24/02/2017

Travelling as a wheelchair user - my experiences

As anyone who knows me will know, I’m a frequent traveller around Europe and the UK and so it feels apt that I should write a post about what it is like to travel frequently on planes, trains, metro systems, and buses as a wheelchair user (I don’t drive a car… yet!).

Come fly away with me – my take on plane travel as a disabled person

Over the last few years, I’ve been a frequent traveller between Liverpool and Barcelona for my university studies. Personally, I enjoy travelling by plane, although it took a bit of getting used to at the start. Usually one is required to book assistance to get on and off the plane and around the airport a couple of weeks in advance – or at the very latest a few days before.

So that the airline can ensure adequate space in the hold of the plane for my chair, I have to provide them with weight/measurements of the wheelchair and book the necessary assistance around the airport and an ambi-lift to get me onto the plane as I can’t walk up the steps. Providing the airline with this information has become much easier to do over the last few years as most airlines now provide online chat to book the assistance (yay, no more half an hour waits on expensive phonelines) and I have the information about my chair stored away, so all I have to do is copy and paste it into the chat.

Generally speaking, one has to arrive at least an hour and a half before and the assistance will help me through the airport: my chair has to be tagged, I need help getting stuff out of my bag at security control, and, as I weirdly like to sit at the back of the plane (it’s easier to get me on/off the flight and I’m closer to the toilet in flight), I often need to use an aisle chair to get me on to the plane – this way, my wild arms don’t knock anyone’s head off as I stumble awkwardly down the plane.   

Personally, my favourite airline is Ryanair - although they are often criticised -, as, as long as one is organised with assistance and gets there at least an hour before the flight, they are relatively hassle-free and do not require mountains of paperwork to be filled in on the day as it can be done online beforehand. I’ve travelled tens of times across Europe with Ryanair and never had a problem, whilst every time I’ve travelled with EasyJet, there has also been difficulties on the day and a mountain of paperwork on the day (I can’t write on paper, so this is always fun and rather unnecessarily time-consuming).

Trains are great – but only if there’s a ramp there

I love train travel and it’s my favourite way of getting across the country. Last year, I spent around 16-18 hours a week on trains crisscrossing the U.K. between Liverpool (where I was living), Birmingham (where I was studying), Manchester (for football matches), and London (for weekend work). So, you could say I’m something of a frequent train traveller then.

As a wheelchair user, I need a ramp to get on the train… That sounds simple, right? In reality, it can sometimes be anything but. Officially, one is supposed to book 24 hours in advance to get assistance at the station - although I've found that one can book as late as 1900 the night before (the time that the sheets are sent to the stations) and get assistance the next day. This means that I oftentimes can't spontaneously decide to take off on the train to visit a random city for the day as an able-bodied person can.

Train assistance varies significantly between stations - my local station, Liverpool Lime Street, are fantastic (as are Birmingham New Street), whilst other stations, such as London Euston can require a longer wait (my longest wait for a ramp was 30 minutes and I’d booked assistance beforehand too). 

Whilst there is normally a ramp to get me on the train (provided that I book ahead and get there 20/30 minutes before the train departs – not always easy when you’re relying on public transport to get you there), there have been many occasions whereby I’ve been left stranded at the station I needed to get off at when a ramp hasn’t arrived or arrived 5, 10, or 15 minutes late. This is where train franchises become key. They vary as to how they treat disabled passengers requiring assistance: on some franchises (Virgin and TransPennine spring to mind as great examples), the train manager can unfasten the ramp and get you off, whilst, on others, you can be stuck waiting on an empty train (sometimes one that is boarding for its next trip) for 15/20 minutes until a ramp turns up.

Another thing that’s a bugbear of mine is the limited facilities and seating that train companies give to disabled passengers. Legally, disabled passengers are not supposed to be allowed to get on a train where there is a broken or inaccessible toilet and should be seated in one where this basic facility is made available to them. Again, there are significant differences in my experiences of train companies in this area: Virgin are fantastic and will often move disabled passengers and their companions to carriages with a working toilet if this situation occurs, whilst, on around 60% of the services I’ve been on with a Midlands-based franchise, the one and only accessible toilet has been out-of-order and you’re often just expected to suffer on through (or told you can get off the train at Crewe to use the toilet and pick up the next service).

