Today is Friday and the school finish at 1 pm. I have been in Candem Town market in the afternoon with my classmates. The place is great. You must go there when you visit London. Absolutely. My classmates came back soon, so I decided to take a walk. There was a lot of people in the streets. The crowd was stuck at the gate of the Tottenham Court Road tube station. The police ordered to go into and to go out from station by turns. I saw a queue of eight people in front of a cash machine of Lloyds Bank. Next to it, HSBC had a line with ten cash machines with a lot of people.
People was having beer in the street, outside pubs, like El Salvador Square on Friday afternoon (afternoon is after noon, after 12 pm, as its name says).
I looked for a nice place where having dinner, but all the restaurants were full. In some of them, people looked into the menu while waited his turn outside in the street. I had to eat something in a fast food place, although I was sit down very confortably in a leather armchair.
After dinner, I have been walking around The Soho and Chinatown. The streets were very very busy. I finished in Piccadilly Circus, where I took the tube to came back at home. At the link of Earl's Court, I asked to an English gentleman for the next train, and he asked me if I'm Italian. He spoke in a very correct Spanish and told me he is a teacher of English. He gave me a card of a cheap hotel of your family and he offered to talk to me in English if I want. He told me my English is very good and I am happy.
viernes, 11 de febrero de 2011
jueves, 10 de febrero de 2011
London XII
I am going to present some of my classmates.
Maybe, the most curious case is Veronica. The first day, in the welcome room, I focused in a woman because she was certainly in her forties, which highlighted at that place where the most were in their twenties or less. When we meet in class I knew that Veronica is a catholic Korean noon.
The second case is Jovanna. Jovanna is from Montenegro and she says that her country has 600.000 inhabitants. I think I had luck because I could met one of them in the world. Her main language is Serbian and her second language is Russian. She speaks perfectly Russian, because she lives in Moscow and works in a travel agency. I asked her about secession of Montenegro from Serbia and she did not like. I agree with her, although I am not from Montenegro. I told her that in Spain we say it is better tail of lion than head of mouse.
The third case is Benoit. He is from the French-speaking area of Switzerland and he speaks four languages. English, which he speaks better than me, will be his fifth language. Benoit thinks the French believe they're better than everyone else. I told him that the word chauvinism, used in many languages, comes actually from French.
These days had lunch with Iovanna, Benoit and Irma, who is from Estonia. She is not in my class and I only know about her she works at a bank, because she speaks very little.
Another day I will speak about other people.
To be continued...
-- Desde mi iPad
Maybe, the most curious case is Veronica. The first day, in the welcome room, I focused in a woman because she was certainly in her forties, which highlighted at that place where the most were in their twenties or less. When we meet in class I knew that Veronica is a catholic Korean noon.
The second case is Jovanna. Jovanna is from Montenegro and she says that her country has 600.000 inhabitants. I think I had luck because I could met one of them in the world. Her main language is Serbian and her second language is Russian. She speaks perfectly Russian, because she lives in Moscow and works in a travel agency. I asked her about secession of Montenegro from Serbia and she did not like. I agree with her, although I am not from Montenegro. I told her that in Spain we say it is better tail of lion than head of mouse.
The third case is Benoit. He is from the French-speaking area of Switzerland and he speaks four languages. English, which he speaks better than me, will be his fifth language. Benoit thinks the French believe they're better than everyone else. I told him that the word chauvinism, used in many languages, comes actually from French.
These days had lunch with Iovanna, Benoit and Irma, who is from Estonia. She is not in my class and I only know about her she works at a bank, because she speaks very little.
Another day I will speak about other people.
To be continued...
-- Desde mi iPad
lunes, 7 de febrero de 2011
London XI
We are twelve people in my class, from eight different nationalities: Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, Italy, Montenegro (not Black Mountain), Switzerland, Argentina and a smart and very young boy who came from Spain.
This is my first day in the school. I am angry because I could not swim today because I got lost looking for the pool because a wrong indication and I found it later and also I have too much homework, so I have to stop.
To be continued.
-- Desde Mi iPad
This is my first day in the school. I am angry because I could not swim today because I got lost looking for the pool because a wrong indication and I found it later and also I have too much homework, so I have to stop.
