Granada Science Park - part 1

Mateo's birthday wish was to go to the City or Art and Science in Valencia (or CAC as they say - Cuidad de Artes y Ciencias) but it's a 1200km round trip and this year, impossible to organise. He should have gone with school but it was cancelled - we're not sure why but we might as well say due to 'la crisis', which is what takes the blame for most things these days.

Anyway, he agreed he would 'make do' with the local science park in Granada. Ruy and Romy had both been here on their respective school trips and I think we were all expecting something aimed at younger children. But I'm glad to say we were very pleasantly surprised - and scientifically and artistically improved on our return. So good, I'm posting in two parts. This is our morning's activity.

Firstly, we took Darwin to visit a friend, who lives on the way to Granada. Despite the name, Darwin would probably not enjoy the science park very much and probably couldn't be trusted not to have a little chew on some of the many bones on display there.

We'd tried really hard to get up and off in good time and in the end, managed to get to the park by 11.00 - which was good as it didn't actually open til 11! We had it in our heads it opened at 10...so our inability to get out of bed when the alarm rang didn't matter at all. And we were one of the first into the park. It took us an age to actually enter the place as we were already impressed with the entrance and the water features and the domes that demonstrated the Coriolis effect - that swirly, cloudy effect you see round Jupiter. They were wonderful!.

My personal favourite was one of the special exhibitions called 'Títeres' which is the generic name in Spanish for puppets. The exhibition was celebrating 30 years in puppet theatry of a local company called 'Etcetera' and had the most fantastic selection of puppets on show together with workshops showing the making of puppets and films of the actual performances.

The photographs cannot do this exhibition justice, and I knew this as I snapped away but I couldn't resist trying to capture almost everything!

These were puppets made of light

This old man was incredibly lifelike as he played the violin

Part of  a 'Carnaval of the Animals' show

Absolutely amazing puppets..

- enormous, see FR infront of them! They were watching a puppet show!

We got to have a go at shadow puppet theatre

Not much of a story line to tell you though.

  

But lots of animation

More neon puppets

We couldn't drag Romy away.

Eventually, we had to so we could explore the Dinosaur exhibition. It was a blast from the past for me because I first saw these giants in the Natural History Museum around 18 or 20 years ago. I didn't have the  shock of seeing the animated models and hearing the roar of the T. Rex  as I did the first time - so much has changed in 20 years and we have become so much more accustomed to impressive visual and aural stimulus, but it was good to be reminded of the incredible size of the big dinosaurs - to stand next to one, looking up.

Did that dinosaur just move!

Watch out Romy - dinosaur feeding time!

Romy is not put off by the gorey bits.

Face down a T. Rex or run away...

More delights from the afternoon to follow. Doesn't do to try and take in too much information in one go, does it? Which is my excuse - in reality, I am absolutely exhausted from our busy day yesterday and must just go and lie down for a little while!

A brief history of time

It's fourteen years since my eldest son was born.

Yes, he's changed, he's grown, he's now very much a teenager. But something about Mateo is immutable. I have often said he's like a stick of rock, through the middle of which runs the word 'Mateo' - because that is who he is and who he will always be.

As a child, he was fascinated by natural history, by animals both living and extinct. He loved stars and space and the unknown. He still does.

Despite being a whizzy about sort of child, he had the ability to watch and concentrate on the things he liked for long stretches at a time. And whilst he no longer chooses to whizz much these days, he can lose himself in a book, an idea or a project he's working on for hours, even days on end.



We celebrated quietly today as the plan was to go to the Science Park in Granada - except it's closed on Mondays. We're going tomorrow. Mateo will move through the exhibitions identifying things he didn't already know - I am hoping there will be some things still left for him to be fascinated by!

So today, we opened a few presents and ate cake.

Yes, Mateo wanted some weights

What you can't quite see is a jar of black gold - Marmite!

And a very  big cake...

Just behind Mateo's head is a little collage of photos of when he was a baby. I have been hunting high and low for a photo I know we have of him when he was less than a year old. He had a habit of taking every book off one of our bookcases and always, always picked out the same one, once got all the books on the floor infront of him.Agreed, he only chewed it a bit - he didn't read particularly early - but the book?