Train design is something that can be an issue too: most services have fantastic wheelchair seats with tables and adequate space, however on others, one is left sitting next to or staring into a toilet or cannot sit next to the people they are travelling with.

How accessible are the metro systems in London and Barcelona?

Over the last few years, I’ve had plenty of experience with the metro system of Barcelona and London. Both systems have adopted the policy of having sections of their platform raised in accessible stations, so that wheelchair users (and, indeed, others) can get on and off the carriages without the need for assistance. This is great and makes it so much easier to travel at accessible stations.

The downside is that not all stations are accessible for disabled passengers. In London, only 24% of Tube stations are accessible, making it rather difficult to get from A to B on the metro there (although the buses are great – more on that below). One of my most frequent routes in London involves me going from Hammersmith to Kings Cross and then having to cross platforms to get back to Euston Square, as only one side of that station is accessible via the lift. 

In Barcelona, 86% of their stations are accessible and more work is being done to improve this over the next few years; that being said, to get to my campus, I have to make three changes as the (fairly new) station nearest my campus isn’t accessible at all. In both cities, my fellow commuters will nearly always move out of the way of the allotted space so I can park my chair.

One of the big differences I’ve noticed between the systems – aside from how many of the stations are accessible – is that the fact that in Barcelona, there’s always a clear sign on the platform telling the wheelchair user where to get on, whereas in London, such signage is only present at stations that have a National Rail connection. Not having a sign on the platform makes it incredibly difficult to know where the space to park my chair will be, meaning that I sometimes have to drive across crowds of commuters to find an accessible carriage.

The wheelchairs on the bus go round and round…

Bus access, over the last ten years, has increased significantly: nowadays, almost every bus has a ramp and is wheelchair-accessible.

In theory, this is great, as one should be able to get on any bus one wants, however, in practice, this is often more difficult than it first seems. Badly-designed buses mean that there is often only one space available for wheelchair users on each bus and it is frequently the case that there is not a separate space for buggies/old people with their shopping carts; thus, these spaces can often be taken up by prams or others, meaning that there isn’t always adequate space to turn and park my chair.

Until recently, what was supposed to be the wheelchair space was not legally designated as such: thus, if there was a pram on the bus, the driver was not required to ask them to fold it up or make space for the wheelchair user. This often meant that I could not board the bus and would have to wait for the next one to come along (sometimes this could mean standing for 20/30 minutes in the rain/cold with little protection from the elements).

Fortunately, a recent ruling from the UK Supreme Court means that bus drivers now have to ask non-wheelchair users to move out of the space if a wheelchair user needs to get on. Hopefully, this will make it much easier to travel by bus as wheelchair user, without having to endure long waits because the bus that you want to get on has something other than a wheelchair in the wheelchair-designated space. Indeed, in recent weeks, I’ve been on several buses that have displayed freshly-minted “priority space for wheelchair users” stickers, so hopefully bus companies and their drivers will understand the needs of wheelchair users better in the times that lie ahead.

I find the buses in London and Barcelona to be fantastic for wheelchair users, as they have automatic ramps – meaning that the driver doesn’t have to get out of his cabin and that a wheelchair user boarding does not necessarily slow the bus down – and bigger spaces for wheelchair users: in Barcelona, there are two spaces on each bus for wheelchair users making it so much easier to travel.

Potential future steps to be taken

Let me be clear, I love travelling by public transport, yet, at present, travelling as a wheelchair user requires a heck of a lot of planning and forethought. Maybe one day in the future, trains will have level-access points so that wheelchair users can just roll on and roll off without the need for 24 hours’ notice just for a simple ramp.

In a dream world, somebody would find a way to make the Victorian era Tube stations of London have lifts so that all can use them, not just able-bodied people, but, sadly, finding the political will for such a capital-intensive investment is highly unlikely.

Maybe more thought will be put into designing buses and trains that are intelligently thought-out: putting in fold-up seats so that prams can park easily on buses rather than have to fold-up for wheelchair users (this could also double as a second wheelchair space, if needed) and planning spaces so that wheelchair users are not sat next to/looking into smelly toilets for several hours.


