Staying home and keeping warm

It's been a bit miserable for days, nay weeks, now. Tumble dryer rather than washing line, slightly moist bath towels. Dirty boot prints across the kitchen floor. I've been looking for something to do. What about popping up north for the weekend? I don't know why but I thought about Huesca or maybe Sigúenza. Some travel website says I'm talking about five or six hours. Well, if we set off after I finish work on Friday evening we could still be there for a nightcap around midnight. Paradors, Paradores, choose your plural, the upmarket hotel chain, constantly promote their offers. I had a bit of a look. None of it quite fits. Maybe it would work. Why not? Well, the truth is, it looks a bit dear actually. Madrid maybe, Madrid is always good. It always makes me feel less like a yokel when I'm in an art gallery and I'm not the only person there. That's not exactly free either and the deals on the super fast trains don't seem to be quite as stupendous and ubiquitous as the news stories would suggest. I suppose that I need to remember too that the house and car insurance are both due in the next few weeks.

Well then, if not now, I could, at least, think about something for the near or middle future. What about the festival in Benicassim? All the hotels within a ten mile radius seem to be booked already. A local festival then? SOS in Murcia maybe? Same thing. And I think about it, all that effort, all that upheaval. Anyway my back is hurting a lot at the moment and my feet feel funny.

It's not that I haven't had a very pleasant weekend. On Friday evening we went to Monóvar, just 12 km away, for a film in a series to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the death of a relatively famous local writer whose pen name was Azorín. It was an old black and white Billy Wilder film, dubbed into Spanish, with Jack Lemmon. The audience was pretty select and could have come back to ours for a cup of tea. Yesterday we had coffee with friends. In the evening, we did a Burns Night complete with haggis, piper and men with no underpants. Today we went for a meal as a sort of late birthday celebration with a couple of friends. Not a word of Spanish to worry about as we ate roast beef or sticky toffee pudding. In amongst all this I went to take some snaps of the delayed Saint Anthony, San Antón, festival in Pinoso where the priest blesses people's pets. Not an action packed weekend but a long way from gardening leave or pure catatonia.

It just feels to be passing by though. The last time we were in Sigüenza I'd wished we were staying in that converted castle. Just trogging up a motorway or riding the train makes me feel like we actually live in Spain. It's the same when I hand over the money to see whatever they have on at the Thyssen or think about the free tapas in Guadix. Somehow doing things locally isn't just the same. Maybe when the weather improves in Spring life will pep up a bit? Winter here is just as depressing as it is in Billingham, Brighouse or Bearsden.

Snow

My guess is that you know that it snowed here yesterday. A good thick layer of snow in Culebrón. I missed most of it. In fact I must be the only person in Culebrón who doesn't have a photo of somewhere looking very Christmas card. I took a few snaps today but by then the thaw was well under way.

There was 33mm of precipitation in Pinoso which, Google tells me, normally bulks up to about 33cm of snow. I'd have said it was less than that, maybe 15cm, but I wasn't here to see the snow at its height so I am not a reliable source.

I drove to work through reasonably heavy falling snow but, by the time I got to work, the snow was nasty wet rain instead. Cieza is nearly 400 metres lower than Culebrón. By the time I came home the ploughs had done their stuff and I followed the car width wet tarmac ribbon, hemmed in by snow, occasionally hitting big compacted lumps, all the way home. It wasn't easy getting up the slope to the house though and I had to dig the snow away to actually get the car into our yard. It's been melting like mad today. Water pouring off buildings and roads looking very picturesque in the bright sunlight.

At the height of the snowfall Maggie was persuaded by friends to take the lift offered in a four wheel drive and leave her car in town. She probably couldn't have got home anyway as the main road that passes our house was closed. Apparently the closure was because so many cars were sliding off the road that the Guardia Civil thought it the best move.

Lots of the comments against the photos that Britons living around here posted on Facebook were from friends surprised that it had snowed in Spain. Actually Spanish snow isn't at all unusual.

