Two main addictions...

Today, I woke up with a question on my mind... Which are my two main addictions? What are the two main things I could not live without? Funny.... You wake up in the morning with such a question on your mind.... Why two and not three? I have no clue, but it was certainly two and not more than that... And even funnier, I had the answer straightaway... I did not even had to think; it was just as if the question was simply there to give the answer: bare feet and painting... That's my answer... What I most love and could not live without is that: first, the freedom of walking with no shoes nor socks, I simply love that (and, the top of the top, walking on sand bare feet...there is no more freedom than that, at least for me) and, second, painting, art, any expression of beauty by means of colors...

I was really happy with myself( admitting this does not happen so often, honestly) to have found not the two answers, but the question to give these two answers... But for sure there are many other things I could not live without either: music (how to live without U2, or AC/DC or Guns And Roses or my beloved Meat Loaf?), my lovely dog Luna or some so important people in my life (I would never cite them but could not live without them for sure and I simply hope they know it is this way.... so hard for me to express my feelings....).

Most probably, I chose those which will be with me until the day I die: the day I lose my freedom or the day I lose art will be the end of my days here... Though for sure, my life would have already ended the day music is silent or my Luna is not with me anymore or, above all, the day my special ones, those of you who do not even know who are so, would not be with me anymore...

I hate Valentines...

Yes, indeed, I hate Valentines day!

There are many reasons to explain why: I find it kitsch and absurdly pretentious... Maybe I do not believe much in love either, at least not in a conventional way... I think the majority of the couples would most probably get apart with time if it would not be because of children or because it ends up being somehow confortable for both so, no, I am not a big believer in love I guess... Of course I think love exists but it is short-lived and only secret or platonic loves last with time and are not eroded by daily coexistance... 

It may sound cynical and probably also pessimistic, and why not also weird that I am writing a post on Valentines when I openly hate it... It comes to my mind a phrase from Woody Allen "Life doesn't imitate art, it imitates bad television" ... And it is exactly that, how do we place and conceive something like Valentines? Sorry, it can only come from a bad TV series... But for sure the "implacable neurotic" Mr. Allen was the same one citing that "The only difference between sex and love is that sex relieves tension and love causes it"... And honestly, I could not agree more. Though not being at all obsessed with sex as he is, I admit being a bit neurotic which he perfectly defined as completely different from being psicotic; a psicotic basically thinks that two plus two make five, while we neurotic know they make four... but we do not like it! As simple as that!

How did I end up talking of Woody Allen and rephrasing him in a post dedicated to non-Valentines? Who knows...

Anyway, happy Valentines and till the next post!

Universo paralelo...

Los suizos son muy organizados y previsores, ésa es la verdad... Tanto es así que ven con antelación la previsión del tiempo o incluso la llevan como aplicación favorita en su móvil... Y lo entiendo, porque lo cierto es que en España te arriesgas a que te llueva algo o bajen un poco las temperaturas, pero aquí el riesgo es que te caiga la nevada del siglo y estés como en tierras del Yeti en menos que canta un gallo (y digo yo, a ver cómo traduzco yo lo de que canta un gallo, con esto de haberme propuesto publicar en inglés también...). Bueno, el caso es que el lunes cayó una nevada aquí monumental de la nada, de un día que comenzó de lo más normal... Los suizos iban preparados con sus botas pero aquí la menda llevaba unos zapatos de tacón de aguja que indicaba que o no había visto la previsión del tiempo o, si la había visto, me traía al pairo... De ahí lo del universo paralelo, porque realmente es que yo voy a mi bola total, y creo que con los años, más aún...