On balance, in the last few generations, great progress has been made towards accommodating wheelchair users on public transport, but that doesn’t mean that things can’t improve.   

17/02/2017

All you wanted to know about my disability, but were too afraid to ask

So, Ellis: what sort of disability have you got then?

I have a condition called quadriplegic dyskinetic cerebral palsy. Don't worry, it's not as terrifying as it sounds.

Basically, the cerebral palsy – I’ll henceforth refer to it as CP - bit translates into “brain problem” and this was caused by a brain haemorrhage triggered by a lung collapse shortly after my birth. The dyskinetic bit refers to the fact that it affects my movements and causes shaky over-movements, whilst ‘quadriplegic’ means that none of my four limbs escape unscathed as the dyskinetic movements affect both my hands and my legs (my left-hand side is often said stronger than my right-hand side though).

I was also 15 weeks premature (born in July ’94 – during the World Cup -, rather than October) and a twin: my brother, Jonathan, died in November 1994 after a valiant fight against the odds (proud of you, wee bro).

Simply put, I wouldn’t be here today without the great care and attention I received from the NHS nurses and doctors and I’m forever grateful for our free-at-the-point-of-use National Service… Long may it continue.  

When was I diagnosed with the cerebral palsy?

I was 13 months when I was diagnosed with CP. My mother, the wonderful Brónach, was working as a hairdresser in Derby at the time, despite living on the Wirral. 
Grandma Rosie and I at my graduation party last year... Love this woman so much!
In fact, my earliest memories are of being pushed down St. Chad’s Road in Derby by my grandmother, Rosaleen, delivering the local church newsletter.

When I was three, Mrs. P stopped working so that I could get all the care and support from the local NHS that I needed to help me thrive. At this time, I was forever visiting physios – to help with my movement – and speech-therapists – who helped me learn to speak properly (although this didn’t happen until I was three and a half, I’ve pretty much never shut up since). 

The work of the NHS physios and speech therapists at that time transformed my life and I’m convinced that without the support I received back then, I wouldn’t be able to do many of the things I can now.

As a kid, what was life with a physical disability like?

I was fortunate enough to be able to attend my local Catholic mainstream school, St. Joseph’s in Upton Village and I had a pretty conventional education and upbringing: my disability wasn’t a barrier and I came to terms with what I could and couldn’t do quite early on.

My most prevalent primary school memories are of playing football with friends on my walking frame: obviously, I wasn’t Lionel Messi or anything, but I was just another one of the lads. As a young person with a physical disability, integration rather than differentiation was the most important thing. My parents strove to (and did) make my life as normal as possible for me growing up and I’m incredibly grateful to them for that.

The one hindrance I had during for most of my primary school years was that I was either pushed around or walked on my walker (for shorter distances). I received my first electric wheelchair aged 9 – in fact, I still fondly remember driving around the house in it for the first time, It was great to be able to move longer distances under my own steam and having a powered chair made me significantly more independent.

Around the same time that I got an electric chair, I also started attending Stick ‘n’ Step, where regular conductive education sessions taught me the simple things and motor skills that I needed to live independently. These were often things that “normal” able-bodied people take for granted, like putting my socks on, getting dressed, and doing up shirt buttons. There was a time (I was 13/14) when every visitor to the Palmer household had to endure the ritual of watching me take my shoes off and put them back on again – God love me, I was so proud of the steps I was taking back then.

Why I strongly dislike being called “inspirational”

Random people who hardly know me and know even less about my life oftentimes come up to me and label me “inspirational” just for the pure feat of existing as a disabled person.

Sure, there’s great things I do, but they are often not related to my disability and if people want to call me “inspirational” (other adjectives like ‘bizarre’, ‘random’, and ‘slightly strange’ are available), they’d be better using it for things like living, working, and studying in three different cities for my final year of my degree, speaking three languages fluently, writing unique academic papers, making great coffee, and working on several projects obsessively at once.

Okay, for many people, seeing and engaging with a (relatively) well-integrated disabled person might provide them some bizarre form of inspiration, but to me, it’s just everyday life: it’s far from perfect, it’s far from inspirational.

New challenges lie ahead
Credit: @TheNomadBrodie
As ever with my cerebral palsy, there’s always new barriers to be overcome and I’ll always struggle valiantly to push them.

