Whenever I'm feeling down...

At the beginning of the film Love Actually Hugh Grant does a voice over that goes something like "Whenever I'm feeling down or depressed I just think about the arrival's gate at Heathrow Airport" it goes on about people greeting each other and it shows lots of heart warming scenes as friends and families greet and hug each other.

I went to pick up my mum from Alicante Airport yesterday evening and as I waited I watched the mixed bag of humanity waiting to meet and greet and I thought just how true it was.

Midnight: the campaign begins

On March 9th there is a General Election in Spain, the tenth election since the return of democracy at the end of the 1970s with the 1978 election.

Currently the Socialists (Partido Socialista Obrero Español, Socialist Spanish Workers Party), led by a chap called José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero - he's the one who looks like Mr Bean - and the Conservatives (Partido Popular, Popular Party) led by Mariano Rajoy - the beard - are the only parties in with a chance of outright victory though the Izquierda Unida (the United Left) headed up by Gaspar Llamazares have a good number of parliamentary seats at the moment and I think a recent poll had them picking up a couple of extra ones this time, though it could have been the other way around!

The PSOE is curently in power having pulled off a surprise victory four years ago in the wake of the Madrid train bombings. One of the Socialist election pledges had been to pull Spanish troops out of Irak and Al Qaeeda inspired bombings which killed 191 people in the heart of Madrid may have influenced the vote a little. At the moment the polls still have them out in front but only just and with a substantially decreased majority.

Anyway, it's just two weeks to go to polling day. There have been plenty of political rallies since the beginning of the new year but at midnight on Thursday/Friday the official campaign began. Up till then the parties hadn't been able to ask for votes, from midnight they could. A fine line but a line nonetheless, and one enshrined in the constitution. Two weeks of campaigning and then time to reflect before the vote with electioneering halted a couple of days before the ballot.

I was expecting to awake to see the streets today plastered with posters as that's exactly what happened in last May's local elections. But nothing. At least nothing in Pinoso. Maybe there's more out there in the real world.

We foreigners aren't allowed to vote and I'm not exactly sure how the system works but basically I think that each province returns a number of "MPs" to Parliament and each party presents a list of candidates with the same number of candidates. So if, for instance, there were four seats for Alicante province and the PP were to win 100% of the votes they would take all four seats. As it is a tad unlikely that anyone would win 100% of the vote the maths gets pretty complicated but basically it's proportional representation against a list. So the big parties put their big names at the top of the lists which means no upsets along George Brown, Michael Portillo lines in Spanish politics!

The PP has ben supported by the Catholic Church and it's campaign for family values (The Socialists legalised "gay marriage" during their term) and they're also banging on about immigrants having to learn Spanish and adopt Spanish "values" - a bit reminiscent of Norman Tebbit demanding that Pakistanis living in the UK should support the English Cricket Team. Quite a lot to the Right. The PSOE talks more of increasing minimum wages, social care, equality and of rights - generally Centre Left stuff.

I asked a couple of Brits what they thought about it all but they didn't know there was an election due.

The last on driving licences for the moment

If you look back through "Fit to drive", "Not tonight Josephine" and "Fit as a fiddle" you can follow the whole saga of me trying to stay legal as I drive around Spain.

Having being told I needed a medical exam by the equivalent of the DVLA I then asked them what I should do with my certificate once I had it. The answer I got back was that there was no need to do the medical after all. I quoted my original reply and quoted the bits of legislation. The chap I was dealing with came back with this reply:

"Well yes, technically you need to do the medical but, as there is no way for us to link the medical to your driver licensing record, because that's kept by the authorities of the country that issued your driving licence. It's all a bit tricky. To avoid any possible problems it may be best if you exchanged your licence though you don't need to of course"

Well that's clear then isn't it.

Population figures

Cabeco, the local magazine published by Pinoso Town Hall gave an update on the population figures as at 25 January 2008. The figures are likely to be inaccurate in that people don't always register as they should etc. but they do, nonetheless, give a good idea of the town's make-up. They have changed considerably since the last time I saw the same information from the same source.

There are 7,730 people living in Pinoso
There are 1,124 foreigners and 6,606 Spaniards so nearly 15% are foreigners
The biggest single group of foreigners are Britons at 452 (including Maggie and me)
The second largest group of foreigners are Ecuadorians (162) followed by Ucranians (99), Moroccans (65) and then Bulgarians (44).
There are 43 nationalities represented.