To be continued.
-- Desde Mi iPad
London X
Andrea, one of the boys, asked me this early morning at breakfast if I had had a good sleep (what a lovely boy!) At first I did not understand him, because he spoke to me too far. His mother suggested him inmediatly he should repeat it nearer and, finally, I could understand him (not british). I asked him if Monday was a hard day for him. He put a sad expression and said yes. He is lovely. Really!
Writen in the tube to my first day in the school.
To be continued...
-- Desde Mi iPhone
Writen in the tube to my first day in the school.
To be continued...
-- Desde Mi iPhone
domingo, 6 de febrero de 2011
London IX
Things can get better. If you do not believe it, read the following. It is the anti-Murphy law.
I moved yesterday. The vet phoned early to say that Patch (the cat) had eaten that morning in the animal's hospital, where he was. Like a person. The patient had a good night and he had eaten. It was something good, wasn't it?
The lunch was delayed, so I had to eat quickly, because the taxi was coming. When I left, my host family said good bye to me only with a handshake (british). But, before, Claire, the girl, hugged me very affectionate and emotional. My teacher said that we'll keep in touch, I'll phone her, etc., but, "If you want". She repeated that two or three times.
I arrived at Garzolini's home half an hour later.
First, a cup of tea, of course. My hosts (Anna Maria and Jeremy) talked with me for one hour or more. They spoke carefully and slowly and I could understand them. They asked me about my family, job and everything and she told me they were born in Cape Town (Ciudad del Cabo), South Africa and their fathers are Italians and their mothers are English. They have been living in London since seventeen years ago.
The other day I told you they have three children who are 9, 8 and 4 years old. The oldest children play violin and piano, respectively and the younger, Francesca, practices dancing. One of the boys sings in a chorus which plays in Brompton Oratory, an old catholic church which I remembered, because I liked very much and I took a photo to Carlos in its garden.
In the home, in the dinning room, there is a beautiful black piano and classic music sounded in the stereo while we talked.
After one hour or more I asked for my room, because I was impatient. My room is in the second floor and Jeremy had uploaded my heavy lugagge. She told me that if I did not mind taking off my shoes before climbing the stairs, because the carpet.
My room is very light and spacious. It has a big bed, two bedside table, an armchair, a chest of drawers, a table and a chair. My private bathroom is just next to the bedroom and it is spacious and has a windows overlooking the street. Everything looks amazing. It is like a small apartment only for me. I could say that I am going to stay in a four stars hotel (well, an Engish four stars hotel, I do not want to overstate). In fact, Anna Maria told me later that the Roger Federer's parents had stayed in my room during the Wimbledon championship. Like you hear it!
I am writing this having a coffee in a Cafe Nero, a place like Starbucks, where the coffee is as bad as everywhere. I asked for a cappuccino medium size and the waiter gave me a big cup of half liter of strange and creamy liquid. I had been walking for several hours in London with a frozen wind and, maybe, in that moment, I understood such a bad coffees are sold in Starbucks and similar bars. With that bad weather people wants to have a big glass or cup of anything, but very hot. I would prefer a cup of "caldito", but...what I am going to do...
-- Desde Mi iPhone
I moved yesterday. The vet phoned early to say that Patch (the cat) had eaten that morning in the animal's hospital, where he was. Like a person. The patient had a good night and he had eaten. It was something good, wasn't it?
The lunch was delayed, so I had to eat quickly, because the taxi was coming. When I left, my host family said good bye to me only with a handshake (british). But, before, Claire, the girl, hugged me very affectionate and emotional. My teacher said that we'll keep in touch, I'll phone her, etc., but, "If you want". She repeated that two or three times.
I arrived at Garzolini's home half an hour later.
First, a cup of tea, of course. My hosts (Anna Maria and Jeremy) talked with me for one hour or more. They spoke carefully and slowly and I could understand them. They asked me about my family, job and everything and she told me they were born in Cape Town (Ciudad del Cabo), South Africa and their fathers are Italians and their mothers are English. They have been living in London since seventeen years ago.
The other day I told you they have three children who are 9, 8 and 4 years old. The oldest children play violin and piano, respectively and the younger, Francesca, practices dancing. One of the boys sings in a chorus which plays in Brompton Oratory, an old catholic church which I remembered, because I liked very much and I took a photo to Carlos in its garden.
