Driving home

I work in Fortuna. I live in Culebrón - you my have worked that out from the blog title. It's a drive of only 37km and it's not that interesting. But blogs need feeding no matter how mundane the subject matter.

When I leave work, just after eight, it's dark. This will surprise no-one living in the Northern Hemisphere. Fortuna has Christmas lights. Not bad for such a small place on a tight, building bubble hit, budget. The traffic in Fortuna is pretty mad for a village of just under 10,000 population. Cars and vans, or at least their drivers, behave in erratic and unfathomable ways. I'm always relieved when the car and I clear the last set of traffic lights and drive out of the built up area still in one piece.

Sometimes, just by the lights, the Barinas bus, which comes up from Murcia, is pulling out as I get to the stop. We are going to share the route for a few kilometres. Why there is a bus from Murcia to Barinas (population 946) escapes me.

Baños de Fortuna is the first population after Fortuna, it "belongs" to Fortuna. It has a thermal spring, Victorian style hotels and a modern housing estate full of us foreigners. The street lighting peters out just after Baños. The landscape is pretty barren anyway, desert landforms, a bit lunar even. It's a steady climb up to Salado Alto on a road with an 80 kph limit which nobody sticks to. There are a couple of bars and restaurants in Salado. The posher one isn't open in the evening but the bar is. As I pass I often think that the clientele, who stand out in the lit interior Edward Hopper like, look like Brits. Maybe we have a little outpost there.

More of a climb, quite a steep climb, on a road that snakes to just the right degree to be able to enjoy cutting the apexes of the curves. Soon after cresting the top of the climb there is the Repsol garage on the left just by the junction where the bus will turn right to Barinas. The petrol station is pretty brightly lit but the light always seems a bit feeble set amidst the blackness of the Murcian countryside. There's a bar by the side of the petrol station too. They do a set meal at lunchtime for either 6€ or 7€.

Bit of level running, sharp right hander and climbing again up towards Algorrobo which means Carob tree. It's one of those roads with three lanes so that you can overtake the heavy heaving lorries. To be honest with the amount of traffic that there is on the RM 422 road it's hardly ever necessary.

We're on the level for a while now. In fact I think there's even a touch of downhill just before some incredibly bright street lights and a signpost which says that the single row of houses is called Los Fernandos. Still on the level but then a bit of a hill with Cañada de la Leña off to the right (Firewood Drove) and Cañada del Trigo (Wheat Drove) to the left. On the Trigo turn there's a cement works or gravel processing plant that paints the nearby landscape with dust and shines out in the dark.

Over to the right we can make out the huge lighting rigs that illuminate the largest open cast quarry in Europe at Monte Coto. We're still in Murcia but the quarry is in Alicante. Sometimes when the cloud is low it can look quite demonic. The road is flat and level again before one more hill that crests out by the Volver Bodega. We've just crossed into Alicante and the RM 422 has become the CV 836. The letters show they are regional roads - CV for the Valencian Community and RM for the Region of Murcia

The road drops down from the bodega towards Rodriguillo, one of the villages that makes up Pinoso. A quick zigzag to go through a couple of roundabouts and out past the garden centre and up the slope into Pinoso. Pass the cemetery and now we're in Pinoso proper. 50 kph speed restriction with the Co-operative bodega to the left and the marble and wine museum, tourist office and sports centre to the right. Into town with some splendid Christmas decorations twinkling away for now. There's a new bar to the right too - it opened about a week ago. It's owned by a German chap.

Only a right on the Badén and then out on the Monóvar road to get to our house in Culebrón. Fortuna is at 198 metres above sea level and Pinoso is at 474 so we've only climbed 276 metres or 905 feet but it's usually good for knocking off around 3ºC from the temperature. The car is nice and warm but it's not so warm as I step into the fresh air to open the gate. Good to be home though. Time to get the kettle on.

Rather reassuring

It's not Christmas in Spain yet. Not by a long chalk. No lights or trees in the streets. But today, in our house, it suddenly became Christmastime. True we've done a couple of subtle things before today but not so as you'd notice. We bought our lottery tickets for el Gordo Christmas lottery, we finished our Christmas cards in the last couple of days and I bought some more figures for our nativity scene a while ago.

