Apocritacide

There are a lot of flies in Culebrón. There are also plenty of wasps. The most common type in Culebrón don't seem to be quite like the one that stung me in Elland when I was at Junior School. I inadvertently squashed the poor beast as I rested my chin on a low wall to marvel at a Mercedes 220 SE "Fintail" passing by. Mr Kemp, the Headteacher, used an onion from the Harvest Festival display to lesson the considerable pain. I've been stung a couple of times here but, to be honest, I've hardly noticed. Obviously British wasps are tougher. National pride and all that.

Anyway, as I said there are lots of wasps. One of the common questions on Facebook, amongst the Britons living here, is how to deal with the hordes of them swooping and hovering over swimming pools. Being poor and poolless our wasps have to make do with drinking from the water bowls that we leave for the cats. Recently the wasps have also been feasting on something growing on the leaves of the fig tree. Wasps are not my favourite beasts but they have as much right to the planet as I have so, generally, I try to leave them be. Not always though.

They sometimes start to build very small nests, usually underneath the roof overhangs though not always. The one in the post box was a bit of a shock! The nests we've had have been very small, two or three centimetres in any direction, and usually with an obvious population of only three, four or five wasps. Sharing living space with wasp nests is just a step too far. Fly spray has proved to be drastically lethal to the wasps on the nests. One quick burst and the whole population drops dead to the ground. 

I've slaughtered one such population just minutes ago. I'm sure I will be judged.

Coming over all nostalgic

I still take a Spanish class. In fact, because of the Spanish class, I have just started to work in the same academy as an English teacher. This week our homework was to write an essay using lots of past tenses. I chose to write about my first ever trip to Spain, to Barcelona, back at the beginning of the eighties.

Writing that essay I was reminded of the places we stayed and the things we did. I remembered the hostel, just off the Rambla in Barcelona that cost 500 pesetas, maybe a couple of quid, per night. There was only cold water in the room and the beds were like cots - they squeaked, they were simple but the sheets were shiny white. To have a hot shower I had to ask for a key and pay a small supplement. The Spain I encountered was a step back in time. The shops were shops where you had to ask for things from the person behind the counter. In the restaurants lots of the food was the sort of cheap, peasant food made from knuckles and offal. If you bought something safer, like a pork chop, you got a pork chop and nothing else on the plate. Puddings were restricted to a sort of custard, a creme caramel or fruit. There were people on every street corner with tiny stalls selling sweets or packets of cigarettes. Lots of the streets were narrow alleyways and, as well as the more modern cars and vans, there were still lots of strange three wheeled put put vehicles and small, smoke belching, lorries.

I was just talking to Maggie about this. She thought I was exaggerating a bit but she agreed that when she got to Spain, in the early nineties, it was still very old fashioned. She mentioned seeing an old woman, in Madrid, dressed in the rigorous black of a widow, pulling a small cart behind her loaded with cardboard and negotiating the city traffic. She remembered Extremadura as a place lost in the past. I remembered Extremadura too, particularly a row of colonnaded shops in Caceres blackened with age, though, as Maggie pointed out, that's a bit unlikely as Extremadura didn't ever really industrialise in the dark satanic mills mode. That journey to Extremadura started, for me, in a bus station in Seville where a couple of nuns shouldered me to one side as I hesitated over which bus to catch when the one I wanted was full. The ticket office was a squalid building with a long queue in front of the tiny ticket office window. My first time in Galicia, as part of some youth worker exchange programme, introduced me to a part of Spain where donkey carts were still a common sight.

This week I celebrated the twelfth anniversary of being here. I drove away from Huntingdon with the last few possessions packed into the MG and Mary the cat besides me on 7^th October 2004. We overnighted in France so I must have arrived in Santa Pola on the 8th

As we settled in to our new home most things were just bureaucratic hurdles to be overcome but I do remember other steps which seemed to be from some sort of Kafka novel. Getting a gas cylinder required so much paperwork that it seemed like an affront to personal freedom.

