Life in Culebrón

Philip II was the Spanish King who had a bit of a tussle with Good Queen Bess, Elizabeth I. Philip built a few ships to invade England in 1588 but whilst they were waiting to pick up an army from Holland a bit of a problem with the English fleet, the reputation of a certain Francis Drake and most particularly a spot of bad weather rather put paid to his invasion plan. His home palace was this place, El Escorial. Quite a pile of stone. Bit austere. We were there yesterday.

Apparently Franco (the dictator who ruled Spain from 1939 till his death in 1975) didn't want to be buried in the underground basilica at the Valley of the Fallen (el Valle de los Caidos). I don't suppose the 20,000 Republican prisoners who built it, and who were able to "redeem" days from their sentences by working on its construction, were that keen to be there either. The monument consists of a Benedictine Abbey where the priests recite a perpetual mass for the dead of the war, a 152 metre high stone cross - the tallest memorial cross in the World - and an underground crypt carved into the granite mountain parts of which were left unconsecrated when Pope John XIII declared it a basilica in 1960 to avoid it rivalling St Peter's in Rome as the largest basilica in the World. Franco had it built "to honour those who fell during the Spanish Civil War" but as Republicans (the defeated Left) were not knowingly buried there till 1958, as the place is plastere...

Some time ago a couple of friends, Derek and Laura, came to stay with us. Derek mentioned something about the death mask of a cursed mummy in Villena that he would like to see. We ignored him of course and did the usual round of paella eating and laughing at the centre of Pinoso. Villena is a town about 30kms from us. It's a nice place and I'd read that their nativity scene or belén was a good one this year so Maggie and I thought we would go and have a look. Well actually I thought we'd go and have a look and Maggie didn't object violently enough to stop it happening. The belén was good and as we walked across the square from the cultural centre and poked our noses inside the church a woman pounced on us and gave us a guided tour. She suggested we have a look at the archaeoligical museum. It wasn't a cursed mummy it was the Treasure of Villena and, sorry Derek, we should have listened. A couple of workman in 1963 found a bracelet in the gravel they were spreading. ...

The first day of winter and the Christmas lottery draw, "El Gordo" - the fat one. In every bar in Spain, and from nearly every window and car comes the odd, Gregorian chant like sound, of the Spanish Christmas lottery. For weeks, nay months, before Spaniards have been buying lottery tickets. They send friends to distant parts of the country to buy particular numbers or to buy from particular offices with successful prize giving histories. They share tickets, or usually tenths of tickets, with friends, family and colleagues. Everyone has a system for choosing their numbers and the average spend per adult is in the region of 70€. It's quite an odd lottery. The tickets are odd. For a start each one costs €200 and that's why they are sold as tenths - decimos - at 20€ a go. Organisations, charities and what not, often buy a few full tickets and sell them on at 23€ with the 3€ going to the charity. Even stranger is that there are lots and lots of the same number becau...

It was the last "Adult Education" Spanish class last night and I went along as usual. A bit before our class was due to end a white haired, pink faced chap poked his head around the door - another Brit obviously. The teacher asked him to hang on for a while. Later, as we packed up to go, a couple of young Spanish lads (well young to me) scampered into the classroom and pinned a sheet of paper to the notice board. I had a peek and saw it was the end of term marks for an English class. I packed away my books and headed off down the stairs towards home but I was called back by the teacher. There was a bite to eat and drink, an end of term celebration, wasn't I coming?. That's what the other Brits were there for of course, they were the Spanish Beginners and the young Spaniards were an English class. We were going to have a jolly cultural interchange. So you now have three litle knots of people sticking together for safety. Most of us Brit men are wearing some form of Mar...

