A topicless week

I really couldn't think of a topic for this week. So, disconnected jottings.

I consider we live in a reasonably rural situation so I was a bit surprised when, this morning, a Guardia Civil car, ablaze with lights and horns, shot past our house. The dirt track peters out another three or four hundred metres up the hill so I went to see where they were going. The car did a left foot/handbrake turn about 200 metres past our gate, sped past the house again, going the other way, and did a sliding turn to the left. Sixty seconds later they were back. They roared off to whatever it was that they didn't know how to find. 

It made me ponder the things that pass our house. A couple of weeks ago we had a small lorry, with a hydraulic platform on the back. The driver assured me he wasn't lost. Too early on Sunday morning a very clunky bucket excavator trundled up the track in the thick mist presumably to root out the de-branched apricot trees. Cars and vans, homeowners and their friends, service providers, farmers and farm workers, tractors, harvesters, grape pickers, pickers in old cars, water mains repairers, bin men, Sapesa van drivers (possibly having a crafty fag), the road grading tractor, Witnesses (but not for ages), melon sellers, burglar alarm vendors, the bread van (only in times of pandemic) and walkers all pass by from time to time. The cyclists always amaze me; what do they still have to talk about after miles and miles and how is it they still have the puff anyway?

We went to see a very Spanish film yesterday called el Agua. It wasn't bad though it wasn't exactly exciting. If you want something similar but better see Alcarràs. El Agua was set in Orihuela, it reeked of Alicante. I noticed that whenever the young people went out after dark (it was set in summer so after dark was lateish) they only ever drank rum and coke type drinks - spirits and mixers. I thought how true it was. Drinking beer late at night isn't very Spanish. It's like having paella in the evening. Not done.

In Calasparra, looking for a place for the earlyish morning coffee. We made a mistake and ended up in one of those slightly seedy bars with lots of bandits and other electronic betting games. A woman came in. She was shouting and shouting. It's not that there was a problem. That was just how she talked. I often wonder why so many Spanish people speak so loudly.

I heard Yolanda Dominguez on the radio. She was talking about totos and narbos (penises and vaginas). Those words are pretty tame. I was reminded of them when a couple of young women, within earshot in a bar, were talking chochos and chichis (vaginas again). I'd had some sort of Q&A with an online tutor about pichas and vergas (penises). She said verga was quite "polite". It says vulg. in the WordReference dictionary. A Vox councillor in Madrid was complaining by ridiculing a text book which was full of similar words. It's a while since I've heard this topic of conversation in English.

We were in Jávea, or Xàbia if you prefer on a Sunday. Eateries seemed to be few and far between but we found a trendy looking tapas place. The individual dishes were sometimes good and sometimes indifferent but it was, at least, interesting. The service was generally fine but as savoury food gave way to puddings the service slowed. It often does. I sometimes wonder why table service disappears when you want/need to pay.

I went for flu and Covid jabs. Last week I forgot that funcionarios, local government employees, get the puentes, the days between bank holidays and the weekend. I collided heavily with the locked door. The next working day the bloke on reception told me that I needed an appointment but, if I timed it right, I could just get the jabs without waiting. He sent me away to come back the next day on the chance. I didn't challenge his dodgy logic. I went back, as instructed, the next day, to make an appointment/get a vaccination. I was told they'd run out of vaccine and I should come back next week. I went in yesterday, next week now being this week, and got an appointment. I went in today at the appointed hour and got served in, around, two minutes. So I have a tale of woeful organisation. If, on the other hand, my first visit had been yesterday, and my jabs today, my tale would have been one of sparkling efficiency. There is only a hair's breadth between one sort of bureaucracy and another.

The Mark II RX Spade - S

I was talking to someone about older cars the other day. Cars used to come without carpets, without heaters, without synchromesh on first and, sometimes, with just three gears on a column change. The range for any given model was simple. Then the choice widened  - standard, deluxe, maybe a GT or whatever but they were still set packages with set prices. When I bought the Mini, ten plus years ago, the idea had changed. You chose an engine package and then added things at extravagant cost

I've been wondering about buying a car and, faced with fawning reviews from most Spanish websites, I resorted to tried and trusted British sources. When Autocar and What Car and Which magazine recommended a car it probably got added to my list. You'd think that the only difference between a Suzuki Vitara sold in the UK and the one sold in Spain would be which side to get into to get hold of the steering wheel. That wasn't the case though. I think that the British Suzuki Vitara 1.0 Boosterjet SZ-T and the Spanish Suzuki Vitara 1.0T GLE are, for instance, the same car. It doesn't help that several of them have very long names such as the Mazda MX3 2.0 Skyactiv-g Evolution Navi 2wd 89kw.

It's not just cars. Our old microwave was only half working. I'd been looking at Which online for cars so I thought "Why not use their microwave reviews?". Which rates the Russell Hobbs RHMDL801G. The model doesn't exist in Spain. Plenty of Russell Hobbs to be had but not the RHMDL801G. Fair enough, Russell Hobbs sounds a bit British which may explain the problem but Panasonic has an international sort of ring. Not if you want the NN-CT56JBBPQ though.

