Real life and homesickness

Barcelona - Day 17

The dawning of realisation

So life here is really about to begin in earnest and I'm a little apprehensive to say the least. What with having tasks to do for the first couple of weeks to keep me fully occupied, the tasks are done for now and real life starts.    But quite what real life will be for the next month remains to be seen as movement becomes more of challenge; and what real life will ensue is anyone's guess.

I don't remember the last time that when someone asked me what I was doing tomorrow that I could give the response..."quite honestly, I don't know."

Housewife weekend - tales of frustration from a sh1t oven

I've christened this weekend as "housewife weekend" as cooking and cleaning have taken centre stage.  This was not a weekend where I was thankful for the extra hour as the clocks went back - a few less would have suited me much better.

It doesn't seem to matter how many times I sweep the white floor tiles, a large pile of dirt and dust is guaranteed.  I'm already fed up with the brush and missing my marvelous Dyson.  I don't care if we don't have carpets, I still want a hoover.

Getting to grips with the oven has been this weekend's major challenge.  Jamie's "perfect roast chicken" recipe left me with a partially raw bird at the time of serving (thank goodness the Spanish like to eat late) and yet Sunday's lasagne was almost burnt in under half an hour.  At least the fish pie went down well - thank you Delia Smith.

Seven year-old jealousy

Ivan's son has been with us every weekend since we arrived when he would normally only see him every other weekend, so I'm not sure yet if that can be classed as normal life.  He's also especially jealous at the moment, no surprise, and I thank God that the amniotic fluid is supposed to provide the best suspension and protection system known to man.  Hopefully Popcorn is unaware of the slaps he receives to find out if he's awake.  I need to think of it as preparation for what is yet to come.  Little brothers inevitably have the sh1t kicked out of them by older brothers, so some early toughening up shouldn't do any harm.

Welcome to Catalunya
 
My frustration is compounded as they have what feels like their own secret Catalan language and almost resolutely refuse to speak Spanish which I've spent the last 18 months desperately trying to improve.  Officially the region has two languages, but don't believe a word of it. The official languages are Catalan and Catalan.  My Spanish efforts are met with vacant looks (and I'm really not that bad) and are translated immediately into Catalan so I might as well speak English.  If I'd come here 50 years ago when all but the Castillian languages were surpressed (a la Franco) I may have had an easier time.

So, my inability to master the local language, and not knowing people here are already making me look forward to coming home, but I suspect it's just the homesickness talking.


Don't look a gift horse in the mouth

Our plans were simple enough.  Take advantage of the additional maternity leave offered in the UK and come to Barcelona to have the baby and try out life.  Ivan would be with me when the baby was born and then look for a job to start in the new year.  In the antenatal classes that we attended in the UK he would lean over and say "it will be different for us as I'll be with you for the first few months and I've done it all before..."  Smug.

Not so...he starts his new job a week on Monday.  The six month contract will take us to May of next year which is at least a good time for us to start planning the move back to the UK.  The hours are pretty flexible (8-3 three days a week, 9-6 the other two) with some possibility of working from home, so the opportunity is too good to let pass.  The upside is that Ivan can have the summer off and we can make the most of our flat by the beach and have lots of friends to visit.  The downside is that I'll be stuck with a new baby and without friends in a town where speaking the traditional Spanish language is frowned upon.  People say that the first three months are absolute hell anyway, so chances are I may not even notice. Time to invest in a car.


First visitors...

....arrive this week.  I've just received news that they've broken down in Lyon in France so may not be staying quite as long as initially planned.  Just as well as I can't quite face getting intimate with the oven again so soon.