Every time!

Critical literature...

My family suspect that my university days were seriously marred by the decision - strongly opposed by my mother - to live with my then boyfriend. It was my decision then and no amount of persuasion or threat or pleading would have made me change my mind. However, this is no excuse for, three years later, leaving my college at London University with a really poor result. Unexpected, maybe but probably deserved.

I have only dimmed memories of my time there, having lived 'out' and at at some distance away for my three years. I did come away with one of the best of friends with whom I shared a great deal in years to come. (Not least holidays in Southwold!)  I also had some other good friends there - all of whom did extremely well in their finals. But not me. Was this because I was distracted? Was this due to a lack of study? Possibly but I suspect it was more specifically down to something that I didn't discover until many years later. Literary criticism. Maybe I missed an important lecture early on in my English Literature degree course; maybe I arrived from a school that didn't quite get the message across; maybe I was not quite up to the mark - but literary criticism - or lack of it - was my downfall.


Bear with me,,,,slight detour ahead.

This morning, I was leafing through some old photos looking for a decent picture of my two dogs from days gone by because last night, Romy, Ruy and I lay on Romy's bed having 'girl talk'. This is usually a ritual just Romy and I indulge in before she goes to sleep but last night, Ruy was hanging around, popping in and out of the bedroom so that I asked if he'd like to join in and be an honorary girl for the purpose - and I'm so glad to say he hopped up on the bed, curled up like a little cat at the end and gossiped with us like a good 'un. We were talking about the naming of dogs and why the two I had before them (my children) had the names they had - important stuff like that. In the process, we covered 'The Herbs' and bookselling and splitting up with boyfriends - more of which another time - possibly.

As I searched unsuccessfully for a photo of the dogs, I uncovered an old card that I'd made when we lived briefly in Malaga, about 15 years ago. It is a little section from an Anglo-Saxon poem, called 'The Dream of the Rood'. At University, in the first year, we all had to study Anglo-Saxon, with a professor who absolutely looked the part of an ancient language enthusiast. In subsequent years, the early stuff was a choice and many students dropped it very quickly but for me, it was a first choice - and I chose Old Icelandic, Anglo-Saxon, Old and Early Middle English and Middle English as four of my nine subject areas - with Shakespeare and at least one modern literature subject as obligatory. As I've said, I never really got the hang of literary criticism. It wasn't until I did an MSc many, many years later that I suddenly realised that reading the critics and balancing different views was what you were supposed to do! I do believe I spent my whole university career carefully avoiding reading critics' views in case they influenced my own opinions on a particular work...hmm, why did no one point out the error of my ways to me?  I do have to question some of my tutors - one in particular, who once gave me a 'B+' for an essay but whose only comment was 'Very pleasing handwriting'.

If I'd had any nouse, I should have been suspicious! As it was, my first real indication that there was a serious problem with my finals was when my favourite tutor, who knew my love of music, looked at me over her spectacles and, very gently and rather kindly, said 'You should have studied music...'

Anyway, my poor result led me to work rather hard at passing exams in the future and I have now well and truly got over my lack of honours in English Literature. I have since written a masterpiece of literary criticism on Information Management - pouring my whole three years lack into it - and it achieved a very pleasingly high mark from the wise and wonderful academic folk of London Metropolitan University - so yah, boo, sucks to you, Westfield!! That essay wiped out all the stigma of a poor degree for me - if only I'd known what it was all about, I too could have passed with flying colours.

And despite this, I still think the role of literary critic is absolutely pointless.


