IN SEARCH OF THE WAY

Occasionally I write stuff. - Rach Hattam

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I’ve made 8 Christmas print designs, which are available as A6 cards. Not only will you be buying small (i.e. non-corporate), you will also be supporting a charity which is local and doing very real and amazing things in this little corner of the world. Check out The Oasis Centre for more details.

Prices £2 for single cards £5 for a pack of three Order more than 25 and they’re £1.50 each (NB envelope included)

I’ll ship to wherever you are, but postage and packaging is not included I’m afraid.

Send me an email at [email protected] with how many cards you want and in which designs (design codes in each photo caption), along with your name and address. I'll send you an invoice, then process and post your order within 5 working days of receiving your payment!

Merry Christmas!

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“Dank”, and other lesser known expansions of the English vocabulary

I keep a set of lists at the back of each notebook I own, in case some idea or obligation appears when I’m out and about. As well as the Books to Read, Paper Shazam, and the humble Ideas lists, I also keep one for cool words.

I have a reputation for maintaining an unabating fascination with idiomatic vocabulary. A choice word in the midst of an unassuming sentence can have a multiplicity of satisfying effects: it can inject humour, add a sprinkle of intellect or creativity, or, maybe, simply indicate a thorough lack of understanding. The majority of the cool words I write down are because of the latter.

When I was ten, I went out with a friend and her dad to fertle: that is, to remove the bits of twig and rock that block the river bed, allowing the flow of water to resume its natural course. I have since looked up this word - “fertling” - and discovered that it doesn’t exist, which means that, somewhere along the way to adulthood, I pulled a stray word out of thin air and assigned it to this particular childhood memory.

This wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened. So arbitrary is the English language that there have been a number of occasions where I’ve inserted what I presumed to be a clever word into a sentence, only to find it had been misheard on first encounter. I confidently used “incitriant” in a first year essay, thinking it referred to something that behaved unpredictably. It came back circled in red pen, obviously.

It would seem that English in particular has a unique capacity for taking on new words and assimilating them into common circulation. Around one thousand words are added to the online Oxford dictionary every year. And yet, though we have command of thousands of words, we choose to make up our own, or invent new definitions for the more dormant members of our existing vocabulary.

One close friend commented a short time ago on the use of the word “dank” during a conversation about Instagram memes. Dank is, of course, a real word. But it is also one that has been resurrected recently in the wake of its internet fame. Whether our obsession for creating new words is down to imagination or indolence is a question for another time, but I think our desire for explicit descriptive power in word choice says a lot about the native English speaker in his need for specificity. Emails must be shot, drinks grabbed, insults hurled, minds cast. You settle up during payment and settle down for peace and quiet.

I have noticed my own ability, as a native English speaker, to understand other people’s bizarre made-up metaphors. I got chatting to a lady a couple of days ago in the waiting room at the physiotherapist where I work. She said that the woman ahead of her in the traffic drove “like she had a ferret up her backside”. That’s a pretty fruity metaphor, and not one I’ve ever heard before. I, of course, wrote it down. Once you’re on the lookout for intriguing vocab, examples crop up pretty much everywhere you turn. I was out for coffee not so long ago, and overheard a conversation on the adjacent table, “Oh, Jean was a sight! Had a face like an upturned teapot she did.” I could only wonder what she meant by such an expression. Did Jean have a crooked nose? Or perhaps the speaker was reaching for some other, more abstract, significance. It’s no wonder foreigners have such a hard time learning our language.

The most recent addition to my own personal dictionary is “spendangulous”, which appeared out of nowhere one evening at home, when my housemate tried out her new hair curlers. “It means gorgeous, but in a kind of expensive way, like I can tell you’ve put a fair amount of effort into your appearance today.” That makes sense, but the word has such a ridiculous ring to it that I doubt it will catch on. Nevertheless, you never know when a word might come in handy these days, so I turned to the back of my notebook and wrote it down.

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Famous

My experience of fame thus far in life has not extended much past liking a photograph of my brother eating a burrito with Ant and Dec on Facebook. Or at least, this was the case until a couple of weeks ago, when an older lady mistook me for Taylor Swift.

