The right people in the wrong place

There is in Istanbul a huge souvenir market.

They call it the Grand Bazaar and according to the Wikipedia (God bless the Wikipedia) it has more than 58 covered streets and over 4,000 shops which attract between 250,000 and half a million visitors daily.

Grand Bazaar

Lanterns (would have liked to have more space in the backpack…)

Apparently the Spanish-speaking customers are very important (while we were walking around we could hear people from Spain, Colombia, Argentina, Mexico…) and that’s why around 30% (or maybe more) of the vendors speak good or really good Spanish!

On the other hand, and not only in Turkey but all across Europe, in train stations or all those places where you need detailed information about an specific thing, the people working there doesn’t speak a word in English, ie:

Bus Station in Skopje:

- We are going from from here to Gevgelia by train. We want to know if there is a bus from Gevgelia to Thessaloniki.

- Skopje – Thessaloniki. Today, 11AM, 180 MKD.

- Yes, I know it… but is there any bus going from Gevgelia to Thessaloniki?

- Thessaloniki. Today, 11AM, 180 MKD.

Train station in Thessaloniki:

- Excuse me… I know that there are no international trains. We want to go to Sofia but the bus office is closed…

- Sofia? No trains. Only bus.

- Yes, I know, but the office is closed.

- No trains, only bus.

- Yes, but it’s closed, the bus departs at 4:30 and there is a sing saying that today they will open at 5. Can I book my ticket here?

- No trains, only bus

- Chingada madreeeeeeeee!!!!

So, the conclusion is that the English and Spanish-speaking people is NEVER in the places where you REALLY need them.

Haydarpaşa train station in the Asian part of Istanbul

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La gente adecuada en el lugar incorrecto

Hay en Estambul un mercado de artesanías enorme.

Lo llaman El Gran Bazar y según la Wikipedia (¡nunca te mueras, Wikipedia!) tiene más de 58 calles techadas y cerca de 4,000 tiendas que atraen entre 250,000 y medio millón de visitantes al día.

Gran Bazar

Lámparas (ojalá hubiera tenido más espacio en la mochila...) 

Aparentemente los clientes hispanohablantes son muy importantes (mientras andábamos fisgoneando por ahí pudomos escuchar a gente de España, Colombia, Arngentina, México...) ¡y esa es la razón por la que cerca del 30% de los vendedores (quizás más) hablan buen o muy buen español!

Por otra parte, y no sólo en Turquía, sino en toda Europa, en las estaciones de trenes o en todos aquellos lugares en los que requieres de información detallada acerca de una cosa en específico, los trabajadores no habla ni siquiera una palabra en inglés, por ejemplo:

Estación de autobuses en Skopje:

- We are going from from here to Gevgelia by train. We want to know if there is a bus from Gevgelia to Thessaloniki.

- Skopje – Thessaloniki. Today, 11AM, 180 MKD.

- Yes, I know it… but is there any bus going from Gevgelia to Thessaloniki?

- Thessaloniki. Today, 11AM, 180 MKD.

Estación de trenes en Salónica (Thessaloniki):

- Excuse me… I know that there are no international trains. We want to go to Sofia but the bus office is closed…

- Sofia? No trains. Only bus.

- Yes, I know, but the office is closed.

- No trains, only bus.

- Yes, but it’s closed, the bus departs at 4:30 and there is a sing saying that today they will open at 5. Can I book my ticket here?

- No trains, only bus

- Chingada madreeeeeeeee!!!!

Así pues, la conclusión es que la gente que habla inglés y/o español NUNCA está en los lugares en los que REALMENTE la necesitas.

Estación de trenes Haydarpaşa en el lado asiático de Estambul

Small, little, tiny world

Sometimes there are events that make us realize how small the world is, but what the Spider will tell tell you now is totally ridiculous.

As most of you know, the Spider is an active member of a community of travelers .

Dasa (pronounced " Dasha " ), a Slovenian friend (Slovenian, not Slovakian), is also a member of the community.