In the home, in the dinning room, there is a beautiful black piano and classic music sounded in the stereo while we talked.
After one hour or more I asked for my room, because I was impatient. My room is in the second floor and Jeremy had uploaded my heavy lugagge. She told me that if I did not mind taking off my shoes before climbing the stairs, because the carpet.
My room is very light and spacious. It has a big bed, two bedside table, an armchair, a chest of drawers, a table and a chair. My private bathroom is just next to the bedroom and it is spacious and has a windows overlooking the street. Everything looks amazing. It is like a small apartment only for me. I could say that I am going to stay in a four stars hotel (well, an Engish four stars hotel, I do not want to overstate). In fact, Anna Maria told me later that the Roger Federer's parents had stayed in my room during the Wimbledon championship. Like you hear it!
I am writing this having a coffee in a Cafe Nero, a place like Starbucks, where the coffee is as bad as everywhere. I asked for a cappuccino medium size and the waiter gave me a big cup of half liter of strange and creamy liquid. I had been walking for several hours in London with a frozen wind and, maybe, in that moment, I understood such a bad coffees are sold in Starbucks and similar bars. With that bad weather people wants to have a big glass or cup of anything, but very hot. I would prefer a cup of "caldito", but...what I am going to do...
-- Desde Mi iPhone
viernes, 4 de febrero de 2011
London VIII
Today I arrived at home from London for dinner and I found a tragedy. A car has run over the cat and he has broken a leg and several ribs. The surgery has cost 4.000 pounds. Any doubt about the love of the English for the animals?
Nevertheless, my host family has had the courage to uncork the bottle of wine I gave them the other day (which, incidentally, was not bad), to drink it at dinner. I told them I especially appreciated the detail, because I understood that the day is not for celebrations. The father said they were celebrating that I'm leaving tomorrow. So we had a conversation about British humor (british).
After dinner, a friend of Claire, the girl's home, asked me about the recipe for paella. I was trying to explain her the ingredients and the way for cooking paella. In short, without words.
Well, I leave here tomorrow with a good taste. Tonight, as a goodbye and because was Friday, we went to a pub for a drink and the day ended with the emotional losses on the poor cat.
Tomorrow, new home, new family. We'll see ...
To be continued ...
-- From My iPad
Nevertheless, my host family has had the courage to uncork the bottle of wine I gave them the other day (which, incidentally, was not bad), to drink it at dinner. I told them I especially appreciated the detail, because I understood that the day is not for celebrations. The father said they were celebrating that I'm leaving tomorrow. So we had a conversation about British humor (british).
After dinner, a friend of Claire, the girl's home, asked me about the recipe for paella. I was trying to explain her the ingredients and the way for cooking paella. In short, without words.
Well, I leave here tomorrow with a good taste. Tonight, as a goodbye and because was Friday, we went to a pub for a drink and the day ended with the emotional losses on the poor cat.
Tomorrow, new home, new family. We'll see ...
To be continued ...
-- From My iPad
jueves, 3 de febrero de 2011
London VII
Maybe you think that in the United Kingdom is always bad weather. These days read in a book of my teacher about United Kingdom that the image of a wet and foggy land was created two thousand years ago by the invading Romans and has been perpetuated in modern times by Hollywood. It is funny, isn’t it?
True o false, british people is always talking about the weather and my teacher, every morning, tell me if it is a dry or wet day, or a beautiful day when it is cloudy, or a lovely day if you can see sometimes the sun, or absolutely lovely day if it is a sunny day, as today is.
This afternoon, after having lunch with my teacher in a big pub in Surbiton (where I am now living), I have been walking along a beautiful path by the Thames river and it was a really lovely afternoon. Look at the photos.
I walked between Surbiton to Kingston, a town next to Surbiton, 1,5 miles away, approximately. When I went towards Kingston, the sun warmed my back and then, I stopped and sat down in a bench. There are a lot of benches of wood by the path and, on all of them, there is a memory like this photo.
It is a bit sad to read the memory of so many people who enjoyed this place and cannot today.
Coming back to Surbiton, the sun warmed my face and I thought that sun in the winter is one of the nicest pleasures in life.