When I first started to write this blog we had just moved from dial up to an ADSL Internet connection. I often used to rail against the useless Spanish websites and the paucity of easily accessible information. It's not the same nowadays. Some Spanish websites still don't work well but, in general, most do. Shops are usually browse and self serve rather than having to ask for things. Last night as we had a few tapas there were concoctions with curry sauce drizzle, skewered, battered prawns in a sauce and puddings made from mango and white chocolate. The cars, the clothes, the biscuits and the cinemas are much like everywhere else. There may still be narrow streets in places and not all the donkeys are gone but now they are no longer anachronistic, they're a reminder of the past.

I wonder when it all changed?

Interview for Expat Blog

The people from Expat Blog asked me if I would answer a few questions. I said yes. Here are the questions and answers

Why did you choose to expatriate to Spain?

We'd been to Spain lots of times on holiday and we were taken by the country, with its habits, customs and with its people. Life in the UK had become one huge round of work with almost no private life and with the sale of our house we were in a position to up sticks and give it a go.

What were the procedures to follow for a British national to move there?

As European citizens all we needed to do to move to Spain was to cross the border and settle here. Obviously we also needed to go through all the usual processes like getting an NIE and later a “residencia”, signing up to the local padrón, registering with the health services, doing all the things associated with buying or renting a house. We'd brought a car with us which also needed re-registering but as to the actual move that was as easy as deciding to do it. No paperwork at all.

How long have you been in the country? What is your current family situation?

We came as a couple in autumn of 2004 and we brought a cat with us too.  No children. So we've been in Spain for going on eleven years as I write.

Are you currently working? What are the local labor market's specificities?

My partner had taken a job as a teacher in a bilingual private school before we arrived. The job had been advertised in the UK and she had also done the interview there.  She went on to have a series of teaching positions through a project organised by the British Council which meant that she worked in state schools after the private one. She also spent a year out of the country. She is now registered as self employed and has a small business organising bodega tours called Secret Wine Spain. She also has some private English classes and does some part time work with a local estate agency. 

I did not have a job when I first arrived but I found work with a local furniture shop. When we moved to a different part of Spain I found work as an English teacher in a private academy. We have changed location twice since then and I have found work as an English teacher in both cases without too much difficulty. Finding jobs in Spain is not easy. Unemployment is a huge problem.

Was it difficult to find accommodation there? What are the types of accommodation which are available?

We bought a house almost immediately. There are now thousands of properties at very reasonable prices in Spain as a result of the bursting of the building bubble a few years ago. Whilst we have continued to own the house we have also moved, for work reasons, something like six times and we have never had the least difficulty in renting a property. We have always used an estate agency to help us find a place and although this is, perhaps, the most expensive way to do it we have also found it quick and safe.

How do you find the Spanish lifestyle?

Living in Spain is the same as living anywhere. You have to go to the supermarket, watch the telly, listen to the radio, cook, clean, do the laundry and suchlike so a lot of the lifestyle is to your own making. 

We have nearly always had work which means that our hours have become quite Spanish,  I would never think of having lunch before 2pm. for instance. Our Spanish is good enough to be able to say what we need to so that we are not lost on an island of foreignness. We know lots of Britons who live in a bubble almost isolated from Spain. It's quite easy to listen to British radio, watch British TV, buy British newspapers, visit British websites etc. At home your mealtimes can be British ones and your food British style. Here in Alicante there are thousands of us so we can also use British plumbers, British builders etc. if we want. 

I still find Spain interesting and exciting. I like the events that start at 10pm at night or at least are billed to but actually start at midnight. I like the heat of Alicante and Murcia and the slightly anarchic nature of lots of the leisure activities. There is always something going on, culture is strongly valued and people are generally pretty open in social situations so that it is easy to make superficial friendships. 

Have you been able to adapt yourself to the country and to its society?

The country is European. It works well. In basis it is very similar to the UK. People complain about the bureaucracy for instance but bureaucracy here is simply different to the UK rather than being excessive. It is a safe country, it's a law abiding country, it's a democratic country so, as I said, in all the basic things it is very similar to the UK. Obviously there are thousands of differences but it's all in the detail. Food is a good example – it is quite different but only at the level of recipes – it's not a vegan society or one where animals have to be killed in specific ways or where religion prohibits or limits certain foods. 