This nativity thing is a personal sort of crusade. A couple of years ago I spent a fair bit of cash on some hand crafted figures for our Belén. The idea was to be a little Spanish and start adding to the nativity scene every year. The marginalised poor in the shepherds one year then the kings to represent the different continents, the wealthy and so on. It didn't go to plan because Christmas was cancelled last year by Maggie's absence in Qatar and our consequent meeting in Sri Lanka. It wasn't worth putting up the tree or the lights in Culebrón  as I avoided the perishing cold of interior Alicante for the much milder climate of La Unión. No tree, no lights, no Christmas food and no new figures. This year though Christmas is on so I got down to the Regional Artisan Centre in Murcia city and handed over 90€ for some kings. Poor people, the shepherds, are good but you never go wrong buying the rich.

The cards were interesting, Well sort of dully interesting. We bought some charity cards from Corte Inglés when we were in Murcia weeks ago but we needed more. Not many cards to be had in Pinoso but one of the local tobacconists had two packets. There were maybe fifty cards and we bought thirty of them. The shop owners were amazed. We explained about the old tradition of sending cards to people we hadn't spoken to for years, about sending cards to addresses that we were pretty sure were no longer correct and about sending cards to people who may well be dead. Nice tradition though - with a different quality to Facebook or email. I love getting cards.

But today we buckled down. It was wreath on the door, Chinese shop Westward leading star with a comet like tail of flashing LEDs fastened to the outside of the house and the tree. 

The tree we got in Huntingdon from Woolworths maybe sixteen or seventeen years ago now. It was bought to grow old along with us. Every time we drag it out of the scruffy box and attach the same wesleybobs (glass baubles to you unless you're old and from West Yorkshire) I always think what a good choice it was. Bit of a change with the tree this year through. We had to change its location because of some furniture changes since Christmas 2012. I took the change in my stride though because I was buoyed up by the inevitability of it all. A nice fino sherry to start then whisky (though I can no longer afford a decent Islay and have to do with blended) helped the process along. Nat King Cole roasting chestnuts on an open fire then a choir from Kings. Como siempre - as always. 

It had been the same outside. There were a series of hooks for the lights, the string on the wreath was the right length to hang it dead centre and the correct height on the door. In truth I'm not a big fan of Christmas. Lot of fuss about nothing in my humble but I do find, as my remaining time shortens, that whereas, in the past, I disliked the annual sameness of the process I now value at least one part of the inevitability of it all. And that part was today.

Losing my grip

Manuel looks like an ordinary bloke. He lives in a normal sort of flat in a normal looking working class district of Madrid. His local bar is a few minutes walk from his front door. Times are tough in Spain. A few days before when Antonio, the bar owner, asked Manu if he wanted his usual lottery ticket for the Christmas draw he put it off. He didn't really have the 20€ for the tenth part of a ticket. Now it's the day of the draw. In the bar everyone is celebrating. The bar's number has come up and all the locals are richer. Manuel's wife urges her husband to go to the bar, to congratulate everyone. What's done is done. No good brooding on what might have been. Manuel wraps up against the cold, goes to the bar and pushes through the happy crowd to congratulate Antonio on his luck. Manuel turns down a glass of bubbly and asks for his usual coffee. Job done and in no mood to join in the jollity Manuel asks for the bill. The surprise is that the bill is twenty one euros for the one euro coffee. Antonio kept back a twenty euro ticket for his friend - just in case.

Standing by your pals is what you do in tough times. The annual Christmas advert for the state lottery. A message about not losing hope and about sharing. To be honest I hadn't noticed the ad on the telly because advert time is tea making, toilet or email check time. It was Maggie who pointed it out to me. In turn she'd been told about the advert by her intercambio - the person she does half an hour of English in return for half an hour of Spanish with. I searched it out on YouTube to have a look.

