My Visit With Steve and Why I decided to Move
I have a friend named Steve, and he is Scottish. If you don't recall this story (which is entirely possible-I won't assume everyone is a loyal reader), I'll give you some context. I was in London last year during my summer abroad, and I met Steve in the hostel. He showed me around his hometown of Glasgow before returning to London to visit me one last time before I went back home to North Carolina. Since then, we have kept in touch, and once I got to Spain, he planned a short trip to visit me.
To be honest, we didn't do much. Mostly a lot of walking and vague pointing (that's Gran Vía, here's another water fountain, I think the train station is that way...). The weather was pleasant enough, and I was thankful that other than one afternoon of rain, it was pretty sunny (or at the most kind of cloudy) during the days he was here. I couldn't host Steve because of the dorm I live in, so he stayed in a hotel nearby. He got to meet my other Scottish (and more specifically, Glaswegian) friends, and it was all very confusing for me. To be honest, I have become very accustomed to not knowing what is being said around me, and this night spent with five Glaswegians was no exception.
I was really hoping that I would know about all the cool places to go in Vigo before he arrived, but I really didn't. Any restaurant we stopped in was a guess, and usually it disappointed. Here in Vigo, it's no different from the rest of the world, in that you could happen upon a shitty place or you might be luckier and find a great place. You might get great food and crappy service, or it might be great service with a nowhere location. This kind of gamble happens everywhere, even back home. However, while Steve was here, I saw the city differently. You know when you're watching a movie with someone who hasn't seen it, and you end up noticing new things you hadn't before, because you're really watching them watch the movie? It was kind of like that. I knew the food was different, but it wasn't until Steve got here that I realized that Vigo doesn't have many actual restaurants. It's all little cafés and cafeterias with the exact. same. menu. And don't get me wrong, I love Spanish food. I love croquetas, and tortilla, and paella, and marisco, and calamari, and hell, I even thought pulpo was good. But there is NO variety in Spanish restaurants. None at all. And suddenly I miss all of the food back home. Flaming Amy's and Kilwins and cheeseburgers and sushi and quesadillas and my mom's ziti dances around in my dreams. But I digress.
Apart from the restaurants all being the same, it was tough to find a nice place to have a drink. But you are sorely mistaken if you underestimate the Glaswegian's ability to find a good place to drink. I was so impressed with his talent, in fact, that I think I have a few new "regular" places to go now. Steve found and approved of more good bars in his 5 days here in Vigo than I have in my two months. Seriously, well done.
Unfortunately I had to work during the week, but we had the Celta Vigo - Barcelona game to look forward to. We were really excited and, even though it was somewhat late at night, I had work off the next day. The night before, we bar hopped to our heart's content (actually, I was just showing Steve all the bars that I'd been to so far, hoping to find at least one that he approved of. I don't think he did, actually, but the giant smile on his face when we were able to order a 3€ mojito betrayed him). I work really short hours on Wednesday, and while I was away I got the following message from Steve:
"Soooooo. A little thing happened last night in Vigo. It seems Barcelona beat celta Vigo 3-0... :/"
Yeah...we missed it. Steve says they change the days of the games sometimes for TV. Which is realllyyy unfortunate. I vow, someday, before I leave Europe, I will make it to a soccer game. Hopefully this next one won't cost an arm and a leg, or un ojo de la cara as they say in Spanish (Side note! I figured out another way to say that in Spanish, but you can't say in polite company, okay? Ready? "Cuesta un huevo y parte del otro." It means "It costs one ball (testicle) and part of the other." Use it wisely).