Dasa on the right

Who knows what was going on with her head at that time, but on her profile she said she could host people ...

She received a request from a Polish couple, but since she didn't actually have a place for them to stay she sent them to the Spider's liar.

Krys and Aga had a sort of list of food and drinks to taste, it was made by their host in Villahermosa, and pulque (cactus booze, let's say...) was among those things.

They had been traveling for almost two years. Having lived for a while away from Mexico the Spider knows that sometimes one gets the country sick and all what you want is to talk to someone in your own language . If that is a little bit difficult in Spanish, now imagine how is it in Polish ...

But the Spider has always the solution and killed two birds with one stone:

He invited his other Polish friends and they all went to drink some pulque (Edyta is missing in the picture, maybe she was the one who took the picture...).

Aneta, Ela, the Spider, Krys and Aga

Aneta was the last to arrive.

- There is another friend coming... I think she comes from a place close to where you come from
- Rzeszów?
- Yes, she was studying there, but it's actually a small town in the nearby... Tyczyn
- Well... there are 2 Tyczyn in Poland, but yes, one of them is near Rzeszów

Aneta just walked through the door, then she and Krys started screaming/yelling/whatever.
The Spider speaks the language a little bit, but what he knows was not enough to understand a single sentence of what they said ... it went a little bit like this:

- Waaaaa!
- Waaaaa!
- Blablablablabla???!!!
- Blablablablabla!!!
- Blablablablabla?
- Blablablablabla!
- Waaaaaaaaaaa!!!

This seemed too strange for the Spider, so he interrogated them.

- Ehm... Do you know each other?
- Man... we were classmates in high school!
- What???!!!!
-Yes, and we had not meet since!
- Nononono... you must be kidding...
-No, really! We haven't meet from 15 years ago!
- Wait, wait, wait... are you saying that two Poles that haven't meet in two eternities, come and meet again here, in this place with 20 million inhabitants, 10,000 miles from home, in this bar and all of this is MY fault?
- I would say yes...

That's it...
The world is much smaller than you think...



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Mundo pequeñito

En ocasiones hay sucesos que hacen que nos demos cuenta de lo pequeño que es el mundo, pero lo que les va a contar a continuación el Araño es de verdad ridículo.

Como la mayoría de ustedes saben, el Araño es miembro activo de una comunidad de viajeros.

Dasa (pronunciar "Dasha"), una amiga eslovena (eslovena, no eslovaca), también es parte de la comunidad.

Dasa, en la derecha

Quién sabe qué pasaba por su cabeza en ese momento, pero en su perfil puso que podía hospedar gente...

Le llegó una solicitud de una pareja de polacos pero al no tener en realidad un lugar dónde alojarlos se los roló al Araño.

Krys y Aga tenían una especie de lista de comidas y bebidas para probar que les había hecho el chavo que los hospedó en Villahermosa, y entre esas cosas estaba el pulque.
Ellos habían estado viajando durante casi 2 años. Habiendo vivido un rato lejos de México el Araño sabe que en ocasiones a uno le da el mal del Jamaicón y lo único que quieres es poder hablar con alguien en tu propio idioma. Si eso resulta un poco difícil en español, ahora imagínenselo en polaco...

Pero el Araño siempre tiene la solución y mató 2 pájaros de un tiro:
Invitó a los demás amigos polacos que tenía y fueron todos a la pulcata (en la foto falta Edyta, quizás fue ella quien tomó la foto...).

Aneta, Ela, el Araño, Krys y Aga

Aneta sería la última en llegar.