Last year the lottery ad featured a handful of singers and was roundly pilloried and parodied. I had a conversation about it with several of my adult students and with my two intercambios of the time. This year there was a bit of the Manuel Antonio ad that I couldn't make out and I was reduced to messaging one of my Cartagena friends for help with the wording.

It's easy enough to keep up to date in a media way with what's happening here but there is a second sort of news - the stuff that people talk about down the pub or send WhatsApp messages about. Until coming back to Culebrón I'd had access to those conversations through workmates, intercambios and students. Things have changed with my new job. Technically it isn't even a job, I'm now self employed and I sell my services to the language school. That aside the real change has been in the profile of the students. Most are now children or teenagers and only one group of adults has sufficient English to maintain an ordinary conversation. Of the two people I normally work alongside one is as English as me and the other is a teenager herself. Keeping up with the informal news has become a little more difficult.

Seasonal snippets

Christmas Eve and we have a turkey in the fridge - dead you understand. We have sprouts too though they are frozen because there weren't any fresh ones available in our chosen hypermarket. Not a big queue for sprouts then in Carrefour but a thronging mass around the fish counter. Fish and seafood are huge for Christmas here. Different traditions, same idea.

We were watching the news on the telly over the weekend. We saw both la Sexta and Cuatro. Each of them had reporters at an airport to watch arriving friends and family being hugged and kissed. Families and Christmas. Same tradition, same idea.

The el Gordo lottery came and went. We usually have one ticket which wins back its stake or turns in a small profit but this year nothing, nada, zilch; not a sausage. There were the usual scenes of rejoicing outside the lottery shops. The radio and TV interviewers found lots of people who were on the dole and who'd won 400,000€ for their 20€ stake. One chap had bought the whole ticket made up of ten fractional tickets and handed them out to his family or swapped the tenths with friends; 4 million euros in the family. The Government will tax winnings from next year but this time it's still tax free.

We went to the coast yesterday. It was a pleasant sunny day with temperatures in the high teens. We sat outside in the sun for a coffee. I had to go back to the car to abandon my jacket, I was too hot. From the coast we went on to a shopping centre. It was like the seventh circle of hell. Thousands of people wandering hither and thither and showing every emotion from pure joy to seething rage. Shops aren't usually open on a Sunday in Spain. Whether they were buying or just indulging the Spanish characteristic of enjoying being with crowds of people I'm not sure. The radio is full of stories of people spending less on Christmas.

Boxing Day, the 26th, is just another working day. The big days for the family meals are Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Gift giving is much less prevalent than in the UK; for family and especially for children of course but for work colleagues, next door neighbours, acquaintances much less so. Christmas cards are a rarity - not a one from any of my students or colleagues. Santa Claus tussles with the three Kings as the principal gift giver. Polvorones, mantecados and turrón instead of, Christmas pudding, mince pies or Christmas cake. There are Christmas lights and Christmas trees but they are not de rigeur whilst a nativity scene, the Belén is. No town would think it had celebrated Christmas properly without putting up a Belén but most of the Christmas trees in the street are now cones of LED lights rather than a real tree. There are none of those houses dressed up with enough lights to make EDF Energy, or Iberdrola, smile. There are Christmas carols and Christmas songs but, mercifully there are no equivalents to Slade, Wizard and  Jona Lewie to make the supermarket shop even more onerous. The Christmas number one isn't a news story. Holly, robins and miseltoe get the occasional look in but there is no obvious association with Christmas and thinking of miseltoe the works do is nearly always a meal out and does not involve photocopied buttocks or worrying that the Christmas groping may leave you without a job next year.

So Christmas is just the same and yet completely different. We do, of course, wish each other Felíz Navidad y prospero año nuevo without any thought for the political correctness of the sentiment and that's what I wish you now.

Happy Christmas.

Bring me pine logs hither

Around fifteen years ago, when Maggie and I finally set up home together, we bought a Christmas tree from Woolworths in Huntingdon. We still use the same tree. The lights, the sets of lights that burst into life yet again tonight, came the year after. The first set were very sensitive and gave up the ghost after their debut.