That night I had to return to the CRD briefly to visit the medic, but as it was a holiday last Friday, he wasn't in. In fact, they shut the whole residence down on Wednesday after 6:30pm. They almost didn't let me in (but I put on my most pathetic voice and said "But...I live here..."). While we were there, Steve said "This is like a level of Resident Evil." And I said, yes, yes it is. That's exactly what living here is like. It's terrifying at night, especially during the weekends because no one else is there. But besides that, living in the CRD is like playing a video game. Doing simple chores like laundry means circumventing randomly locked doors by going downstairs and outside, up the hill to the skywalk, ringing the bell to have the security guard buzz the door open, going to the Concello office where the admin worker rarely is (even though the sign on the door clearly indicates that he should be in the office at that time), getting frustrated and going to a separate office to have them call the guy who should be in the Concello office, waiting for another 15 minutes until he arrives, getting the key from him, going back to the skywalk, have the security guy buzz you out, go back down the hill, into the building and back upstairs to where you live to retrieve your clothes, then go back to the skywalk to go to the girls' dorm to put your clothes in the washer in the laundry room (which is locked at random times for mystery reasons). And that's just laundry, I won't even tell you about trying to use the computer or the gym, just in the interest of not boring you.
The next day, Steve left early in the morning. I accompanied him to the train station and left only when he got on the train. I'm not going to write you and emotionally charged paragraph about how I'll miss him and blah blah blah, because the truth is, we are very, very used to not seeing each other often. In fact, I'm much more used to not being around Steve than being around him. The worst part about him leaving was was going back to the empty CRD, where there was no one except the security guard, and sitting on my stupid metal frame bed with its tiny mattress in my cold ugly room with its re-purposed medical center furniture (not kidding about that one-my old night stand and my desk came from hospital rooms). After a week of actual human interaction and the relief of being able to speak English, I was back at the empty CRD, alone for the weekend, only this time it was worse because with the holiday, the CRD was empty for two extra days.
But let's not begin this pity party. I had some shopping to do. The cafeteria was shut down for the weekend, and I knew the shops would be closed on Friday, so I went to buy some food for the weekend. On my way back from the store, it began to rain. Stronger at first, but then slowing down to a little more than a drizzle. The kind that's not heavy enough for an umbrella, but heavy enough to be annoying. I reached the outside gate and rang the bell. No answer. How did I know this would happen? I rang the bell a couple more times, but to no avail. The security guard was out of the office and I just had to wait.
This is not the first time this has happened. I should be clear in saying that I don't blame the security guy, per se. I know that there's only one of them working at a time, and I know they have to do their rounds. It's this system's fault that I have no other option, no other way home, other than to just simply wait. I stood in the rain for about 20 minutes or more until the door was finally opened for me. I had those 20 minutes to reflect and to think about the state of my living situation. I said the same thing over and over to anyone who would listen while I was working out where I would live: "My experience is going to depend heavily on what my living situation is." And here I was, stewing in my frustration and anger and raininess, hating my living situation. I had reminded myself again and again and again that this was all free, "I'm not paying for any of this." But it just wasn't worth it anymore. All the redeeming qualities seemed to fade into the ugly murky grey Vigo weather. I don't care that it's free anymore. I am extremely unhappy. No one seems to give a crap about accommodating me over the weekends, and in fact, everyone seems to forget that I'm even there. I can't come or go to my own place without waiting for a man to let me through two separate doors. I can't use any of the facilities (laundry, gym, library, cafeteria) because the whole place shuts down. No one else is there and I'm entirely alone (that's not an exaggeration-I'm actually the only person in the entire school on the weekends). And to top it off, I'm not even in town. At any given point, I am about a half hour away from the next bus coming around, and once I board said bus, I am about a 20-25 minute ride away from the center. Oh-also the wifi cuts out at midnight. THE WIFI, YOU GUYS. IT CUTS OUT AT MIDNIGHT. I'm never going to feel at home here, and that's the truth. This all went through my head as I stood at that wrought iron gate in the rain, staring up at the empty security guard's office at the top of the hill, and at this point in time, ladies and gents, I said "It's time to move out."
