Testing times

MICKEY f*cking Mouse.

Never before have I ever really wanted to physically wipe the annoying smirk off the face of Disney’s favourite character.

Until now.

We’re in Anaheim, the home of Disney, just south of Los Angeles and I’m sat in an expensive hotel contemplating life, while being stared at by a giant cartoon mouse as excitable kids rush by.

But we’re not here to visit Disneyland.

We’re here for Jacky to sit an English exam.

Yes, you try explaining the reason behind this whole situation to your Mexican wife…

“If you want to live with me in England, you have to take an English exam,” is basically how I put it to her.

She understood enough to reply… "you're joking right?!"

Sadly not.

Her English is probably better than mine.

But here we are adhering to the rules in order for us to begin the next stage of our adventure.

In order for us to apply for and get a UK ‘spouse’ visa, Jacks has to demonstrate her understanding and grasp of the English language – at a fairly sizeable cost I might add.

Such has been the amount of drama, paperwork and unknowns we’ve had to deal with in the past two years, I’m seriously thinking that – if my journalistic career goes sideways – I might well open an immigration office of my own.

Given our experience, we’re now pretty much experts on UK/US/Mexico immigration matters.

We’re also pretty broke, and my grey hairs boast grey hairs.

My 01 visa to allow me to accept the anchorman job in San Diego took eight months to compile, apply for, and obtain.

While this UK ‘spouse’ visa application has taken less time and paperwork, it’s been every bit as stressful.

Who’d have known that we had to obtain an actual visa to allow my wife to accompany me to the UK!

Jacks could have accompanied me to the UK at any time. However given the immigration rules, she would have only been allowed to stay for a period of six months (or 180 days) as a ‘tourist’ – despite the fact that we’re legally married.

She then would have had to fly back to Mexico for two weeks, just to enable her to return to the UK for another 180 days.

With this UK ‘spouse’ visa, she can live and work for 2.5 years before she has to apply for the same visa all over again.

After that she can apparently apply for citizenship.

We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

I, like many other people I’m sure, thought that once you got married to a foreign national, your wife would automatically be allowed to accompany you to your country of origin to live and work.

But where’s the sense in that if the Government can make money out of it/you…?

Grr.

The irony is that the UK is undeniably known as being lenient when it comes to its immigration laws.

When you come to do everything the right and proper way, it costs vast sums of money, effort and time.

How times seem to have changed hey?

Jacks and I seem to have officially applied just at the very moment things have become a). more complicated; and b). more costly.

Sorry… I digress.

As mentioned above, one of the main requirements to enable us to get the UK ‘spouse’ visa, is for the applicant to sit and take a bloody English exam.

Literally two days prior to us trying to book an exam in San Diego, the British Government issued an advisory that it had launched an investigation into “fraudulent” activity at the global provider of these exams.

This meant that – while the investigation was under way – all exams at these centres were suspended.

This in turn meant that rather than us being able to take the exam literally a few blocks from our Downtown apartment, we have had to travel to bloody Anaheim in order for Jacks to sit the exam.

The Pearson PTE Acadamic English exam (that’s the one we were told we had to take) is a wonder to behold.

In the days prior to her taking the exam, Jacks was busy studying hour after hour.

“What does this word mean…? And this one????” she’d ask.

“Absolutely no idea. Haven’t got a clue,” was more often my response.

The practice exams use archaic language and situations more akin with life in the 16^th century – as opposed to life in 2014.

An example of part of the English test

Her actual exam consisted of a number of three-minute-long exercises among other tests.

Two of these exercises saw her listening to, and then summarizing, conferences on (… and I’m not making this up!!!) thermo-dynamic laws and civil wars.

Wow.

Yes, this subject matter will come in useful in the coming weeks/months and years I’m sure.

Still there’s a means to an end.

On a visit to Mexico recently Jacky’s dad told me that ever since she was a little girl, she had dreamed of England.

She’d never been to England, or even met an Englishman.

But she loved the idea of it.

Out of fascination and intrigue I’ve just asked her again what she loves about the idea of England.

“The culture, the views, the music, James Bond, the Royal family and The Queen… it is like a fairy tale. It’s like a proper country,” she replied with a smile.

Strangely enough, no mention of the British food either…

Quite how she can list Pierce Brosnan as being the “best” James Bond though is beyond me.

Clearly we need to work on a few things.

UPDATE: Jacky PASSED her exam and the visa application has been sent off.

Fingers crossed folks.

Follow me on Twitter: @tristan_nichols

Don't wanna be an American idiot

IT’S stupid-o-clock. It’s some time between 2am and 2.30am and I can’t sleep.

I probably would have been able to sleep had I not incorrectly set the air conditioning/thermostat thing to ‘ludicrous’ heat before settling into bed.