For a long time now Spain has often claimed to be the second most mountainous country in Europe after Switzerland. Again, with the help of Google, I understand that the criteria for that claim are not clear and that places like Norway, Slovenia, Greece, Austria and Italy beat it on most of the obvious measures. Nonetheless it is a pretty high country in general and it can, authentically, claim to have the highest percentage of its population living in high areas in Europe. Everybody knows you get snow on top of mountains. Any photo of Kilimanjaro in Tanzania proves that. So lots of Spaniards who live in the Pyrenees, up the Sierra Nevada or in the Picos de Europa have to live with plenty of snow every year. Spain has stacks of ski resorts.

The Spanish word for Hell is infierno. The Spanish word for winter is invierno. An old joke about Madrid says nine months of winter and three months of Hell. It's droller in Spanish.

We originally considered living in Burgos. Some Spanish chums warned us off by saying it was like Siberia in winter. We had a couple of different pals who lived there. One of them told the story of entertaining a group of Muscovites on some sort of International Exchange. The Muscovites complained that Burgos was too cold.

One of the WhatsApp jokes that I got yesterday about the weather was a temperature scale. It argued that when the temperature dropped below 24ºC people from Seville put an extra blanket on the bed. The mentions of Burgos suggested that its people would button up their shirts, as they drank ice cold beer and ate ice cream on the cafe terraces, as temperatures sank to -8ºC and that they would only actually go inside the bar when temperature dropped to absolute zero.

Whenever there is a description of the Spanish Civil War Battle of the Ebro, fought around the area that includes the city of Teruel in Aragon, there is always mention of the number of soldiers who froze to death because of the low, low temperatures. Figures vary but it seems that they were regularly below -20ºC

Maggie and I were trying to decide if it's the third or fourth time it's snowed on us whilst we've been here. My photo albums seem to suggest that it has been two reasonably heavy snowfalls, with another that barely counted, before this one. This weeks fall is definitely the heaviest we've experienced here. So, it may be relatively unusual that it snowed in Alicante and Murcia this week but it's not at all odd for it to snow in Spain.

And, whilst we're on the topic of sunny Spain I'd just warn you that should you ever decide to go to Galicia or any bit of Green Spain, up Asturias and Cantabria way, whenever those places are on the news for whatever reason it always seems to be raining.

Wrap up warm.

I thought the word was plurilingual

There is a local language in the Valencian Community which is called Valencian in English, Valenciano in the worldwide version of Spanish sometimes called Castellano and Valencià in, well in Valencià. Most people seem to think that it's not the same language as Catalan but the academic body that looks after the the rules and vocabulary of the language says they are wrong and that Catalan and Valenciano are the same with local variations.

As you would expect, and as I've reported before, there is a fairly strong local movement to promote Valenciano as a cultural heritage. Maggie keeps saying she's going to have a go at learning some. Rather her than me; I have enough problem with standard Spanish. Lots of people speak Valenciano as their principal language but there are lots of areas in this region where Valenciano is hardly spoken. Apparently about 50% of the population in the Valencian Community can speak the language and 85% can understand it.

Yesterday, over my work days lunchtime sandwich, I was reading the magazine produced by the communications team from the Pinoso Town Hall. The magazine's name, Cabeço, comes from a local hill. You will notice it is a Valenciano word with one of those French type cedillas. Our local council has a socialist majority and, as you would expect from a team directly employed by them, the reports in the magazine tend to highlight all the good things that are going on in the town. Most of it is pretty anodyne stuff anyway; new park benches here, a bit of tarmac there, what's on at the local theatre but, if you want to, you can argue about anything - wooden park benches - in this climate? Money on park benches when people are out of work?

There is some space in the magazine for the opposition political parties. Not much space but some. I always enjoy reading that because it means I find out where the local frictions are. I nearly always find something I didn't know because the Spaniards I talk to don't talk to me about that sort of thing and most of the Britons I talk to know even less about local controversy than me.