A las 4 pm miraba yo por las ventanas de la oficina y la cosa pintaba mal: cielo gris y copos de un tamaño considerable que no paraban de caer. Sin embargo, veía que el suelo estaba mojado pero no blanco, con lo que aún parecía haber esperanza... 4:30 pm y la cosa pintaba peor, copos por doquier y el suelo algo blanquecino... 5 pm y aquello iba sin freno... 5:30 pm y si no vi al Yeti por la ventana debió ser por la ventisca de nieve que caía, como ésas de las películas... En ese momento, viendo yo el percal, me armé de valor y decidí salir a recorrer el camino que separaba la oficina del parking, todo exterior, claro está, y de distancia nada despreciable.... Cómo expresar la sensación de caminar, más bien hundir, unos zapatos de tacón de aguja de nuestro querido Amancio (aquí tengo que poner una nota a los guiris y explicarles lo de Amancio, y esto de guiris como que tampoco se lo traducimos...) en la nieve es algo que a una no le ocurre todos los días (menos mal, porque si no estos me encierran)... Los taconcillos finos se hundían a modo de crampón de esos que se usan en la montaña, con lo cual no iba demasiado inestable.... Lo peor era que la nieve entraba por la parte delantera de los zapatos al interior, y eso ya sí que no molaba nada de nada... Menos mal que iba cubierta con la capucha y espero que nadie me rononociera porque cierto es que todo aquél que se cruzaba conmigo (más bien, todo aquél que me adelantaba... es decir, todo el mundo, porque claro, todos iban con sus botas mega-preparadas, menos yo que iba con tacones) alucinaba, por decirlo de manera clara.... Debían llegar a su casa a contar que habían visto a una chica con tacones con 50 cm de nieve en el suelo.... la leche!!! Aunque, en honor de la verdad, lo cierto es que con aquello de tacón-crampón si bien incómodo, tampoco era tan insegura la cosa.... Con esto no quiero decir que imponga la moda de tacones en la nieve no, pero bueno, que una iba llevando la situación lo mejor que podía...

En fin, estos días llevo botas pero.... En la oficina me cambio y me pono los tacones, que una es muy Mariquita, y ni la nevada del siglo ni ná pueden hacer que cambie de forma tan radical...

Hasta el próximo post

A Christmas Carol...

Since ages, I had promised to tell this story, so I am finally trying to do so… This happened to me some time ago, while I was living in Madrid and when I was not so skilled with the car (I do not claim to be Lewis Hamilton now for sure, but when I started with the car… well, let’s put it this way… I had certain difficulties)…

El Corte Inglés is the biggest department store in Spain and, in the capital city, Castellana is the biggest and the reference shop meaning that it is always fully packed! Well, to park in Castellana is always difficult, but when you try to do so during the Christmas period… then, any other thing you may want to do in this world is for sure easier! There is a parking space close to the entrance of the store where you can leave your car and actually pay a fortune for just a few minutes, but you accept it the way it is, and just pay! I tried to do so once during Christmas: organised and squared as I am, I had EVERYTHING planned in advance… getting there, parking in this place so close to the entrance and doing what I needed in just a very short time… all should have been perfect according to my scheme and planning… but it never is! Somehow, I missed the entrance of the parking and I entered in what I thought was actually the parking plot, to discover that I was in fact imprisoned in a one-car and one-way lane for taxis from which I could not escape! It is a kind of route of only one car width meant for taxis; taxis patiently follow it and advance a little bit averytime the taxi that is passing just in front of the store door collects a “victim” (or passenger). Who knows how I managed to enter this lane and miss the entrance for the parking???? Honestly, I have no clue!! It would have been much easier to meet Bruce Springsteen in an airport God knows where (something I would not mind at all, by the way), but the fact is that I finally ended up being caught in the middle of that queue from which I could not possibly escape! And really, now that I think about it, I have some problem with taxis, as most of my funny stories have happened with taxis in one way or the other… ok, I will not go into details as these will be posted sooner or later, I guess…

So, I was really disappointed on one side, but of course, I must admit I am quite used to these kind of situations, as my life seems to have been taken from a book (here, you should read “from a comic book”, of the “Bridget Jones Diary” or the like)… So, at this point, I evaluated my options: 1/ I start a career as a taxi driver in Madrid? Well, not really so attracted by that, I have to admit; 2/ I can get out of the car, do what I need in the shop, and quickly get back to the car? As long as the car moved with the queue, option 2/ seemed great to me (you have to admit it, it was a great idea at that moment)... And then I thought: why not asking someone to move the car meanwhile? Honestly, when I think of what I did in that specific moment, I doubt if I had either drunk something really strong or if I had smoked something of double strength, but I guess the answer is none of the two, the idea just came to me in my "normal and conscious state" (which can even be more worrying)… But, honestly, it simply came into my mind as most of the things do, just without thinking… that’s it… exactly without thinking (because if you think even for a second, any sensible person in this world would already discard the idea…. but not me….specially not me…).