Obviously sometimes names are changed for good reason. The old Vauxhall Nova means something like "It's not working" or "It doesn't go" in Spanish. Not the best name for a car. The Mitsubishi Pajero needed a name change for the Spanish market too - Mitsubishi naming their car a wanker wasn't going to improve sales! Lynx deodorant, the one that used to have a remarkable effect on women is called Axe in Spain. No idea why. Strange though.

Lovely

Just a bunch of assorted trivia that has tickled my fancy in the last couple of days.

There are a lot of stars in Culebròn. That's probably an incorrect assertion. I suppose there are exactly the same number of stars as there are anywhere but lots of them are easy to see from Culebrón because we get lots of cloudless night skies and there's very little light pollution. That's not quite true either because, at the moment, we have a dazzling Christmas light display which, for the very first time this year, features a spiral of LED rope around the palm tree. The Geminids meteorite shower was flashing across the sky all last night though in an even more dazzling display. Lovely.

We went to the flicks yesterday evening, we often do. We'd been to visit someone and we were a little late away; we went the long way around so we arrived at the cinema a few minutes after the advertised start time. The cinema we often use shows the sort of pictures that don't always attract a lot of advertising. So, sometimes, if the start time is 6.15 the film actually starts at 6.15 but, then again, if it's a bit more Hollywood, the 6.15 film might not start till 6.30 after the trailers and ads. Whilst Maggie waited to buy the tickets I went to have a look at the monitors to see if the film had begun. If it had we had a second choice. The manager, who was on ticket collection, said hello, lots of the staff greet us by name nowadays, and asked me which film we wanted to see. I told him. It was due to start 10 minutes ago he said, but there's nobody in there so I'll start it when you're ready. A private showing and to our timetable. Lovely.

Bad keepers that we are we'd missed the annual update of the vaccinations for the house cats. I took them both in today. I was amazed - apart from the chief vet everyone that I saw in the vet's surgery/office is doing or has done at least a couple of English classes with me. Of course I shouldn't be driving but I thought the 5kms in to town wouldn't hurt. As I drove Bea home she had a bit of an accident, bowel wise. She's not a big fan of car travel. At the exact moment that the stench of her reaction assailed my nostrils the very obvious yellow van of the bloke who looks after my motor went the other way. He flashed his lights in greeting. I would have waved back but a bit of chrome trim chose that exact moment to fly off the front of the car and bounce off the windscreen. I went back to get it later, on the bike, and fastened it back on to the car with duct tape as a temporary repair. Lovely.

And finally, yesterday, we passed the bodega/almazara in Culebrón. There were a stack of cars and vans queuing to hand over their olive crops to be pressed into oil by the almazara, the oil mill. The bodega, the winery, did its stuff back around September time. So I strolled over with the camera to take some snaps. I have no idea what the process was but I liked the small scale nature of it. Little trailers full of olives, plastic bags full of olives, people standing around and chatting waiting to have their crops weighed in. The cars are obviously modern enough but the process is probably as old as the hills. Lovely.

Driving along in my automobile

I went to see some old pals in Valencia the other day. They are Britons here in Spain for just a few days. It's Fallas time in Valencia when lots and lots of communities and neighbourhoods construct papier maché type figures (I have no idea what material they actually use) up to maybe 20 metres high (a guess) and then set fire to them.

Valencia is the third largest city in Spain and yesterday it was chockablock with people in town for the fiesta. It's quite likely that a lot of the regular inhabitants of Valencia have fled to avoid the disruption that Fallas causes but lots more were dressed up in "traditional" dress. As an aside have you ever wondered why traditional clothes are fixed at some point in the past? Who decided that the quintessential traditional costume in an area was worn in 1876 or 1923? Why not 1976 or 1723? And what if we chose 2016 as the perfect year for a new version of traditional costume? What and how would you choose? Why fix a style anyway?

I travelled to Valencia on the train. It seemed sensible when the train fare is 9.50€ for the 140kms especially as the railway station is right in the heart of the city. Like the country bumpkin that I am nowadays I marvelled at the throng of people on the pavements, the size of the crowd to watch, or rather hear, the bang bang bang of the mascletá outside the Town Hall and the general coming and going of people either involved, in some way, in the Fallas or not.

It was pretty manic getting on to the train to leave Valencia. There were so many people heading for the automatic ticket gates that security people were having to control the flow of ticket waving humanity. When I got back to my parked car at the Elda/Petrer railway station (free parking in the forecourt) the difference in pace was obvious. The side by side towns of Elda and Petrer have a combined population of around 90,000, which is a town sized town, but, even then, there was nothing much going on around the station.

As I drove the 25kms home I used main beam on the car more often than dipped. There was no traffic. There very seldom is. I can't remember when I was last in a traffic jam worthy of the name. Sometimes there is a brief interruption to the traffic flow but not very often. I drive 60kms to work and it takes me between 44 and 47 minutes without fail. Of course, we live in the back of beyond. In any of the bigger Spanish cities and towns, and down along the coast, the traffic is just traffic and there are jams and bumps and traffic lights and speed traps and nobody can find a parking place and all the rest.

Here though it's just like one of those adverts on the telly where the happy driver thrills to the luxury of his or her gleaming vehicle on the open road.

After all these years I still think it's one of the brilliant things about living in rural Spain.