The one thing I cannot stress too much is the difference in language. Here, as everywhere, you can get by with English but without Spanish your life will be harder, your social contacts fewer, your isolation greater and your potential for being happy reduced. Think about the number of times that you need to use language to explain or understand things – when you ring the mobile phone company to complain about the bill, when you need a plumber to staunch the flood in your kitchen, when your car breaks down at the side of the road, when you're with the doctor. If you do not have Spanish those things become hard and a daily problem.

What does your every day life look like in Spain?

Just like the UK. Work, cooking, telly, internet, radio, driving around, doing the garden. The difference is when you venture out of home and even then you will usually be with other Britons (or at least other English speakers) so that although you may be surrounded by Spain you are actually in a little British bubble.

What has surprised you the most at your arrival?

How cold our house is in winter. We'd been in Spain several times in the winter but if hotels are warm then houses aren't. It's perishing. The houses in Alicante and Murcia have next to no insulation. Central heating, carpets and curtains are a bit unusual – the houses here are set up for warm weather not the cold. Winter is purgatory. I should stress that this is not the same if you head for Salamanca or Galicia – anywhere that has colder winters – because there the houses are equipped for the colder weather.

Any particular experience you would like to share with us?

There would be hundreds but the one that came to mind straight away was of the village meal. We live in a village that has about a hundred residents. We are members of the local neighbourhood association.  Each July, as part of the local fiestas, we have a meal for members of the association. The tables are set up under the trees outside the local social centre and fifty or sixty of us sit down to eat. It's always warm, the conversation and drink flow, the bulbs hung in the pine trees twinkle, the air is alive with the sound of crickets. It is just lovely.

What is your opinion on the cost of living in Spain? Is it easy for an expat to live in there?

I think it is probably cheaper to live in Spain than the UK but then again incomes here are derisory. Although he obviously has lots of other sources of income the salary of the Country's President for instance is about 80,000€. Members of my family earn that much in the UK for perfectly ordinary jobs.

Housing is generally cheaper, transport is cheaper, clothes are about the same, food is about the same, eating out is cheaper, alcohol is cheaper, furniture is expensive, second hand cars are ludicrously expensive, electric is a bit more expensive, water varies but is generally cheaper, car tax is less, “rates” are less, income tax is about the same, fuel is a bit cheaper, banking is expensive etc.

How do you spend your leisure time? What are the activities which are accessible to expatriates?

I do anything I want to do in my leisure time that I would have done in the UK. Sports facilities are good, theatre is everywhere (though it's in Spanish), I go to the cinema a lot though all the films are dubbed into Spanish unless you have specialist cinemas to hand as in Madrid or Barcelona. Eating out is something all we rich foreigners do (rich in the sense that we are not usually economic migrants) Going to local fiestas is also a common pastime. If you want to para-glide then you can, if you want to dance you can, if you want to join a classic car club or the local chess club you can. The list is as endless and as limited as it would be in the UK.

What are the differences between life in Spain and in England?

I think I've answered that in lots of the other questions. 

What do you like the most about the country?

Another question that I can't answer simply. I like the things I like and they may not be the same as someone else. I liked the rivers and hills over in the North West when I lived there, I like the sweltering heat of Murcia City in summer, I like rice with rabbit and snails, I like Spanish radio and the colour of the Med is something to behold. I like the crisp blue winter sun, I like having a brandy with my coffee sometimes in the morning, I enjoy the conversations with my students, I like having figs trees in my garden. 

What do you miss the most about your home country?

Nothing really. I occasionally think nostalgically of the outdoor Shakespeare season at Tolethorpe and the Ely Folk Festival and, every now and again, I get a craving for a pork pie or Stilton.

