The kitchen saga ends

So- I ended up cleaning everything. One of the rubbish bags was leaking and stank and dripped as I removed it from our domicile. Also, there were empty milk cartons that smelt like off-milk and there's nothing I hate more than the smell of milk, especially off-milk. Except maybe rotting garbage and faecal matter. I took out nine bags of rubbish plus numerous recycling items. And then I mopped our floors and disinfected them with bleach, and cleaned the bathroom and washed the dishcloths. I found a colony of pink mould on the taps in the bathroom (and I'd thought it was some fancy pink steel the Spaniards liked using) and what I'd thought was mottled enamel on our basin was actually grime. For once our kitchen and bathroom sparkled. Wonder how long it will last.

Cayley said she'd thought the 5L pot was Laure's which was why she didn't wash it up because she's so sick of cleaning up after her. I can't be too angry at Laure though because even though it is frustrating to live with someone who would let 9 bags of rubbish pile up over a week (because everything she eats comes out of a packet), her boyfriend did fix my socket for me. The power socket in my room was always falling out of the wall so you could see the cords, but today one of the cords came undone and I had my computer plugged in, so when I tried to remove it, it kept going 'SPOFF, SPOFF' and blue sparks would fly out. I didn't know what to do except not touch it, so I asked him and he turned off the electricity, fiddled with it for 10 minutes and it was back to normal. It's still coming out of the wall but he said he has something in his house that he'll bring over tomorrow to secure it. I now have around seven books propping it up.

When I went to the gym yesterday, these crazy beautiful weeds had sprouted all around the building so it looked like a yellow field out of a Miyazaki film. They must have appeared in less than a week because I'd been to the gym last Friday and it was all still barren and foreboding. Some of them are taller than I am. Mutant weeds.

I created a new recipe yesterday as I thought about what I could cook to use up the almost-expired eggs and tomatos in my fridge. It's called Catherine's Secret Omelette Recipe. But it's not very secret. You fry up some garlic, chop as much spinach as you need to get rid of, chop as many tomatos as you need to get rid of, whisk as many eggs as you need to get rid of, chop up as much ham as you want, throw it all into the saucepan together and cook until it looks done. Our fridge is strange. When I tried to crack two of the eggs, they wouldn't crack. I thought maybe I'd boiled them and forgot about it, so I peeled them and they had frozen solid. Quite gross. The other eggs were fine though. I wasn't sure if you could defrost frozen eggs and use them again so I chucked them out. My dad thinks I'm getting sick because I keep eating almost-expired food to save money.

My Kitchen- the Hellish Hole of Doom

Our kitchen is a petri dish of disease. As I type, new colonies are being created. Before I left for Madrid, I neglected to wash the pot that contained my 5 kg of curry. It was my fault- I should have washed it- but in my defense, I was soaking it and I was already feeling a bit unwell the night before leaving so it wasn't on the forefront of my mind. Anyway, I come back, and what do I find? The same pot with the same water inside it, plus numerous other dishes and cutlery, plus around five bags of garbage lying on the floor.

Normally if I'm doing my own washing up and there are extra dishes in the sink, I'll wash them up too but it infuriated me that even after all the extra dishes I've done, no one bothered to wash one measly pot. If they had done any washing up at all in the last week, which is questionable. So I left everything else I hadn't used in the sink and the pots and pans caked with pasta and pasta sauce on the stove.

But I'm in agony. The floor of the kitchen, especially under the table, is packed full of rubbish bags. None of it is mine because I took out all the rubbish before leaving for Madrid, so I shouldn't have to take it out but UGH!!!!! UGH!!!! How can someone live like that? When I came in this afternoon, the kitchen smelt like bad food. I actually had to air it out.

So- I am in a dilemma. Should I take out the rubbish and wash up the dishes so I can feel clean and healthy or should I leave it there so they learn that they need to take out their own crap and clean up after themselves?

Postscript: I had to take a photo of the state of our kitchen. It has to be seen to be believed. Most of the cereal boxes and milk cartons on the table are empty. We now have garbage lining our hallway because there's no more space under the kitchen table to put it.