So, just like that, with the option number 2/ in my head, I got out of the car, and went to speak to the taxi driver just behind me, patiently following the lane: “Would you mind moving my car while you move yours in the lane, and meanwhile, I will go into the shop and quickly finish something I need to do, please? It will only be a question of two minutes, and I will be back very, very soon, with plenty of time before you pass in front of the door to get your passenger, for sure….” No words can possibly do justice to the face that the poor taxi driver had when I explained to him “my plan corresponding to the option 2/”… He was just about to collapse or maybe to phone the mental hospital and ask whether someone was missing… But (maybe because it was Christmas? I do not think so, but in all films people are doing good things in this period, so why not?) the reality is that he was maybe too shocked to even be able to articulate anything that was not an “ok…??!!” and I gave him my car keys and ran into the store without waiting too long for him to react… I could finally shop what I needed and really the taxi driver needs to be happy that I was really rushing to get all done in the shortest possible time ever… And really admitting that I had plenty of “distractions” attracting my voluble resolution when it comes to being quick in a shop and focussing on an objective… So, really, he needs to be thankful and happy after all for what I did… Et voilà! I was back and my car was even two cars after the taxi that was at that moment in front of the door getting the next passenger… So proud and so happy to be there on time…

Even if not conventional at all, do you now understand that this post is titled A Christmas Carol?

So, so sweet, isn’t it?? I really love Christmas… Such a wonderful period…

Swiss yoga...

First post of the year after a long break, and in a new language! Not to follow by this that I am not in love with the language of Cervantes, but being an expat means to change in so many different ways that I somehow realized I needed to do this in English now... For those who know me well this just reassures you that I am as chaotic as I've always been!

To start with, I love yoga: I know, when somebody asks me which sports I practise and then I reply "golf and yoga" honestly this does not put me very high in sportive rankings... Still, I am not lying and these actually represent up to where my "sport level" can go... Believe it or not, risking to become highly impopular, I do not like sports, it's a fact...

But let me just start from yoga and from the beginning... I have been practising yoga for something like eight years now, starting in Madrid and now in Switzerland for over nine months. When I arrived to my first Swiss yoga class everybody started at the beginning to kiss each other: good, I thought, this is exactly like in Madrid... But here you kiss three times instead of two, a bit more tiresome but still ok... The main principle in yoga is that everyone loves everyone, so you just kiss everyone as if you knew that person forever... Being Spanish this would not create such a big issue, but to be honest, people here kiss at all times, much more than we do in Spain, no matter what you are told about that... and when it comes to yoga.. you kiss more...and each time you do a 50% more... so, in the end, you are quite tired of kissing...

Anyway, class begings: same principle, lots of candles, music with low Shanti and yoga mats prepared... Quite the same, I think... Your teacher comes (gorgeous woman probably ageing 60 and looking 40, when you are 40 looking ...let's not be cruel... 50) ... Still everything is the same as in Spain... After initial meditation opening your chakras (honestly, I have strong doubts that I have ever opened a chakra, I have no clue where these are located... I cannot find anything in my handbag, so how am I going to find and open something that, in case I find, I do not even know what to do with?), you start with the yoga postures, nothing new here either, so it should be a child's game you think... Life has now shown me that whenever you think that, you are getting into trouble, and this is just one more example. You start well: "jambe gauche" (here I use a mnemotechnic rule, "droite" with a d for "derecha", right, and the other one for what is not right, thus left) so "left leg"...good, left leg on top of "genou droit" ("droit" derecha) thus you put your left leg on top of your right knee...not an issue... but the cycle continues, and while you have your left leg on top of your right knee, you now have to put your "brat droit" (you can still think, even when you have your right leg over your left knee, or was it the left knee over the right leg? not to panic, just keep as you are and follow the instructions) so... "Brat droit" (droit, with d from derecha, right in english) so your right arm over your "brat gauche" (gauche no d, so left, which is not derecha, which is right in Spanish)... I follow, no problem, all is clear... Now, you add another variant, and you turn all your body "gauche" (gauche, no d, so izquierda, left in English) but your head is turned "droite" ( droite, d from derecha, right in English) ...ufffff. This is getting hard.... And of course while you are there, in such a confortable posture, you have to remember to open the chakras and to smile and the funny thing comes when you take a look at the other people in the class (after the mnemothecnic rules you could only concentrate on how to position yourself but you were completely away from anything else) to realize that you are doing some posture which has absolutely nothing to do with everyone else's posture... It is exactly the same as when you follow instructions when you buy something from ikea (yes, and you are a woman, because even if I have problems to admit it, men have something in their genes to allow them to mount anything easily while you struggle to follow instructions and get something close to reality) ... So you accept it, you are looking in a stupid way (if you have not tried yoga yet, I can tell you there are plenty of mirrors in any yoga class, just to remind you how hilarious you look), your posture is the ikea assembly of a woman (even better, of a woman in "one of those days") but you still have to smile, open your chakras (only seven, so what do you worry about?), empty your mind (for sure, this is something women do just as easy as that) and smile, always smile....

