English: Invented Story at Ireland

Only a couple days after arriving in Ireland, I decided to pay for the intensive course at the school. This intensive scheme had six more hours a week, two on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, in addition to the daily four hours we had every morning.

The teacher was Miriam, an Irish woman in her mid twenties (quite pretty, by the way). She was a nice teacher and knew how to have us "plugged" throughout the whole lesson. During my first week, everyone in there was Italian. Vincenzo from Napoli, Elisa from Sassari, Jona (Albanian born) from Bergamo and Matteo from Bologna. On the second week, a couple spaniards joined, and some more came during my last week, although by the time, everyone but Jona and Vincenzo had already left.

Let's keep on topic. On my first day, which was a Wednesday because I decided to sign up for the speaking lessons on Tuesday, we had to write a story. First of all, Miriam asked us if anyone liked writing. There is no need to say I told the class that I had a blog and I loved writing. I guess that this little experience counted when I had to write the story this post is about.

We had to pick one small piece of paper with a paragraph describing a problem that arose and that we had to solve. Then, we would pick five small paper squares with one drawing each. These were the things that "we used" to solve the aforementioned problem. At least, they had to be mentioned in the story, and then you would decide if they had a relevant function or not.

I have to say I was lucky. Both because of the story, which was very interesting and had several, creative ways of being solved, and because of the items I was given. They had no strange stuff like Elisa's lion, Matteo's elephant or Vincenzo's coca-cola. I can't remember the exact words my introduction had, but more or less, it was like:

An elder man has lost the secret of his childhood. He has been wandering all over the world looking for it. After two years, he reached a forest divided by a river. He was sure that on the other side of this deep river, he could find the secret of his childhood. However, there are no boats he could cross the river with, or rocks to help him. Also, he can not swim. How did he get to the other side?

Aand the items:
A hairbrush, a telephone, a candle, an umbrella and a ladder.

"God" I thought, "how the heck am I going to cross a river using these!?". And then, there was some self-impossed preassure, I'm a bit of a perfectionist. I didn't expect to write a masterpiece, but neither a bad, cheap short story. It had to be realist, somehow. No parts of the tale because of the lack of creativity or to skip a part you don't know how to solve. So there I was, write something cool in a bunch of minutes.

Do not expect anything outstanding, but it was quite good. I think it's worth writing here, just to remember that first speaking class in Ireland, and to recall some incredible experiences I lived there.

Original version, not "improved". I'm copying it directly from the notebook I used there and I still keep.

I reached the river when it was getting dark, so I decided to set a very simple and improvised camp for the night. I went to look for some wood to light up a small fire, as it was quite cool. After roughly half an hour of searching, I found a small cabin, which seemed to be where lumberjacks left their tools and goods. Sadly, it seemed to have been abandoned many years ago.

All the useful things I could find were a candle, and old ladder and a dirty hairbrush I didn't even dare to touch. I took the first two with me, wondering how I was going to cross the river. And then, Eureka!
I hurried to my camp, and slept for the night. Early on* the morning, I would start working.

After having a few berries for breakfast I phoned my wife and told her I loved her, just in case something went wrong.
Then, with the remains of the night's fire, I lighted** up some woods near the river. An average fire started, so I hurried to the ladder, which I had placed about 20 metres from the, now burning, trees. After climbing to a huge 60 metres high secuoya, I opened my umbrella and jumped forward as hard as I could.

It worked. The heat of the fire created a strong upwash that made me climb a hundred metres flying. The wind did the rest, it dragged me to the other side of the river. My altitude decreased along the way, but I made it.

However, on landing I slipped and  fell over. I don't even know how they found me and brought me to this hospital....


That was exactly one month and one week ago. I do miss a lot of people I met there, and I do miss those three weeks in Dublin. Some things seem to have happened yesterday. Since other, it's been ages.

C'est fini.

Lo que empezó casi sin ganas, rozando la indiferencia, acabo convirtiéndose en una bonita sucesión de experiencias de intensidad creciente.
Una bofetada de aire caliente y húmedo significó el término de las vacaciones en Irlanda. Tres semanas en las que he conocido a mucha gente maravillosa, visitado sitios preciosos y vivido momentos inolvidables.

Desde el paisaje casi «fjórdico» de Glendalough, el Air Spectacle de Bray y la quemadura de sol en el cuello, la fallida excusión a la Guinness, las noches en el Busker's, Fitzsimmons o Purty's Kitchen, la primera pinta en Temple Bar.

Aquella triste sensación la tercera semana al cruzar Dawson Street escuchando U2 en el iPod, la línea 128 de Dublin Bus, la Spire, la estatua de O'Connell, las quedadas a las 20:30, la zona de Temple Bar, el Riverdance. Despedidas, muchas despedidas. Unas «hasta luego» y muchas otras simplemente «adiós». En español, francés, italiano, portugués, alemán, japonés.

Y ahora, de vuelta a lo de siempre. Todavía quedan vacaciones, sí. Pero aquí.

U2 - Still haven't found what I'm looking for

U2 - With or Without you

Mundy - Galway Girl

Ligabue - Colpo all'anima

De aquí, me escapo.