I can get dressed now, go to the gym, make my own coffee, and perform an increasing number of everyday physical tasks. Most of these tasks were unthinkable just a few years ago. It's never a revolution: it's about being able to do the small, incremental tasks on an every day basis.

There are, however, new things that must be overcome: chief of these is that I want to learn to cook basic recipes for myself. I’d also like to drive at some point too (although time and money may limit this).


What other questions have you got about my disability? Feel free to leave a comment below and I’ll answer it ASAP.

© All photos and words are copyright of Ellis Palmer (unless stated). Please kindly ask my permission before reproducing.

15/02/2017

5 questions I frequently get asked about the Catalan language

I'm forever being asked by foreigners and natives alike about the Catalan language is and why it was I decided to learn it, so I thought I'd do a wee post answering some of the questions that I'm most frequently asked.

What is Catalan? Isn't it some sort of dialect of Spanish? 

Catalan is a romance language. Simply put, it emerged from vulgar Latin in the 12th Century, much as other romance languages such as Castillian (Spanish), Italian, Portuguese, and modern-day French. It is very much its own language, with its own culture and history. 

Furthermore, it actually has a vast literary tradition dating back to the Middle Ages. Blanquerna by the famous Mallorcan author Ramon Llull is considered by some to be the first novel written in Catalan, whilst Martorell's Tirant lo Blanch is said to have influenced the evolution of the Western novel in the Renaissance period.  

Catalan has around 10.5m speakers in the territories where it is spoken and is very much its own language; it is only similar to Castilian in that it shares similar origins and has borrowed some words over time as more Spanish speakers have arrived in Catalonia and other territories (however the Castilian that is spoken in Barcelona has borrowed some words from Catalan too: feina is often used instead of trabajo in everyday parlance).
  
Where's it spoken? 

Broadly speaking, there are two distinct forms of Catalan that have emerged: català oriental (Eastern Catalan) and català occidental (Western Catalan). 
Eastern Catalan is spoken in most of Catalonia (especially in the provinces of Girona, Tarragona, and Barcelona), the historic region of Roussillon in south-east of France, and in the Balearic Islands. The accents between these areas vary significantly, however. The 'central' dialect of Catalan (that which is spoken in Barcelona and Girona - albeit with different accents) is taken by many to be the "standard" form that is taught in most schools and imparted by the Catalan-speaking media: hearing the distinct Mallorcan dialect for the first time was something of a shock to my system whens I moved to Barcelona in 2014 and, at first, was rather difficult to understand (although I've now got the hang of it). 

Western Catalan is spoken in Valencia (where it is known as Valencian), the province of Lleida, the franja d'Aragó (the Catalan-speaking communities of in Eastern Aragon), and in Andorra (where Catalan is the official language). The debate over whether the Valencian form of Western Catalan is distinct from other forms is one that has got much attention in recent years and given the difference that exists between the Catalan spoken in Barcelona and in Valencia, this is a valid debate; that being said, from a linguistic perspective, there is much less difference between the Valencian dialect and other forms of Western Catalan - say, that of Lleida.

Curiously, Catalan (in its Eastern form) is also spoken in Alghero, a port town on the Italian island of Sardinia, where it is the co-official language. Part of Alghero's population descends from Catalan conquerors from the end of the Middle Ages, back when Sardinia was part of the Crown of Aragon.

How did you learn Catalan? Where can I learn it?

This is a question that I get asked so often here in Barcelona that I'm thinking of having my response printed on a t-shirt: an English person speaking Catalan is still a relatively novel thing for many here.

When I was studying Castilian (Spanish) for my A-levels, I decided that I wanted to learn Catalan during my degree. I was fortunate enough to study at the University of Birmingham, whose Hispanic Studies faculty had a wee Catalan section (a lecturer, the wonderful Elisenda Marcer, and a teaching assistant), and so I took Catalan classes there for my first and second years. 

I got the opportunity to study my third year at the Universitat de Barcelona. Prior to classes commencing, I took a more advanced course in Catalan at the Escola d'Idiomes Moderns of the Universitat de Barcelona so that my Catalan would be up to scratch (and also to get to know the city better). 