I was travelling by bus into Manchester city centre with my guitar, and plopped down into the seat next to her, holding the thing between my knees. Being a lengthy journey, and she being the type to strike up a conversation with the nearest stranger, we progressed naturally into the usual flutter of small talk: family, pets, dentures – you know, the usual. I mentioned I had just finished studying at the University of Manchester. “Well that must be exhausting,” she said, “what with all the travelling.” “Oh,” I replied, not clocking that she was referring to my worldwide sell-out tour, “that’s okay. I have a bike.” To this she said nothing, though I can only imagine her confusion at why a bicycle might be of use on a long haul transatlantic flight.

We continued on our chit-chat trajectory. “My granddaughter Adele loves your work. She showed me one of your videos on The Tube.” I thought of my YouTube account and its grand total of six subscribers. Adele sounded like a nice enough girl, but I doubted she would have shown her grandmother a video of some random blonde playing her guitar in the bath. “Uh huh, and which video might that be?” I said as I rang the bell for the next stop. “The one about shaking off.”

It was at this point, so late in the conversation, that the penny dropped. I’ve always been one for catching onto stuff quickly.

“Are you playing in Manchester tonight?” The bus pulled in to stop and I got up. “Actually, I live in Longsight. I’ve got to go now, lovely to meet you, bye!” I left in a hurry.

It was only upon reflection that I realised my closing remarks would not have cleared up the identity confusion for my elderly travel companion. With this in mind, it gives me great pleasure to report that, somewhere in Manchester, there is an old lady who believes she ran into a world-renowned pop star on the 142 down Curry Mile.

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I'll Be There For You

CCM:City performs "I'll Be There For You" by The Rembrants

In the spirit of Jimmy Fallon, here is a cover I made with some church friends

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This Week in Books

Finally free from the grip of exam revision, I’ve spent the past week meandering through a few novels to fill all this free time I have. I’m a sucker for reading book reviews, and so I have been using the Instagram story function to post short comments about the books I have finished. It would seem I am not the only one who loves reading about what other people are reading, so here is a more comprehensive summary of my last week in books.

1.     Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls – David Sedaris

I reckon David Sedaris would be an awesome companion for people watching. After reading the collection of short stories in this book, I was completely mesmerised by the way he sees the world – his capability for imagining metaphors which are at the same time perfectly descriptive but also ridiculously outlandish. I’d love to quiz him with some of the stupid questions he presents in his book. “Do you think Obama is circumcised or uncircumcised?” is a particular favourite of mine. I reckon he would have a good answer lined up.

Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls is a perfect bedtime-reading book. I got through it in little over a day, but each story is only about four pages, so could be taken one chapter at a time. I personally prefer hearing him read his work (I first discovered him on his Radio 4 series a couple of years ago, when he read some entries from his diary), and would highly recommend a listen if you want a light-hearted laugh for half an hour.

8/10

Favourite quote: [on animal abuse in the 60s] “The thought that a non-human being could have physical feelings, let alone the wherewithal to lose hope, was so outlandish and alien, like thinking that paper had relatives.”

2.     Gilead – Marilynne Robinson

Austin Kleon is an advocate for abandoning books you are not enjoying. I read about half the novel and decided to take his advice. 

The author’s writing style is beautiful, and there were sections that I even copied out because I thought they were so poignant, but I found the story itself dull and altogether inconsequential. I read 120 pages and in none of them was anything actually said. 

What’s interesting is that this book was recommended to me twice, so it surprised me how much I disliked it. I could well have been missing the point, but if you hate flowery language without any real plotline, avoid this book at all costs.

3/10

Favourite quote: “Sometimes I loved the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday. It is like standing in a newly planted garden after a warm rain. You can feel the silent and invisible life. All it needs from you is that you take care not to trample on it.”

3.     The Murder on the Links – Agatha Christie

Agatha (Queen) Christie is, hands-down, my favourite author. As well as having written a seemingly infinite supply of “comfort books” – that is, a novel that one can pick up and read in full knowledge that it will be gratifying – she led an interesting life herself. I’ve read a lot about her creative process (this book details her notebook-keeping habit), and it’s not all that dissimilar to my own.

