Life in La Coruña. First observations.

La Couruña, Spain. It has been a journey to get here. Both mentally and physically. In the six weeks since leaving Buenos Aires I have bought a piece of land in Uruguay, gotten to know the ins and outs of Montevido from the back of a moterbike, spent time with my family in England and finally moned into a new apartment here in Galicia. I miss my friends and the energy and pace of Buenos Aires. The people here seem to have been formed by the climate; hard and relentless; cold and unwelcoming. Although if you look hard enough every now and again there is a break in the clouds and the warmth shines through.

There is a notable lack of youth. This city is teemed with cafeterias and cervezarias all taken over by mobs of white haired retirees and fur-clad ladies with excess makeup, playing cards and smoking cigarettes with equal vigor. The card playing ladies are formidable. They know what they like and are very vocal about what they don´t: foreigners; vegetarians; non-smokers and cold drinks. What´s a Masters in Business Administration here? If you don´t know the rules of ludo, you will never be part of the club.

I don´t feel so much as if I am in Spain, as a neighboring country called Galicia. Here the language is gallego and it doesn´t matter if you don´t speak it as they will carry on regardless. I don´t think I will mix with the same cultured, talented, youthful and fun-loving set of friends I had in South America, yet lack of refinery aside, they do have a certain endearing charm. There are no airs and graces here. People tell it like it is with an arresting directness that can leave you breathless. When Angel gave one of his clients at the cafe his bill he came back with "Vale. Voy a cagar y te pago!"

Lifestyle and cultural adjustments aside, I think I can learn to be happy here and I have to remember why I am doing this. I am still eating and drinking in the new tastes, smells and customs. The coffee culture is so appealing and the popping out for a glass of full bodied house Rioja, with a tapita of jamon serrano something I am relishing once again. We went out for pulpo gallego with Angel´s father and were led into a dark basement and served at a wooden table by a waiter with barely any vocal chords. Steaming bowls of purple tentacles were served with wooden sticks and washed down with crisp, white wine in ceramic jars.

One of my favorite times of day is the morning, when Angel goes to work and I rob a few hours to myself (I do miss the alone time I had so much of, although life in a couple is great). I potter around the apartment or go out for fresh baked bollos of pan and eat tostadas with aceite de oliva, or go and explore the rincones of this pretty city with the eyes of a silent observer.

We are a strange combination here. An inglesa and a Uruguyan. Although the people here don´t share the same South American curisity and it matters little. Although we raise a few eyebwors taking the matera to the beach. It is not something that people do here and any change in the normal is not easily taken. Slowly, slowly, softly, softly I will make this new life work...