My dreams began peaceful and placid and slowly progressed to being infinitely weird and hell-like.

You know those dreams where you’re parched and desperately trying to find something to drink? You got it, times infinity.

Air conditioning is admittedly something I’ve never been able to get my head around.

I mean, hailing from England how or why the hell would I know how to operate an air conditioning unit?

All I’ve ever done is light gas fires to combat the freezing winters.

Air conditioning? Pfah.

Where I come from ‘air conditioning’ is opening or closing a window. Or asking your flatulent friend to leave the room.

Holidays in Egypt… that’s what air conditioning is designed for for us Brits.

So yes, I can’t sleep. My bedroom, and in fact my entire apartment, is currently a blazing furnace.

I’m in a state of undress with sweat dripping from my brow onto the keyboard. Ewww…

It’s warmer in here than it is in the desert on a summer’s day.

I hear you… ‘open the windows’ and ‘stop whingeing’!

They’re open. And it’s really warm outside. Even at stupid-o-clock.

San Diego, it seems, doesn’t do ‘chilly’.

It’s actually so warm here throughout each and every day, that the city’s parks and recreational spaces boast an unbelievable amount of tramps – or ‘bums’ as they’re called here.

They’re largely harmless. They just sit around sleeping, acting weird occasionally if anyone offers them a glance.

It’s like a year-round bum summer camp. And we’re their entertainment.

Honesty deserves charity

Anyhow I digress.

As I write this I’m also Googling the bloody air-con unit instruction manual in the hope that I can rest easy tonight without the sleep/sauna detox.

I might talk the talk and walk the walk but there is no doubt, here in the U.S. I am a still a stranger in a foreign land – just as much as I was in next-door Tijuana.

I’m daily misunderstood, and often confused.

In the nine weeks that I’ve been here in San Diego I can tell you that Americans are a fascinating bunch.

Oh and in case you didn’t know, they are crazily open and honest about health and religion.

These are two things that people here love to talk about openly.

These are two things that we Brits never really talk about when we’re in the UK.

We have a funny way of avoiding discussions concerning our illnesses, ailments, and of course religious leanings.

Personally I’m not really comfortable talking about either – especially with someone I’ve just met.

“What do you take?” I was asked recently.

“When?”

“Now? Nothing, I feel fine”.

Again: “Seriously... what do you take?”

Me: “Uh… aspirin or ibuprofen for a headache… a ‘Lemsip’ if I’ve got a cold…?”

“Aha…”

*cue long lingering stare*

“And…?”

*stare continues*

“And… nothing… I don’t take anything. Nothing to get me through the day, nothing to help me sleep, nothing.”

“Isn’t that weird?” I was then asked.

“What REALITY?”

It’s only when you go to a supermarket (otherwise known here as a ‘grocery store’) that you begin to appreciate the national obsession with remedies.

Drugs - 'aisle' buy that for a dollar!

Shelves and aisles of pills and potions to cure everything from headaches and sports injuries, to sleep deprivation and toothaches. There are pills for things I’ve never heard of.

And natural remedies featuring seemingly unnatural-sounding ingredients.

'

'D3 5000 I.U.'....? Isn't that a brand of motor oil?

Sure, we have pharmacies in England but wow.

I’m sure there’s actually medication for medication here.

When you’re seen to be new to town religion is the other big talking point.

Within seconds of meeting some people they’ll ask you if you go to church and if you want to go to their church.

I always consider that I must have sinned during the conversation leading up to that point and that they’re trying to cleanse my soul as a result.

I immediately feel uncomfortable and I try to joke my way out of it.

Bad move.

So forgive me.

The actual process of greeting someone here in California (or indeed the U.S.) also confuses me on a daily occurrence.

Rather than simply offering a hardy handshake or a pat on the back, people here seem obsessed with a greeting known as ‘fist-bumping’ – or variations of it.

Bump day

How the pros do it

It’s basically the action of putting out your fist for someone else to ‘bump’ with their own fist.

I’ve observed plenty of Californians doing it here and I must admit, they look cool.

I however, do not.

There are simply too many variations for me to get my head around.

There’s the actual fist bump. Then there’s the high-five. And there’s some of other part-handshake part-grip thing.

And these are just three of the more popular types of greetings.

And for me, who is new to town and the whole fist-bump thing, I panic when someone puts out their fist or hand because I don’t know which greeting they’re planning on using.

It’s always an awkward moment and, despite the fact that the whole thing is supposed to look and feel ‘cool’, I don’t. I can almost feel my coolness dripping away as and when someone puts out their hand for the bump , or slap, or whatever.

I always hesitate.

Once or twice I admit, I’ve pretty much just thought ‘bollocks to it’ and shaken the outstretched bump fist.