When I arrived in Surbiton I decided to have a beer and to write this and here I am, in the Duke of York pub.
To be continued…
-- From My iPhone
True o false, british people is always talking about the weather and my teacher, every morning, tell me if it is a dry or wet day, or a beautiful day when it is cloudy, or a lovely day if you can see sometimes the sun, or absolutely lovely day if it is a sunny day, as today is.
This afternoon, after having lunch with my teacher in a big pub in Surbiton (where I am now living), I have been walking along a beautiful path by the Thames river and it was a really lovely afternoon. Look at the photos.
I walked between Surbiton to Kingston, a town next to Surbiton, 1,5 miles away, approximately. When I went towards Kingston, the sun warmed my back and then, I stopped and sat down in a bench. There are a lot of benches of wood by the path and, on all of them, there is a memory like this photo.
It is a bit sad to read the memory of so many people who enjoyed this place and cannot today.
Coming back to Surbiton, the sun warmed my face and I thought that sun in the winter is one of the nicest pleasures in life.
When I arrived in Surbiton I decided to have a beer and to write this and here I am, in the Duke of York pub.
To be continued…
-- From My iPhone
miércoles, 2 de febrero de 2011
London and londoniers
Una pareja cogidos de la mano por la calle hace un bello contraste: ella es transparente como el cristal, él es negro como un teléfono.
Una anciana que debe tener, al menos, 90 años y que apenas puede moverse, deambula con un andador con 3 ruedas y un cesto, en el que lleva la compra del supermercado; el cesto rebosa y algunas bolsas cuelgan del manillar del andador; el autobús se para y la anciana comienza una operación imposible de subir al autobús, con el andador, la compra y su cuerpo menudo y cansado, casi vencido; el conductor observa la escena impávido y yo, desde dentro, me acerco a la puerta; entre unos viandantes que empujan desde fuera y yo que ayudo desde dentro conseguimos introducir a anciana y andador; ahora comienza un lento caminar por el pasillo, arrastrando el andador cargado, hasta que encuentra acomodo en un asiento; mientras, el autobús permanece en la parada; al llegar al destino, la operación de bajada me pilla lejos y es otro el samaritano que acomete la tarea inversa, de bajar del autobús a la anciana y su carrito; tras 2 ó 3 minutos, el conductor, impaciente, cierra la puerta que casi deja fuera al buen samaritano que, tras depositar su buena obra en la calle, intentaba reintegrarse al autobús.
Un chino gordo, con un sombrero de cuadros escoceses, dos tallas más pequeño que su cabeza, de la que cuelgan unas greñas que asoman bajo el sombrero.
Un perro rastafari.
Otra anciana que se baja de un taxi en una calle de una zona muy elegante. Ella es menuda y porta un bastón en el que apenas se apoya, a pesar de que parece mantenerse milagrosamente en pie. El taxista, un joven negro, la acompaña a cruzar la calle, pero termina su trabajo a mitad de la calzada. La anciana recorre la otra mitad con andar precario y sin contratiempo. No hay tráfico en la calle. Al final de la calzada inicia la difícil tarea de subir a la acera. Desecha la ayuda del bastón, se apoya en un coche allí aparcado y consigue finalmente encaramarse a la acera.
Una anciana que debe tener, al menos, 90 años y que apenas puede moverse, deambula con un andador con 3 ruedas y un cesto, en el que lleva la compra del supermercado; el cesto rebosa y algunas bolsas cuelgan del manillar del andador; el autobús se para y la anciana comienza una operación imposible de subir al autobús, con el andador, la compra y su cuerpo menudo y cansado, casi vencido; el conductor observa la escena impávido y yo, desde dentro, me acerco a la puerta; entre unos viandantes que empujan desde fuera y yo que ayudo desde dentro conseguimos introducir a anciana y andador; ahora comienza un lento caminar por el pasillo, arrastrando el andador cargado, hasta que encuentra acomodo en un asiento; mientras, el autobús permanece en la parada; al llegar al destino, la operación de bajada me pilla lejos y es otro el samaritano que acomete la tarea inversa, de bajar del autobús a la anciana y su carrito; tras 2 ó 3 minutos, el conductor, impaciente, cierra la puerta que casi deja fuera al buen samaritano que, tras depositar su buena obra en la calle, intentaba reintegrarse al autobús.
