farawayfrank

We landed to a rapturous applause by passangers as the shifty-looking Wizzair plane bounced off the runway at Targu-Mures municipal airfield. Emblazoned proudly on the side of the terminal are the words 'Transilvania Airport'. I feel rather cheated, having believed there is a 'y' involved. Bram Stoker, the Irish gothic writer, envisioned a medieval wild-west, inhabited by the vampire Dracula, Van Helsing, and all kinds of ludicrous creatures. Transylvania looks vast, dark and overpowering in much the same way today, except with more car dealerships. Many more. With a group of six other teachers, we wait for another who hasn't come through arrivals. We later learn that he missed his flight entirely. Our driver from the airport only speaks when pointing out the odd prostitute (alleged) walking by the side of the road. That, and likening ... read more

This I think will be my final set of blogs, and as Jo has just noted on here, I´ve been enjoying myself far too much to remember that I should be on here telling you guys about it all! My last few days in Argentina were reserved for friends; saying goodbye and promising them that I´ll stay in touch. I´m not usually all that sentimental but I certainly felt more disconnected once I left, and I missed them all after a couple of days. Over the months, I´d been lucky enough to accumulate a number of great friends and contacts, and I´ll always be thankful for that. I was assured by Celeste and Mikaela that the kids would miss me, and my last couple of lessons I think confirmed that for me- we didn´t study too ... read more

"God is energy" says the woman opposite me. Her eyes widen. I don´t know whether she´s being comically dramatic or whether, if I let out a little puff of chuckle, she´ll break my skull on the fish paste bowl in front of me. Either way, I smile and nod. I am sitting in the dining room of Marcello´s mother´s house. Next to me is Marcello´s brother, who speaks near perfect English. I kind of want to ask him what´s going on, and whether I´m about to be killed and eaten. But he´s listening, straight-faced, to his mother. I slowly and discreetly move my hand towards my fork in case she strikes. Eating with us, we have Luisina (the femaley-half of the dynamic duo who have taken me into their abode), Marcello´s grandmother; a 95-year old wit ... read more

"ARGGGHHHH!" I´m running barefooted, as quickly as I can, down a largely deserted street in the provincial border town of La Punta. The sand, grit and little pieces of glass cut into my soles. " OW, GOD!" An obese man observes me whizzing past from his rusty chair outside one of the houses with a huge grin on his face- like Jabba the Hut he wobbles, laughing at the sight of me. I hear little pockets of chuckling residents as I speed back down the road towards Marissio´s English Institute. Twenty seconds ago I was stroking a friendly-looking dog -it looked as though it would be the last one to have any mental illness... What happened? I hear it snarling and nipping at my feet. I lost my sandals about thirty metres back. My feet hurt ... read more

My time in B.A. had it´s ups and downs. An up, perhaps, was talking to a German guy and Dutch girl about whether it was ethical to be attracted to Disney characters. We concluded that when it comes to the little mermaid, anything goes. You all know about my down of course, and my new friend Fernando the locksmith. It´s now time to say goodbye to the other volunteers, and make my own perilously solo journey across Argentina to a little province named San Luis. My co-ordinator Kika finds that I´m the most prone to incident, and so accompanies me herself to the coach that will take me half way over this vast country. The others, obviously, are capable of doing it by themselves. She asks the coach staff to make sure I get off in ... read more