Christine Keneally describes her writing method in this blog post. To quote her description, “What's more, in between ominous scraps like "Stabbed through eye with hatpin" and "influenza depression virus—Stolen? Cabinet Minister?" are grocery lists: "Newspapers, toilet paper, salt, pepper …" There was no clean line between Christie's work life and her family life. She created household ledgers, and scribbled notes to self. ("All away weekend—can we go Thursday Nan.") Even Christie's second husband, the archeologist Sir Max Mallowan, used her notebooks. He jotted down calculations. Christie's daughter Rosalind practiced penmanship, and the whole family kept track of their bridge scores alongside notes like, "Possibilities of poison … cyanide in strawberry … coniine—in capsule?"

And in Christie’s own words, “The best time to plan a book is while you are doing the dishes.”  What a lady.

8/10

Favourite quote: “It would mean a good film, the story that you have recounted to me there – but it bears no sort of resemblance to everyday life.’ ‘I admit that I haven’t gone into all the details, but-’ ‘You have gone farther – you have ignored them magnificently.”

To finish, here’s a blog post about reading by one of my favourite internet people in the world, if you need some reasons to get between the pages.

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Photograph | Clean | Just Give Me A Reason

A bathroom mash-up of Ed Sheeran's 'Photograph', Taylor Swift's 'Clean', and P!nk's 'Just Give Me A Reason' feat. my housemate Anna

A “We-are-final-year-students-with-obligations-but-making-music-is-fun”  mash-up feat. my housemate Anna

Also Yes, we’re in the bath.

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Welcome to my messy life

I take my coffee with one sugar – a serious dilemma for someone who enjoys aesthetically-pleasing latte art.  This perhaps amounts to nothing more than a small idiosyncrasy, but it does reflect on my obsession with perfection, and an intrinsic desire for my entire life to be crafted to look and feel complete.  I think, in this sense, that I am a product of my culture.

I have been conditioned throughout my whole life to expect nothing less than perfection: in my achievements, dreams and aspirations, my family life, my possessions, and my own self-image.  My life must be social media-worthy, every second of it, otherwise I haven’t quite ‘got it’ yet.

“He has planted eternity in the human heart…” (Ecclesiastes 3v11)

It’s natural for us to desire affirmation and completion, and it should be no surprise to us that we have allowed social media to infiltrate our cultural psyche.  We believe the perfect images we see on our screens to be the truth.  We think that the only way to satisfaction is through one more empty “like”.

So, how to fight against this ingrained desire to achieve a flawless exterior?  How to start embracing the chaotic and cluttered day-to-day that unites and humanizes us?   I have drawn my own personal conclusions, but I am convinced that part of the problem is in the way we portray ourselves perfectly to others online.  

So here’s a small step in the right direction – an introduction to my messy life: Hello, I’m Rach.  I choose the instagram filter that makes me look the most blonde. Bible reading takes a back seat when I’m stressed (to my shame).  I tend to zone out when people talk about themselves a lot, but don’t recognise when I’m doing it myself.  I quite enjoy being labelled as “creative”.  I am acutely aware of my character flaws, but do my best to cover them up, rather than being honest about them.  I have terrible, terrible skin, and I occasionally bite my nails.  And to top it off, I am appalling at keeping my room tidy.

The real me is not perfect.  I’m equally defective as I am functional.  This is part of the joy of being human, and being free to make mistakes and learn from them.  

My challenge?  Be honest about my flaws, embrace and accept other people’s, and never let impossible perfection get in the way of real truth.

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That’s a wrap

I’ve been back in England for little under one month now, and have finally brought myself round to the idea of writing a summary post.  Though keen to avoid year abroad clichés, I have written and re-written this article and seem completely incapable of jumping the “finding myself” stereotype.  The saying goes “when you can’t beat them, join them”, and I have since decided to embrace the cringe wholeheartedly (or as much as my own sense of dignity will allow).