Un chino gordo, con un sombrero de cuadros escoceses, dos tallas más pequeño que su cabeza, de la que cuelgan unas greñas que asoman bajo el sombrero.
Un perro rastafari.
Otra anciana que se baja de un taxi en una calle de una zona muy elegante. Ella es menuda y porta un bastón en el que apenas se apoya, a pesar de que parece mantenerse milagrosamente en pie. El taxista, un joven negro, la acompaña a cruzar la calle, pero termina su trabajo a mitad de la calzada. La anciana recorre la otra mitad con andar precario y sin contratiempo. No hay tráfico en la calle. Al final de la calzada inicia la difícil tarea de subir a la acera. Desecha la ayuda del bastón, se apoya en un coche allí aparcado y consigue finalmente encaramarse a la acera.
London VI
Today I decided to have a look to my new house, where I will move on Saturday and my new school, where I will start my next learning English stage on Monday.
I was worried about my new host family and the new school, but I am now happy.
I found soon the house, rang the bell, wait one minute and Anna-Maria opened the door. She is called Anna-Maria Garzolini and her children are called Luca, Andrea and Francesca. Doesn't matter. The Anna-Maria's family was from Italy but she is English of second generation and in her home they speak in English.
I could not see the house, because there was nobody, except Anna-Maria and she went out quickly for her children. But I have had a good first impression.
Then, I take the bus whose number I had found in Internet. This is probably the path which I will have to do every day. The way is beautiful. The bus passes near a golf court of Wimbledon Park and, in the opposite side, you can see the main tennis court of Wimbledon, where the most famous championship of the world is played.
Five minutes after I got off the bus at Wimbledon Station and I went to my school which is 300 metres away. Wimbledon School of English (WSE) is in an old and beautiful building. It was cold and going into the school was warm and very nice.
After having a look inside the centre I liked everything I saw. I am sure that it will be an excellent experience for me. But not everything was good. I have to tell you that everybody who went into and went out (students and teachers, I supposed) was very young; in their twenties, more or less (or more less than more). I do not mind how old is somebody, but I mind how old am I. And five months with people so young everyday...
Well, then, I was walking around the commercial area of Wimbledon and bought a bottle of red wine for my host family in a supermarket. It is a Spanish great reserve wine and I hope they enjoy it. I did not tell you that on Monday they invited me to dinner in a tipycal pub. The cat (Patch) came with us and got into the pub.
Here in Wimbledon there are a lot of pubs and bars which look nice and warm. I have decided to have a half paint in Alexandra. The waiter is a very old and very british man who, seeing the bottle showing from the bag of the supermarket, offer me a corkscrew. Some old people talking each other in the pub while I write this.
See you later, bye...
To be continued...
-- From Mi iPhone
I was worried about my new host family and the new school, but I am now happy.
I found soon the house, rang the bell, wait one minute and Anna-Maria opened the door. She is called Anna-Maria Garzolini and her children are called Luca, Andrea and Francesca. Doesn't matter. The Anna-Maria's family was from Italy but she is English of second generation and in her home they speak in English.
I could not see the house, because there was nobody, except Anna-Maria and she went out quickly for her children. But I have had a good first impression.
Then, I take the bus whose number I had found in Internet. This is probably the path which I will have to do every day. The way is beautiful. The bus passes near a golf court of Wimbledon Park and, in the opposite side, you can see the main tennis court of Wimbledon, where the most famous championship of the world is played.
Five minutes after I got off the bus at Wimbledon Station and I went to my school which is 300 metres away. Wimbledon School of English (WSE) is in an old and beautiful building. It was cold and going into the school was warm and very nice.
After having a look inside the centre I liked everything I saw. I am sure that it will be an excellent experience for me. But not everything was good. I have to tell you that everybody who went into and went out (students and teachers, I supposed) was very young; in their twenties, more or less (or more less than more). I do not mind how old is somebody, but I mind how old am I. And five months with people so young everyday...