Probably the thing that is most different and I miss most is being able to express myself precisely. I was trying to explain myself to a Spaniard the other day, who had corrected my Spanish, when I had used a particular construction. I had said what I meant to say and I have subsequently checked that the grammar was correct. The difference was between the thought that I wanted to express and the thing that the Spaniard thought I wanted to express. It wasn't an important difference but the gap was unbridgeable. The difference was between wonder and think – “we wondered about” was what I wanted to say, “we thought about” was what the Spaniard was sure I wanted to say. 

If I ask for a beer in a bar in Spain and the barman goes huh? I presume I have said something wrongly. If I ask for a beer in the UK and the barman goes huh? I presume he has not heard.

Would you like to give any advice to soon-to-be expatriates?

Learn Spanish.  Number one without a doubt.

If I were choosing my main home again I would not have chosen to live where I am. We are a bit isolated from Spain. There's no bar in our village and no shops so we have to drive. Another few years and that may be a problem. If I were doing it again I would choose a village, town or city that offered me the facilities I was looking for and then find a house that I liked.

What are your plans for the future? 

Well I should be cooking the lunch now but otherwise just to get on with the day to day I suppose.

It's a country

I'd been surprised when the door of office number two had opened as I leaned on it. I half stumbled and half leapt into the room on the other side. Two women gawped at me. I gawped back. I stammered out a greeting. 

"Hello, I want to send this to Qatar," I said, holding out a small padded envelope, weight about 20g and similar in size to an iPhone. 

"Qatar in Cantabria?" she asked. 

I pointed to the address printed on the envelope. 

"No, Qatar the country in the Middle East - next door to Saudi Arabia."

"Is that close to Lebanon?"

"Closeish," I said. 

"Is it part of Saudi Arabia?" she asked. 

"No, it's a country."

"Ah, I see; it's an island," she said, staring at the Google entry. 

"More a peninsula," I countered

She rang someone. "It'll be 97€," she said - "same as Lebanon." Back there again. I blanched but handed her my credit card. "We've got no machine," she said. I'm sure it was Gilbert O' Sullivan on the radio. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I asked if this were indeed a business. When I was outside again I couldn't help it. One very long, very crude outpouring at high volume. I went and got the money, I went back to the office, I paid and I left the little envelope with them to lose.

It was a strange office even by Spanish standards. When I'd first arrived I was sure the building was abandoned. Blinds down, litter strewn yard, no vehicles, no opening hours, no sign of life. I don't think they get many personal callers. Hence the gawping. 

Maggie has lost a contact lens. The sort of lens she needs is not available in Qatar. Fortunately she bought her last lenses in Cartagena so I was able to go to a local optician and order up a replacement.

Today was my first opportunity to ship the lens. I got up early to go to a carrier before work.  It was so early I hadn't been able to buy an envelope to put the lens in. I suspected, rightly, that the carriers would sell packaging. The lens was in liquid in a little bottle. The receptionist woman peered at it over her headset.

"You can't send liquids to Qatar," said the woman. 

"Fine, I'll put it in this case without liquid," I said. 

"You can't send contact lenses to Qatar," said the woman. 

I asked "Why not?"

"No idea." 

"Could I put it in something else; disguise it?"

"Not possible, they check everything."

"What can you send to Qatar?" I asked. 

"I can't tell you," said the woman.

"Can you send clothes?" I asked.

"Only with a receipt and a customs declaration," said the bearded man sitting next to her.

I felt we had maybe failed to build the human bridge so necessary for a fulfilling business relationship. Later I bought an envelope. I took the lens out of the liquid and put it into a dry case. That's why it was the second on my list, office number two.

Mr Angry

Recently I have had a bit of a spate of sending Mr Angry letters - well emails - to various organisations in Spain. Generally they have been specific complaints. Problems with the operation of a bank website or some problem with bill payments for instance

I think Barclays, for their Spanish Barclaycard, have an almost foolproof system. I sent an email to ask a general question about the functioning of their redesigned website. They sent me a guffy response telling me that they were unable to respond to an open email for reasons of security and that I should phone customer services. By return I composed a long and snotty email telling them what I thought about their customer service via email. I got exactly the same response as to my initial message. Hmm, I thought. I sent another email wishing them a pleasant day. They told me that they were unable to respond to an open email for reasons of security and that I should phone customer services.