Our next door neighbours, Gail and Gerry, had read in one of the English language newspapers that Brits, driving on the European style GB licences, needed to pass the same medical tests as Spanish drivers. I was sure that was wrong, after all if my licence is issued by Swansea then it's DVLA rules I follow isn't it? So I checked a few websites, wrote to DVLA, asked in a few internet forums and even went to talk to the local Guardia Civil. It soon became obvious that if you had a Spanish licence you needed the medical but nobody seemed sure about the rules for driving in Spain on a GB licence. So I sent a fax to the local traffic authorities and asked them. The reply was not good news. Anyone RESIDENT in Spain and driving on an EU licence is subject to the same medical requirements as Spaniards. For standard cars that means people under 45 years old need to take the medical tests every ten years, from 45 to 70 years old it's every five years and when you're past 70 it...

This morning the pipes were frozen in the house. It's not surprising as the main feed pipe runs across the garden only about 5cms down. The frost wasn't particularly heavy but it is the third day in a row when the lowest temperatures have touched zero and daytime highs have only been around 15ºC. The house is cold and I don't expect to pass more than fleeting moments in some of the rooms and passageways until Spring arrives. It would be difficult to pour sufficient heat into the place with its tiled floors, ill fitting windows and uninsulated walls to keep it toasty without negotiating an industrial sized contract with the energy suppliers and then, of course, a bunch of people from Kyoto, Bali or Greenpeace would, no doubt, pop around to give me a good talking to about my carbon footprint.

The fiesta for the patron saint of Yecla, a town about 25kms from us, just over the border into Murcia, is a little odd in that one of the main events consists of a bunch of blokes, dressed up in tailcoats and Captain Hornblower hats wandering around the streets firing of arquebuses. This is because in 1642 the French invaded Catalunya and the Catalans recruited 61 militiamen from Yecla to give them a hand. All the Yeclanos came home in one piece and, as a bit of a celebration, they paraded through the streets with the statue of the town's patron on their shoulders firing off their guns. Their ancestors, and a few friends, still do. Over 500 guns out last night. A nice man from the Civil Protection Team gave us some cotton wool to stop up our ears.

El Corte Inglés is a big department store chain similar in some ways to the John Lewis shops in the UK. Apparently it is named for a style of tailoring - the English cut - as the founder of the chain originally opened a tailor's shop in Central Madrid in 1934. Despite now being one of the largest companies in Spain it is not quoted on the Stock Exchange and remains in private hands. Apparently several journalists have a clause in their contracts that says they cannot say anything nasty about the chain! Corte Inglés is something of a retailing phenomenon in Spain and the timing of their advertising campaigns seem to be taken as a marker by other retailers. Their marketing strategy is very aggressive and the shops provoke a remarkable degree of either loyalty or loathing amongst ordinary people. Maggie, for instance, thinks they are overpriced and offer nothing special but I've retained a fondness for the chain from my holidaymaker days in Spain when I found them easy to use - t...

Reading through a magazine I came across a re-run of an article on how to book an appointment with the doctor via the internet. I had a look at the website and though the information was only in a couple of Spanish languages the process was dead simple. As I had a look around I was reminded that you can also book your doctor's appointment via an SMS message from your mobile phone. There mustn't have been much on the telly tonight because I also read a newspaper and I noticed an advert about tax incentives for renting out your house to young people. Lots of Spaniards have second homes so there is lots of property standing empty. I thought it seemed like a simple and elegant solution to a shortage of affordable housing. This time the website was written in four Spanish languages plus English. The information included model contracts, extracts of the legal framework etc. There was just the one tarmac road in Pinoso in the early 1980s, electricity arrived in the town the decade...

The last time I had to call the emergency services was probably in 1979 so it's not something I do lightly or often. Today I scived off work to go and get a cup of coffee at the Brit bar just across the road. As I walked in the owner started a rambling tale about some customer who needed an ambulance and could I phone for one because the numbers I'd given him didn't work. As the number was 112, the European emergency number, I rather doubted his story but it didn't seem reasonable to have a discussion about the efficiency of Spanish administration if someone needed help. "Alright" says I, "where does this chap live, what's he called and what's wrong with him?" "Er, Torre del Rico number 10, Ted and his legs hurt". So with this rather scanty information I phone 112 and tell them I need an ambulance from Jumilla (Torre del Rico is administratively linked to the larger town of Jumilla which just happens to be over the administrative bo...