Disclaimer: The first
few lines of this blog entry may be self-congratulatory and contain a
dangerously high dose of smugness. I do
solemnly swear that the rest of the blog will steer clear of that kind of nonsense.
MY NEW FLAT HAS A POOL AND MY WALK TO WORK IS ALONG A
MEDITERRANEAN BEACH!!!!!!
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| Walk to work |
Okay, let’s rewind a few days and get some context.
Malaga
It is 6 o'clock in the morning on the 30th of August 2014. Sensible people are tucked snugly in their beds, actively exploring the wonders of not being awake.
Crazy people are still awake, sucking the last bacchanalian marrow out of the dying remnants of the summer party season before Autumn and the day job come calling.
I, on the other hand, am just getting up, bleary-eyed and tousle-headed, torn unwillingly from the not-quite-comfort-but-it’ll-do of my conveniently located, reasonably priced hostal accomodation.
I zombie my way through Malaga’s metro system (accompanied by the dulcet tones of Eurodance music pumped out by a pair of bronzed, precipitously high heeled Russian girls) to the airport and my morning hop across the Alboran Sea crossing from Spain in Europe to Spain in Africa.
It is 6 o'clock in the morning on the 30th of August 2014. Sensible people are tucked snugly in their beds, actively exploring the wonders of not being awake.
Crazy people are still awake, sucking the last bacchanalian marrow out of the dying remnants of the summer party season before Autumn and the day job come calling.
I, on the other hand, am just getting up, bleary-eyed and tousle-headed, torn unwillingly from the not-quite-comfort-but-it’ll-do of my conveniently located, reasonably priced hostal accomodation.
I zombie my way through Malaga’s metro system (accompanied by the dulcet tones of Eurodance music pumped out by a pair of bronzed, precipitously high heeled Russian girls) to the airport and my morning hop across the Alboran Sea crossing from Spain in Europe to Spain in Africa.
This has to be the first time I’ve taken a domestic flight that traversed two continents (I'm figuring that Russia, Turkey and Panama may also be contenders for this crown).
Melilla I arrive in Melilla at Feria time (the annual fair), so the entire town is in party mode, its mix of cultures encapsulated in a swirl of flamenco dresses and head scarves, hookah pipes and tapas stalls.
It seems the whole town has taken the week off to enjoy the fair' s mixture of traditional Spanish and Moroccan entertainments, such as bingo and bumper cars. |
| A Reverse Top Gun - which I believe is a kind of wrestling move. |
But I am a homeless, so I can't just play about in the Feria all week. Time to flat hunt. There are ten teachers on the British Centre flat-hunt enjoying a kind of sweaty, bewildered city-tour, wandering from prospective flat to prospective flat in a midday heat daze of need-somewhere-to-live desperation.
I am seeking three things: 1) An oven
2) A spare room
3) A swimming pool
It's a tall order, but the very last flat of the day comes up trumps.
Flat secured, it was time to acquire the little necessities which you always need to get when you move into a new place.
I was advised to wander a few blocks down the seafront from my new gaff to a Chinese run establishment called Sol Y Mar. This turned out to be a veritable Aladdin' s cave of competitively priced miscellanea. After spending an extended period exploring entranced the cornucopia of fabrics, stationary, tupperware, flip-flops, screws nails and tools, kiddies backpacks and kitchenware on offer I purchased the essentials required for every civilized establishment: a coffee grinder, an Italian style cafetiere, a cocktail shaker and a 300pc poker set (and was rewarded with a bonus complementary Chinese charm to place on the front door).
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| The Essentials |
And so, the first week of teacher induction, feria wandering and flat-hunting over, I am ready to get stuck into some serious teaching.