Puerta de Toledo (me, with cheap new sunnies from El Rastro) 

Madrid (without the whinge)

I actually had a great weekend in Madrid before I got sick. I stayed with a friend from UTS, Monique, who's a little bit crazy but absolutely hysterical. She slept on an air mattress and let me sleep on her bed. The first night though, Breda and I thought we'd splurge and booked into a 2 star hotel where we got our own ensuite and didn't have to share the room with anyone else. No smelly guys for us!

The bear kissing the tree/bush/shrubbery is supposed to be a symbol of Madrid but I don't know what it's symbolising. I expected it to be a lot bigger. We found it by accident, and I thought it was a statue of the real statue that was actually twice the size, but no, that's it.

At night, Breda wanted to go to the Hard Rock Cafe, but there was a one and a half hour wait, so we went to Chueca instead, which was supposed to have great tapas and cool nightclubs. Some guy followed us down the street attempting to speak to us and it was only five minutes later that I realised he'd said 'Goodbye beautiful' to me in Chinese. Atrocious accent.

I actually got asked for ID at a club! In a country where the youth start drinking at 12 or 13! I must look 10. Unfortunately, I didn't have any because it all got stolen, so we went to another club where there weren't any scruples about age. (Spot the cow in the background of the photo of Breda and me.) We got home at around 3 am, but it was actually 4 am because of daylight saving, which we hadn't realised. I saw a few clocks that were an hour faster than my watch in some shops, but I just assumed the people were being stupid and playing a prank on their customers.

The next morning, we went to El Rastro, supposedly one of the biggest markets in Europe. It was interesting, but as the crowd grew, I became increasingly paranoid about my bag and pickpockets. Breda tripped over a pole sticking out of the ground and banged her knee. She left on Sunday night because she had classes on Monday, but when she got back to Logrono at 4 am, her knee had swollen up so much she went to Emergency to get x-rays. It is now swaddled in bandages for the next ten days.

Pigs are tasty

Yes, the Spanish people love their ham. Clockwise from top left: wall of ham; another wall of ham; Palace of Ham, random husky begging for ham; Ham Paradise; Museum of Ham.

Each individual pig thigh, trotter attached, costs around 150 Euros at the supermarket. They look really gross, all shrivelled and mouldy but actually taste quite good. You can get it as a tapa where they slice a piece off and put it on top of grilled bread and tomato.

The picture beneath is a thigh that's been sliced to the bone. I wish I could export one home for my dog to gnaw.

Be it ever so humble

Yay! I'm home! I'm home! Home to my hideous wallpaper and dirty bathroom! Home to the metro-less town and fantastic cheap tapas! I was so happy to drive over the bridges into Logrono and see the graffiti underneath the arches, I nearly hugged the bus driver. The apartment blocks actually looked welcoming.

Madrid wasn't too bad- I saw some good things but I was so sick for most of it I'm trying to block it all out. There was Starbucks with my first soy hot chocolate in almost two months (which I later threw up), Hard Rock Cafe and a divine HUGE BLT sandwich (which I also later threw up), El Rastro and the squashy crowds, a strike about parking meters that surrounded our hostel so we couldn't find our way back, a goth club where the only gothic thing was the bartender's face, Joy night club with go-go dancers, and Petra's International Bookstore where I picked up 4 English books, 5 Spanish books and 2 DVDs all for the bargain price of 13,50 Euros (admittedly, the Spanish books are kid's books- my Spanish reading level).

Like the picture? Yes, I know you're drooling. It's a wall of CANDY.

Madrid

I'm in Madrid at the moment and I'm sick here too. My dad's friend said it was unlikely I'd come down with the same stomach virus four times in two months so I must have food poisoning. I'm disgusted. I must be allergic to Spain or something. Am so ready to go home to Australia. It's lucky that I don't have much choice in the matter right now because I don't have a passport, otherwise I'd probably change my ticket and leave. I'm going to whinge briefly: this is the worst few months of my life. I've never been so sick before and it's absolutely horrible being sick away from home and not being able to see a doctor. I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home. I want my dog and Allen and my family and a healthy atmosphere that doesn't make me throw up every few weeks or contract some other disease/virus/bacteria. So ready to leave. So ready to leave. Hate being sick. I didn't see anything in Madrid because I was too sick to walk around. Bah. Bah. Hate being in Spain. Hate being here. Want to leeeeeeeeeeeeeave. Want my mum's salubrious cooking.