I was adamant about us buying a plastic tree. I wanted something that we would remember each year, something that would grow older and more threadbare along with us. I have fond memories of the tree I grew up with, the tree my dad and I decorated to celebrate the arrival of my new baby brother. I wanted something similar for us.

Whisky, like Nat King Cole, is a part of the ritual of decorating the Huntingdon tree. For years it was a decent malt but times are hard and it was Dewars tonight. Unfortunately driving and scotch don't mix which meant that the tree decorating, the official recognition of Christmas, had to wait until we'd been to see The Pinoso British Choir do their stuff in their annual carol concert in the Pinoso Parish Church.

I mentioned the British Choir a couple of years ago. Since then Spaniards and Brits have sung side by side at Christmas. This year a later date for the carol concert meant that several members of the British Choir would have been missing because of the call of family, turkey and sprouts. It looked as though there would be no British presence in the Parish Christmas celebrations The local priest was having none of that. He suggested a separate British concert. That's what we went to see tonight.

To be honest it wasn't the usual standing room only event in church but, nonetheless. there was a good mix of Spanish and British in the audience. The Priest made a good fist of speaking English and the English chap who spoke for the choir did a splendid job of speaking Spanish. The choir did really well. All through the concert I found myself grinning from ear to ear. It was excellent fun.

As we walked back to the car I asked Maggie if she thought I could use a phrase about the choir on this blog along the lines of "What they lacked in technique they made up for in heart." "Absolutely not," she said," I thought they did really well."

I agreed. So our Christmas has now begun.

17 million Spaniards or 63% of the population earn less than 1,000€ gross per month and 4,422,359 are out of work.

As we left Cartagena for Culebrón yesterday evening the Three Wise Men, the Three Magician Kings to Spaniards, were doing their rounds and delivering coal to bad boys and girls or Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 or Zombie Dolls to the good ones. We'd seen them. Not the bad children and Zombie Dolls; the Kings. There had been a big procession through the streets in the evening and, all day, they'd been holding court in the old Town Hall in the middle of town.

The atmosphere in the town was amazing. The last minute shoppers were out in hordes buying their Christmas gifts, the hundreds of balloon sellers and other street vendors. The burble of noise coming from the street cafés. Very nice.

In Culebrón all was quiet. We settled down in front of the telly with a cup of tea. My ration of hearing spoken Spanish is quite limited. Maggie isn't a big fan of talk radio and generally we watch English language programmes even on Spanish TV when we're together. That's one of the reasons I quite like adverts. I get to hear some Spanish but they are also a mirror to the society around me. Language wise they are good too because if I lose the thread of an advert then it doesn't matter much because there will be another along in 30 seconds. It's not like losing the thread of a feature film. And I get the chance, very soon, to hear them again and again and again.

The telly has been saturated with mobile phone, perfume and chocolate adverts in the run up to Christmas; to today, By last night it was too late to sell any more perfume or chocolate. Instead we had cleaning products. You can imagine can't you? When the last of the festive prawns and the roscón have been eaten people are going to look around their houses and decide that it's time for a big clean up. The exercise will help with the after Christmas diet too.

And some lemons for the prawns

Ventura popped by the flat in Cartagena. He left lots of oranges, grapefruit and what not from his pal's citrus grove. "You'll need the lemons for the prawns," he said.

I was at work today though I have next week off. Lots of my students wished me a Merry Christmas before saying they'd see me next week. They will be working and whilst they weren't exactly surprised that I won't be they didn't take it for granted that I'd be off. Christmas is just another holiday here not the huge event that it is in the UK.

My boss suggested to me that I should theme this week's out of office lessons around Christmas. I tried but there was a cultural mis match. Talking about Slade and Wizard songs, office Christmas parties, the Christmas Day James Bond film or Christmas tree lights has been an uphill struggle.