That course was a great investment as around 75% of my classes at my beloved Facultat de Dret were in Catalan, and at the Col-legi Major Penyafort-Montserrat, where I stayed two years ago and am now, many of my friends held conversations solely in Catalan. Needless to say, my Catalan majorly improved during my year abroad (it's now my favourite language) and upon my graduation at Birmingham, I received the Catalan prize.

If you want to learn Catalan, then your best bet is checking out your local university to see if they have a Catalan lecturer/teaching assistant. Here are the universities that I know for sure have a Catalan Studies department: King’s College, London; Queen Mary, University of London; and the Universities of Manchester, Birmingham, Bristol, Cambridge, Cardiff, Cork, Durham, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Kent, Leeds, Liverpool, Oxford, and Sheffield. If there's not one near you, get in touch with the Institut Ramon Llull.

So, do people in Barcelona just speak Catalan then?
No, Barcelona is an (almost) completely bilingual city. The vast majority of people here are equally comfortable in both of the local languages. Generally, the way it goes is that if you speak to some in Catalan and they respond to you in Castilian/Catalan, then the conversation will thus continue in Castilian/Catalan; if you speak to someone in Castilian and they respond to you in Catalan but you can't speak it, they will respond in Castilian. 

I haven't heard of any negative experiences where someone has spoken to a local in Castilian and they have refused to respond to them in Castilian: Barcelona is a very tolerant city and its linguistic openness is one of the things that makes it so great.  

Contrary to the rumours in the Madrid-based press, speaking Catalan doesn't make you an independentist. There are, of course, many Catalan-speaking Barcelonians (and Castilian-speaking too) who support greater sovereignty for Catalunya and many who back independence, yet, equally, there are many Catalan speakers who are not convinced by the need for independence. Just the simple act of speaking Catalan doesn't automatically mean that you want to see Catalonia separate from Spain, but, rather, that you appreciate this beautiful language and want to ensure its survival.

Is it necessary to speak Catalan to study/live in Barcelona? 

Well, considering that this year I'm studying a Masters here in Barcelona on a course that is 4/5 foreigners and I'm the only foreigner who speaks Catalan, I'd say that, rather regrettably, it's becoming less and less necessary in the higher education system here (at least at the Pompeu Fabra - the UB was very much focussed on teaching in Catalan). 

Globalisation means that, in many industries and walks of life, you can get by in Barcelona with English and a very basic level of Castilian these days. An ever-increasing number of industries are looking for English-speaking workers these and some are stipulating that workers have at least a basic knowledge of English. 

Conversely, if you're intending on living here for a period of time longer than just a few months, I would advise you to learn at least one of the local languages - if not both - as it will help you feel much more integrated into city life. My advice would be that if you have a basic knowledge of French, Italian, or Latin, I'd learn Catalan before Castilian as it'll be easier to pick up.



To round this off, learn Catalan: it really is a beautiful language. 

There are amazing books, plays, music, and poetry out there just waiting to be discovered in this ancient romance language. Of English, Spanish, and Catalan, the latter is my favourite tongue by far.

Adéu-siau

12/02/2017

Coffee, correfocs, and gegants: Santa Eulàlia weekend in Barcelona

It's been a busy weekend here in Barcelona: Mrs P (my wonderful mother) has been over here, visiting me for a few days. She certainly picked the right weekend to come; Barcelona has been in festive spirits, as it has been celebrating the festival of its co-patron saint, Santa Eulàlia of Barcelona.

According to Christian legend, Eulàlia was a 13-year-old Roman Catholic virgin who was martyred in Barcelona during the persecution of Christians; a dove is alleged to have flown from her neck following her decapitation by the Romans in c. 303 A. D.. How certain anyone can be about this is, of course, doubtful to say the least, but my contemporary citizens of Barcelona certainly enjoy the festival.

All weekend, there have been numerous cultural events around the city (especially its old town), including correfocs, capgrossos, and castellers, all of which I'll be writing about below.

#CoffeeBarna: SlowMov and Black Remedy

Of course, this is me you're talking about: no weekend could be without a good dosage of my poison of choice, specialty coffee.

My Saturday morning involved a trip to two of my preferred specialty coffee establishments: Gràcia's SlowMov and the Barri Gòtic's Black Remedy. More detailed reviews will be coming soon on both of these great spaces, but, for now, let me summarize them briefly below.