Anybody who has embarked on the so-called “sandwich year” will understand the benefits and difficulties one will undoubtedly encounter whilst living abroad.  The truth is that much of the detail – especially the parts that weren’t particularly enjoyable – is erased from the year-out narrative, and perhaps rightly so: when you enquire about someone’s experience, you are not asking for an outpouring of the soul.  It’s easy to talk about discovering new joys in a new culture, less so to discuss the navigation of cultural stereotypes and fighting homesickness.  My year abroad was, like all tend to be, a mixed bag – more positive than negative overall, but still with a hearty serving of occasional crisis.

England is most definitely my comfort zone, and I am quite content to make my home here again – unpacking my books and potted plant, soaking up all the greenery of the English countryside, and enjoying drinking tea with company (not alone, while everyone else eats chorizo and drinks espresso). Settling into one’s own culture is natural, but it is also not the end of the line.  To push the boundaries and live where you aren’t comfortable is an important lesson to learn, and an integral part of life.  

My year abroad was about pressing pause on my university existence, doing something I wasn’t completely comfortable with, and trusting that at some point I was going to learn something useful.  These expectations were, of course, well and truly smashed.  I steadily discovered whole new versions of myself that had never been given the floor space to come out and dance.  I was glad to discover more positive aspects of my character, but the reverse was also true – how was I to learn of my hermit-like tendencies if I had not allowed isolation, already a huge reality for many students, to rear its ugly head and eat away at my own self-assurance?  

Fighting my battles alone, with fewer friends nearby for moral support, meant that I learnt my demons and found new strategies for combat.  I think this is an experience that most people go through in their early twenties, and living abroad perhaps makes the whole process a bit more acute.

Overcoming daily challenges brings a gratitude to life.  When I learnt that I had been confusing “garganta” (throat) and “garbanzo” (chick pea), and that none of the Spaniards had bothered to correct me, I realised that I was truly grateful when people did bother to tell me I had got a word wrong.  Likewise, when I first left an answerphone message in Spanish without sounding like a complete goon, I found reason to celebrate.  “Do not despise the day of small things” (Zech 4v10) brought on a whole new shade of meaning.

Now emerging the other side of what I like to call my “hard-core” exchange, firmly pressing play on my final year of optional modules and part-time employment, I have learnt that the best training ground is the place where you are not wallowing in comfort and indulgence.   I had to leave the country to find that place: to learn that God isn’t some celestial Santa Claus waiting to grant my every wish, and to start addressing some of my hidden character flaws.  I firmly believe that you cannot fully appreciate the good things life has to offer without getting a taste of the darker side, and my year abroad stands a favor.

To those people leaving for life abroad in the next few weeks, I hope that your experience is as richly filled as mine was – that you savour the moments which bring you joy and satisfaction, and that you use the difficult moments for good.

Okay, cheese over.  Hattam out *drops mic*

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Concerning Creativity

I don’t believe in ‘creative types’, although it happens to be a particularly useful cliché for describing someone who actively applies creativity.  Though the opposite is true, most people would maintain that only a few are ‘blessed’ with the ability to think outside the box, that not everyone is a ‘creative type’.  

I write this in response to a friend who, about two months ago (and who has probably since forgotten), told me that she didn’t have the capacity to be creative.  I am here to say that is a lie – everyone has the same capability; what’s different is how one nurtures it.

Let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start).  Creativity is a broad topic to address, not only because it’s rather abstract, but also because it has a role to play in most areas of everyday life.  

You’re sceptical, sure. But consider this: creativity is implicit in critical thinking, problem solving, collaborating, strategizing and innovating.  In fact, I’m hard pressed to think of a situation in which creativity is not used to some degree.

In a recent mini-study of my own (which wasn’t so much a study as a general asking of most of my friends), I found that the public idea of creativity is vague and varied.  Upon asking for a description consisting of a word or short phrase, I got answers ranging from “imagination”, to “necessary”, to “over-rated”.  

Despite only one of these actually describing creativity, it did demonstrate one thing: that nobody really knows what creativity is.  

I’ve watched a load of TED talks on this topic (I might add that the TED community seems to be particularly taken with the issue, if you’re interested), and it is widely accepted that creativity is many things, but can be summed up by ‘the making of an idea or object that is both novel and useful’.  

