Villages, towns and cities

On 12 February 1826, one of the most deplorable kings that Spain has ever had, Fernando VII, and there have been some duffers, signed the order to make Pinoso a municipality separate from Monóvar. Pinoso became a Villa. From Villa comes Villazgo which is an event in Pinoso to remember and celebrate that independence each February.

Most Spaniards would consider that a villa has much less economic clout, a much smaller population and far fewer services than a city. Strangely the Spanish capital, Madrid, is historically, just like Pinoso, a villa.

The Spanish Constitution divides national territory into three divisions: municipality (e.g. Pinoso, or Yecla), province (e.g. Alicante, or Murcia), autonomous community (e.g. Valencian Community or Region of Murcia). All the other divisions, used by the autonomous communities and in everyday speech, have a certain degree of willy nilliness. So comarcas ( a grouping of locations), mancomunidades (a community or grouping of municipalities), villas (small towns with privileges) and aldeas (villages), aren't quite so easy to differentiate as my English definitions may suggest.

Just as in the United Kingdom, where some places look like towns but are cities (Wells, St Aspath), while some towns, that seem big enough to be cities (Northampton, Reading), are still towns there is some confusion about what is what in Spain. So, here's my unofficial guide.

Aldea: According to the official dictionary, the Diccionario de la Real Academia Española, is a centre of sparse population usually, without its own jurisdiction. Aldeas are not a legal entity. Ask a Spaniard what an aldea is and they'll probably say a rural village with very few houses and almost no people.

Pueblo: These are municipalities, with powers, but with a small population. According to the Spanish statistical office and based on a supranational definition, a pueblo has a population of fewer than 10,000 inhabitants with an economy based on things like agriculture, fishing, forestry and mining - the primary sector. To be a bit contrary a Spanish law from 2007 defines a pueblo as a place with fewer than 5,000 inhabitants located in a rural environment with a population density of fewer than 100 people per km².

Villa: Where this blog began. Why is Villazgo, one of Pinoso's biggest tourist draws, called Villazgo? Blame the Romans. A villa was a Roman centre of agricultural production. Originally a villa was a "manor house" with a few buildings and dwellings alongside. As the Empire crumbled, and rule from Rome weakened, some of these villas took on local powers; they developed a form of legal autonomy. Some might build a castle and maintain a small private army, there may be aldermen and mayors to govern and administer justice or maybe a distinguished board to distribute water rights.

Ciudad: In Spain, according to the Statistics Office, a ciudad has to have more than 10,000 inhabitants who are mainly dedicated to economic activities outside the primary sector – that is it's an urban area with a high population density and with economic (commerce, services and industry), political, religious, and a cultural life. With that definition we can understand those traffic signs that point us to the "Centro ciudad" - City Centre - even though we seem to be entering a big village or a small town.

Just to round things off pedanías are centres of population which depend, for governance, on a nearby municipality. Usually they are outlying villages to a town but sometimes they are identifiable centres of population in an urban area. Chinorlet is a pedanía of Monóvar, Raspay is a pedanía of Yecla and Culebrón, Paredón and Ubeda (and a whole lot more) are pedanías of Pinoso. 

The photo, by the way, is of the signature of Fernando VII to say that Pinoso is no longer a pedanía of Monóvar

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.