To continue my detour.....This morning, I found this little card and it set me thinking back to the days in a dusty room at the now defunct Westfield College discovering the delights of Anglo-Saxon poetry. In brief, the poet has a dream in which he sees a cross, covered in jewels, shining, but also with bloodstains. What moves and fascinates me - then and still - is the imagination of the poet as he goes on to tell the story of the Crucifixion from the perspective of the cross - starting with the cross as a tree, cut down by Roman soldiers, to the moment Christ embraces 'her' in the final, dramatic Passion, in which the cross shares Christ's injuries as the nails are driven into 'her' to the point where the two are buried together. Like Christ, in the poet's dream, the Cross is raised up to glory and tells 'her' story. At no point is the Cross identified as female, but the language throughout - at least in translation - makes the relationship sound to me like that between a male and a female - fascinating when you think this was written by a monk in the 7th century. And having never read what the critics said about the poem - and never will -  I can think entirely what I want!

Translated as:

All that beacon was

sprinkled with gold. 

Gems stood fair 
at earth's corners; 

there likewise shone five 
on the shoulder-span.

(Follow the link for a full translation of this amazing work of poetic imagination - I have slightly amended the words given here to improve the sense.)

Oo er; Oe Oe Oe! Olé!!

The end of June has been either a hive of activity and excitement or a doze of lethargy and tiredness. I guess the two sort of go together, don't they. And this is a rambling, bumbling sort of post. I think the heat may have affected my brain.

When I say the end of June, there wasn't a specific 'start' time - we do seem to lurch from one event to another in the normal state of affairs. But after school finished, the first of the lulls began. I think we all promised ourselves a lie in on the first weekend but I surpassed myself and didn't get up until 1 o'clock on Sunday afternoon! (Remember, that would only be 12 o'clock if I still lived in the UK...makes me feel a little better for some reason.) Probably the real reason is because Romy and I were up so late watching the witch burning the night before. 

Then on Monday, it was my birthday.

FR and I went out on our own (falls over in amazement) ...for about an hour but we did have a rather nice drink and a tapa at one of the local bars and I was treated to some very nice perfume. I also managed to stagger back without falling over - I'm not good at lunchtime drinking.

Then we ate wonderful steaks with salad and chips, followed by a yummy 'tarta' full of cream. 

I did drink rather more than I usually do - which is nothing - and suspect I may have had a siesta. For a long time - I don't remember very much else this particular day, but it was a very nice birthday and I now smell lovely.

On a number of evenings this week, we have been glued (it's been extremely hot) to the television, watching the football of the Euro 2012 Cup. Spain and England in particular, though they didn't actually play each other. I very quickly got bored watching England so wasn't too distraught when they were knocked out by Italy - though I did watch the awful moment when Ashley Cole's penalty, well, didn't go in and England were out. 

He's a very good footballer

When Spain played, it was different and we shouted and cheered at each goal, save, miss along their way to the final. The game against Portugal was particularly nail-biting for us as it went to penalties after neither full time nor extra time could provide either team with an all-important winning goal. We thought the Portuguese were rather dirty and Romy and I were both very indignant when Xabi Alonso was most unfairly tackled. (My 8 year old daughter showing similar taste in..good footballers..as her mother, which was a bit of a surprise.)

And then it was penalties. If you watched it, you will know it went Spain's way, though it was quite painful to see the Portuguese goalkeeper save the very first attempt by Spain - especially as it was Xabi Alonso that took it! Oohh, what a noise we made! And then what another, different noise we made when Casillas, the Spanish goalkeeper saved the first Portuguese attempt!! Clean sheet - still no goals. The next two players on each team hit the spot at the back of the net - so 2-2. Gosh this was such a tense moment. Ramos scores for Spain...but guess what, the next Portuguese shot hits the post!! We couldn't believe it. I was so tense that when Fabregas scored next, I didn't suss that Spain were through to the final...but of course, instead of Ronaldo stepping forward to win for Portugal, he didn't need to take a penalty as the decision was already made. I wonder if he'd gone first, it would have been quite so clear-cut...? Well, he didn't and by the time I fully realised that Spain had done it, the noise had started outside, with car horns and hooters shattering what had been an unusually quiet evening.

Then we had another day's lull, followed by FR and I being briefly excited about going to see two more houses. We have had no luck with the house we saw earlier this year - too much money required, seller doesn't need to sell enough to drop to our highest offer - but we keep looking.  However, when we came home, I sank into quiet depression because I go with such optimism thinking 'this' will be 'it' and then it's not...but one day it will be. I hope!