Well, then, I was walking around the commercial area of Wimbledon and bought a bottle of red wine for my host family in a supermarket. It is a Spanish great reserve wine and I hope they enjoy it. I did not tell you that on Monday they invited me to dinner in a tipycal pub. The cat (Patch) came with us and got into the pub.
Here in Wimbledon there are a lot of pubs and bars which look nice and warm. I have decided to have a half paint in Alexandra. The waiter is a very old and very british man who, seeing the bottle showing from the bag of the supermarket, offer me a corkscrew. Some old people talking each other in the pub while I write this.
See you later, bye...
To be continued...
-- From Mi iPhone
lunes, 31 de enero de 2011
London V
I have not written in the blog several days ago. Maybe you do not believe it, but I had not any time. I have been on Saturday and Sunday in London and, when I came back at home, I was very tired and I had to do my homework and other things.
Today, after swiming pool, I walked around the centre city of Kingston (but Kingston is not a city, is a town; british). I got into a bookshop and, unbelievable!, I found the guide which I was looking for since I arrived to London. It is called "London not for Tourist" and I bought it because my friend Lola León, who was in London last year for three months, suggested me.
The bookshop is very big and in a corner there is a small bar where I am now writing this and having a coffee. I do not enjoy the cofee, because all cofees in Britain are very bad. I think so. I do not know how asking for it. I have just asked for a double express, but it is very bad too. British.
I must come back at home, because tonight (at seven o'clock, of course) I am going to go out with my host family for dinner and I have to recharge my Oystercard before and, then, get the bus at home.
I will be here again tonight or tomorrow to tell you more things about my life here...
Uff!
To be continued...
-- From Mi iPhone
Today, after swiming pool, I walked around the centre city of Kingston (but Kingston is not a city, is a town; british). I got into a bookshop and, unbelievable!, I found the guide which I was looking for since I arrived to London. It is called "London not for Tourist" and I bought it because my friend Lola León, who was in London last year for three months, suggested me.
The bookshop is very big and in a corner there is a small bar where I am now writing this and having a coffee. I do not enjoy the cofee, because all cofees in Britain are very bad. I think so. I do not know how asking for it. I have just asked for a double express, but it is very bad too. British.
I must come back at home, because tonight (at seven o'clock, of course) I am going to go out with my host family for dinner and I have to recharge my Oystercard before and, then, get the bus at home.
I will be here again tonight or tomorrow to tell you more things about my life here...
Uff!
To be continued...
-- From Mi iPhone
jueves, 27 de enero de 2011
London IV
Ayer fui, finalmente, a la piscina. Es grande y cómoda y el vestuario es mixto y con las duchas todas descubiertas, pero no pienses en un espectáculo. Simplemente, esta gente tiene un sentido de la higiene distinto al nuestro. La piscina es estatal y se llama The Kingfisher (british).
Luego me recorrí tres tiendas de telefonía móvil y una tienda Apple, para ver si resolvía mis problemas con el móvil. Te puedes imaginar mis conversaciones con los dependientes, por suerte, en general, bastante pacientes. Al final, decidí comprar una tarjeta de O2, la filial de Telefónica aquí, la instalé en casa y funcionó. Un día le tengo que dedicar un capítulo al turista cibernético. Tengo instalados en el iPhone toda clase de planos y guías de Londres, pero he optado, al final, por comprarme un plano de papel.
Más tarde fui al cine con mi familia de acogida, a ver The King’s Speech (El discurso del Rey). Apenas entendí nada, pero la película es tan buena y la interpretación de los actores tan brillante que no creo haberme perdido nada importante.
Realmente, consiguió emocionarme en más de un momento. No sé si influyó el estar rodeado de británicos con el alma patriótica encogida, contemplando las angustias y tribulaciones de su querido e inopinado Rey.
Hoy he ido a ver el Palacio Real de Hampton Court. Salette me ha cedido un pase de esos que ella tiene (tiene pases para todo), que me ha permitido ahorrarme las 18 libras de la entrada. Pero mi Oyster Card (la tarjeta de transporte) se había agotado y en esta estación no se puede recargar, de modo que saqué un billete de ida y vuelta para un trayecto de tren de unos 5 minutos, más o menos: 4 libras. En casa, a la vuelta, dije que me había parecido carísimo el precio del billete. Te refiero la respuesta de mis anfitriones, porque supongo que es expresiva de algo. Por un lado, ella me dice que no sabe de qué me quejo, con lo fuerte que está el euro; y, por otro lado, él dice: this is England, not Spain (british).
