So this is Christmas

I haven't spent Christmas in the UK for umpteen years, so I may not be as expert on British customs as I think. Nonetheless, unless things have changed drastically, the first tentative signs of Christmas show up in the shops in September. By November the telly is full of Christmas ads full of good cheer, bonhomie and cute robins. Cities, towns and villages start to turn on lights from mid-December and even with online shopping I'm sure that shopping centres, supermarkets and places like restaurants and pubs get busier and busier through December, all building up to the big day. Finally, it's Christmas Day. You do your best to look pleased with the illuminated pullover and the novelty underwear and you console yourself by setting about the mountains of food. Boxing Day you might stay at home to and eat and drink more, or it may be that you have to visit relatives. Maybe, instead, you might thirst for action after so much slouching around and go for a bracing walk or head out to one of those unmissable Boxing Day sales. And that's Christmas really, well the Christmas for those of us who are reasonably financially secure. There's obviously the New Year's Eve stuff to come next week but that's not really Christmas, is it?

Now I've done Spanish Christmases to death in previous blogs but I did think I might be able to do a bit on the organisation and pretend it was something new. Just as I said that I may be wrong about British Christmases I have to remind you that any generalisations I make about Spanish Christmases are generalisations. 

Spaniards have their ways of organising things. That methodology may be better or worse but, usually, it's just different. Think about supermarkets. Being a Briton I might expect the Nutella to be alongside the jam but it isn't, it's with the sweets and chocolate. Think about what you consider to be morning, something that stretches till noon, whereas Spaniards consider that it runs till lunchtime, somewhere around 2pm. Consider how Spaniards often share food in the middle of the table, rather than claiming their own private portions. Consider how there are no continuity announcers on Spanish telly. Nothing but smallish details but things that might surprise someone new to Spain. 

It's a bit the same with Christmas. It starts later in Spain than in the UK, only a bit but definitely later. Even Vigo, where they really go to town on Christmas lights, doesn't switch on till around November 20th. Pundits always say that the starting pistol sounds with the Christmas lottery on the 22nd. Christmas Eve is big, big, big for family eating (I don't mean that literally, there's no turkey equivalent for Spaniards, no default Christmas meal, but it's certainly not family that you eat, no roast brother in law). Christmas Day is another day to eat with the family. Some Spanish families do gift giving on that day but it's still, probably, a minority of families who have Santa delivering gifts on Christmas Eve for Christmas Day. Boxing Day is nothing, well unless you're an Esteban in which case it's your saint's day - like in the song where the snow lays round about, deep and crisp and even. 

New Year's Eve is another family do with eating at home, wearing red underwear, popping twelve grapes and cava drinking all centring around midnight but, in most places, it's a family rather than a public event. That's obviously untrue if you're in the Puerta del Sol, or equivalent, at midnight but, as a general rule, the New Year is seen in at home and, after the campanadas, the older folk sip and nibble on whilst the younger people go out to do a bit of partying. 

But the heart of Christmas, the bit where everyone says "it's really about the children" is still to come. As January 5th and 6th approach the shopping frenzy heightens, the Royal Pages will be out and about collecting the Christmas lists for the Three Kings ready for the gift giving overnight on the 5th. That's the evening for the cabalgatas, the cavalcades, the town centre parades with their sweet throwing kings and elves, with camels, geese, flocks of goats (all of which are to be banned soon, or they may have already been outlawed, on animal cruelty grounds). One of the staples of the journalists in the crowd is to ask the sweet child with the high pitched voice which is their favourite King - The European one, the Asian one or the African one, all with their different coloured hair and beard (and maybe a boot polish face). Somewhere some city will get into the news for having Queens as well as Kings or some sort of politically correct twist to the event. This later Christmas is good if you're old enough to still give Christmas cards because, if you forgot any Spanish chums, handing over a card anytime up to the 5th won't be seen as being late. And the final, dying gasp of Christmas, the big doughnut shaped cakes on the 6th, the Roscón de Reyes. Oh, and of course the other big Christmas lottery del Niño, to add a certain roundness to it all.

After that, just as in the UK, there only remains the sighing on the bathroom scales and the sobbing as you check your card statement.

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And, if you're a glutton for punishment here are the links to several previous Christmas blogs 2011, 2012, 2014, 2016, 2017, 2017a

Drinking chocolate

In time honoured fashion I used to start every English teaching session with questions. You know the sort of thing. What have you done this weekend?, What did you have for breakfast? As an answer to the second question I was surprised how many youngsters told me that, if they had anything and most didn't, they had milk. Then I realised that, when they said milk, they meant chocolate flavoured milk. Nesquik for instance.

A Spanish tradition is chocolate with churros. We Brits usually describe churros as being like doughnuts except that they are made with a different dough and have a different taste but it's close enough. It's a typical breakfast in lots of Spain, a popular treat and it's a particular favourite on Sunday mornings. It's also one of those things that young people do at five or six in the morning after a night on the town. The churros are nearly always served with a thick, sugary, chocolate drink.

We have an Industrial Estate in Pinoso. It's like thousands of Industrial Estates all over Spain and probably the world. Metal box buildings, fork lifts playing dodgems, articulated lorries manoeuvring and workers having a crafty fag by the loading bays. A few months ago, next to the dispossessed Ford Agent, a delicatessen type shop opened up. It has a good selection of local and not so local wine, nuts,  overpriced cans of gourmet seafood, pink salt, honey from lavender fed bees and.. - you get the idea. I didn't think it had a chance of surviving mainly because of its strange location but it's still there a year or so later and we've become irregular but repeat customers.

