Paris, je t'aime...

Ohje... well, I am happy to report that I survived Spain with all limbs and my sanity intact.

When I last left you, dear reader, our conference was going to hell in a handbasket, at least as far as I could tell. As far as the office was concerned, nothing worked, no one wanted to fix it, and we were all hanging on by the skin of our teeth and trying not to get into the weeds. The registration team had no materials left to give out and were fending off angry participants deprived of their bags and complementary 50mL of olive oil. Apparently the first lunch was a disaster, with long queues and no vegetarian food, and things were just not working out.

There was a meeting. The kind of meeting that involves all the highups of both parties, and their respective translators, and it is a meeting-to-the-death, the mother of all meetings, where decisions are made that affect the lives of us minions in a very tangible way.

It resolved to be a bit of a clash of cultures--aside from the obvious differences between Germany and Spain, there are the linguistical problems: not only can the heads of the organisations not speak untranslated with one another (though the need for translation provides the opportunity for possible faux pas to be moderated through the mediator/interpreter), it is not possible for those of us working in the office to talk to the other parties for materials, problems, issues, or vice versa. There were also different understandings of 'on time' and vegetarian (in Spain, fish is vegetarian. I had to eat fish or starve. I was so happy to find something neither fish nor fried that I was eating salad for breakfast.)

There are some people who worked until 2 AM compiling the exact lists required by our partners before any material was reordered, but in the end we managed to get more bags, more programs, more badges, more everything. There wasn't enough, but it worked out.

After that it got better. Aside from perpetual uncertainty as to whether or not lunch required a ticket, and because of the negotiation, the conception of vegetarian was narrowed somewhat to better reflect the expectation of us northern Europeans.

The sessions ran well. Aside from minor difficulties, everyone's presentations more or less ended up where they were supposed to be and we were able to actually work and not constantly have to solve everyone's small problems (print new badges, fix mistakes in the participant's list, etc).

We didn't sleep much, though for Thursday and Friday that was because we went into town for Tapas, an adventure that managed to have three taxis deposit their respective cargo at two different restaurants of the same name on the same street, and only after excessive calling did we manage to meet up.

Tapas.... man, I love the culture and I love the lifestyle, but southern Spain is the definite birthplace of fried fish. Small fried fish, large fried fish, tater tots of fish, croquettes, fried calamaris, fried shrimp, and for variety gazpacho, tortilla with potatos and usually fish, and spinach or mushrooms, usually swimming in oil. If I get offered a fish in the next two weeks I will beat the person with it.

And it is impossible to hail a cab in Sevilla. After tapas one night, the group split up. One group left at about midnight, but couldn't find a cab and ended up hanging out in a bar waiting for the proprieter to close because he offered to personally drive them. The rest went for a slightly inebriated walking tour of Sevilla at night, passing a procession practicing for Easter. Ariving at some dodgy looking disko-like bar, some people decided to stay and others, myself included, wanted to go back. We were five people, though the one guy split off to go have a pizza, and we stood on the street corner like executive prostitutes without a trick. Trying to try our luck at another spot we recollected our fifth companion whom we left after finally landing our elusive green-lighted prey. The first group got home at 2 AM, we got home at 2 AM, and the third group at 3.

Saturday morning we collected those of us were conscious and clean at 10 AM and headed by bus into town. We wandered the streets, bought ceramics and stamps, and generally just soaked in the atmosphere and the sun, me with my idiotic backpack, erasing whatever doubt may have yet existed that I was a stranger to this land. And upon driving off in my taxi for the airport, I realized I had left a bag behind, and had to spend 20 minutes driving through one-way streets to retrieve it. Enter airport, check bag, wander, eat an apple, wander, drink my water before security, go through security, get felt up by first guard, get questioned in Spanish, get felt up by second guard, wander, board, fly, sleep, disembark, wander, retireve bag, eat, check bag, wander, go through security, sleep, drink coffee, wander, shop, drink more caffe con leche, sleep, board, fly disembark, retrieve bag, fend off the advances of the handsome french taxi driver, and....find my mother.

It had been eight months since we'd seen each other, a wonderful meeting. The friends with whom we would be staying were picking me off, and on the way home we did a nighttime tour of L'arc du Triomphe and le tour d'Eiffel.

Et j'ai parlé français.... je comprends beaucoup, j'éxplique de ma vie, je peux répondre aux questions qu'on m'a posé. Demain, je vais écrire plus longue....