Salfumant

I was given this stuff to clean the rust off some old decorations. As you can see it comes in a fairy liquid type bottle. I was told it was "strong stuff" and I did try to read the print on the bottle but a mixture of blurred print and poor eyesight meant that I couldn't. I do know there were none of those European "danger symbols" except for the cross that means irritant. There was no mention of it being corrosive. It was bought across the counter at the local ironmongers and it has a picture of a lavatory on the side to suggest that it can be used as a toilet cleaner.

In fact it is Hydrochloric Acid.

Just a couple of snaps

This is what they do to the Plaza Mayor in Ciudad Rodrigo for Carnaval. This shot is just before the first bull on Monday morning.

And this is a few minutes later.

No bull

Lots of the shops in Ciudad Rodrigo are boarded up at the moment - they don't want bulls in their china shop. But bank customers need to get their cash out to buy a few more beers. This cash machine is fenced off but customers can squeeze through the bars; entrada = entrance

Eating a couple of pigs

The man who had made me stand too close to the bulls took Maggie and I back to his house for breakfast. His wife appeared to have used our absence productively to cook a couple of hundredweight of pork products - panceta, papada, chorizo, farianto - just think blood, fat and pork scratchings and you're on the right track. There was wine too and to humour the Brits a box of PG Tips. Just the way to celebrate not having needed that emergency operating theatre.

On the wrong side of the fence

Today the bulls were brought brought into Ciudad Rodrigo by men on horses. They are driven across open countryside, often one or two manage to escape for a while until they are rounded up again. Sometimes the bulls die of exhaustion along the way. But if all goes to plan a few mansos (sort of guide bulls) and 6 fighting bulls trot into town alongside mounted men and make their way to the town's main square. All the while the lads run alongside to prove how brave they are.

We'd agreed to meet some of Maggie's pals because so far as we knew they had a window overlooking the route and we were going to watch the bulls and horses pass from there. But somehow it didn't work like that and this man persuaded me to stand on the wrong side of the fence. Maggie, as you can see is on the correct side of the fence. The video isn't very good, I was concentrating more on clambering up the fence than framing things properly.

Carnaval, the Encierro in Ciudad Rodrigo

A bit like Pamplona. The bulls are let loose to run through the streets. Shop windows are boarded up, onlookers stand behind sturdy metal guardrails but the lads, some not so young, some not so male, wait on the streets to taunt the beasts and, hopefully, run away when the bull gets too close for comfort.

The bulls end up in the main square which is currently covered in sand and surrounded by wooden grandstands. The people on the stands have to be there before the bulls to secure their spot. It's a balancing act to try and decide how long your bladder will hold out and how much you can drink because until people start to thin out there is no way to get off those stands once they are full.

So the bulls get to the main square, the lads are there again taunting, running and occasionally jumping over the bulls. Some people have capes and try to do the capework with the bulls - one chap here, now in his eighties, is quite famous in his own small way. The bulls horns are sharp and they do, every now and again, catch someone. People hurt themselves too as they run and jump for cover. There is an army of Red Cross ambulances parked just outside the grandstands. There's a mobile operating theatre too just in case. The bulls, by the way, go back home to eat more grass.

It may be safer to wander the streets in fancy dress, shop at some of the many stalls or hang out with a bit of a snack and something to drink in one of the many private neighbourhood "peñas" - temporary buildings run by either neighbourhood or pastime groups - or just do the rounds of the bars and restaurants.

The Fat Tree

I'm in Ciudad Rodrigo at the moment. This is a popular meeting place - el arbol gordo - the fat tree. Good name I think.

A stop in Castilla la Mancha

It's 4am. The bus is parked up in a service station. The cafeteria area smells faintly of sick. The man who's been sitting next to me on the bus may well be Ethiopian or Somali - he looks like he's from that bit of Africa but as he speaks neither English nor Castilian I'll never know. There are Moroccans too - lots of Moroccans and South Americans, mainly Ecuadorians. In Albacete a man with henna in his beard, one of those long shirts and the obligatory nylon anorak got off. A few Spaniards too. No one looks rich. In fact most look definitely poor. Like the plump woman in the tight ski pants, high heels and with yellow accessories. It screams market stall. Four continents at least - Continental drift. And I'm there too, a mileurista - the struggling poor. At 4am on a bus to Madrid.