Los chinos me saludan

Si los espanoles me miran por mis ojos chinos, la piel morena y mi aspecto oriental, los chinos llegan a saludarme en la calle como si fuera para decir: ¡Oye! paisano. Dada esta pinta que tengo, me suelen confundir con un chino de manera que se acercan de repente en la calle a fin de hablarme o preguntarme algo. Por supuesto suelo no poder contestarles ya que no sé chino.

Suele ser que a mí me pasa eso tanto en el centro como en la estación de autobuses donde hay gente de todas partes. De vez en cuando me tropiezo con un chino en la Alameda Principal y aunque no lo conozco, para de caminar para echarme una sonrisa tan radiante como los platos de porcelana en las tiendas chinas.

En la estación de autobuses, me convierten en el chico de información turística. Por muy poco que les comprenda, me da la sensación de que me hacen preguntas muy típicas de turistas perdidos: dónde se coge un taxi, hay información turística por aquí, a qué hora sale tal autobús, etc. Desgraciadamente solo puedo responder con una sonrisa y algunos movimientos confusos de la mano que quieren decir: Lo siento. Es que no te entiendo.

Lo curioso es que la manera en la que me miran, me saludan o me hablan es cada vez más segura; últimamente lo hacen con mucha más confianza, mucha más certeza de que soy indudablemente chino.

Hasta el momento, esto ha sido lo mejor:

El otro día estuve en la comisaría de policía y había un chino. Mientras que antes los demás me saludaban o por lo menos me sonreían, ese tío simplemente me echó un vistazo y me hizo un gesto con la cabeza. No decía ni una palabra. Solo pasó por donde estaba yo entonces sus ojos conectaron con los míos igual que si no hubiese hecho falta poner palabras para que nos comprendiéramos. Era como si fueramos hermanos, dos personas de la misma sangre, como si tuvieramos un enlace automático por nuestra naturaleza. Y después se fue con la conclusión de que soy, por cierto, su paisano.

De verdad, a mí me da igual. Cuando eso me pasa, me río tanto. Además de los 80 millones de filipinos, tengo un billon de paisanos.

Cómo se mata a una funcionaria

Son las 10:15 de la mañana. Llego a la comisaría de policía un poquito más temprano de lo que esperaba. Veo la gran conglomeracíon de gente que suele haber aquí a esa hora y me doy cuenta de que la cola pasa a través de la entrada de la seccíon de visado, sigue a través de la puerta del edificio, prolongándose hasta la calle donde pasan los coches y hace mucho sol. Pero no me importa. Tranquilito, voy al final de la cola lo mismo que si fuera algo muy divertido tener que estar aquí, abro la mochila para echar un vistazo a toda la documentacíon que llevo: hoy tengo que renovar mi residencia en España. Detrás hay unas 50 personas en la cola, intento olvidarme del tiempo. Me pongo a esperar.

De verdad, ya estuve aquí hace tres días. Iba a entregar la solicitud pero me pedían el certificado del seguro médico. El año anterior recuerdo que eso no me lo pedían, pues les bastaba la carta de la AECI que decía algo de tal seguro. Pero esta vez quieren que traiga un certificado de la compañía del seguro, quieren que traiga la póliza misma.

Ahora mismo si llevo la póliza. Son las 11:30 y ya llevo más de una hora en esta cola. Se nota que la gente se pone más inquieta, mucho más impaciente por el calor, por tener que esperar durante tanto tiempo antes de ser atendida. Estoy algo nervioso ya que lo que llevo es una fotocopia de la póliza, no la original.

Por fin me toca a mí. Esa chica, la que me rechazó la solicitud el otro día, me pide los requisitos uno a uno: el pasaporte, la NIE, la matrícula, las notas, el formulario...la póliza. Parece que no se da cuenta de que es fotocopia, así que siento un gran alivio. Empieza a leerla, demorándose especialmente en las condiciones de repatriacíon, después me dice: "Este seguro no me vale. Tiene que cubrir gastos de repatriacíon en caso de enfermedad, no en caso de fallecimiento."