What I said... everything is the same as in Madrid...

Riquezas

Hoy he leído un pequeño artículo publicado por Ángeles Caso en La Vanguardia, titulado algo así como “Necesito poco, y lo poco que necesito, lo necesito poco”... Con sinceridad, me ha hecho reflexionar. Y mucho.

Es curioso el modo en el que el día a día nos envuelve, nos ciega, nos lleva de un sitio para otro, casi sin dejarnos siquiera el tiempo necesario para pensar. Y puede que todo esto sea intencionado para mantener el equilibrio de algunos frente a otros, que hayamos creado una sociedad en la que todo vale, pero nada vale en realidad: nos ciega el consumo, lo que tenemos, el creer que un mejor coche, un mejor piso o vestir con ropas más caras nos hará superiores a los que nos rodean. Y, ¿por qué negarlo? La mayoría nos sentimos vencedores cuando esto ocurre; en una palabra, sentimos que tenemos éxito. Sin embargo, si te paras a pensar durante un momento, te das cuenta de que eso que tanto crees que vale, realmente no vale nada. Aquello que no se materializa, que nos da pequeños momentos de felicidad es lo más valioso que podemos haber tenido, aquello que nada ni nadie nos puede quitar, pues pasó a formar parte inherente de nosotros.

Como siempre ha dicho mi padre, “no es más rico el que más tiene, sino el que menos necesita”...

¿Será que me hago mayor?

Sport

Las publicaciones en este blog comienzan a parecerse a mi estado de ánimo, vienen y van como el Guadiana... En fin, sea como sea, el haber recuperado mi estado de ánimo ha traído también algo de buen humor, y la conversación que he tenido hace un rato me ha hecho sonreír, reflexionar y de pronto me he dado cuenta de que me apetecía escribir sobre ella en el blog, así que aquí va.

Ciertamente no me considero una persona deportista, más bien soy todo lo contrario, y esquivo en la medida de lo posible todo lo que sea deporte: digamos que mis habilidades no pasan por ahí, y soy bastante, pero que bastante patosa. Muy patosa... En fin, hoy he coincidido para la comida (a las doce del mediodía, como está mandao en tierras suizas, y que conste que es tarde, pues muchos van a las once y media de la mañana, pero a mí aún me queda algo de la honrilla nacional) con una nueva compañera que es alemana. Pues bien, durante la típica conversación de todo y de nada, me ha preguntado si me gustaba el deporte y si practicaba alguno: “ejem... pues golf (cara de shock de la teutona), dos clases de esquí (más cara de shock) y, por supuesto, yoga (y aquí la teutona que casi se atraganta)”.

Su cara de shock y la falta de habla me han hecho pensar que, obviamente, no consideraba mis experiencias “deportivas” demasiado “atractivas”... Por educación (de ésa que a los españoles nos enseñan tanto, y que sorprende en tierras extranjeras) yo he preguntado qué deportes practicaba ella: “poca cosa (va y contesta), pesas, esqui “normal” y de campo a través (primera vez que me entero de que hay más de un tipo de esquí, ya me vale), montañismo y escalada”. Mamma mia, qué poca cosa, es cierto… Yo estaría avergonzada de tan poca cosa también (si fuera alemana, claro). “!Ah!” (me dice). “Bueno, eso y natación, claro, como tú”. “Pues no, como yo no” (contesto). “Para mí la piscina significa refrescarme en el agua, salir y tomar el sol, pero nadar, lo que se dice nadar... Pues no”. Y más cara de shock después, claro está. En definitiva, que yo no entiendo a estos alemanes. Voy a buscar en internet la “poca cosa” que hará Merkel y os la cuento en un próximo post... Anda que ....