Quite rightly Slade and Wizard are unknown here but so are the wine in paper cup and photocopier incident office Christmas parties. White Christmas didn't ring bells as a song title but most knew the tune when I played it. Fairy lights and Christmas trees exist, indeed they are widespread, but at least half of my students do not have a Christmas tree in their house. They're not actually that sure about the details of the Christmas story either - Jerusalem got easily as many votes as Bethlehem as the site for the birthplace of the baby Jesus.

Trying to have a discussion about what people have for Christmas dinner was a bit like asking for a favourite number. There are a lot of numbers. But there was one thing, almost a constant. Prawns. And, of course, for prawns you will need lemons.

I may have more to say before the day but, just in case I don't get the opportunity again, I hope you have a very Merry Christmas

Eating at Christmas

Teaching English to adults is a good way to gather local information.

Coming up to Christmas an easy topic is holiday traditions in Spain and the UK. Whilst it's not true that "everyone" in the UK eats turkey on Christmas day it is as true as saying that there are no longer pea soupers in London and that we Brits don't all stop for afternoon tea (still firm beliefs for most Spaniards.)

"On Christmas Day we will have roast turkey, carrots, sprouts and various forms of potatoes followed by Christmas pudding - what will you eat?" The Spanish answer is that there is no answer. If there is any sort of routine it seems to be that the starters will be lots of small dishes and nearly everyone seemed to include gambas or langostinas in their list of starters - what I'd call prawns - unshelled and dead tasty. The queues around the fish counters in every supermarket we've been in over the past week add circumstantial weight. Main courses were as varied as traditional food gets in most Spanish houses - fish is big, roast lamb turned up a lot and various forms of paella were strong runners too. Puddings seem to come with the guests as their contribution.

Oh, and it's Christmas Eve and Christmas Day when the families come round with the same alternating year pattern of in laws for one of the dates and your family for the other much as we do with the 25th and 26th.

Nobody but nobody mentioned popping out for a curry though one of my students said that as there would be forty of them this year they had booked the meal at a restaurant to save on washing up.

La Comunidad Británica

Back in November the Royal British Legion, Pinoso Branch, organised a Remembrance Day Service in the local Parish Church. According to a pal of ours who was one of the organisers the Town Band pulled out all the stops to learn the hymns. By all accounts the event was a resounding success attended by Brits and Spaniards alike.

Tonight we went to a carol concert. The bulk of the carols were performed by the Parish Choir but the first two carols of the evening were performed by a group of Britons who had formed a small choir especially for the occasion -  "The British Community Choir." For a couple of songs  Britons and Spaniards sang side by side. It was a splendid little event.

Next May there are local elections and one of the political parties has been using the services of another British pal of ours to act as their liaison. He speaks good Spanish and offers a sort of general help-desk to Britons. One of his recent innovations has been an email newsletter which includes a "what's on" guide and my guess is that that newsletter has produced a massive upsurge in British awareness of local events and opportunities.

In my opinion all the people, Britons and Spaniards alike, who are involved in these sort of initiatives should be well pleased with themselves.

Well tricked

"What do you fancy doing today? - I want to go to the Nueva Condomina Shopping Centre," said Maggie. I groaned.

It's not that I've got anything against shopping centres but I only choose to go to them when I need or want something that one of the shops there may have. Maggie goes to shopping centres for fun. She may have some vague idea about buying a top or shoes or something else but that translates into traipsing around shops that don't sell tops or shoes or that other thing. Different philosophy.

She had something in her favour though. I teach English to the staff of another shopping centre and the boss there had mentioned that a couple of quite well known Spanish fashion designers had created the Christmas lights at the Nueva Condomina so there was a vague reason for going.

"Alright," I said.

I have to say I was mightily disappointed. These two blokes, José Víctor Rodríguez Caro and José Luis Medina del Corral trade as Victorio and Lucchino. They made their names as ready to wear fashion designers who branched out into bridal wear, interior design and perfumes. They are also famous for being a married gay couple and for using themes from Southern Spain; from Andalucia as their inspiration. Maybe I missed something but the lights looked like they were from a Chinese Shop and it took me a while to even notice the half life size figures hanging from the ceiling.

I left Maggie to it. Fnac, the bookshop, was good though and they were playing music by a Spanish Tom Waits sound alike that I liked so much I actually bought it.