Ya estoy hecho polvo. Me duelen los pies, encima ya estoy harto. Parece que puedo perder la razón en cualquier momento. Tranquilamente abro la mochila. Retiro el boli y lo clavo muy fuerte en el cuello de esta fulana, lo empujo más por dentro hacia su garganta y de repente lo saco. En cuanto suelto el boli, brota tanta sangre como si hubiese una fuente muy roja, una fuente de la muerte. Esta fulana se encuentra asustada, no puede moverse ni hablar pero parece que sus ojos me quieren decir: Lo siento. Lo siento. Tu seguro médico está bien. No le hago caso y vuelvo a clavar el boli en su cuello, dos veces, tres veces, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete. Me salpica de sangre la cara. La fuente roja se convierte en un mar de sangre...

Paro de clavar el boli y miro a la gente en mi entorno. Todos los extranjeros en la comisaría, tan hartos como yo de esta burocracia, me sonrien como si me quisieran dar las gracias. Me dan un gran aplauso. Estoy muy orgulloso de lo que acabo de hacer.

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Por supuesto no lo he hecho de verdad sino esto es lo que quería hacer, es lo que imaginaba: matar a esa funcionaria de la comisaría. Por segunda vez me iba a rechazar la solicitud de renovacíon por, segun decía ella, no tener seguro médico que cubra gastos de repatriacíon en caso de enfermedad. Yo estaba seguro de que aquellos gastos estaban cubiertos, lo que pasa es que las pólizas de seguro son como poesía, es decir, se pueden interpretar de mil maneras. Tenía que leer enteramente en aquel momento la póliza del seguro (¡que aburrido ese documento!) para poder contradecirla. Al final pude hacer la solicitud ese día tras haber discutido mucho con esa fulana de funcionaria. Joder, ojalá tuviera superpotencia.

Lee el contrato

He leído mi contrato bancario. ¿Qué hijo de puta lee un contrato bancario? ¿Qué loco tiene tiempo para enrollarse con los detalles de un documento tan aburrido e incomprensible? ¿En este país de 40 millones de habitantes, cuántas personas han leido un contrato bancario? ¿Cuántos contratos se han retirado de los rincones oscuros del armario y se han leído realmente bajo la luz del flexo? Pues sí he leído uno, y esto, sin duda, ha sido la cosa más aburrida que he hecho en la vida.

La verdad es que no tenía ganas de leer ese contrato. Tampoco disponía de tanto tiempo para meterme en su lenguaje súper...hmmm...raro. Lo que pasa es que me tenía que preparar por una guerra con el banco, así que debía leer detenidamente las condiciones del contrato. De verdad, leerlo te da dolor de cabeza, vista cansada y dedos sudados, si curras muy duro para poder comprender sus tecnicismos, te puede perjudicar la autoconfianza o la razón. No podía sacar ningún beneficio de ese acto de leer el contrato, aparte de haber podido mejorar mi español y aprender un par de palabras nuevas, términos muy importantes tales como descubierto y liquidación.

Descubierto no solo significa que "no tienes saldo" o "no tienes plata en la cuenta," aun más, esto quiere decir que "tu saldo se encuentra en negativo, gilipollas." Por otra parte, liquidación se refiere a las pequeñas cantidades de dinerito que aparecen periódicamente en la libreta y que el banco te saca de la cuenta. En otras palabras, "te están cobrando comisión, colega."

Al llegar a Málaga tras haber viajado durante semanas, me sorprendió que mi banco, el Banco Santander, me había cobrado 30 euros en comisiones por descubierto. Joder, con ese dinero, me podría haber comprado tres camisetas, seis CDs de música o deportivos; o mejor ¡podría haber comprado un vuelo a otra ciudad en España!

El pago del alojamiento lo tengo domiciliado en ese banco. Antes de irme a viajar en agosto, retiré todo mi dinero y no quedaba ni un duro en mi cuenta mientras estaba fuera de España. El cobro de recibos domiciliados se efectúa automáticamente al mes, así que cuando llegó el día de cobrarme, mi pobre saldo se puso negativo porque el banco no rechazó la operación a pesar de que no tenía saldo. Esto se llama descubierto.

¿Tiene el banco por qué efectuar la operación aunque no quede dinero en la cuenta? ¿Por qué simplemente no rechaza el cobro dado que no tienes saldo? Es que el banco quiere que la cuenta quede en descubierto un par de días para poder cobrar comisión y entonces, anula el pago del recibo. De esta manera, el banco se va con su comisión mientras pierdes 30 euros y se queda no pagado el alojamiento.

