The house was gorgeous, isolated. We had our own pool from which we had a fantastic view of the mountains and the sea. There was also a Wii and a pool table so no danger of getting bored.
Our first move was to go back in to town to get some tapas for lunch and some groceries for the weekend. Bedar is one of those beautiful, quaint towns, of all white buildings embedded in a mountainside with a view of the sea.
But Bedar harbors a dirty secret, and it only took us a few minutes to realize that something was not right. The people were either red as beets or had skin that resembled an old leather purse, and too many people had fair hair. Asking natives for the best tapas bar in town only lead to confused stuttering. Signs, radio stations, and tv programs were in English. That's right--about 9/10ths of Bedar's population is British. Carlos had warned me of British enclaves in the south of Spain, but I had always imagined that his accounts were exaggerated and that it would be mostly retirees. But the place was crawling with Brits of all ages, little blond children getting of the school bus and fair adults running stores. I guess what bothered me the most was that no one seemed to be speaking Spanish...not well enough to be living there. I haven't been studying too long, and I was able to speak circles around all of them. I asked Carlos how the natives reacted to all the foreigners, and he told me that it was a combination of feelings--happiness that they are coming there and spending their money, but annoyance at the British invasion.
The next day we ventured to Mojacar, which is another beautiful white city perched right on top of a mountain next to the sea. Someone told me that the city has been described as a "melting wedding cake."
Mojacar is also infested with Brits, but it is bigger than Bedar so there are more natives too. After a nice lunch there, I dragged Carlos into the little touristy shops, since I can only smugly pretend like I am a native for so long before I am enchanted by hand-painted olive oil pitchers and flamenco dancer magnets.
So that was my lovely weekend. I had a bit of post vacation blues, even though it was a short vacation, and I don't work today (Monday). It is just so nice to get away!
I forgot to go on my usual bureaucracy tirade after my trip to the Foreigner's office a few weeks ago. And what is this blog if not a place for me to complain about bureaucracy? The crazy thing is that I am starting to have a new respect for the French system. The first time you go to the Prefecture in France, you have to wait a couple hours, and then they give you a list of what you need. In Spain, I never did know what I needed to get my papers. At orientation, a man came to talk about what we needed for our papers, but he did speak at the speed of light and managed to leave out a few important details too. So when I had my appointment, I just took all of my documents, and copies of all of my documents, and figured I would be fine. But when they finally called my number, it seemed that every time I got to talk to the man behind the desk, something wasn't right with my application, and I had to go run an errand to fix it.
The first time it was that there was a fee that I needed to pay at a bank in order to pay to get my papers, so I headed off to a bank, and luckily had a bit of cash with me. The second time the problem was that with the passport pictures I had, the background of the picture was grey and not white so I had to go have my pictures re-done. I barely had enough money to get new pictures--had to dump out my wallet and barely had enough thanks to all of those 5 and 2 cent pieces that have been accumulating in my wallet. And worst of all, the picture package I had to get has a large portrait picture of me looking pissed off after getting the run-around by the Oficina de Extranjeros! What am I supposed to do with that?
So I finally got back to the office, and I realized that I had seen everyone in the waiting room leaving and coming back several times, and my roommate who was also there informed me that they call your number 5 to 6 times throughout the day because usually it takes people that many times to run all these errands to get all of their paperwork right! I left my appointment demoralized and withan empty wallet. Why don't you just give everyone a list of what they need, Spain? Now I have to wait 40 days and go back to the office to see if my paperwork is ready. Why can't you just call me when it is ready?
Anyway, work is fine. I am starting to get the hang of things and enjoy it. In the evenings, I watch a lot of silly Spanish television with my roommates, which is a nice way to end the day. Wednesday is Carlos and my real anniversary so we are going to see the play Don Juan Tenorio, which is kind of a special play for us because once on a train to New Orleans, Carlos read and translated it for me.
Now I am planning Halloween lesson plans and a Halloween costume for this weekend (I am going to be a Frenchman, and Carlos is going to be my bottle of wine). Halloween is not really celebrated here, but my anglo friends and I are determined not to miss out on the holiday.