End of whinge.

Curry has come to Logrono

Today was relatively uneventful; except that I accidentally made around 5 kg of curry. Apparently it can feed twelve people. It looks like it can feed twenty.

When I was in Barcelona, I visited a Chinese supermarket and bought this fabulous curry stuff that my mum uses at home in Sydney to make curry. I'd been meaning to make it in Logrono but hadn't been well enough to want to eat much until today. So I invited Mel over and she helped me chop up the carrots and potatoes and meat but it wasn't until everything was chopped up that I realised how much food I had. The instructions said there were twelve cubes in the box and you were supposed to use one cube per kg of meat and four onions, plus whatever other vegetables you wanted to put in. So I threw in around 7 or 8 potatoes, a whole bunch of carrots and a broccoli.

I think the instructions are erroneous. I ended up using almost two thirds of the cubes and now have a freezer full of tupperwared curry that will probably last me till the end of Summer. When Allen gets here I'm going to force-feed him curry till it's all gone. Our house smells like curry and the base of the pan I used has burnt onion embedded into it that I suspect not even boiling water and super strong detergent can remove. At least it tastes good. Can you imagine anything worse than eating 5 kg of foul stew?

I'm feeling snarly

Just made a collage of my dog and now I feel heaps better. I've been feeling very cranky and snappy lately. I think it's because I've been sick on and off for more than a month now and I'M TIRED OF IT.

In other news, I'm going to Pamplona tomorrow for the day. Mel's flatmate is driving there and offered us a free ride. Yay! I love free stuff. Especially the ones you get at the train station in Sydney because they're usually cool. I got a packet of tissues once just when I was coming down with a cold.

Allen is sick too. I wish I'd been the one to give it to him because no one has the right to share their diseases with him except for me.

Temporary Camera

For those of you wondering ie. DAD and CAROLINA, my friend Javier kindly lent me his camera until I get my replacement one. Or until I see him next, whichever comes first. So that's how I've been taking photos.

This is a photo of my sister's dog Sally looking at her beautiful reflection in the window. Her hobby is wiping her wet nose on the car windows so it gets streak marks. She is so cute and spotty. When she was a puppy my dad used to be able to hold her in his palm.

St. Patrick's Day

On Friday Breda, who is Irish by descent, wanted to go out and celebrate St. Patrick's Day. We went to her flat first and everyone was taking shots except for me because I'm on antibiotics. Actually I didn't want to drink anyway, and it's a good excuse. Maybe I'll pretend to be on antibiotics indefinitely. The photo on the left is of a shot of apple schnapps with a splash of Baileys. If you look carefully you can see how the Baileys has sunk to the bottom so it looks like a stomach in preserving liquid.

Afterwards we went to an Irish pub. They were giving out Guinness hats if you buy two pints of Guinness but had run out by the time we got there. We met some really cool Irish people and a Canadian and a guy who's read my blog came and said hello to me too. Then some freaky Spanish guy came up and asked where we were from and when we said Australia, he looked at me and said 'No! You have Oriental eyes.' He kept asking me where I was really from and finally went away because he was pissing me off and I was ignoring him. Actually, I asked him 'Do you have sunstroke?' in English and he looked at me blankly and said 'Que?' and then went away when I didn't repeat it.

It was so interesting seeing an Irish pub in Spain, where everyone's drinking Guinness and speaking in Spanish.

Allen has a stalker!

I thought this was hysterical and so deserved a post of its own: ALLEN HAS A STALKER! Wahahahahaha. Someone called him up at his work, wanting help with something or other, and after the phone call, she asked for his number which he gave her because he didn't know what to say and she started messaging him, asking if he had a girlfriend and if she minded if they spoke or something and if she knew she was a very lucky person to have him. No, she doesn't mind as long as stalker doesn't follow him around and freak him out and get increasingly possessive and finally stun him with an elephant dart stunner then drag him off and steal his shoes, especially if the shoes are the ones he got for Christmas. My creature has a stalker!!! How exciting.