Epic fail.

I actually freak out that one day I’m going to face-palm someone by accident.

So I’ve taken to YouTube to try and teach myself some basic rules…

Check them out: www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZ70wbfRqh0 / www.youtube.com/watch?v=2SXtWCBI2zg.

Anyhow. People are strange when you’re a stranger right?

Hey, I noticed my last blog post was popular in Latvia.

Bizarre, but very cool. Welcome Latvians!

At the bottom of this blog is a ‘translate’ icon if anyone wants to read it in a different language.

I can’t promise my ramblings will make any more sense but hey.

Thanks for lending me your eyes.

Want daily updates on this bizarre life I live in…?

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/tristan_nichols

A ripe old tale

WITHOUT Jacky by my side I’m lost here in Mexico. I may walk with a swagger exuding confidence, but I know that if I’m confronted and engaged in conversation all that confidence is lost.

I can openly admit that. It’s a fact, an undisputable fact.

As mentioned before I speak enough Spanish to get by (admittedly right up until the point when the other person replies…) and there are times when I am way out of my depth.

However, whatever country you’re in, there is this strange anomaly that is the ‘squeeze’ test when searching for ripe fruit.

And that’s what I really want to talk about here today.

Last week I went shopping with Jacky’s family for groceries while she worked.

I spotted a pretty nice-looking watermelon in the fresh fruit and veg section and intimated to her mother that Jacky would like it (imagine me simply saying “Jacky” and then giving a thumbs up).

Without warning Jacky’s mum began forcefully squeezing, slapping, knocking and tapping every watermelon in sight. And I mean seriously giving them a beating.

And no-one batted an eyelid.

I would have called it GBH on fruit.

Those who know the trick call it clever shopping I guess.

I have no point of reference over whether the noise generated by slapping a melon is good or not.

So there I am stood in the middle of the shop beating these things, and then asking random Mexican shoppers: “Esta bueno? Esta bueno?!”
How do you know if the slap makes the 'right' sound? Does this watermelon sound better than that one?!

I don’t even eat watermelon so how am I supposed to know how it's supposed to SOUND when you hit it?

When you buy a car you don’t jump up and down on it to test the suspension right?

Christ, maybe you do!

Witnesses sought for papaya assault

Anyhow, so who’s ever joined a group of people mid-conversation and laughed out-loud at the end to try and fit in, only for everyone to just turn stare, silently and blank-faced?

I think we’ve all been there at some point.

And it’s happened a few times to me here in the last few months.

While it wasn’t necessarily a conversation I was part of, this very thing happened to me last weekend at the cinema.

You see, every film screened here is shown in Spanish, or in English with Spanish subtitles.

Jacks and I went to see Skyfall and there were ample opportunity for me to make a fool of myself by laughing out-loud... solo.

I always forget that while I understand every gag immediately, (because it’s in English) it takes time for people to read the subtitle, digest the dialogue, and laugh.

While I didn’t turn around, I could feel 300+ eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.

Jacks just laughs at me instead of the film’s gag. And then proceeds to throw popcorn in my direction.

One thing I simply can’t get used to over here is the way people talk in the cinema. And I’m not talking about “wow, that was a great fight scene” or “that’s so funny”, I’m talking about full-on conversations about what they ate last night, what Rafael thinks of Marcella, or the new store that’s opened in the mall.

Jeez. Jacks and I were watching the latest Bourne film a couple of months ago and the girl sat next to me answered her phone and began having a whole conversation.

At least I learned some Spanish that day from Jacks.

Namely the word ‘callate’.

Oh, and what’s with people cheering on the main character and frikkin APPLAUDING at the end of a film?! Now that is weird. Are the characters going to bow as part of the credits?

Also, who’s been to a 4D cinema? My first experience was the aforementioned Bourne flick.

At times your seat shakes like you’re sat in the car taking part in the high-speed chase, fans blow when a scene is windy or exposed, and perfume and scent is pumped throughout the auditorium when the characters walk through a forest or wherever.

Pretty cool. Unfortunately Bourne was probably not the best flick to see in 4D. As you can imagine a lot of people get taken out by single sniper gunshots.

And as part of the experience of course you get a violent and unexpected jolt in your back from the seat.

Hey, so a big HELLO to all you new visitors.

To date the blog’s had nearly 4,000 page views since July, which is pretty great. Awesome in fact.

It’s been read in the UK, US, Mexico, Russia, Australia, Italy, Belgium, Libya, Canada, Qatar, Latvia and Sweden among many other countries.

For those who aren’t following me on Twitter or Facebook, I try to update the blog about once a week, once I’ve gone and made a fool of myself in some place or another.

Writing this puts everything in perspective and keeps me sane I guess.

Thanks for lending me your eyes.

Big love x