Life is an interesting thing and my thoughts and plans seldom follow what they are told to do. When I first thought of writing blogs I didn’t have a clear direction of where it would go. Once I started creating content though, I began thinking of where it SHOULD go.
Beginning a new life in a new and daunting community of live-aboard sailing, largely unknown to me at the time, I went straight to technology. Utilizing YouTube, forums and other blogs for research. Encouraged, I had these building thoughts and ideas about blogging on topics such as sustainability, exercising on a yacht, and budgeting as a liveaboard. Do you want to see my wonderful graphs showing boring information? After reading the many blogs about the art of sailing and the nautical miles at a beam reach, I wasn’t convinced I had the skill to portray this effectively. It’s true, my readers might include some exceptional sailors, however, the vast majority are not interested in how long we beat into the wind yesterday. So while I still have a passion and big focus on sailing and exploring the world from the water, none of these blogs made it to print. Possibly because I have another story to tell...
What drives my writing ultimately comes down to two things:
Being open and honest and understanding my emotional journey and sharing this with you.
Keeping no secrets, exposing the humour in the embarrassing moments of our lives.
And now, it is time to make you laugh. I hope to bring you some smiles that will give a little light in your day.
Humour on the bike
You know what it’s like when you visit a foreign city; initially, you are more than a little suspicious of the locals. No more so than here in Spain where the men have a welcome reputation for being charming. Imagine my surprise then when, while riding in the forest, I was greeted by a tall, dark and handsome mountain biker. He rode up (quite closely) and whispered “Hola, que tal”. Naturally, I replied with an “esta bien” and quickly accelerated away. A few minutes later and he again pulled up next to me to repeat, this time a little out of breath, “Hola que tal”. One heavy sigh later and I resorted to “I am English” - this works often. Fortunately Sergio Casanova - yes you got it! - chuckled back “muy bien, I speak English very well”! Mmm.
At this stage, Kevin was heavy on the brakes. Dropping back to give this Spanish hombre, who had the audacity to speak to his girlfriend, a once-over. I’m still not sure if it was the Kevin-look, or my bike, that tempted Sergio to offer to kill us on “Glory to Jose”. You need to understand, this is the benchmark downhill mountain bike track in the area. It’s a tribute to the great Jose — Sergio’s brother who tragically died just over a year ago - that sets the pecking order among the local riders. Jose was one of the more famous mountain bikers in the area, whose reputation as a legend will live on forever. He is missed, and discussed almost daily, in the forest by every mountain biker we meet.
Unfortunately, we had not yet discovered that Sergio is a fairly scary individual. He has competed on both the Catalunya and National Spanish MTB circuits, raced in the Paris to Dakar rally, and is currently a stunt driver by profession (as well as working for Maserati). Had we known at the time, we would possibly have declined his offer.
After successfully going over the handlebars on “Glory to Jose” I made it to the bottom in one piece to receive many good, strong back-slaps, with congratulations, from Sergio and his friends. I soon discovered that no, it wasn’t me he was interested in. Rather the combination of my trusty Santacruz, that caught his eye, and the fact that I am a woman on such a magnificent bike in His forest.
The only challenge still is that when this wild bunch of guys race down the hills, past the poor walkers gesticulating wildly, I am left to meekly speed past behind apologizing with a “disculpe, lo siento”. I have officially been called an “animales”, and I carry the badge proudly, albeit with a little embarrassment.
So has started a truly rewarding friendship and many happy, if not heart-elevating, hours of riding on the most exceptional trails (with more than a little Tequila in-between). Yes, my friend Sergio is a bike snob. For this I am grateful, and of course, that I could live up to his expectations.
Trying To Learn The Language
Finally, I am starting to grasp the Spanish language, but it wasn’t so easy in the beginning. Prior to arrival in Spain I rather foolishly thought that I had enough words stored in my memory bank to get by and could fit right along into the community. However, when we arrived, it became apparent quickly that I didn’t understand a single word or conversation I was being exposed to. It really didn’t help that the Spanish speak at the speed of auctioneers.
During and early campervan trip through Ainsa, while cycling through a little village, two builders greeted us with a cheerful “bon dia”. Expecting “buenos dias” I was a little shocked at this “slang” version of good morning I knew nothing about. It took me a good few weeks to realize they were speaking Catalan, which is closer to French than it is to Spanish. Ok, so I knew that many Spanish regions have their own languages and dialects, but I truly had no idea how strong and independent the sub-cultures are within this country.
So now I am inadvertently trying to learn three languages; Spanish, Catalan and Italian - from those Spanish movies, dubbed into Italian with English subtitles, I was watching in the hopes of improving my Spanish. Why stop now, might as well throw in some German too.
Besides, how am I supposed to learn the language when there is no one available to speak to? Everyone keeps going on siesta! Obviously, I had heard of a siesta before, but I didn’t take it seriously. Come on, who can afford to nap every day (other than my mother-in-law of course ;-) I am still not clear on exactly what they do during siesta time; do they really sleep? It’s not like they can run off the shops, they are all closed - even the pharmacies. How do they close between 2 and 5 pm when they only opened at 9 - and some only at 10. Is this like with the Scots, who only pretend to wear nothing under those kilts?
After eight months in Spain and we are still battling to match our hours to theirs. How can you miss these magnificent sunrises each morning because you are sleeping and only went to bed after midnight? Maybe we too should be catching some siesta during the day.
The Daily Challenges Of Living In Catalunya
Last Friday I grabbed my bike, popping down to the shops to quickly buy some washing powder. But you know me, that just didn’t seem like a worthwhile excursion. So one short detour later, with a bottle of tequila procured, I headed off to get that washing powder.
To my surprise, the smallest box was 2.6kg. My challenge, I only brought a tiny backpack. After all, I needed to look cool on the bike, who cares what I could or couldn’t fit into it. No problem, I would make a plan. I bought a largish shopping bag - greenies don’t kill me, it was made from recycled plastic - for the washing powder. After much twisting and winding, I eventually managed to pretzel my arms through the loops of the shopping bag handles, getting it onto my back. Over this went my backpack, much to the amusement of the local shoppers watching me struggle.
Getting onto the bike was a slight challenge and as I peddled away, the saying “it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt” went through my head. Fortunately, the route home to our Catamaran GypsyDjango was mostly flat so this was not going to be a biggey. The fun part was crossing the railway lines so that I could ride back along the beach path. This is much safer than the road, provided you get across before the next train arrives. You have to be quick, as the train drivers tend to get irritated when you are in their way.
As I attempted to run across the track - carrying my Tequila tra-la-la, the new bag with that massive 2.6kg box of washing powder, and my 13kg bike - I was imagining what would happen if I tripped. What a dilemma that would have been, trying to decide what I would leave behind as I frantically jumped off the track to avoid the approaching train. Would I save my bike or the tequila? My last thought as the train squashes me; “I hope my bottle of tequila is ok”.
The good news though is that if I put my boot on the railway track, the strength of the vibrations tells me the proximity of the train...
At the end of the day, if I took you along on a journey with this blog and it made you laugh, I will have achieved. I can't be the only one laughing at myself - its time to share. I love writing, I love this blogging thing. I love the moments when I sit down and pour the words out, from my thoughts to these lines. Right here. Right now.
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