La tarde era heladora. Para llegar al Palacio tuve que atravesar el Támesis en un momento en que caía una fina aguanieve. La visita merece la pena. Yo me armé de audioguía, en inglés, of course, y visité pacientemente todas las salas. No tengo conocimientos de historia del Reino Unido, pero siempre me ha parecido un poco soberbia y hasta procaz, la exaltación por los ingleses del Rey Enrique VIII. No dudo de que fuera un gran estadista, porque no lo sé, como digo, ni de que engrandeciera su país, pero tiene una cara oscura tan cruel y despiadada, que uno hubiera considerado más lógico un poco de contención. ¿O es todo una leyenda negra católica, resentida por el repudio de Catalina de Aragón y el cisma de la Iglesia de Inglaterra? No lo sé. En todo caso, en Hampton Court, la contención brilla por su ausencia (british).
Terminé dando un paseo por los enormes jardines. El frío helador y la época del año, tan poco propicios ambos, no me permitieron disfrutar como lo hubiera hecho en un día apacible del mes de abril.
Realmente, tengo muchas más impresiones que contar de estos primeros días, pero no quiero pasarme tanto rato con el castellano y no tengo habilidad para hacerlo en inglés. Es una pena, porque ni lo escribo, ni lo anoto y, cuando vuelva, se habrán evaporado buena parte de esas impresiones y, además, ya no tendré tiempo ni paciencia para recuperarlas.
Ahora me voy a poner con mi homework. Hoy debo escribir una descripción de mi casa. Mi casa, mi casa, no ésta. ¿Dónde está, cómo es, qué estancia me gusta más y porqué, qué reformas le haría, es confortable, nueva o vieja, segura…?
Continuará…
lunes, 24 de enero de 2011
London III
My teacher, esta mañana, ha cambiado de opinión y me ha dicho que le pida a mis profesores de inglés en España que me devuelvan el dinero, pero no ha conseguido desanimarme.
Hoy he ido a Londres, lo que a ti te parecerá una tontería. ¿Cómo es que si vivo en Londres voy a Londres? Bueno, la verdad es que la estación está a 5 minutos de casa y el tren solo tarda 20 minutos en llegar a Waterloo Station. De modo que vivo en Londres, pero voy a Londres.
Nada más llegar, Salette se ha querido subir en la noria London Eye. Que a ella no le cuesta nada, porque tiene no sé qué pase, pero que a mí me ha costado 18,60 libras. Aunque ya me había subido antes y el día estaba lluvioso, la experiencia es interesante.
Salette quería tomar un cafe en el bar de London Eye, pero yo la animé a buscar otro lugar más agradable. Cruzamos el Támesis por ese lugar de imágenes tan resonantes en la memoria de cualquiera (Westminster, el Big-Ben, el London Eye) y nos adentramos en la zona del Gobierno. En pleno White Hall sugerí un pub de inequívoco aspecto inglés y, nada más entrar, mi anfitriona se transformó. Como si fuera una turista en Londres, se hacía lenguas a cada momento de lo bonito y agradable que era el pub y se despertó en ella una locuacidad que me permitió disfrutar de los mejores momentos de conversación desde que he llegado. Dicho sea en términos de aprendizaje y de disfrute de una charla entre dos personas, aunque sea con la limitación de mi impericia. El café expreso que me tomé era deplorable. No sé cómo lo tolerará tanta gente selecta como allí había.
No te he dicho que Salette es una inglesa nacida en Malta, donde se resguardaron sus padres en la Segunda Guerra Mundial y que tiene un antepasado español, un general que guerreó contra Napoleón, de apellido Carrascosa.
Estuvimos en el pub hasta que ella se marchó a casa a atender a su hija. Yo decidí quedarme en Londres hasta más tarde.
Nos despedimos en Trafalgar Square y era una tentación irresistible no aprovechar para dar una vuelta por la National Gallery, de la que guardo tan grato recuerdo de nuestra primera visita.