The lethargy that hit us during the week was a direct result of the heat. It really has been unbelievably hot here, reaching 45 degrees some days and not enough of a drop during the night for us to sleep well. We've had our air-conditioning unit and a fan on almost all the time and even then, we have been wilting. Add this to a recent, age-related increase in hot flushes and ...well, you must excuse my odd ramblings. Please.

However, Saturday was perfect! The temperature stayed around 30 degrees and there was a delicious breeze. I took Darwin for a long walk and wished it was possible to photograph smells for my blog. We walked past the lavender which borders the park and I brushed its length to release the scent - though I did this carefully to avoid the multitude of bees buzzing there. As we walked up the hill towards La Mota, we pass underneath two trees that at the moment are in flower. I don't know what type of tree it is but the scent is just like watermelon - it's absolutely gorgeous - could be a Linden or Lime tree. I will do my homework and find out even though I will still not be able to share the smell with you. As we stand a little while to inhale the perfume, the noise of the bees is loud and busy and, in the shade, we are so enveloped in sensation, it's like being in a dappled, buzzing, scented helmet.

Not wishing to become a soccer bore, I will just say we watched the Spain - Italy final and couldn't quite believe the 4-0 result. But I must share the sense of excitement, joy, enthusiasm and pure pleasure that our Spanish neighbours displayed for most of the evening and night that followed the win! Ruy, most Spanish of our three, felt we had to do something, so FR and the children jumped into the car to do a tour of the town after the match ended.

They came back full of amazement at the number of people on the streets and the demonstration of Spanish joy on show. So, I set off with my camera, walking through deserted streets but hearing the roar and chanting of crowds some way off.
Momentarily, I thought back to living in the UK, when the idea of wandering into cheering crowds of football fans at almost midnight would have been a most foolish thing to do.

But I kept going. I know there are places in Spain where there is a great deal of threat on the streets but I am so incredibly glad that we have found a place where there is so little that not only was I unafraid, but grinning all over my face (which was painted with red and yellow stripes) as I saw the masses of people in the park - a sea of folk in the red of the Spanish team, including some very small ones on the shoulders of their parents.



My photos are inadequate - they don't capture the friendly enthusiasm of the evening and many are out of focus, but I'm so glad I went and was part of the fun for a little while.









La crisis is momentarily forgotten as Spain celebrates. Olé!

The burning of witches

Midsummer falls around the same time as the fiesta of San Juan here in Spain - or is it the other way around? So many festivals - pagan and sacred - share similar dates or times of the year. La Fiesta de San Juan - or St. John's Eve - is celebrated all over Spain by the lighting of bonfires, particularly on beaches and famously in Alicante and Valencia. As we might expect, the fiesta-rich little town of Alcala la Real would not like to miss the opportunity to observe this particular tradition.

Having watched the football match earlier in the evening, in which Spain beat France 2-0, our menfolk were far too exhausted to join Romy and I, so we two set off up the steep hill, in temperatures still over 30 degrees to see what fun we might find. We had heard tales of witch burning and couldn't possibly miss seeing it.

At first, the streets seemed very quiet and we wondered whether we'd got it wrong - it happens! However, as we staggered up the last, almost vertical, hill, we were hit by a real blast of heat and crowds of people moving into the Plazeta outside the church of San Juan.

With little subtlety, I followed Romy as she weaved her way to the front of the crowd - she was really keen to see a witch being burned...

This is the lovely little church. I have never been inside as yet but have been told that it has a little museum - must make sure we go to visit that one day.

However, it was from the bell tower that all the fun was to begin.

And even better than a front line view would be a view from the terrace of a house that overlooks the square.


And we were lucky enough to know some people who lived in such a house and we were able to escape from the crowds and get a bird's eye view - and a drink and some nibbles - from our friends' house! Good to have friends in high places...

At the stroke of midnight, things started to happen...

And after a little teasing, the witch appeared on her broomstick. (She flew fast, so some of pictures are rather blurred...)