Mi cuenta es del tipo más sencillo que hay en el Banco Santander pero los 12 meses que llevo en ese banco no ha sido sin complicaciones. Alguna vez he podido usar la tarjeta para hacer una compra pese a que no tenía saldo, por eso el banco me cobró unos 10 euros en comisiones. ¿Cómo puede que una tarjeta de débito sin saldo pueda realizar una compra? ¡Eso no tiene sentido! Pero desde el punto de vista del banco, si tiene sentido puesto que hay un montón de clientes que por no saber tal característica de la tarjeta, tienen que pagar la comisión de descubierto.

Esa característica de la tarjeta, y lo de recibos domiciliados no se encuentran en ninguna parte del contrato bancario, tampoco te lo explican al abrir la cuenta, así que no hay manera de saber y evitar tener que pagar las comisiones. El contrato bancario dice algo del descubierto pero no pone las circunstancias bajo las cuales la cuenta puede encontrarse en descubierto.

Al final me devolvieron los 30 euros no porque faltaba información en el contrato sino porque hablé con una chica del banco que siempre me ayudaba. Con ese dinero, MI dinero que había robado el banco, pienso comprar un par de DVDs y algunos libros.

¿Sabes por qué te mandan regularmente un montón de correspondencia tanto sobre los movimientos de cuenta como sobre la publicidad? Es porque pagas por ello, pagas por cada papelito y cada sobre que te lleguen a casa desde el banco. Es verdad. Lee tu contrato.

Moving house

On Monday I have to move into a new flat. I'm not exactly moving out of this dormitory, I simply need to transfer to my former flat.

Since classes will resume in late September, the Spanish students who went home for summer vacation are now coming back, and management kind of wants to restore the old room assignments. My former flat is not too far from where I live at the moment, but I still have to carry a six-foot cabinet, a workout bench, clothes, stock food, books and kitchenware, from the third to the first floor of this building, walk three blocks down the road, and carry them again from the first to the third floor of the other building. Wow, horrendous.

As much as my body dreads it, my mind is all set to leave this place. Most of my summer flatmates have checked out of the dorm, their rooms are now empty, the flat is too quiet, and I have no competition in using the toilet. Every time somebody checks out, I get this feeling of being "left behind" which, even before, puts me in a really damp mood. So I must pack and leave soon.

Aside from my stuff, I will take along some nice memories, too. This summer, fate had it that I would meet some nice and friendly people in the dorm, most of whom were college students who came for an intensive Spanish course, medicine students who did a summer internship at UMA, or simply, friends of friends. All of them are non-Spanish so most of them live elsewhere, but even if the time we spent together was rather short, we did bond and had a great deal of fun doing things together: beach, home dinners, salsa clubs, botellon, and well, just hanging out in the flat.

So without further ado - here they are!


Robert, my German summer flatmate. Came to Malaga to take Spanish class. That girl on the left, the sweet Bettina, is my buddy's present flame.



Stanislav and Emilija, couple, medicine students from Macedonia. The guy likes to cook a lot, and even though I swear he was overcharging us for the home dinners, that ravioli recipe was truly unbeatable!



Gabriel - cool, easy-going Peruvian guy. Works at the dorm cafeteria as a waiter. Aside from Peruvian blood, he's a third something else, and the other third is still something else. He explained it to me once, but I forgot all about it. Really, it's that complicated.



Miodrag, medicine student from Croatia. Like the Macedonians, he was here for hospital internship. He is what you call resourceful. Falling short of cash during his stay here, he was selling people his hospital meals and some music CDs he'd asked Robert to burn. Nice, big-brother type of guy. That girl on the left is his hot Russian target.



Max, funny Italian guy, medicine student, too. When he was in Sevilla with Miodrag, their stuff got stolen in the car, including his shoes, so he had to walk to the police station barefoot!



Rafal and Asha, couple, Polish friends of Ashley. Rafal was an exchange student at Ashley's high school several years back. This couple looks so young, you wouldn't guess their age!



Ashley (with Rafal), exchange student from New Orleans. She just arrived in Malaga last week and will live in this dorm for a year. Beach boys gravitate towards her, but she complains they're not cute. Poor guys, hehe.