- Todavía falta una amiga... creo que viene de un lugar cercano al lugar de donde vienen ustedes
- ¿Rzeszów?
- Sí, creo que estudiaba ahí, pero en realidad es de un pueblo más chico... Tyczyn
- Bueno... hay 2 Tyczyn en Polonia, pero sí, uno de ellos está cerca de Rzeszów

Apenas cruzó la puerta, Aneta y Krys comenzaron a gritar.
El Araño conoce un poco del idioma, pero no lo suficiente como para entender una sola frase de lo que decían... que más o menos iba así:

- Waaaaa!!!
- Waaaaa!!!
- Blablablablabla???!!!
- Blablablablabla!!!
- Blablablablabla?
- Blablablablabla!
- Waaaaaaaaaaa!!!!

Esto le pareció demasiado extraño al Araño, así que los interrogó.

- Ehm... ¿se conocen?
- Wey... ¡íbamos juntos en la preparatoria!
- ¿¿¿¡¡¡Qué!!!???
- ¡Sí, y no nos habíamos visto desde entonces!
- Nononono... tienen que estar bromenado...
- ¡No, en serio! ¡Hace como 15 años que no nos veíamos!
- A ver, a ver, a ver... ¿me están diciendo que 2 polacos que no se han visto en 2 eternidades vienen y se reencuentran aquí, en este lugar con 20  millones de habitantes, a 10,000 kilómetros de casa, en este bar y todo por MI culpa?
- Yo diría que sí...

Así es...
El mundo es muchísimo más pequeño de lo que imaginan...

Skopje to Athens in 28 easy steps

2 years ago ago, after leaving the stupid Euro Zone and starting the coolest part of the trip, we found out that Greece had forbidden all international trains and there was no other way to cross the Greek border but by bus (35 euro) or taxi (120 euro).
We were traveling on the cheap. You all know that. So we wanted to try a different approach to this “all by bus or all by taxi'” situation and play our cards to better suit our budget; because at the end, we had already paid for a train pass and we wanted to use it as much as we possibly could.


The plan is seemed to be simple:
1) Take the train from Skopje to the Macedonia – Greece border. (Train pass, free)
2) Cross the Greek border by bus (5 euro)
3) Take a domestic Greek train to get to Athens. (Train pass, free)