It’s a new or helpful concept that has value in solving a problem.  Creativity is not just copying things off Pinterest to make them look pretty. It is inherently more than that. Creativity is connecting the dots; taking ideas, putting a new twist on them, and making them your own.

Steve Jobs once said “when you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really ‘do’ it, they just saw something.” In other words, they were inspired by something else to create something new.

When I think of creative people that I know, there is one thing that collectively defines them: their love for tinkering.  “What if?” is a key question when it comes to creating.  More often than not, playing around and exploring the possible outcomes is the only way to really find out what if.

Where are we going with this, then?  Creativity has been defined a hundred times by a hundred different types of people, and it really does look like our understanding of it will keep on growing and changing indefinitely.  

The most important thing to bear in mind is that it is a skill that can be taught and developed; it’s not a passing hurricane which some people have the talent for harnessing.

So, do not fret, there is hope for us all.

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Spring in Salamanca, Spain

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BARCELONA

Anna & Rach in BCN

A video piece I made from when my friend Anna and I went to Barcelona and stayed on a sailing dinghy.

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What to expect from your year abroad

In my faculty at the University of Manchester, towards the end of each year they give a lecture to each year group, telling them all about the year to come.  It’s imaginatively called: “What to expect from your final year”.  

It’s normally full of fairly useful need-to-know info about lectures and enrolment and exams, and (certainly for me anyway) leaves you feeling pumped for beginning again in September with a fresh set of degree-related resolutions, most of which will almost certainly not be kept.

This particular genre of lecture does not exist (or certainly, didn’t exist) for those people embarking on their year abroad.  Such neglect!

Luckily, you lovely readers have me here to assist you in your lecture-less predicament.  Though I am by far an expert in the field, I have completed a year abroad in industry myself, so I’m a little more in-the-know than your average stranger.

1.   You will get it completely, utterly and ridiculously wrong

I’ll start with this one because it is just something you have to accept. You’re the foreigner, in a new place, with no knowledge of how things are done or how you’re meant to behave. My Spanish communication was fairly good, but I still spent my first few months just catching the gist of what people were saying to me, and using guesswork to fill in the gaps.  Hate to break it to you, but guesswork doesn’t always work…which leads to some pretty catastrophic fails.

2.   Friends for a season

Starting your year abroad is like experiencing Freshers’ week all over again.  Not necessarily with the drinking to oblivion part (although if you’re with other Brits this is probably a-given), but certainly with the quantity of faces you have to learn. I ‘know’ a lot of people here, but I have a much smaller group of actual friends who I want to invest in and keep in contact with after this year.  Having friends for a season is okay; you don’t have to keep up with absolutely everyone after it’s all over.

3.   Erasmus is your best friend

Helloooooooo Erasmus grant!  Free money is normally reserved for the daydreams of skint students.  Enjoy the feeling of semi-richness while it lasts.

4.   Most people doss around

I was working in a laboratory on the outskirts of Salamanca and was in there for a large proportion of the day, Monday to Friday.  My friends who were just doing language and studying at the University didn’t have that same quantity of hours.  It’s easy to be jealous, but the long-term benefit is that you will spend a much greater amount of time practising the language and meeting people who aren’t like you.  Try to keep the bigger picture in mind.

5.   Start report-writing early

The quantity of work I was getting through in the lab calmed down fairly quickly after Christmas as I began to focus solely on one project. With so much free time (and boredom a rather imminent threat), I found that my project almost wrote itself.  Without anything meaningful to do some days, I read a mountain of papers and constructed a pretty decent draft instead of wasting time trawling Facebook.  Think about that beautiful empty summer and use your time in the lab to write at least the skin and bones of your report.

6.   There are still plenty of people you can talk to

If your first year was lonely, you ain’t seen nothing yet.  Your year abroad is full of challenges that you wouldn’t normally face as a normal student, and your support network is across some sort of ocean or significant landmass.  Aloneness is something you have to accustom yourself to, especially in the first few weeks of being in a new place.  That said, the same support that you receive in your other years at uni are still available for you when you’re away.  My personal advisor checks up on me regularly, and in January I even got a visit from a staff member from my faculty.  If there are problems, there are outlets for complaint.  Don’t assume that now you’re gone no one cares any longer.