My other creature has been relegated to the back corner of the verandah because apparently he kept biting my sister on the bum when she came out. She's so cruel. She laughed when she told me about it and couldn't stop laughing, even though my poor dog is in the outer edges of society now, where no one ever goes. I demanded that she move his basket back to the doors but she laughed even harder. I hope he bites her bum again and then pushes her down the stairs. He's not even a big dog so his bite isn't really a bite- it's more a friendly nip. He's just showing appreciation for her ample rear end. I'm extremely concerned for him. I had a dream that he was all skin and bones- well, more skin and bones than usual, and his face was so wrinkley he looked positively haggard. I think my dreams have a prophetic quality. I had a dream I saw my sister's unborn child, so now I suspect I know its gender, although I do have a 50-50 chance of getting it right anyway. I love this photo of my dog. He looks like a homeless old man.

Wine Tasting

We went to a winery for my Cultura Vitivinicola class. It was my first time inside an actual wine making place, seeing the machines and grape washers and crushers. There was a barrel room about 100 square metres, with row upon row of barrels of wine stacked on top of each other. The grape washing room reeked of alcohol which even I could smell through my blocked nose. Apparently the cleaner the grapes the better tasting the wine. I always thought dirt was supposed to add flavour to wine. In the barrel room, one guy was changing the wine from one barrel to another- they do that every six months and each wine can get changed up to four times- and checking the colour of the wine with a candle. It was so fascinating. Felt sorry for the guy though, if he had to swap all the wines around in that room every six months. I think working at a winery could cure you of alcoholism. The picture on the top is of the wine being bottled, which I took illegally. It's a strangely hypnotic process, watching the corks whizzing through the chute, then popping onto the bottles and the bottles gliding out in a uniform line, zigzagging across the room to the finish line.

We got to taste wine at the end too, a white and two reds, one young and one older which had a lovely dark colour. Unfortunately, since I was sick I couldn't smell or taste anything and they all tasted the same to me- like nothing, but with a sour aftertaste. Such a waste. I don't think I was even supposed to drink at all because I'm on antibiotics. The older red was supposed to have been really good though.

Afterwards, we had lunch back at uni with the rest of the class. It was party day at uni, with the Engineering students holding a massive party on the front lawn of the Engineering building to raise money for something (not a charity or anything, something like their end of year trip). Absolutely packed full of people, beer bottles and empty chip bags and plastic bags and wrappers everywhere. There was even music going on, and someone had brought a couch from home which she and her friends were reclining on in the middle of the footpath. Very interesting but when I walked past there after the party had ended, it was absolutely foul. The ground was sticky from all the spilt drinks, the lawn was just covered in rubbish so you could barely see any grass and there were people slumped everywhere.

Bargain Books

When I was in Barcelona, I picked up three books- a cookbook in Spanish for 1,90 Euros with recipes I want to eat but suspect I'll never be bothered trying to make, a book called The Cat Who Talked Turkey for the bargain price of 3 Euros, and a book called La Vida Sexual de Catherine M. This last one I got because it's my name, and Allen told me it's supposed to be a really good book. However, I'm glad I got it in Spanish and not English because so far it's proved to be slightly graphic but a lot of it I don't understand. I'm also learning a lot of words I don't think will come in handy in everyday conversation. It's interesting though, because even though it was only published a few years ago, I think the author's writing about women's liberation a few decades ago. Sort of like reading The Female Eunuch and seeing what's changed and what hasn't. Next time I buy a book in Spanish I'm going to buy a children's one so I can actually understand what's happening. The bookstore also sold Th Chronicles of Narnia in Spanish but it was beyond my budget.

I finished reading Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro in Barcelona. Definitely worth the 10 Euros I paid for it. It was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. The Booker Prize is a bit of a hit and miss, I think personally but this one was good, and Ishiguro is more or less a trustworthy author. The choice of English books in Logrono is very limited- I had a selection consisting of classics for around four times the price you'd pay in Australia, Danielle Steele and other romance/potboilers/pulp fiction. Perhaps I should join the local library. Not being able to read is stressing me out, especially when I'm sick and can't leave my house and I have nothing else to do. If I get incredibly desperate I might have to borrow Paulina Simmons from Emily. (Please, someone shoot me first).