Eran las 5 de la tarde y el día había desaparecido casi por completo, oculto tras una fina llovizna y el inexorable ocaso londinense, tan precoz en esta época del año. Desde lo alto de las escaleras de la National Gallery se contemplaba un singular paisaje en el que, sobre una bruma no demasiado densa, se recortaba la estatua del vencedor de Trafalgar y se divisaba, al fondo, la figura del Big-Ben.
Me resultó de algún modo sorprendente percibir cómo, en apenas unos instantes, uno pasa de un espacio público (la Plaza de Trafalgar) a otro (la National Gallery), también de disfrute gratuito, pero repleto de obras de arte, en el que nadie te pregunta en la entrada dónde ni a qué vas, ni pasas ningún control, ni de tickets, ni de metales. Casi sin darte cuenta entras de la calle y te encuentras delante de un Velázquez o un Turner.
En poco más de una hora que quedaba para cerrar me propuse contemplar apenas media docena de cuadros. Algunos de ellos se encontraban en ambos extremos del Museo, pero su búsqueda se ve completamente facilitada por el plano guía que cogí en la entrada, naturalmente, en su versión inglesa.
No te quiero aburrir con los cuadros. Quizá lo haga en otra visita. Pero sí te diré que entré directamente a disfrutar con la contemplación de la “Venus del Espejo”. Mientras intercambiaba miradas a través del espejo con la diosa del amor, recordaba las conjeturas de Eduardo Mendoza en su última novela, “Riña de gatos”, sobre quién podría ser la mujer que sirvió de modelo a Velázquez y sobre la posibilidad de que existan, ocultos, otros desnudos del mismo pintor.
Volví a disfrutar con “Los Embajadores” de Hans Holbein y “El matrimonio Arnolfini” de Jean Van Eyck. Mis escasos conocimientos de pintura me llevan siempre a apreciar especialmente aquellas obras que, siendo de autores consagrados, poseen un rico contenido simbólico, por los elementos que contienen y porque, en sí mismos, constituyen el símbolo de hechos o procesos históricos, circunstancias que concurren en estos dos cuadros.
Salí de la galería cuando cerraban y me dirigí hacia Charing Cross. Por un lateral de la Estación transcurre Villiers Street, una animada calle de pubs y restaurantes en la que decidí tomar mi dinner, ya que llegaría a casa tarde. Al final de la calle, a mano derecha, en la misma rivera del Támesis, en una calleja de nombre Watergate Walk, hay una larga terraza, llena a esas frías horas de gente tomando copas. También hay gente en algunos de los pubs tomando su cerveza en la calle. Como en Sevilla en primavera, pero con 2ºC.
Mareé la perdiz y cuando quise sentarme no encontré sitio, de modo que decidí…
Continuará…
London II
Termino mi primera clase con la previsible impresión de que mi inglés es aun peor del que imaginaba. Al menos, my teacher opina lo contrario, pero hoy no me sirve de consuelo.
El gato debe ser inglés. No se parece en nada a nuestros gatos domésticos. Tiene un precioso largo pelo negro con algunos mechones blancos y una enorme y esponjosa cola. Anoche, viendo la tele, de pronto, se encaramó de un salto a mi regazo. No son mi fuerte los animales domésticos y mi anfitriona lo percibe inmediatamente, liberándome del felino.
Ahora escribo esto tomando una cerveza en un pub donde he entrado para guarecerme de una fría y fina lluvia, después de infructuosas gestiones para contratar una tarjeta para mi iPhone: al contrario de lo que me dijeron cuando lo compré, el aparato is locked, como dicen aquí.
He estado un rato paseando por una interesante y bien cuidada zona comercial, con grandes almacenes e infinitas tiendas, muchas de ellas de aspecto tradicional. Es el barrio de Kingston, próximo a mi casa, a la que debo volver en autobús, si no quiero llegar empapado. Y ello si soy capaz de encontrar la parada.
Ahora suena en el pub la canción My name is Luca, de Suzanne Vega y me invade una extraña sensación, que mezcla la familiaridad y el extrañamiento.
No sé si es bueno para mis objetivos que siga cultivando este blog escrito en castellano. Debo pensar seriamente en ello.
Continuará...
-- Desde Mi iPhone
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