Jijona

When I was a lad I fell over regularly and often bumped my head. I have no idea why as I hadn't discovered cheap brandy then. Anyway, my mum would rub the bump with butter. Again I have no idea why unless she was on the brandy herself but I suppose it meant that I got some sort of attention and that made me feel better.

I have no doubt that when lads fell over in the 1950s in Alicante their mums would apply olive oil. The stuff that's to hand. Using whatever is to hand happens all over the World.

In Jijona which is in the hills behind Alicante they have a lot of almond trees and hens and bees. The result is that the town is famous for a sort of nougat called turrón which is made from almonds, eggs and honey. There are two traditional types. The tooth breaking variety has whole almonds set in a brittle mass of eggs and honey whilst the soft one, that drips oil, the has the almonds reduced to a paste along with eggs and honey plus extra almond oil. Turrón and Christmas are inseperable in Spain.

It was a nice sunny day today and a Sunday afternoon drive seemed like just the ticket. We set off for Alcoy after seeing a programme on the telly last night extolling the virtues of the countryside around there. When we passed the sign for Jijona we changed our plan as neither of us had ever been there. We expected to find the town bustling with people buying in stocks of Christmas turrón but instead the place seemed to have been abandoned and it took us a long time to find an open bar never mind a turrón seller.

I suppose we'll just have to be satisfied with getting our turrón from the local supermarket like every other year.

They think it's all over

We were in Valencia over the weekend. As we went back to our hotel on a bus it was noticeable how much traffic there was - lanes and lanes of the stuff stretching on apparently for ever. Being Spain the bus lane was just as crowded as the rest. It took us ages to get to the hotel though I think that the friend who was with us gained some caché by travelling with two Brits speaking excrutiatingly bad Spanish. Light relief that other Spanish passengers on the bus could guiltily share with her. It was busy because everyone was out Christmas shopping.

A Spanish friend, who mentioned in her card that she'd only sent two, posted her card on 29 December. Plenty of time before Christmas.

When we finally settled down in front of the telly last night there were at least ten perfume ads in a row and one breath of fresher air with an amusing little advert from Scalextric.

This is because Christmas isn't done here. Shops will continue to sell as much as they possibly can right up to late night closing tomorrow evening. They hope to be assisted by the crowds brought to towns the length and breadth of Spain to see the Three Kings parade through town throwing sweeties to the assembled hordes. Some of those parades will be camel and elephant riding all singing and dancing and others will be three blokes with dodgy beards (and a blacked up face) riding in the back of a chum's tractor trailer. No matter, no child in Spain will be denied seeing the Kings close to their house. Tomorrow evening Spanish children will go to bed hoping to waken up to piles of Assassin's Creed 2 and Wii Sports rather than the coal reserved for bad children. And on the 6th with all the shops closed Spanish families will reassemble for the last big feast of Christmas before the children go back to school on Friday. Just time for them to get down the Sales and spend their Christmas money.

Twelve hundred hand crafted figures

Twelve articulated lorries to transport it all, 30,000 watts of sound and light, six kilometres of electric cable and 3,000kg of glass fibre to tell the simple story of a child born in a stable.

Nativity scenes, Belenes are a traditional part of the Christmas scene. We have a little Belén in our house, the municipal one here in Pinoso will be opened on Christmas Day, just after Midnight Mass, the one in Cartagena mentioned in a previous post (The Goose is getting Fat) was opened last week and today, in Elche, we went to have a look at the version mounted by one of the Savings Banks.

It was extremely good; the figures and backdrops were much more carefully crafted than is usual, each figure made by hand, but they didn't half labour the point. First we had to wait for the one visit every half an hour, then we had to take a seat in front of a screen before somebody, dressed like a bank clerk, raced through her lines with somewhat less modulation in her voice than the speaking clock. Two longish videos next before they finally let us see the real thing. Even then we were held in check for a few minutes as we had to watch a guided sound and light version before we could eventually rest our chins on the guardrail and gawp.