Summer backpacking 2005

Whew, Europe in a flash! That sums up my summer backpacking trip 2005. In 24 days, from August 9 to September 1, we were able to cover a total of 20 European cities in five magnificent countries, many thanks to a bottomless train ticket called Interrail. Really, I'd never travelled that fast before, and perhaps due to such speed of setting out from one destination to the next, I swear my brain kind of suffered from temporary memory loss. Changing cities almost everyday, I found that things and time were passing by so fast, that, many times during the trip, I couldn't recall where we'd been to the day before! Thanks to George Eastman for this thing called camera; over three weeks I used up 8 rolls!

Besides the fun, the trip was truly exhausting. Reading maps, walking (a lot), sleeping with strangers, walking in the rain, reading guidebooks and brochures, climbing up towers and cathedrals, locating cheap Turkish/Chinese restaurants, carrying a 10-kilo backpack - these were touristic challenges we had to overcome everyday. So it's true that travel changes you, in the sense that it wears you out. In Den Hague, we ran into an Australian lad who had been backpacking for more than one month. Really, he seemed like he was aging, his posture looked kind of unsteady, his movements fragile, and he talked really slowww...

I was fortunate enough to find a travel partner so things were more manageable. This is Jose Maria, cathedral-fanatic, coin, postcard, key chain-collector, patient travel buddy.

From here on, I will try to capture the highlights of the trip in six different snippets. If your eyes can take it, feel free to scroll down and enjoy!

Summer 2005: Barcelona

As I usually travel here by bus or train, I think of Barcelona as a stopover. If you're headed north to go to Europe, unless you're taking a plane, most likely it is necessary to pass by Barcelona since it's a major city near Spain's border with France, in order to get out of Spanish territory. So perhaps because of that, I have never really made an effort to organize a trip to visit it. It has always been an obligatory rest point on the way to my real destination.

We went to Barcelona (for stopover again, hehe) and myy, how mistaken I was! We only spent about ten hours there, as we had to board a train to Geneva in the evening, but I knew this city deserved much more weight in our itinerary! After breakfast, we quickly hit the road to see the major sights, and I fell in love with the city. Barcelona has great architecture (my weakness), the streets are beautifully lined with trees, the beach is nearby, and the size of the roads look just right. The streets and the old buildings have an appeal that makes you inexplicably happy just by looking at them! I think I told Jose Maria that given a choice, I would want to live there.

In the picture, you see the entrance filled with tourists to Barcelona's gothic pride, La Sagrada Familia.

In this picture, you will see another sample of Antoni Gaudi's architectural feats, which typically exude a "wavy feel." He was also the architect of La Sagrada Familia.

Summer 2005: France

From a stopover in Geneva, we reached France at 8 am. Our first stop, Lyon, had nothing really special to make you awestruck, although Lonely Planet seems to glorify this city with over "300 meticulously restored medieval and Renaissance houses." Frankly speaking, I found it too modern in style and whatever old structures Lyon has could not exactly demand my admiration. The highlight of this trip was a half-an-hour trek to a hilltop to see the Basilique Notre Dame de Fourviere, from where we had a fantastic view of the city landscape beautifully lined by the Rivers Rhone and Saone.

Next, it was Strasbourg, stark contrast of downer Lyon. How I love this city! In its old quarter, the houses were just unbelievably beautiful! Half-timbered, with chimney-topped triangular roofs and rows of tall glass windows, these houses pitched on cobbled streets would have you gawk at them for hours! At this point in the trip, Jose Maria and I had a little confusion. We were locating a place called Petite France, where there's supposed to be more of these houses, but we had trouble reading the map. After numerous attempts, we reached a spot which he believed was Petite France, but which I thought wasn't, so whether we have really been to that place will forever be a mystery!

During the last leg of the trip, on the way back to Spain, I passed by Paris. It was my second time there so I decided to just take it easy. I went to some of the sights I'd not been to, like the Picasso museum, and bought a souvenir bag for my mom.

Aside from that picture on the right, in this picture you will see other typical houses in Strasbourg.

In this picture, you will see me in Lyon's city center.

In this picture, you will see the Flame of Liberty in Paris, a simple memorial to Princess Diana. The picture shows the underground pass where, chased by paparazzi, her car had an accident and she met her fate. Reminds me of my high school friend Lotin.

Trivia: Did you know that Filipinos are allowed to enter Switzerland without a visa?