SlowMov is an ecological grocery store, coffee shop, and roastery in the idyllic Barcelona neighbourhood of Gràcia, located on the relatively tranquil Carrer de Luis Antúnez (number 18, just after the Placeta de Sant Miquel). The beans that Carmen and François roast are from a variety of origins and are supplied by the excellent Coutume in Paris. 

If you're passionate about well-made coffee or locally-produced goods, then these guys are the people to visit: they're incredibly knowlegable individuals and will often take time out to explain the nuances of roasting and making great coffees through your preferred method. If you're lucky, you might spot me in there making a v60 or a Kalita, which I always love to share.
    
Me brewing up some beans the other week at SlowMov
Black Remedy are the new kids on the block: they only opened in November last year and have become something of a hipster mecca already, serving great beans from a variety of roasters including Tusell Tostadores (house roaster for espresso), Hidden Cafè BCN, Puchero Coffee, and Right Side Coffee.

Enjoying a Kalita in Black Remedy
Ideally situated in the Barri Gòtic, just behind the Plaça Sant Jaume and next to Ajuntament (town hall), Black Remedy (C/ Ciutat, 5) has amazing food and that was (mainly) why we were there on Saturday. I had the delectable roasted vegetable and feta cheese salad, whilst Mrs P enjoyed her highly-rated pulled pork sandwich. 

BR is extremely accessible with a flat entrance and several level tables - surprisingly rare in Barcelona's specialty coffee shops - (although there's a slight step up to the toilet). The ambiance there is fantastic and the staff are incredibly friendly too. 

Onto to the big event: Santa Eulàlia

As we were walking out of Black Remedy, Mrs P grabbed a wee pocketbook (in Catalan, of course) that was being handed out outside the Ajuntament, detailing the events that were taking place across the city for Santa Eulàlia. 

Attracted to the Plaça Sant Jaume by the noise of the marching bands playing, we paused for a few minutes to survey the guide we had just been handed. There were correfocs - see explanation below - taking place there within the hour. Mrs P was initially rather lukewarm to the idea,  however having been captivated by the correfocs at the 2014 Mercè, I insisted that we stayed: we weren't to be disappointed as it was correfocing awesome. 

So, just what are correfocs? Simply put, they are public events where groups of individuals dress as devils, light fireworks fixed on pitchforks, and set off their fireworks among crowds of spectators. What was extremely exceptional was that, in this case, those letting off fireworks and running across the Plaça with them were small children - many of whom can't have been older than 7 or 8. 

Catalan health and safety was non-existent (a fireman appeared at one point briefly to tell people to inch ever so slightly further backwards), as firework sparkles indiscriminately hit those that were standing some distance away. Check out our video below to see what it was like:  



This was an extraordinary spectacle and I'd highly recommend watching one of these spectacles if you find yourself in the Catalan Countries (there are lots of them at festivals in Catalunya and in the Valencian Community).

As we hadn't had enough excitement for a Saturday night with the correfocs, we were to then discover that there was a free open day being at the Ajuntament de Barcelona (Town Hall) and we could go in for a look around. 

As there was a massive queue snaking around the side of the building leading to an inaccessible entrance, I sneakily asked if I could go through the front gate to find a lift and they were only too happy to oblige. There was some stunning architecture and art on show, although the highlight for me was being able to go into Ada Colau's office and the City Council Chamber.
Being a politics geek in the City Council Chamber

Sunday was a more leisurely day. We departed from Les Corts, my neighbourhood in the early afternoon, walked around the Rambles area (not my favourite part of town, it must be said), before meandering to the Barri Gòtic.

 Our main cultural highlight was watching the gegants and capgrossos dancing their way through the old town, before resting for photos with the public in the peaceful Plaça Sant Josep Oriol and then back through the old town.
The gegants in the Plaça Sant Josep Oriol in Barcelona's old town
The Gegants are basically giants papier-maché figures. They are are carried by geganters/es (giant-carriers); in this case, they were adolescents from various community groups across the city. In essence, the giants are papier-maché figures that are usually three or four metres in height. They show the upper part of the figure and have a skirt covering the lower part, where the geganter/a stands whilst they twirl their figures through the streets.