She flew around, teasing the crowd.

She started to fly dangerously close to the fire...

  

Very near though for a little while, we thought she might get safely to the other side.

Then her foot seemed to be alight...

But no, she had escaped again.

Oh no, this time she won't escape.

And as she caught fire and started to burn, the moment was celebrated with an unexpected burst of fireworks and we were so close that the ashes and little bits were falling right on top of us.

And she went on to completely disappear - not exactly in a puff of smoke - but not before she got stuck on a neighbour's fence. I did have a moment's concern for both the house and the man trying to free her - there was absolutely no way the fire brigade would have got to the scene but there was no harm done.
(If you watch the video, suggest you turn down the volume a bit to avoid being deafened...I found out that it's quite loud the hard way.)




After the witch had disappeared, the tradition is for people to throw papers into the fire, on which should be written up to three 'wishes'. The wishes can be positive or negative - i.e. things you want or want to happen or vice versa. We duly wrote down our wishes and threw them into the fire. I noted that Romy didn't want any more ants.

Not sure that will be completely fulfilled, though we don't seem to have any at all in the house today...

My wishes... well, not wanting to be too specific, they all involved houses. I can't afford to miss any opportunity to ask for a little luck. Especially as the one we had our eye on is now OFF the list.

Proud Padres

Friday 22 June was the last day of term for the children of Alcala la Real, Jaen, Andalucia and probably the whole of Spain. Despite it being at least a month earlier than schools in the UK, we were all feeling ready for the summer break - especially as temperatures are reaching 36 degrees most days.

The children (and school staff) have been working hard to prepare a spectacular for parents to enjoy and we had a real treat last night. I am proud to say I did my parental duties quite well, spending a couple of mornings earlier in the month to make some rather sweet little straw huts to act as 'scenery' to the dances of Year 2 - Romy's year.  

Each year group wore matching costumes. I was rather partisan and only photographed the year groups that my own children were in and also Year 1 because my friends daughters are both in that group. However Years 1 and 2 were the best costumes by far!

Year 1 was dressed as the main characters in Lazy Town. Sorry Sam and Caroline - I could not identify Izzy and Natalia specifically - they all looked the same from where I was sitting! All gorgeous.

The children in year 2 were dressed as an African tribe. There were some really stunning shields and they looked fantastic all together. I am going to resist describing the hours of work that went into making Romy's costume because I discovered on the night that I could have made it much easier for myself - but hey, next time I have to make one, I shall know the best way!

Romy has spotted me in the crowd!

I took lots of photos of the African tribe - I though they all looked wonderful. Judge for yourselves!

Don't tell him I told you, but see the man in the audience with his arms in the air? FR!

Turquoise, Pink and Green Angels

Ruy's year group all wore a pair of white wings for a very touching and heartbreaking reason. 

Earlier in the year, a lovely boy called Andres, lost his battle with cancer at the age of just 11. We saw him at school most days, despite his illness and he was always so very cheerful and enthusiastic, though some days, he couldn't even walk to the car and his father had to bring a wheelchair for him. 

The children were all devastated when they heard he had died and there were some very genuine and lovely tributes to him in the end of term bulletin that his classmates had written. 

The whole evening was dedicated to him.

You also need to know that I made Ruy's wings. You need to know this for two reasons. 

1. He could easily be taken for the real thing and so why would I need to make him wings out of cardboard?

2. Most of the other children's parents went to the local bazaar and bought the wings from there. By the time I found out this was an option (having been too busy making straw skirts and shields) I had already made him a pair from cardboard and lots of crepe paper.

I was quite pleased with the final result and Ruy was pleased to have the biggest pair of wings in his class!

Angels in conversation

Despite the heat and the fact that they had all performed during the day for each other, by way of a whole school practice, the children put their hearts into their dances and it was a real pleasure to watch them.

Well done Alonso de Alcala. Thank you teachers. We'll see you next week for the real truth about our little savages and angels when we go and collect their end of term reports!

Romy and Ruy - ready to go and dance