Summer 2005: Luxembourg

From France, we got to Luxembourg late in the afternoon. From the cold weather, as if it weren't summer, we could tell that our location was getting much higher in the world map. My first impression of Luxembourg was that it seemed a bit tame and laid-back, but as soon as we reached the main plaza, that first opinion was proved wrong. This place is so original - all the places we'd been to, and all that we would later see during the trip, would have nothing similar to Grund, the lower town, where you find old houses and buildings with grey pointed roofs. I'd never seen in Europe anything similar to such architectural style, and sure, they were lovely! The grey pointed roofs seemed like piercing the sky!



The city itself was perched on a hilltop, and residential areas spread out at the bottom of the hill. Our hostel was rather badly located, at the bottom, so that many times we had to go up and down the hill! In the evening, we had some beer at the main plaza, and eavesdropped on the Spanish acoustic concert at the cafe beside ours. Our first attempt to find a gay pub failed, but we ran into a really nice, cute waiter along the way...

In this picture, you will see the Bock Casemates, WW II bomb shelter. With the casemates, we almost had a repeat of the Petite-France-espisode, but this time I made sure we saw it.

In this picture, you will see for-tourists goings-on at the main plaza.

Summer 2005: Belgium

Then, it was Belgium. By this time, my potbelly was beginning to show because of all the beer-tasting! Coming to Belgium didn't improve my deteriorating shape as this country is famous for its numerous beer varieties, and chocolates. Anyway, we stayed there for four nights and made Brussels our base, from which we set out on day-trips to four cities.

Brussels - crowded, cosmopolitan, but not confusing. Despite the crowds, it was still possible to admire the city's magic. My favorite spot is Grand Place (see pic on the left), the central square, where you find the town hall and other guildhalls, all in magnificent baroque style. Here, we finally found a gay pub. It wasn't, as in most European countries, like the gay bars in Manila where prostitution is the main thing; people go to gay pubs to meet other gays. But that night, they had a show; as soon as we opened the door we saw onstage this gay gigolo wiggling his rod. I could only say one word - wow.

Bruges - lovely. Though it had pretty much the same stuff to offer as Brussels, this city had plenty of beatiful red-brick houses that looked almost like dollhouses. I couldn't take my eyes off them! My only bad experience in Bruges was that I was ripped off in a restaurant!

Ghent - Here we met up with Lenny, a nice Belgian girl whom Jose Maria had met over the Internet a few years ago. She took us on a walking tour of Ghent, the highlight of which was a fortress with a rather disturbing exhibit about different ways of torturing people. Around evening, she took us to dinner at her house in Tielt.

Tielt - Lenny's family had a nice house in a quiet part of town, some 15 minutes by car from the train station. Her mom cooked dinner for us, and I was quite surprised because the main fare was something similar to paksiw na pata. That dinner was a real highlight, because we were able to mix with locals and welcomed into their house. It's something that rarely happens to tourists!

Antwerp - hometown of Belgian painter Pieter Paul Rubens. At the cathedral, we saw some nice religious paintings of Rubens.

In this picture, you will see the numerous beer varieties in Belgium.

In this picture, you will see the brick houses in Bruges.

In this picture, you will see the fortress in Ghent.

In this picture, you will see Lenny and her mom with Jose Maria in their house in Tielt.

In this picture, you will see me standing in front of a statue of Rubens in Antwerp.

Summer 2005: Netherlands

First off, contrary to popular misconceptions, drugs are NOT legal in the Netherlands. You can go to jail if they catch you in posession of drugs exceeding a certain amount. True, the Dutch can freely consume substances up to a few certain grams, but even then, this act is said to be simply "tolerated" by the police. Nonetheless, cannabis is in good circulation and some cities have coffeeshops where they serve hashcakes, a hashish-containing cake that will certainly give you the "high."

Our first stop in the Netherlands was Den Hague, which was awful. I don't understand why a lot of tourists care to include it in their itinerary, neither why the Dutch speak highly of it. Since the city was a big name in tourist circles, we had fairly high expectations, only to find a modern city with absolutely nothing interesting in it! That place was a real downer!

Next was Amsterdam, which like Belgium, was our base for day-trips to three more cities. Sex shops, gay pubs, hashish-serving coffeeshops, bicycles, water canals, brick houses, private boats and ferries - this is Amsterdam (at least, part of it). We visited the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum, the latter being one of the few art museums that I've ever come to like. At the youth hostel, we met two nice Dutch and German college girls who were billeted there and working for the summer. The city had a vibrant bar scene, so during those four days, we went clubbing quite often. There, in the gay district, where ROYGBIV flags abound, I learned what a darkroom was - and it's not a room for developing black-and-white films!