7.   You won’t always be happy

When you ask someone about their year abroad, they generally leave out all the bad bits.  This is a good thing, because really when you ask someone how it was, you don’t want an outpouring of the soul.  It does, however, leave you feeling a bit let down when you do it yourself and realise that the amazing “I can’t believe I’m doing this!!!!” moments are interspersed with a lot of mundane life-living and bouts of intense homesickness.  I’ve had my fair share of both of those things, and whilst they’re not pretty, they’re also completely normal.  Embrace your year abroad as a whole – bad experiences along with good, and remind yourself that you’re on a steep, “don’t-look-down” kind of learning curve.  It’s not all going to be birds chirping and running through fields of daisies.

8.   Take copious notes

…especially if your placement is in a lab.  I wrote literally everything down right from day one.  It was a bit of a job getting through all the waffle when I wanted to find a useful piece of information, but it meant that no stone was left unturned when it came to including things in my report.

9.   Some people back home treat you like a distant Agony Aunt

Being abroad, and therefore out of the loop of general goings-on, but whilst also still knowing who everyone is back home; you’re probably going to do a lot of deep chatting over social media.   You might actually find that being at a bit of a distance is good for your own perspective and just generally escaping the gossip that inundates university life.  Embrace your new job title as chief advice-giver – it’s actually quite fun.

10.  Things at home change

You’ve chosen to move away for a year, so you can’t expect life to have paused whilst you’ve been doing other things.  Cafes change hands, they stop selling your favourite pasty (jokes, this would never happen… love you Greggs), people form new friendships.  This is to be expected, but it takes some getting used to. Instead of resisting it, embrace it. Life is full of changes.

Hope these things are of some use to you if you’re getting through your last lot of exams and beginning to make preparations.  Most important take-home message? Enjoy yourself.  I sometimes don’t believe it myself, but I know it’s true.  In a few years I am certain I’ll look back on my time here with rose-tinted glasses: “Ah, when I was in Spain I drank sangria every day and did my weekly shop for €10…” I know I will certainly be thinking that next year when I have to blow £5 on a jar of peanut butter in Tesco.

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Halfway schmalfway

Tomorrow I reach the ‘more than halfway’ halfway point.  I’m here for nine months in total, and since ‘four-and-a-half months anniversary’ doesn’t really feel like a worthwhile milestone to mark, instead I’m celebrating the completion of five months living in Spain.  

Here is the low-down on what’s been goin’ down.

Language It seems that as I master one aspect of language learning, I uncover another hundred to get to grips with.  One recent victory was the discovery that pretty much everything can be described with the help of milk (‘leche’) in Spanish. You can, quite literally, ‘give someone a milk’, which means to punch them.  If I had my foot to the floor on the gas pedal, I would be going at ‘full milk’. If you say something is ‘bad milk’, you’re damning your rotten luck.  And, to confuse things even further, the same sentence – “es la leche” – can describe something as being either wonderful or horrible, depending on the tone with which you say it.   So, as far as language learning is going, I’ve still got quite a way to go.

24/6 In other words, Sunday is completely and entirely a day of rest.  Nobody goes full pelt here – ‘open 24/7’ doesn’t exist, and I love that.

Being funny I’ve been told I’m a joker. I’ll quite happily take that, although I’m at a loss as to how I have acquired such a reputation.  There have been a number of times when I have simply stated the obvious (e.g. “That coffee has too much milk in it”), and the whole table has collapsed into fits of laughter.

Also, sarcasm doesn’t exist. Or at least, British sarcasm doesn’t. In several attempts to express a vaguely sarcastic comment, I’ve been taken at face value, which probably means that my labmates think I’m a horrible person.

Coming home Through what feels like a rather lucky turn of events, I’m making an unexpected visit home to stay in a Scottish castle with my family.  I will be flaunting this experience all over social media, obviously.

Making British converts My American flatmate is gradually growing in her appreciation of tea.  Yesterday she even asked for one without me offering.  Such progress can only be described as exponential - I will keep you updated.