So then Halloween happened! I went to meet my lovely new friend Mel, whom I met through couch surfing, and we went to a party. Mel was recently rendered homeless by an unsanitary flat and a "dickhead" landlord, and was staying with her friend Dani. She told me she had gotten an estate agent, which cost her a lot of money, but she said it was worth it, because it's safer from renters who try to take advantage of foreigners, and also the agents will arrange everything for you from viewings to contracts, beginning to end. I asked Mel if she would pass along her estate agent's information to me, because I thought this would be a good place to start, and then, like a cinematic moment, we realized at the same time that we could live together.
The very next day, we went to see an apartment in the center. The building outside looked very promising; the lobby inside even better. My first impression walking inside was that the kitchen was comically small. The door opens up into the kitchen, but it's about the size of what you'd think of a little entrance nook where you put a small table to set your keys down on when you get home. Everything is mini-the fridge even the dishwasher! But the important thing is is that I've actually got a dishwasher and a kitchen and a STOVE and I'm proud to have it. The living area is fantastic. And there are two bedrooms, one of which is about half the size of the one I've got now but it's actually warm and inviting. And the terrace, you guys! The terrace! It's really big! I can't wait till spring when we'll be able to use it. Anyway, I'm rambling. Thursday, I decided to move out. Friday I had found a roommate and an apartment. Sunday I moved in. Monday I sign the contract. So, to all the people who I heartily promised could sleep on my couch while I'm here in Vigo, and then subsequently notified that I did not, actually, have a couch for them to sleep on: It gives me great pleasure to announce that you are more than welcome at my Spanish apartment and it will be an honor to have you sleep on my couch.
Actually, it's more of a futon.
So I was struggling to meet people. Bad. I decided I needed to take control of that, and I utilized the resources available to me (namely, couch surfing) and already I've made some great friends. I even got a new roommate out of it! Then I decided that I don't want to simply accept being miserable in the dorms anymore. So I took control of my living situation, and now I'm actually excited to be here. It's rainy and grey outside, like always, but I'm seeing the city through rose tinted glasses. Now, I feel like I can focus on work. Or finding a good restaurant in Vigo...
PS My first paycheck came in the other day. Hollaaaa
El mundo es un libro y aquellos que no viajan leen sólo una página
To be honest, we didn't do much. Mostly a lot of walking and vague pointing (that's Gran Vía, here's another water fountain, I think the train station is that way...). The weather was pleasant enough, and I was thankful that other than one afternoon of rain, it was pretty sunny (or at the most kind of cloudy) during the days he was here. I couldn't host Steve because of the dorm I live in, so he stayed in a hotel nearby. He got to meet my other Scottish (and more specifically, Glaswegian) friends, and it was all very confusing for me. To be honest, I have become very accustomed to not knowing what is being said around me, and this night spent with five Glaswegians was no exception.
I was really hoping that I would know about all the cool places to go in Vigo before he arrived, but I really didn't. Any restaurant we stopped in was a guess, and usually it disappointed. Here in Vigo, it's no different from the rest of the world, in that you could happen upon a shitty place or you might be luckier and find a great place. You might get great food and crappy service, or it might be great service with a nowhere location. This kind of gamble happens everywhere, even back home. However, while Steve was here, I saw the city differently. You know when you're watching a movie with someone who hasn't seen it, and you end up noticing new things you hadn't before, because you're really watching them watch the movie? It was kind of like that. I knew the food was different, but it wasn't until Steve got here that I realized that Vigo doesn't have many actual restaurants. It's all little cafés and cafeterias with the exact. same. menu. And don't get me wrong, I love Spanish food. I love croquetas, and tortilla, and paella, and marisco, and calamari, and hell, I even thought pulpo was good. But there is NO variety in Spanish restaurants. None at all. And suddenly I miss all of the food back home. Flaming Amy's and Kilwins and cheeseburgers and sushi and quesadillas and my mom's ziti dances around in my dreams. But I digress.