Zaans Schans - Nobody really goes to Zaans Schans, a low-profile town 20 minutes by train from Amsterdam, but it did suit our purpose: we wanted to see windmills! Luckily, they had quite a number of these things beautifully located beside the river, inside a grassy area used for cattle-raising and cheese-making. That day-trip was truly relaxing for me, as I simply enjoyed looking at the windmills and feeling the cool countryside breeze.

Utrecht and Haarlem - These two are your regular European city. If you have been to Amsterdam, unless you want a more laid-back environment, there's no point in visiting these cities.

In this picture, you will see hundreds of private boats who came all the way to Amsterdam for a special event.

In this picture, you will see the Binnenhof, the former Parliament building in Den Hague.

In this picture, you will see the farm in Zaans Schans.

In this picture, you will see the Instituto Cervantes in Utrecht.

In this picture, you will see the Grote Kerk van St Bavo, Haarlem's cathedral.

Summer 2005: Germany

By the time I reached Germany, on the third week, I was already too exhausted from the trip and much of my touristic drive had been dried up. Jose Maria went only as far as the Netherlands, as he had to go home for some family thing, so that throughout the last week I travelled alone. Then, I was seriously lacking energy and my body was starting to show symptoms like that Australian guy we'd met in Den Hague: deteriorating posture, aging, failing voice and slow speech (hehe). So in Germany my travelling motto was simple: "Slow down," "Take it easy." I remember telling Jose Maria that if I hadn't reserved accommodation in Germany and hadn't paid for return flight, I'd be so glad to go home with him. But thank goodness, I didn't!

My first stop was Hamburg, which wasn't really that bad though it didn't have anything I hadn't seen in Amsterdam. There was a huge red-light district, which was rather lacking pulse, and the city's port, one of the most important in Germany and Europe, was too chaotic.

Cuxhaven - Realizing there wasn't much too see in Hamburg, I squeezed in a day trip to Cuxhaven. It was far from Hamburg (four hours) and, exhausted from the night before, I woke up late and arrived in Cuxhaven past noon. I was supposed to see a protected national park near Cuxhaven's port, but since I arrived late, I missed the boat! Too bad, I just ended up taking a short cruise around the port...

Berlin - my favorite German city. Hermann was right when he told me five years ago that Berlin was nice, because that's what it truly is. It boasts palaces, monuments, old churches, museums, and perhaps once they are done with some construction work, it might just be able to compete with Rome. But more than for its beauty, I like Berlin for its history. The Jewish Memorial Museum, besides the A-Bomb Museum in Hiroshima, was the only museum that almost made me cry. It has a host of other historically important sites, such as the Berlin wall, the Charlie Checkpoint and the former Nazi concentration camps. I went to a gay pub in Berlin, in search of a darkroom (haha!) and I found that the Germans were really friendly. Seeing I was alone, two guys just started talking to me at the bar and gave me tips about the city!

Munich - This city was great, but then again, it didn't have anything I hadn't seen in my previous destinations. Well, except for the 1972 Olympic Stadium, the Octoberfest site, and the English Park where the beach-deprived locals just lie totally naked on the grass to sunbathe! The highlight of this stop was lunch in a beer garden; lunch was a simple affair of weisswurst (white sausage), half-a-liter beer, french fries and brezel. By the way, if in Japan people eat sashimi, in Munich they eat raw fish stuffed into a bun with fresh onions (rollmops)! For curiosity's sake, I gave it a try...

Cologne - By the time I reached Cologne, my energy levels had already hit rock bottom. Luckily, learning from past experience, I kind of splurged on accommodation here and reserved a single room in a cheap hotel. The Cologne cathedral, known as the Mt. Everest of cathedrals, did not really impress me much, but I must still concede it was beautiful. I fell in love, too, with the University of Cologne, with its far-stretching grass fields, low-rise buildings and tree-lined walkways, as it kind of reminded me of ICU, my former school in Japan. Really, at that time, I was just so happy to wander around the campus, take in the smell of grass, and watch the students lying on the fields and jogging around. There, I found myself in my best mood after days of exhaustion...