Disease Phase Two

For some reason I looked very stunned in the picture. Hahaha haha hahaha. This was before I became very ill (note the mirthless laugh). Last night, Emily, Mel, Breda, Louis, Laure, Javier and Fernando took me out for my birthday. Cayley was sick so she stayed home and slept. We went to a crepe place in Logrono, which was absolutely delectable. I plan to take my mum and Allen there when they come, although it's French and not really Spanish. I did very well- I managed to eat a whole savoury crepe by myself and then most of the banana and caramel one. It felt wonderful to gorge after not eating for so long. Afterwards, we went to a salsa bar called Tropicana (I think) but this was when I started feeling really shivery and unwell.

When I got home, I jumped into bed with my hot water bottle and heat pack, but I was still freezing. My temperature was 39.2, and I felt like dying. I think being sick away from home is the worst feeling in the world. In the morning, my temperature was still the same, so Javier went in to the uni to ask about what doctor I should see. Apparently in Spain everyone is assigned a doctor. However, since I'm not a citizen, the public hospital turned me away, so we went looking for a private one. Javier found one relatively close to me and made an appointment for me, but when we got there it turned out to be a clinic for 'obesidad'. It was the funniest consultation I've ever had. The doctor seemed very unsure of himself, and wrote me two scripts, one for today, and one for two days later, in case the first lot of medication didn't do me any good. He never actually said what was wrong with me, although he did listen to my chest while I breathed and looked like he was pondering. Javier was so apologetic for taking me there but I didn't mind too much- it was about on par with the 24 hour Medical Centre at home (which incidentally is a misnomer because it's not open 24 hours) and at least I didn't have to wait 2 hours to see someone. Plus at least he didn't look at me and say 'Yes, yes, I see you have a problem with obesity.'

The consultation cost 20 Euros, which is really cheap compared to Australia, and I got some antibiotics which I can take. I started coughing up blood which really unnerved me but my dad said it was probably just from too much stress on my throat. He thinks you can tell a lot about a person's disease by the colour of his/her phlegm. I think the antibiotics are working- my throat doesn't hurt as much, although my obliques are like rocks from coughing too much. I guess that means I don't have to do situps for a while.

Disease!

I'm deathly ill. I took my temperature and it was around 38.8, which I thought couldn't be right. I assumed it was because I'd just got out of bed, and was nice and toasty, so I waited around 5 minutes to take it again and it was almost the same. So I took some foul medicine the lady at the Farmacia gave me, which has paracetamol and something else in it, waited around 20 minutes and my temperature had dropped to 38.2. My dad thinks I potentially have pneumonia.

I made myself some boiled lemon and honey water, but it just didn't taste the same as the one my mum makes. Mine was gross and greasy and bitter. Perhaps I cut my lemons the wrong way.

My flatmate is so funny. We went to an international students party on Saturday night, and she kept making people take photos over and over again because she claimed she looked fat in most of them. Actually, it got a bit tedious, but then the whole party was tedious and I wasn't drinking because I didn't feel like it. I got cornered by the dullest guy I've ever talked to in my life.

My throat really hurts. It feels like someone's been scraping away at it with a rusty nail. I like how you can go to the pharmacy here, tell them your symptoms and they sell you something to make them go away, instead of having to visit a doctor and get a prescription. I don't think I can afford to visit the doctor here; actually I don't think I've even seen one. I've seen beauty parlours and dental clinics but no doctors or medical centres.

The pitter-patter of little feet

There are swans in Logrono! Twelve to be exact. I bet each one used to be a princess.

I lie. We spotted only three, one of whom looked constipated.

Had a horrible day. Well, actually it wasn't too bad. I'm just agitated. The first thing I did this morning was go into the uni to speak to the International Studies organiser/officer/head of department about my lost documents. But fancy- she wasn't in, and doesn't plan to be back from Brazil till the 20th of March. And then I was going to go to the police station with Javier because I suspected the police might not speak English, and fancy- he's out of town for the weekend. How dare these people take holidays when I need them? So I spent an arduous hour at the police station trying to describe everything in my bag. One of the police said my Spanish was very good though. Ha!