That's a great trick. Give the impression that they can be contacted by email when they can't. That's why there's the rhyming slang for bankers I suppose.

The European Union continues to update me periodically on my bid to be able to vote at regional elections either in my country of residence or in the country where I was born. I think that's jolly nice of them. They do seem to have had a lot of meetings all over Europe to talk about it though.

I collected my mail today and in my PO box there was a letter from the Subsecretary General of the Subsecretariat of the Interior Ministry Department of Human Resources and Inspection Isabel Borrel Roncales. I think it has a real signature. It is a response to an email that I sent to complain about a proposal for a draconian piece of anti democratic legislation. Isabel tells me that it's nothing to do with me and that the equivalent of the Commons in the UK, las Cortes Generales "in which National Sovereignty resides" will make the decision with or without my help thank you very much.

Now this is not a good response. Much better that she had said "Crikey Chris, I showed your email to the President; he clasped his head as he realised what a big mistake he was making and he decided then and there to scrap the legislation. He wants to thank you personally for pointing out the error of his ways."

But it is a response. Well done the Interior Ministry I say. More responsive than Barclays that's for sure.

Braseros

It's not a complex idea. When I was a lad braziers were the natural complement to those little striped tents that workmen used to set up over what were then called manhole covers. In Spain they put them under round tables.

Braziers or braseros are, at their most basic, simple bowls which fit into a circular support underneath a round table. There are electric ones nowadays of course but the one we were presented with today, when we went for a birthday meal, was more like a wrought iron version of a parrot's cage. Glowing embers are put inside the bowl, the bowl is popped under the table and a heavy tablecloth draped over the table and your knees. The heat captured under the table warms the lower half of your body. A very personal sort of heater. The modern thermostaically controlled electric heaters do the same job and have the advantage over the old fashioned, real fire type. They don't either set fire to their users or poison them with carbon monoxide.

Diversity

I occasionally see British TV and it is full of people who don't have "Anglo" names. Presumably their families went to the UK from all around the world. They are just there - no fuss, nothing different - getting on with their jobs as reporters, soap actors, presenters and the like. It's so normal, so routine that it's completely unexceptional.

Back home in Pinoso I was reading through the list of entrants and prizewinners in a competition to design a poster for some event a while ago. I was half looking for a British name. The last time I saw any information there were 42 nationalities represented in Pinoso yet, amongst the names of the entrants there was not a single one that didn't have a double barrelled Spanish surname. I may be wrong but I've never noticed anyone in the Carnival Queen competition who isn't Spanish either and whilst I have seen the odd Brit amongst the dance troupes and choirs I haven't noticed Algerians or Senegalese doing anything similar.

I didn't bother to Google my figures and the numbers will have dropped recently but there were something like six million foreign born residents in Spain from a population of some forty seven million. We EU Europeans have a right to live here but lots of nationalities like Ecuadorian, Moroccans, Ukrainians and Chinese have to become nationalised if they wish to remain in Spain. So there are lots of people here with their family roots in other countries who are now full blown Spanish nationals. Lots of them must be well into second or maybe third generation by now.

I don't watch much Spanish TV, the home-grown product that is as distinct from US imports so I am not a reliable source. However, I can only think of two regular TV faces who aren't Spanish. One of them is Michael Robinson the ex Liverpool and QPR footballer who is a football commentator and pundit and, until very recently, there was a young Korean woman called Usun Yoon on a satirical current affairs programme called el Intermedio. There are almost certainly others but I don't know them. Obviously there are all shapes and sizes of people on TV all the time because Spain buys programming from all around the world and because there are celebs and sports stars doing what they do as well as turning up in the adverts. Nonetheless the nationally produced stuff seems remarkably monolithic.

I was at a music festival over the weekend and I was talking about this phenomenon to Maggie. I realised that there were very few black people, Latin Americans etc. among the crowd or even among the musicians.

Maybe it just needs a few more years.