But the plan got a little bit more complicated and it went as it follows:
1) We took the train from Skopje to Gevgelija, a little town that's included in the railway map, so it has both a bus and a train station and it seems to be the perfect point to cross to Greece. The Macedonian train inspectors do not know that Macedonia is included in our pass, so they have to check and we try to explain while showing them the train guide that was given to us when we got the passes.
2) We arrive to Gevgelija. There's a bunch of taxis out there but we won't buy their lies (man, we are Mexican!! We know how the taxi drivers try to cheat on the tourists!), we ask for the bus station and a random guy tells us it's like 600m away, following a straight avenue.
3) We walk in such direction and never see anything resembling a bus station. After asking to one or two people, a young girl takes us through a couple of streets straight to what she says is the bus station. It was in the middle of a street market and was the size of a regular McDonald's.
4) “The entrance is over there. You can ask for some info.” She says and walks away.
5) We head up to the door and try to open it. No luck. Try a different door. Same. We try to look through the smoked windows and the building seems empty and abandoned. All you can read in one of the glass doors is something in Macedonian with the date '02-07-12' and it was already the 7th. Our best guess is that it said the building would be abandoned starting from that date. “That's surely what it says”, we say to each other.
6) Surrounding the abandoned mini-bus station, there's an army of taxi drivers, telling us that the only way to go to Greece is by taxi and it costs 50 euro. “Nope, thanks, it's too expensive” we say and walk away.
7) A fat police officer approaches to us. “Where you go?” – Thessaloniki “No bus to Thessaloniki. Closed. Only taxi.” – How much the taxi should cost? “Fifteen euro..” – Fifteen? “Yes, five, zero” – Ah, fifty, that's too much, we can't afford it. “Can I see your passports?”.
8) Why would a random local police officer want to see our passports? We hesitate. You feel like your passport is your life when you're in another country. We take one passport out, then the other. He check's them out and gives them back to us. “Taxi is the only way.” We'll try to find a lonely taxi driver at the train station; there was plenty of them when we got off the train.
9) Walk our way back to the train station. No taxi driver, no people, nothing. They seem to know the exact times when trains arrive and they gather around the station, but after people has gone, they vanish as well.
10) We try to find a lonely taxi driver out on the streets. We spot one, he seems friendly. We ask for the ride to Thessaloniki, “It's 60 euro”, he says.
11) 10 euro more expensive is not a good deal; but the taxi drivers at the abandoned mini-bus station said we could also go to Polykastro, which is the closest Greek town to the border with Macedonia. We ask for the price to Polykastro, 25 euro.
12) We've already spent 3 hours trying to cross the border and 25 euro for the taxi ride does not seem that crazy. “We'll take it.”
13) We hop on the nice, new-looking taxi car, cool inside with the A/C on. The taxi driver speaks 3 or 4 words in English but he seems nice.
14) Less than 2 minutes driving and he pulls over. “We will wait for a friend.” What? Which friend?
15) A guy comes riding a scooter motorcycle. They exchange a some words (in Macedonian) and the scooter guy drives away. “My boss”, the taxi driver says. “He married next week”. “My friend is coming”.
16) Another taxi approaches and stops behind us. “He will take you to Polykastro, take your bags”.  At this point we were about to shit our pants).
17) We do not understand what's going on but eventually we got off the car and get our bags to take the second taxi.
18) “My friend he take you Polykastro, it's 25 euro”. “Oookk..we will pay when we get there” we say. “No, it's 25 euro, my friend he take you Polykastro, I go to central, 25 euro”.
19) We do not understand what's going on. He seems to be trying to charge us for a service he haven't received yet. After discussing, he's just making sure we understand the amount of money that we'll have to pay. My guess is that he didn't have all the papers he needed to cross the border, so another guy would do the job.
20) Our second taxi driver speaks .5 words in English; but he finally drives us to Polykastro and asks if we want him to drop us at the city center. “No, at the train station, please”. He doesn't get it; but I remember the word in Serbian/Croatian/Slovenian/Macedonian/Whatever and he gets it.
21) The taxi driver doesn't know where the train station is. He asks, in Macedonian, to Greek people. Funny conversations aside, every time he gets directions, he forgets in 20 seconds and stops to ask again.
22) Probably half an hour later, we reach the train station. No wonder why nobody knows or cares about it. It's a tiny little, abandoned, wooden house. “There's no one here, it doesn't seem to be working, we should try with the bus station.”
23) The taxi driver will take us to the bus station. As soon as he finds out where that is. Ask, forget, guess. We finally make it, we pay and run to get the bus tickets. The next bus to Thessaloniki leaves in 5 minutes. Perfect.
24) We take the bus and reach Thessaloniki to take the train to go to Athens.
25) The train gets delayed along it's way and we arrive to Athens 11:55pm. We were told that public transportation in Athens works until midnight. Run, buy the tickets, catch the subway. Perfect!
26) Get out the subway station. Find the bus stop. Quickly! FAIL!
27) After maybe 10 minutes, we find the bus stop, for the bus no. 700, that is. It's a tiny little orange pole in the middle of a tiny little secondary street.
28) We have to get a taxi, another 10 euro. Finally make it to our hostess home in Athens. It's 1am in the morning.

The final balance:
- The trip was supposed to last 10 hours (if international trains were allowed by Greek gov.). It tooks us 16.
- The trip was supposed to be for free (since we have the pass). Total cost was around 50 euro.
- We were supposed to be fresh to take on the city right away. We were smashed.
- On the brightside, a bus from Skopje to Athens would have been 70 euro and the taxi, 120.
- On the brightest side, Athens is amazing.

Rude and rowdy Mexicans

Did you hear about what happened with the Mexican sailors in Poland?

Sure you did... everybody did!!
The stories told by both sides are completely opposite. I don't wanna look like a patriot but the Mexican's version seems more accurate to me.