The pitter-patter of little feet was heard all throughout Logrono today as I dashed about madly trying to get everything done and organised. Very exhausted, but too stressed to sleep.

Bah to Barcelona

I'm extremely ambivalent towards Barcelona at the moment. On the one hand, it's got all this culture and beauty, and on the other, it's full of sleazy guys, crowded streets and thieves. I got my bag stolen about 5 minutes before my bus departure time. I was really sick on my birthday, so I didn't get to do much, just lay in bed, and yesterday, I was still throwing up, and not able to eat or walk around much. Right before the bus left, I needed to throw up, so I told Melissa that I was going to the bathroom, left my stuff with her and ran off. When I came back, I sat down and realised my poor little leathery bag had gone. Melissa said she'd been reading and hadn't seen a thing, but that it was possible that someone had passed by and stolen it. At first I thought I must have left it in the bathroom, but I remember catching sight of myself as I walked in, thinking I looked kind of skeletal from not eating and being sick, and I didn't have a bag then. I went and checked though, and it was truly gone.

My passport, my wallet with my driver's license and student cards, my new camera and new glasses were all in there. And my mobile. With all the cute photos of Gryffin. And our bus tickets

I started bawling, because I was so tired and nauseous, and my head was spinning, and this was more than I could handle. But I got over it about 20 minutes later. Luckily our bus was delayed by half an hour, so we talked to the lady who worked there and she said it would be fine for us to still catch the bus. However, the bus driver wouldn't let us on without a ticket, and even though we told him the lady would be coming to explain the situation in a few minutes, he shut the doors and was about to reverse the bus. I got so angry then. I grabbed my stuff and stood behind the bus, refusing to let him leave without me on it. Finally someone came to explain and he let us on. He was mean though. A cranky unsympathetic bastard.

Barcelona is full of people who'll take advantage of you if you're not careful. Melissa kept getting accosted by sleazy guys because she was always so nice and friendly, and would smile and keep talking to them even though they were absolutely foul. I've decided it's safer just not to make eye contact with people, and if you have to, pick your nose and eat it while you're looking at them. There was one nice guy though, at the hostel we stayed at. He was an elderly Irishman, and when he saw I was sick, he gave me his natural herbal remedy to drink that was supposed to settle the stomach. Later he also bought me soy yoghurt and an energy bar to keep my energy levels up. I don't know how he knew I only drank soy. He said it helps that little bit more if you know someone cares. It was so sweet of him.

Saw the Sagrada Familia, el Poble Espanyol and the Museu Picasso amongst other things. Also went up the mountain to the Castell and caught a cable car down. It was pretty fun, but my memory of Barcelona will always be tainted with my memories of the last two days. I wish I'd been travelling with Allen. He's laidback enough not to care if we don't have a set itinerary but he's sensible enough to make sure everything's going all right. And he's fun. Plus I always miss him when I'm sick

Barcelona

Melissa and I bought tickets to Barcelona today. We're catching the 2am bus so we'll get there and have all of Saturday to find a hostel and rest a bit, and still have time to look around. I'll be spending my birthday there! Can't wait. There's a wine festival or something there, which is why we're going. Emily and Breda were going to come as well, but they weren't happy with the idea of just turning up and hoping we could find some place to stay. So they've gone to Bilbao today, and are coming back tonight and going to Breda's friend's pueblo on Saturday.

Last Sunday, Melissa and I went to a cafe and had our first paella in Spain. I've got before and after shots of it. Yesterday I went to my first authentic wine tasting event. A lot of pompous farts (like the old man who told me I wasn't holding my glass properly) and a lot of alcoholic uni students. We paid 6 Euros for the glass, had as much as we wanted to drink, and got to keep it too. A photographer took a photo of me and a winemaker- probably because I was the only Asian person in the place. Some of the wines were pretty good, but I tried one that hadn't been finished which was disgusting. My Cultura Vitivinicola tutor was there- I hope he didn't remember that I wasn't in class. I had to go to the bank, because I wasn't sure whether we were going to Barcelona on Friday or Saturday.