It was the first time, however, that they were coming to stay overnight and we weren’t too sure what to expect. True to form, I went for the “Plan to the Last Detail” option...so in anticipation of their visit, we’d stocked up on what we hoped would be suitable tots’ fare (fish fingers, mini pizzas, frozen peas and chocolate yoghurt pots), we’d dug out all the animated DVDs we own and had researched suitable (hopefully fun) activities in the area.

Within seconds of their arrival, our usually neat and uncluttered childfree couple’s home was snowed under the metric tonne of (necessary) paraphernalia that seems to accompany small people....bright pink and purple miniature coats and dinky boots lined in the hallway, toys and books were strewn across the lounge, a rainbow of plastic plates, non-spill cups and cutlery occupied half the kitchen work surface and there was a game of furniture tetris being played out in the guest bedroom, to accommodate the travel cot and inflatable mattress that had been added to the residential twin beds, wardrobe and sets of drawers.

Their visit coincided with the worst storm to hit Britain in a year...so anything outdoors was ruled out on the Saturday. Instead we took them to an indoor “soft play” centre with loads of slides, ropes and ball pools....and (thankfully) a coffee shop where adults can take refuge. Anyone contemplating parenthood should probably be required to visit places like this as a training exercise....or perhaps an acid test to see if they can hack it. I certainly took strain from the assault on the senses of hordes of excited children letting off steam, tots throwing tantrums left and right (not our party of course!)....and from getting bombarded from all angles by flying plastic pool balls. Quite literally, an in-your-face reminder of why I’m happy to remain on the sidelines as an auntie and godmother, but no more.

The girls had a fabulous time playing and were worn out by the end of the afternoon...which meant they happily had supper, were bathed and in bed well before 7 pm, leaving their exhausted parents (and even wearier godparents) to spend some adult time together. A chicken was roasting in the kitchen oven, we were onto the second bottle of wine and, as it was a chilly night, we thought we’d fire up our rarely used gas stove for a cosy ambience. Pretty soon, a plume of grey smoke started billowing out the front of the stove. At first I didn’t take too much notice, quelling our friends' curious looks, with “Don’t worry; it normally does that, just a bit of dust burning off the surface of the coals”. However, when dense black fumes started filling the lounge, I decided to take a closer look and spied what appeared to be a foil package smouldering on the top of the oven. The package turned out to be a pack of blackcurrant vitamin pastilles, slowly melting into a pool of burnt sugar. It was probably “posted” through the slot at the top of the stove by one of the girls at some point earlier in the day. No serious damage done....once the stove had cooled down and the top plate removed, the congealed syrupy mess could be easily scrapped away. There is a prevailing smell of chargrilled blackcurrants that will probably be with us for a while yet.

By Sunday, the weather had cleared and we were all keen for a bit of fresh air and sunshine. For the first time in the five years we’ve been living in our village, we went down to our local park so the girls could play on the swings...I say girls, but we all had a go, including their 6-foot-7-inches tall Daddy (his legs tucked awkwardly underneath the swing bucket). Not surprisingly, I haven’t been on a swing for a few decades. I found it quite exhilarating....the wind in your hair, the feeling of (almost) flying....it transported me right back to my childhood. Does give a whole new spin on having a “swinging weekend” though...

Third Time Lucky

It's the third one for 2009!

La Dolce Vita - Part IV

Our last day dawned full of promise. Not a cloud in the sky, the rainwaters had receded and the coastal road had reopened. This would be our last shot at taking the Amalfi Drive...apparently also on the agenda for everyone else visiting Sorrento that day. There was a bit of a queue for the local bus service, but we struck it lucky and were first onto the second bus that pulled in, thereby securing seats on the good side (the sheer drop down the cliffs side). Spare a thought for those standing all the way - it takes around an hour and a half  to reach Amalfi....that's 90 minutes of heart-stopping, white-knuckle-inducing driving, with rapid breaking, frequent hooting and the odd tense stand-off between the bus driver and oncoming drivers. But the scenery is really stunning....

Once in Amalfi, we spent a couple of hours exploring the magnificent Duoma (cathedral) and the old streets, then had lunch in a traditional trattoria, just off the main touristy bit.

Duomo, Amalfi

Amalfi

Back on the bus to Sorrento....

As it was the last night of the holiday, the hotel laid on a special candle-lit dinner with a staggering six courses, and live entertainment in the shape of a suprisingly good pianist and tenor. A perfect end to a fabulous week.

La Dolce Vita - Part III

After two days of glorious sunshine, the rain came in.....and mamma mia! it poured down.

Rain, rain go away!

Undeterred, we donned rain jackets and strolled down into Sorrento to explore the shops and churches of the old town.

15th Century Cathedral

I was caught out in an awkward moment in the cathedral. B had already wandered outside, but I'd sat down on one of the pews to admire the frescos on the ceiling. Suddenly I noticed a funeral procession making their way up the aisle. With the back door of the cathedral closed, I could not make a discrete exit without disturbing the mourners who were settling into their pews. I was contemplating having to sit through the (possibly very long requiem) service....but thankfully managed to sneak out the side door behind the pallbearers.