Anyway, here I have the ultimate evidence to probe that instead of start a fight, Mexicans only smile when they are insulted in Poland:






- Smile!
- No, Ala... we are too tired for that
- YOU ASSHOLES!!!
- Pffff... Hahahahaha!

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Mexicanos rudos y buscapleitos

¿Supieron lo que pasó con los marinos mexicanos en Polonia?

¡Sí, claro, todo el mundo lo supo!
Las versiones de ambos bandos son completamente opuestas, y no es por ser nacionalista pero le voy más a la versión de los paisanos.

En cualquier caso, aquí tengo la prueba definitiva que muestra que en lugar de que se armar los chingadazos, los mexicanos sólo sonríen cuando los insultan en Polonia:

- ¡Sonrían!
- No, Ala... estamos muy cansados
- ¡¡¡PENDEJOS!!!
- Pffff... ¡Jajajajaja!

Analogía magisterial conflictiva

Hagamos la siguiente suposición:

Por alguna razón necesitas realizarte una cirugía. De rodilla, de cadera, de corazón... lo que sea.
Vas a la clínica del IMSS que te corresponde y te asignan al Dr. Mata.
Él en realidad no es médico, sólo terminó la preparatoria con una especialidad técnica en contabilidad y trabaja en el hospital porque heredó la plaza cuando su padre falleció.

Teniendo esto en cuenta... ¿te operarías?
¿No, verdad? ¡Qué pinche miedo!

Es evidente que el tipo no está debidamente preparado y por lo tanto representa un peligro, así que lo más indicado sería removerlo de su puesto y mandarlo a la escuela de medicina, si es que en realidad tiene las habilidades necesarias para ejercer la profesión.

Pregunto entonces... ¿cuál es la diferencia con los maestros?
¿De qué derecho gozan ellos?

¿Por qué sí tenemos los pantalones para ir a meter una denuncia contra cualquier médico por supuestas negligencias médicas o contra los ingenieros de tal o cual compañía por defectos en los diseños de sus aparatos/construcciones/loquesea pero no nos agarramos los pinches webos cuando se trata de exigir que los maestros preparen debidamente a la niñez mexicana?

¿Por qué tienen miedo a que los evalúen?
POR MEDIOCRES.

Hace un par de años en el trabajo nos aplicaron una prueba para ver qué tan bien o qué tan mal andaba nuestro nivel de conocimiento de las herramientas que usamos regularmente, y no por eso salimos a bloquear la avenida (qué forma más pendeja de protesta en estos tiempos ...) ni fuimos a quemar la oficina del director.
Hubo muchas quejas, pero si el patrón te está pagando por hacer algo Y NO LO HACES BIEN, está en todo su derecho de evaluarte y de eventualmente -y con toda razón- prescindir de tus servicios.
Y ni modo, como dicen los argentinos, nos la tuvimos que bancar (o sea, nos aplicaron la Ley de Herodes), pero yo lo vi aquí y aplica igual que en el caso de los maestros: sólo los mediocres tienen miedo.

Tampoco es que los maestros tengan la culpa de todo.
Muchas veces hay niños que vienen muy mal educados desde su casa, padres de familia a los que todo les vale madre, escuelas que a veces no cuentan ni con lo básico.
Probablemente no es la mala educación la culpable de que la sociedad sea tan mediocre, sino que la mediocridad de la sociedad provocó que la educación se volviera mediocre.

Al menos desde mi punto de vista lo correcto es evaluar a la gente para básicamente deshacernos de los que heredaron plazas, de los aviadores y de la prole de Elba Esther (no estamos como para andar gastando dinero en capacitar a gente cuyo mayor talento es haber sido el hijo de Fulano de Tal ni tiene ganas de progresar), y con el dinero ahorrado equipar las escuelas, aumentarles el sueldo a quienes demuestren buenas capacidades y capacitar a quienes lo necesiten o lo deseen.

¿Les parece injusto esto?