Apart from the restaurants all being the same, it was tough to find a nice place to have a drink. But you are sorely mistaken if you underestimate the Glaswegian's ability to find a good place to drink. I was so impressed with his talent, in fact, that I think I have a few new "regular" places to go now. Steve found and approved of more good bars in his 5 days here in Vigo than I have in my two months. Seriously, well done.
Unfortunately I had to work during the week, but we had the Celta Vigo - Barcelona game to look forward to. We were really excited and, even though it was somewhat late at night, I had work off the next day. The night before, we bar hopped to our heart's content (actually, I was just showing Steve all the bars that I'd been to so far, hoping to find at least one that he approved of. I don't think he did, actually, but the giant smile on his face when we were able to order a 3€ mojito betrayed him). I work really short hours on Wednesday, and while I was away I got the following message from Steve:
"Soooooo. A little thing happened last night in Vigo. It seems Barcelona beat celta Vigo 3-0... :/"
Yeah...we missed it. Steve says they change the days of the games sometimes for TV. Which is realllyyy unfortunate. I vow, someday, before I leave Europe, I will make it to a soccer game. Hopefully this next one won't cost an arm and a leg, or un ojo de la cara as they say in Spanish (Side note! I figured out another way to say that in Spanish, but you can't say in polite company, okay? Ready? "Cuesta un huevo y parte del otro." It means "It costs one ball (testicle) and part of the other." Use it wisely).
That night I had to return to the CRD briefly to visit the medic, but as it was a holiday last Friday, he wasn't in. In fact, they shut the whole residence down on Wednesday after 6:30pm. They almost didn't let me in (but I put on my most pathetic voice and said "But...I live here..."). While we were there, Steve said "This is like a level of Resident Evil." And I said, yes, yes it is. That's exactly what living here is like. It's terrifying at night, especially during the weekends because no one else is there. But besides that, living in the CRD is like playing a video game. Doing simple chores like laundry means circumventing randomly locked doors by going downstairs and outside, up the hill to the skywalk, ringing the bell to have the security guard buzz the door open, going to the Concello office where the admin worker rarely is (even though the sign on the door clearly indicates that he should be in the office at that time), getting frustrated and going to a separate office to have them call the guy who should be in the Concello office, waiting for another 15 minutes until he arrives, getting the key from him, going back to the skywalk, have the security guy buzz you out, go back down the hill, into the building and back upstairs to where you live to retrieve your clothes, then go back to the skywalk to go to the girls' dorm to put your clothes in the washer in the laundry room (which is locked at random times for mystery reasons). And that's just laundry, I won't even tell you about trying to use the computer or the gym, just in the interest of not boring you.
The next day, Steve left early in the morning. I accompanied him to the train station and left only when he got on the train. I'm not going to write you and emotionally charged paragraph about how I'll miss him and blah blah blah, because the truth is, we are very, very used to not seeing each other often. In fact, I'm much more used to not being around Steve than being around him. The worst part about him leaving was was going back to the empty CRD, where there was no one except the security guard, and sitting on my stupid metal frame bed with its tiny mattress in my cold ugly room with its re-purposed medical center furniture (not kidding about that one-my old night stand and my desk came from hospital rooms). After a week of actual human interaction and the relief of being able to speak English, I was back at the empty CRD, alone for the weekend, only this time it was worse because with the holiday, the CRD was empty for two extra days.
But let's not begin this pity party. I had some shopping to do. The cafeteria was shut down for the weekend, and I knew the shops would be closed on Friday, so I went to buy some food for the weekend. On my way back from the store, it began to rain. Stronger at first, but then slowing down to a little more than a drizzle. The kind that's not heavy enough for an umbrella, but heavy enough to be annoying. I reached the outside gate and rang the bell. No answer. How did I know this would happen? I rang the bell a couple more times, but to no avail. The security guard was out of the office and I just had to wait.