The deli has a remaindered and rummage section and in it was a bar of chocolate that caught my eye. I thought the wrapper was impressive. The wrapper is the photo for this post. It shows one of the big wooden carvings of the Virgin Mary. Nearly every city, town and village in Spain has a Virgin in its armoury of statues to be paraded through the street for one celebration or another and nearly all of the Marys are dressed in an impressively embroidered cape often valued at thousands of euros. This one is the Virgin of the Forsaken. The statues always make me think Exodus 20:4-5, you know the one, Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image.

The chocolate we bought, with the Virgin wrapper, is to make the drink to go with the churros. The instructions say to melt 80g of chocolate in 250 ml of milk. As you might imagine that produces quite a thick drink.

So, if you talk to a Spaniard about drinking chocolate they are thinking about something with the consistency of custard or tomato ketchup whilst if you talk to a Briton about drinking chocolate we are thinking about the bedtime "cocoa", maybe that breakfast Nesquik or the stuff you've decided to buy from the vending machine at the swimming baths because you're not going to drink that disgusting swill they call tea again.

Just saying.

On C90s and Romesh Ranganathan

Valencia, the region we live in, has had less severe Covid restrictions than some other regions. Bars and restaurants, cinemas and theatres, shops and hairdressers have been open, with varying restrictions, since May of 2020. We've been confined to our region and there has been a curfew from ten in the evening for months and months but, overall, we've got off pretty lightly. On May 9th the State of Emergency will end and, when it does, heaven knows what will happen. The Spanish Constitution outlines rights and duties and free movement is one of the rights. I'm interested to see how things go as the regional governments try to enforce restrictions that will be challenged as unconstitutional in the courts.

Spain hasn't yet reaped many of the apparent benefits of mass immunisation because the vaccination programme has been very slow. At first the organisation was a bit slapdash but now the main problem seems to be the supply of the various vaccines. The regional health authorities have used, or have a use for, all the serum made available to them. The confusion around the safety of some of the vaccines for certain age groups also caused so many fits and starts that the social networks are awash with complaints that some groups have been immunised before other groups have had their first jab.

Given that we have been supposed to stay at home as much as possible lots of the things that normally happen haven't. Even the things that we have been allowed to do have seemed a bit desperate, a little like doggedly lighting the barbecue under the eaves of the building despite the wind and rain. It's fine walking along the coast but gazing out from misted sunspecs, because of the mask, onto a panorama of closed shops and bars soon loses its appeal. It also feels a bit uncivil too. Like the way that dancing has been criminalised. But fewer things happening means less to blog about.

One of my few sources of outside news are the italki sessions, the one to one online Spanish sessions with "native speakers". I've already written blogs based on several of those conversations but, drastic times call for drastic measures, so here I go again. 

Last week Juan Pablo seemed a bit down. He told me he'd just turned 30 and that he was still living at home without anything he could call a career. He supposed his life would be pure decline from then on in. We spent a while talking about what he wanted to do in the future. Simply as something to talk about I suggested that he go into business for himself. It was noticeable how uninterested he was in that idea and how quickly he dismissed most of my suggestions. I wasn't surprised and not just because my ideas were a bit far fetched. General perceptions, backed by numerous surveys, show that most young Spanish people hope to land a traditional, reasonably well paid, steady job rather than to make it big as an entrepreneur. Obviously enough video blogging has now joined the old favourite, pie in the sky, jobs of footballer and rock star in the lists. It's very unlikely that the next Elon Musk or Kylie Jenner will be Spanish. Failing in business here produces a stigma that nobody from the United States, and only very old Britons, would recognise and the bureaucratic obstacles to starting a business in Spain are still manifold and labyrinthine.

If Juan Pablo felt old then Susi helped me to feel ancient. At one point, no doubt after a failed play on words on my part, she told me that she didn't understand British humour. I said that I thought one of the main differences seemed to be that Spaniards often like physical humour. The sort of comedy that involves silly voices and falling over. I was at a bit of a disadvantage because the chance of me knowing anyone famous from the Anglo world who would be famous here was remote. When I left the UK people like Catherine Tate and David Walliams were cutting edge and YouTube comedians hardly existed. My grasp of the Spanish comedy scene is more than tenuous. I suggested to Susi that UK comedians were more like the standups Eva Hache, Berto Romero or Luis Piedrahita and not at all like Santiago Segura in the Torrente films (sexist, racist, slapstick) or José Mota (silly voices but and some sitcom type sketches). As Susi continued to look confused I suddenly remembered. Benny Hill. Benny Hill I shouted. Benny Hill was incredibly famous here. People loved Benny Hill. But apparently not Susi. Too young (her) or too old (me) I suppose.

A bit later I'm talking to Susi about how my experience is that Britons are more culturally in tune with European countries than they are with the United States despite the shared language. I have a time worn anecdote that involves someone in my 1989 Rover 416 Gsi choosing to play a Beethoven cassette because it was "more British" than the salsa, rancheras or cumbia which made up the bulk of my in car entertainment at the time. The story fell down a bit because Susi didn't know what a cassette was and also because my pronunciation of Beethoven wasn't immediately recognisable to her. 

It just goes to show though that whilst Susi may be young she isn't that "hip" either as the new Wolf Alice album in July has a cassette release. I also noticed that a singer from Murcia called Yana Zafiro is offering stuff on cassette along with lots of Bandcamp artists. Never mind, all of it is something to chat about.

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By the way if you fancy having a go at the italki lessons yourself, for any language, let me know. I'll recommend you and we both get to save some money if you actually sign up