So, in the magazine, the conservative bunch were having a bit of a dig at the local budget - how much of it goes on staff, why rent office space instead of using council property etc. Then I got to a bit about education and about the use of Valenciano in the local schools. I read it twice, then a third time. I understood most of the words, I understood the sentiment but I didn't really understand what it was talking about although the gist was obviously that Valenciano was being pushed in all the schools in the Valencian Community, as a result of a Regional Government policy, which was bad for people who mainly spoke Castellano and would mean they'd have to pay for English classes. How did English come into this?

For years parents in the Valencian Community have been able to decide whether their children do the majority of the subjects in Castellano or in Valenciano. Currently seven of every ten youngsters are taught in Castellano. The Regional Government, which is ruled by a coalition of socialists and nationalists, has decided to change this twin path for a multilingual option. Now state and state assisted schools have to decide whether to slot into one of three levels - basic, intermediate or advanced - depending on how much of their basic teaching is done in Valenciano and how much English they offer. If the school teaches mainly in Castellano they end up in the basic level, and those which teach principally in Valenciano go into intermediate or advanced.

I should mention here that a very common model in Spain is for a bilingual school. Outside of the communities with a local language this usually means that the school teaches in Spanish and English though I'm sure that there are some which teach in Spanish and French or Spanish and German. Murcia, the community next to Alicante, the one in which I teach, has tens and tens of bilingual schools. Maggie used to work in one where she taught English in English, Art in English and a subject, Conocimiento del Medio, which is a sort of mix of natural and social sciences, in English. Personally I'm glad that I'm not a Spanish youngster having to struggle with a foreign language as well as the intricacies of the subjects themselves but it seems to be an accepted idea here.

Oddly it's English that is the incentive in this change from teaching in Castellano to Valenciano. Schools which teach half of the curriculum in Valenciano can up the percentage of the curriculum that they teach in English to 30%. This means that at the end of their school secondary career students will automatically get a B1, lower intermediate qualification in English, and a C1, lower advanced, qualification in Valenciano. It also cuts the amount of Castellano to the bare minimum allowed by Central Government legislation.

The Regional Government argument is that Valenciano and English are minority languages with Castellano being way out in front, so this change gives youngsters the opportunity for good levels in three languages whilst also helping to preserve a local cultural heritage. The detractors say that schools which cater to Castellano speakers are basically being punished by denying them increased access to English which, in the long run, is likely to be more useful. That's where the link was to English. The argument I had read in the magazine was saying that by denying Castellano speaking schools as much English for free, in the schools, the good parents would feel obliged to send their children for private classes.

What I found really odd about this was that I didn't know. After all I live here. I read the news most days, I listen to radio news and I even sometimes watch news on the telly but this policy had passed me by all together.

Drawing to a close

As I remember it, In England, Christmas gets off the ground just after the schools start back in September. Nothing frantic but there are unmistakable signs. Displays of trees in John Lewis, re-organisation of the display stands in Clinton's cards. It builds to a crescendo as the 25th approaches. Then a couple of family meals, too much drink, some tedious board games, the DFS 9am Boxing Day Sale and, although you may still be off work, Christmas is over.

In Spain it's different. My sister tells me that in Tenerife there was Christmas all over the place in November but, generally, in most places in Spain, you could miss any signs until December is well under way. Here in Pinoso, for instance, the Christmas lights weren't turned on till the 10th of December. Schools break up a couple of days before Christmas Eve. Families get together on the 24th and 25th echoing that yo-yoing between his and her families of Christmas day and Boxing day in the UK on alternate years. I know, by the way, that times have changed and that not all families are his and hers and that not everyone, even in Western Europe, celebrates Christmas but you'll just have to play along with me here. It is my blog after all.

But Christmas isn't over here. New Year's is also very much part of Christmas and people will be wishing you Felices Fiestas or Feliz Navidad until it becomes Feliz Año (Happy New Year). Then it, sort of, goes back to being Christmas. In fact it builds to a crescendo because, if Christmas really is about the children, then today and tomorrow are the big days.

