About that internet arriving on Monday. Pablo came, he saw, he conquered, veni, vidi, vici for all of twenty minutes until I joyously went to connect to the wifi. "Se produjo un error," an error produced itself. Actually an error is producing itself right now as our lights keep fusing. People are running back and forward to the mains while I sit in the dark like the devil himself, lit up eerily by laptop screen.
Anyway, I don't suppose any compscis are reading but if you great gods of technology are there can anyone explain why in the name of God a connection to wifi fails because of a timeout on operating system Windows Vista. The internet particles must move faster than Speedy Gonzales to create a timeout in less than 5 seconds. Oy vay.
I'm using an Ethernet cable to provide a fleeting link to t'interweb and to let you all know never, ever should your families be held at gunpoint by Muamar Gaddaffi himself, matriculate in a spanish university. La Autonoma almost killed us.
We got to Cantobalnco Campus. In 30 degrees of heat. My pale aforementioned Irish skin could not take it. Melanin production was at its height. I was the Wicked Witch of the West, Melting! Melting! And there the fun began.
We arrived at Ori Derecho. Here I must explain that we laboured under the assumption Ori Derecho was a friendly Spaniard who kept sending us helpful emails and asked to please speak to Ori for a good two weeks before we realised two things. ORI stands for Oficina de Relaciones Internacionales. And Derecho is the spanish word for Law. The shame...
Anyway we arrived and waved our printed sheet of classes we were accpeted onto. They were all very exciting indeed, theory of democracy, history of america. japonese, etc
"No, no, no. Aha. Dese you cannot take."
Well that was a prelude to sorting out our own timetables from scratch in an office the size of my living room, sin (without) air conditioning, heading up hopefully every so often to have the same Russian lady shake her head and say "No. no, no, dese are full, jes?"
People were desperate, it was like Ellis Island during the Great Depression. One poor lass was weeping in the corner, actually weeping, and shaking her head to some strange Latin beat.
And then I couldn't matriculate. I hadn't registered. And it is at this point I must point out that the gaps between faculties and offices would have made Columbus give up on finding dry land. I set off, like Frodo with the ring, except I had my passport and Sauron was in the form of a little American MTV-chirpy girl who made my foot itch. And I am not a violent woman. First she told me to love, eat and sleep with my guidebook, then she insulted my Spanish then she did the unthinkable...
"Ah, just two seconds guys, ahah, you need a copy of your EHIC card, alright. I, uh, you can't register without it, okay"
I wish I'd replied with "Bodacious!" What I said (ratcheting up the Irish charm to 12) was...
"I couldn't ever be cheeky and print it off in here, could I?" (All it needed was a Begorrah and Bejaysus but I know my limits)
Ah, no, no sorry but you can go to the Economics Faculty..."
No I couldn't go to the bloody Economics faculty. They wouldn't let me in. The only one that would was Philosophy and that was another continent away and I had no computer ID nor printer card nor wish to be there any more. Then I heard voices. Voices speaking English. A strange accent to be sure but there they were.
And they were Sue and Linda. And they were South African. And they took pity on me in my hour of need and yea verily did they let me login and useth of the printer. And so I was saved...
Until I went back to Ori (department not jovial Spaniard) and they were shut. That whole operation took nine hours. So verily did we go hit the Irish bars for all they were worth and where my Begorrahs and Bejaysus' bought many a free round.
Lessee, after that saga there was the awkward moment with the contortionist on the Metro, a close shave with that Cuban Louis Spence, an actual flat party with more Americans than I've ever seen in my life!! That was exciting. Or was until we woke up the next morning and contrary to all films I've ever seen no one had stolen anything, chundered "everywhah" nor even left the toilet seat up. That sort of thing shouldn't be allowed. Then there was the other Aileen Devlin living in Madrid which became a completely out of the blue barrier to setting up a Santander account and the joke that was blown out of all proportion, the teasing about my skillful heating up of a tortilla that had me making chicken and bacon carbonara for seven.
As we, Frank Sinatra (and I've found out the Spanish say) asà es la vida, that's life. Well, mine at any rate.
(Also if someone could actually help with the shagging internet it would be greatly appreciated. It does get so lonely wandering past closed bedrooms doors when alll the worlds on Skype...)
xo
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