This picture shows an artist's tribute to the Jewish victims of the Holocaust, in Berlin's Jewish Memorial Museum. These are face-shaped metal plates, and you have to step on them as you walk around the exhibit room. Gives you quite an eerie feeling...

In this picture, you will see Hamburg's main train station.

In this picture, you will see what's left today of the Berlin Wall.

In this picture, you will see a typical brewery in the Octoberfest grounds in Munich.

In this picture, you will see a street-performing Polish band in Cologne. I liked their music so much I bought their CD.

FOOTNOTE TO THIS KILOMETRIC TRAVEL ENTRY: I'm quite thankful that this trip did happen, despite some difficulties with preparation. Before leaving Malaga, having finished my first year in the master's program, I was already too tired and didn't know how to recover my former happy state. This trip was just the break I needed, and even though it exhausted me too at some point, it made me realize how I like the city I now live in, Malaga, my home in Spain. Well, till the next backpacking trip!

A trying affair

How can life be so hard sometimes? Why does it have to be more complicated than one can possibly swallow? Isn't there a way to forever keep it in bite-sized bits so that one can take and digest it easily? For the past few weeks, I have had to deal with colossal complications in this small corner of my room, and now it appears that my poor stomach is starting to revolt. At this very moment, I feel the urge to vomit due to all the unjustified stress that this technical problem of mine has wreaked upon my system.

So before I continue, let me just vomit first: Puuuuuutangggg inaaaaaa!!! I hope I have made it sound really crisp, and palpable.

The culprit of this ranting espisode that I have set out to do now is this very machine that I am using to write this blog. This laptop got infected by a virus one month ago, and by some strange twist of fate, in the process of reformatting the hard drive and installing all the program files again, the overused DVD drive expired in the end. Although I'd been lucky enough to finish saving Windows XP and some vital drivers, before the DVD drive finally said goodbye, it now meant that I would no longer be able to play music, video, burn discs, or install new software again.

From here, I was faced with two options: first, I could contact the manufacturer and take advantage of the machine's one-year warranty, but knowing how time-consuming this action could be, I chose the second option and purchased a new external DVD drive. This decision led to major disappointment #1: after dishing out 85 euros for the cheapest model there was, I found out that it's not possible to boot from this external device. Fine, I could now play music and videos and burn discs, but if this fucking source of my present misery was ever struck again by a virus, it wouldn't be possible to boot from the external drive!

My laptop, by the way, was hardly eleven months old.

Tired, exasperated, hopeless, smelly and in urgent need of a bath, I picked up my mobile to call Dell. On the phone, in order to establish that the drive was truly malfunctional, I was instructed to perform a series of tests which my laptop passed with ace marks frankly speaking. After one hour of mechanical surgery, as I was reinserting the last couple of screws into this poor machine's body, the technical support agent slapped me with major disappointment #2: the laptop's warranty would only be honored in Japan where the item had been bought. In Spain, they would simply not recognize my warranty!

If I were rich, I swear I would happily fling this failure of a computer right smack on the wall and let the garbage collectors dispose of it. I must clarify that these events did not happen on a single day, rather over several weeks, so it is a kind of recurring and prolonged suffering that I am talking about.

I kew I was clearly far from rich, and I couldn't afford to buy a new laptop that easily, so I decided to call Dell again, having in mind the intention of buying an internationally valid warranty good for one year. At this point, I had already wasted some 50 euros calling Dell's hotline, and been suffering too from occasional hallucinations and some mild feet pain attacks. But then came major disappointment #3 like my sanity hadn't suffered enough blows: I was told that even if I bought an international warranty, it wouldn't cover retroactively the damaged DVD drive. It would only be valid for future breakdowns!

I think I will end up buying a new DVD drive from Dell, if my last-ditch attempt at saving money by contacting their technical team in Japan and using my existing warranty fails. So what have I learned from all this? One shouldn't spend too much on technology. It is foolish to think that buying an expensive and branded technology will ensure its long life. Whether it's a computer, CDman, digital camera, printer, palm organizer with prestigious trademarks like Dell, Sony, Nikon, Toshiba, HP, etc., it is their predestiny to break down in the end. I hope that many consumers have realized this life truth by now, so that when their little gadget's passage to the afterlife finally comes, they won't harbor false hopes that it will reincarnate or something.