The pages (servant pages, not pieces of paper pages) have been out all over the country collecting the letters from good boys and girls for the The Three Kings or, as we tend to say, the Three Wise Men. The Kings are the gift givers, working overnight on the 5th January, in much the same way as Father Christmas brought me that orange bulldozer. The Kings as present deliverers has a certain biblical logic given that they turned up in Bethlehem with gold, frankincense and myrrh. In about an hour, they will be parading through city streets all over Spain.

I'm racing with the post a bit. We're staying local this time and going to the cabalgata, the cavalcade, on home turf, in Pinoso. We'd wondered about going to Alcoi (the oldest parade in Spain where the Kings ride in the "wrong" order and where the King's helpers carry ladders to scale balconies to leave presents) or to Elche or Murcia, where the parades are a bit grander, but no. Local it is.

On the telly none of the reporters give the game away. The myth is maintained by hard bitten journalists who explain that the reason there are so many Kings in so many places is because of their magic powers. Children with squeaky voices are interviewed about their gift choices - I want a Nancy, I want a hatchimal - or reading out their wishes that none of the children of the world go hungry. Later tonight on the TV news there will be reports of Kings in helicopters, in boats, on elephants. The shops are still open for those last minute gifts and they will be in Madrid, Barcelona and the like till 10 this evening.

You think it's all over. Well not quite yet.

Years passing

The Mini was first registered nine years ago today. To celebrate part of the badge, that reads Mini, on the tailgate fell off. It just adds to the number of niggling faults on the car including a boot that doesn't open properly, broken down seats and split rubber weatherproofing. As well as a long list of little problems the car has had two major mechanical problems which have stopped it on the road. Replacing the double mass flywheel, one of the problems, cost close to 2,000€. 110,000 miles and the car feels very old. I would not recommend a BMW Mini to anyone.

So I'm well aware of the passing of the years with the car but I was really surprised to find that some of the classes on my driving licence were about to expire. When I passed my car driving test in the UK they threw in the right to drive small lorries and vans, up to 7,500 kg, as a bonus prize.  It isn't normal for car drivers in Spain to have rights to drive small lorries and it was that class, and the various combinations with trailers, that were about to reach their sell by date. This must mean that I've had my Spanish driving licence for five years. Surely not? I would have sworn that it couldn't be more than a couple of years but time, apparently, passes.

When I swapped my British licence for a Spanish one my right to drive a minibus disappeared. The car part of my licence is good for another five years but if I didn't renew it now then I would lose more classes. I haven't actually driven anything bigger than a Transit for over twenty years but who knows when the need may arise again?

The Spanish system includes a health and psychotechnical test. This can be done at any one of a number of approved centres all over the country and we now have a part time one in Pinoso. The psychotechnical test involves two exercises something a bit like that ping pong video game from the 1970s. In the first a dot moves along a track and then disappears into a "tunnel" and you have to anticipate when it will come out of the other side. The second involves trying to keep two white dots within a winding "road" - the road on the left moves differently to the road on the right. I suppose that the first is about anticipation and the second about co-ordination.

There is also supposed to be an eye test, a hearing test, a general check of your health, like blood pressure, and some questions about your general health, both mental and physical. I did one of these tests, voluntarily, years ago when I still had a British licence because I was unsure about the legality of driving without one. That time they did all those tests so this time I was all prepared with a plausible answer for the question about how much alcohol I drank in a week but they didn't ask. In fact, apart from being asked if I was healthy and if my vision and hearing were OK I only had to do the computer games.

In fact the most difficult part of the whole process was getting my address to fit onto the computer database. The person who did the test wasn't from Pinoso and she had the same problem as lots of people in that she couldn't understand why we didn't have a street or why we used a postcode that isn't actually our postcode. I also made a little joke about how my name had too many aiches for Spaniards to spell it correctly - she checked the name on my licence and changed the name on the computer screen!

The check took about fifteen minutes and cost 58€. The driving licence renewal fee was 23.50€. So the total was 81.50€. Not that cheap.