10/02/2017

A weird and wonderful few days in the life of an Elf

Since I last wrote to y'all on Tuesday, I've been quite a busy little bee in my hive of Barcelona.

#StudentLyf2k17

To start with, over the last few days I've had several meetings with professors (all great people) at the Universitat Pompeu Fabra to discuss potential dissertation topics. Whilst I'm pretty sure what I want to write on (radical Catalanism, ftw), these meetings have been in useful in helping me look more holistically at the paper (theory, methodology, yadda, yadda, yadda) and have allowed me to appreciate different approaches.

In all honesty, I didn't really enjoy my first semester at the Pompeu that much; this was probably because I was studying at a new university (the third of my five years of high education) and the strange concept of being taught in one's native language abroad, despite speaking both of the local languages and actually preferring to learn in these (1. yes, I'm unusual and 2. I'm planning a future post on this). That being said, I'm feeling more optimistic about this semester, as I've got good, engaging professors and some pretty interesting content.

Only a few months to go now until the Elf is finally free from academia (unless one decides to do a doctorate, which one isn't discounting completely from the realm of possibilities at this stage).

Always talk to people on the metro - the Cyprus rugby team edition


Anyone who knows me will know that I love striking up conversations with people - after all, humans are social animals. From such random conversations, I've met many great people, some of whom have become good friends.

I was riding home on a rather packed metro train when I came across some guys in sports gear speaking English and staring nonchalantly at a map of Barcelona. Intrigued, I asked them if they were okay: they replied that they were the Cyprus rugby team and they were en route to a training session, but they had no idea how to get there...

"Where were they headed?", I enquired. "Diagonal, 695", they replied. It took a moment to register, but they were going to my gym, thus I imparted instructions on how to get there. Thinking my job was done, I bid them farewell on the Zona Universitaria platform and proceed to drive/walk my way home.

That was wishful thinking, however: as I got out the lift, I saw that these 6ft-odd rugby players were not following my instructions and were headed the wrong way... I ended up walking them to the right place, finding out that they hold the world record for the most unbeaten rugby games (24); they were incredibly down-to-earth individuals and I enjoyed every minute of their company.

It was on my arrival at the Esports UB complex that my translation skills from the local languages came in useful, however, as it transpired that the rugby pitch that the lads were supposed to be training on was unfit for purpose and so in my new role as a logistics guy and translator, I had to speedily arrange for them to train on another, much smaller, pitch. When we got there, the pitch was in darkness, so I had to arrange for the lights to be put on, etc.

The Cyprus rugby team training on Thursday
After training, I walked back with the lads to the metro station, only to find they had fallen prone to the usual problem that visitors have here in Barcelona: they'd only bought a single ticket.

MetroSelfie with Chris Dicomidis 

If anyone reading this blog visits Barcelona, do what I advised the guys to do: buy a T-10 (€9,95 from any public transport stop) which is valid for ten journeys on any form of public transport and can be used for various people at once... It works out loads cheaper and, in this case, probably saved the guys around €25 per metro trip as a group compared to a €2,15 individual ticket.

I bid the guys farewell and they asked me if I'd like to watch them train on the next day: I, of course, said yes, and so we met up at 0945. This time, at Esports UB, they were able to train on the rugby pitch and it was amazing to see such fine specimens excelling at their sport. I can't wait to watch them play against Andorra on Saturday via the live-stream and I'm hoping they can win.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the guys and staff for being so hospitable towards me. I'll be keeping tabs on the lads both internationally and at club level.

Manchester By The Sea

After my fun Wednesday evening with the Cyprus rugby team, I headed back to my dearest Penyafort for some food and, ideally, a night of Netflix and chill. That wasn't to be, however, as I bunch of the #PenyaPeeps wanted to go and see the hit indie film, Manchester By The Sea. I, of course, was willing to oblige and so we set off for a 22.15 screening further up the road from Penya (it didn't finish until 0030).

This award-winning movie is about a lonely guy coming to terms with the death of his children a few years previously and the death of his brother more recently. It's an intense human drama and is gritty and realistic. Also, it's set in Essex County, MA which I visited back in 2015 (see the views from the picturesque Cross Island below). It's a must-see.

The view from Cross Island, MA feat. Guinness the dog (2015)