People-watching A happy pastime which I have been indulging in a lot recently.  Especially at church.  There are always lots of interesting old people to draw at church, including one bloke who looks exactly like the old man out of Pixar’s ‘Up’.

Holidays With Semana Santa coming up (and therefore a week of holiday), my friend Anna and I decided to take a cheeky trip to Barcelona and stay on a sailing dingy moored in Port Olimpic.  Details of this ordeal will likely be documented for your entertainment.

Visitors I’ve had rather a lot of people come out to stay with me in Salamanca. With visitors coming out every two weeks since the start of February, I like to think of myself as ‘well-loved’... although I have a feeling it’s probably more that my friends are happy to use me as an excuse for a weekend break.

Laboratory Life in the lab is…well, life in a lab.  Things generally just plod along day by day, with nothing in particular to report.  My clumsy nature has determined that I am most definitely not made for full-time lab work, and it is quite clear that my strengths lie in other aspects of Science, but I am enjoying the experience nonetheless.  I can safely say that if it weren’t for the graciousness of my labmates, I would be a lot more confused and a lot less happy.

I don’t have any further news to recount.  Hope you’re having a good March.

 Love,

Rach xx

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Jengibre & Rubia (Spain Edition)

When Nichola came to Salamanca and we made a video of her visit using our favourite childhood song

A lil’ video from when Nichola came to visit and ‘lo pasamos bien’

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Some snaps from last weekend in Salamanca when my beautiful cousin came to visit

[austinkleon]

Back of a photograph of MLK, Jr., showing how many times it was published in the @nytimes http://nyti.ms/1PdQb8H

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It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas (or ‘Another generic Christmas song-related blog post name’)

I’ve been here for over two months now.  They say it takes three months before you really begin to see a difference in your ability to speak a foreign language, and so I live in constant hope that in the next fourteen days my ability will magically sky-rocket towards lingual excellence.

Whilst learning Spanish continues to be something that requires my constant concentration, I have realised that the so-called ‘language barrier’ is only what you make of it. Being somewhat hindered in conversation with fluent Spanish speakers could be described as an impairment, in that the idea of contributing to fast-paced exchange leaves one with a sense of helplessness in the pit of one’s stomach.  Of course, I’d be lying if I said that my lack of correct grammar/knowledge-of-random-vocabulary hasn’t inhibited me at all, but such inadequacy is not capable of discouraging the building of relationships.  My friendships take on a different form, sure, but they are still friendships.  

I laugh a lot more here; partly due to my anxiety to fit in, I think, but mainly because taking a step out of your comfort zone gives you a kind of zeal for making friends, for getting stuck in, and for showing something of yourself in your new environment.  

Being the foreigner (who generally sits on the fringes of conversation, day-dreaming/catching the odd word/observing surroundings) has allowed me to be more open to notice the funny stuff that happens in day-to-day life that, when you’re paying attention, brings an extra layer of richness.  Yesterday some kids secretly used my scarf during choir rehearsal as baby Moses’ cradle, and I got to watch as they made it float down their pretend River Nile, and be rescued by their pretend Egyptian princess.  They thought I hadn’t seen them take it, which kind of made it even more cute.

I haven’t been here long, but I feel as though I am finally making that long-awaited, much-coveted transition from ‘this is all so weird’ into ‘this is my life now’.  My friends are my friends, not random acquaintances who speak another language; my job is my job; and Christmas, which felt like a milestone I would never quite reach, has flown into view, such that going home is a reality occurring in less than two short weeks.

England, in some ways, is the place which feels more surreal now.  I picture my family putting up the Christmas tree, or my labmates hastily making the finishing touches to their coursework, and it is almost a strain to imagine myself doing it all with them.  Instead, I am caught up in rehearsals for a Christmas show, getting frustrated at my lack of lab technique and desperately trying to sample all the Spanish Christmas delicacies before I fly home (much to the disapproval of my poor waistline).  

I am definitely looking forward to feeling the biting cold on my cheeks, and living in constant expectation of snow, and walking through our front door and breathing in that unique Christmas smell that Mum somehow manages to create come the 1st December… 

...but all in good time.