This is not the first time this has happened. I should be clear in saying that I don't blame the security guy, per se. I know that there's only one of them working at a time, and I know they have to do their rounds. It's this system's fault that I have no other option, no other way home, other than to just simply wait. I stood in the rain for about 20 minutes or more until the door was finally opened for me. I had those 20 minutes to reflect and to think about the state of my living situation. I said the same thing over and over to anyone who would listen while I was working out where I would live: "My experience is going to depend heavily on what my living situation is." And here I was, stewing in my frustration and anger and raininess, hating my living situation. I had reminded myself again and again and again that this was all free, "I'm not paying for any of this." But it just wasn't worth it anymore. All the redeeming qualities seemed to fade into the ugly murky grey Vigo weather. I don't care that it's free anymore. I am extremely unhappy. No one seems to give a crap about accommodating me over the weekends, and in fact, everyone seems to forget that I'm even there. I can't come or go to my own place without waiting for a man to let me through two separate doors. I can't use any of the facilities (laundry, gym, library, cafeteria) because the whole place shuts down. No one else is there and I'm entirely alone (that's not an exaggeration-I'm actually the only person in the entire school on the weekends). And to top it off, I'm not even in town. At any given point, I am about a half hour away from the next bus coming around, and once I board said bus, I am about a 20-25 minute ride away from the center. Oh-also the wifi cuts out at midnight. THE WIFI, YOU GUYS. IT CUTS OUT AT MIDNIGHT. I'm never going to feel at home here, and that's the truth. This all went through my head as I stood at that wrought iron gate in the rain, staring up at the empty security guard's office at the top of the hill, and at this point in time, ladies and gents, I said "It's time to move out."
So then Halloween happened! I went to meet my lovely new friend Mel, whom I met through couch surfing, and we went to a party. Mel was recently rendered homeless by an unsanitary flat and a "dickhead" landlord, and was staying with her friend Dani. She told me she had gotten an estate agent, which cost her a lot of money, but she said it was worth it, because it's safer from renters who try to take advantage of foreigners, and also the agents will arrange everything for you from viewings to contracts, beginning to end. I asked Mel if she would pass along her estate agent's information to me, because I thought this would be a good place to start, and then, like a cinematic moment, we realized at the same time that we could live together.
The very next day, we went to see an apartment in the center. The building outside looked very promising; the lobby inside even better. My first impression walking inside was that the kitchen was comically small. The door opens up into the kitchen, but it's about the size of what you'd think of a little entrance nook where you put a small table to set your keys down on when you get home. Everything is mini-the fridge even the dishwasher! But the important thing is is that I've actually got a dishwasher and a kitchen and a STOVE and I'm proud to have it. The living area is fantastic. And there are two bedrooms, one of which is about half the size of the one I've got now but it's actually warm and inviting. And the terrace, you guys! The terrace! It's really big! I can't wait till spring when we'll be able to use it. Anyway, I'm rambling. Thursday, I decided to move out. Friday I had found a roommate and an apartment. Sunday I moved in. Monday I sign the contract. So, to all the people who I heartily promised could sleep on my couch while I'm here in Vigo, and then subsequently notified that I did not, actually, have a couch for them to sleep on: It gives me great pleasure to announce that you are more than welcome at my Spanish apartment and it will be an honor to have you sleep on my couch.
Actually, it's more of a futon.
So I was struggling to meet people. Bad. I decided I needed to take control of that, and I utilized the resources available to me (namely, couch surfing) and already I've made some great friends. I even got a new roommate out of it! Then I decided that I don't want to simply accept being miserable in the dorms anymore. So I took control of my living situation, and now I'm actually excited to be here. It's rainy and grey outside, like always, but I'm seeing the city through rose tinted glasses. Now, I feel like I can focus on work. Or finding a good restaurant in Vigo...
PS My first paycheck came in the other day. Hollaaaa
El mundo es un libro y aquellos que no viajan leen sólo una página
Sherri, this is another great post and I'm happy to hear that you have made new friends and found a great place to live. I know that you will have really great memories of living in Vigo.
ReplyDeleteAll I can say is, you are AWESOME Sherri! Way to go!
ReplyDelete