By mid morning, the skies seemed to be clearing, and we (foolishly) decided we'd take a bus trip along the Amalfi Coast, to Positano. Originally built by the Romans, the Amalfi Drive (from Sorrento to Amalfi) is rated as one of the most beautiful drives in Europe. The road is carved out of the side of the coastal cliffs, affording superb views down to the Tyrrhenian Sea and on the other side up to the towering cliffs above. Not that we saw much that day....the bus was no sooner out of Sorrento than the clouds descended and we were almost completely enveloped in mist. We hopped off at Positano, which appears to cling to the side of a hill. As we started winding our way down the only road that runs through this vertical town, it started to rain again...hard! We dashed into the first restaurant we saw...luckily it was a good choice and we enjoyed a lovely fresh lasagna, watching the rain bucket down.

Positano

With no respite in sight, we agreed to call it a day and climb (or rather swim) back up the road and take the first bus back to Sorrento. By this stage the water was flowing like a river down the streets...we were ankle deep and absolutely soaked through. Finally, we made it back to the bus stop, where we struck up a conversation with an elderly American gent that helped pass the time waiting in the torrential rain until the bus arrived...full of drenched tourists from Amalfi  and smelling strongly of wet dog (I suppose that explains the old saying "Only mad dogs and Englishmen..."). Very glad to be back in the hotel, I took a long, hot bath....

The next day, the rain was still with us...so rather than spend another day looking like drowned rats, we mooched around the hotel, relaxing with a good book. That evening, we sat on our balcony watching an amazing sunset, hoping that it boded well for the morrow....

Red sky at night....tourist's delight?

And it did....well, at least it did stopped raining. However, our penultimate day started on a rather bad note. We'd decided to give the Amalfi Drive another go...and take the bus all the way to Amalfi. But, it was not to be! All that rain of the previous two days had shifted the rocks and mud on the cliff faces and the road was closed due to rockfalls. So, onto Plan B....take the once-daily ferry to the island of Ischia. We dashed across town and down those 155 steps to Marina Grande, arriving with just 5 minutes to spare before the scheduled departure....only to discover the Ischia-bound ferries had stopped running and the only way to get to the island was to take a ferry to Naples then connect to Ischia. This all sounded like way too much effort and there was the chance the ferries to Ischia from Naples weren't running. Deciding to cut our losses, we instead took the train to Ercolano, to visit the other town destroyed by the eruption of Vesuvius. As a residential town, much smaller and less grand than Pompeii, Herculaneum is in some ways much better preserved and easier to navigate.

Vesuvius, Ercolano and Herculaneum

We inadvertently picked up a personal tour guide at the start of the site...but he proved to be worth the tip as he pointed out many features we probably would have missed by ourselves, most notably the ancient plumbing, complete with outlets "for the piss and the shit, see?". Si! Pee was in fact a valuable comodity for the Romans, collected in large vats and used for laundry purposes.

'Taking the piss' pot

Just as we were leaving the site, the rain started falling softly, thereby putting paid to any notions we'd entertained of taking a hike to the crater of Vesuvius, now shrouded in cloud. We instead had a mini adventure getting back to Sorrento...in our ignorance, we assumed we were on the correct train, but were actually heading for a who-knows-where as the train line branches shortly after Ercolano. Luckily, an Italian gent sitting opposite us must have overheard us saying something about Sorrento as, with a mixture of Italian and English and much wild gesturing, he managed to convince us to get off the train at the next stop and change platforms. Grazie!

Back in Sorrento, it was time for gelato and cappuccino...

La Dolce Vita - Part II

It was Day 2 of the Italian holiday, and we woke to a spectacular sunrise...

Sunrise over Sorrento

Before too long we were on our way to Pompeii Scavi on the Circumvesuviana train. Once we'd negotiated the "tourist traps" (stalls selling guide books and snacks at ridiculously inflated prices) that line the route from the train station to the entrance and bypassed the hordes of guides offering tours, we were onto the site and were observing the preserved time capsule of an ancient culture. I won't bore you with the details of the archaeological masterpiece of Pompeii....you can read all about it here.

All the guide books advise you to "not attempt to see the whole of Pompeii" in one day...so naturally, that's exactly what we tried to do! The highlights of the day for me were:

1. The beautiful floor mosaics and wall frescos in the baths, houses and temples...

Mosaics and frescos from Pompeii and Herculaneum*

2. The amphitheatre - standing in the centre and imagining being a gladiator, soon to face an opponent....or an early Christian, about to get devoured by a rather large puddy tat....

Amphitheatre

3. The plaster casts of the preserved bodies...yes, just a tad morbid but fascinating all the same.

Seated man

 4. The temples....

Temple of Apollo

5. Thermopolia (the McDonalds of the time) - marble counters inlaid with terraccota pots that would have been filled with hot food.

The biggest crowd-puller was the lupanarium (brothel), complete with its risque frescos....bit overhyped, I thought.

All in, an exhausting but fascinating day.

* Visited later in the week