Dashed hopes

My dad never passed a driving test. When he began to drive it was enough to stay alive on the road with provisional licences long enough to claim the full driving licence. He was very angry when, in one of the periodic updates of the licencing system, his right to ride motorbikes and drive steam rollers was taken away from him. He sent a letter to, what was then, the Ministry of Transport. His argument was simple.  He wrote: I never passed a test to drive anything so, if I'm allowed to drive anything I should be allowed to drive everything. The Ministry took no notice of his flawless logic.

Eight months ago I began the process of swapping my UK driving licence for a Spanish one. I used a local driving school as the intermediary. Three weeks ago the school phoned to say they needed my UK driving licence in a hurry. Yesterday they telephoned me again. "Is my licence ready?" I asked. "Pop by the office to pick it up" was the answer.

As I drove to their office today I became wistful. I've had a UK driving licence since I was 16*, well over 40 years. From red covered booklets to the current plastic cards. Not having a UK licence would be odd. I also knew the Spanish would have taken away my right to drive minibuses. We old Brits got to drive minibuses as a Brussels concession. It's not that I'm keen to drive minibuses but losing rights is never a good thing.

In the end I was mightily disappointed. All I got was a piece of card. A temporary substitute for my UK licence. The real one, the new Spanish one, should be available by mid April.

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*When I was 16 it was possible to get a licence to drive a three wheeler. My father was keen that I didn't die on a motorbike so I became the proud owner of a Reliant Regal similar to the one in the photo.

A bus to Benidorm

Back in November at the AGM of the Neighbourhood Association there was talk of going to Benidorm for a weekend. A couple of weeks ago that vague possibility turned into reality. I got the email. Were we coming?

Now the immediate and romantic answer is a resounding yes. Picture it; we two Brits taking our place as members of our adopted community, striding arm in arm with our compañeros down the prom in search of serious fun.

When I asked Maggie about it she was more realistic. You think it's a good idea now but, when it happens, you'll get cross because you have trouble with your Spanish. First you'll get cross with yourself, then you'll get cross with me and then you'll start sulking or drink too much and leave me to do all the talking. She's right of course. And, there's not that much serious fun to be had in Benidorm at this time of year anyway.

Today I got a second message from the vecinos. They needed a decision and they needed it now. There were lots of outsiders wanting to get on the coach. Proper community members got first dibs.

Of course we'll be there I said. Wouldn't miss it for the World I said.

On being French

It's snowing outside in Culebrón at the moment. It's not snowing hard, it's not snowing properly but it is definitely snowing. This is not surprising. We are at 600 metres after all.

Nor is it the Ukraine. People are not freezing to death on the streets but it's not exactly warm either. Down in Cartagena people were complaining about the daytime temperature having dropped to 10ºC and overnight to 4ºC but when the Cartagena Red Cross set up an emergency centre for homeless people they couldn't find any takers even for their thermoss of hot coffee.

Here in Culebrón it was -4ºC last night. Mild in comparison to so many places. Nonetheless our house is very cold. We've been wearing coats inside all weekend and our pipes freeze each night. We've had no water at all until mid afternoon when the cold water comes back. We've not had hot water all weekend.That's why we're French. Plenty of perfume and deodorant but almost no soap and water.

With the radio on

The fail-safe method to determine if the UK is in a state of emergency is the BBC Radio 4 "Today" programme. If it fails to broadcast, as scheduled, three days in a row you'll need to fill the bath with water. At least that's what my brother told me.

I don't think Spanish radio is quite as potent a force in everyday life as it is in the UK but it still has plenty of listeners. I'm one of them. This week radio has been in the news because the state broadcaster, RNE, which first broadcast from Salamanca as a propaganda arm of the Francoist forces in the Spanish Civil War, celebrated its 75th anniversary.

I tend to listen to Radio 5 which is the news channel of the state broadcaster but I also listen to both their speech channel, Radio Nacional and Radio 3 their music channel.  There are plenty of good talk radio stations though they aren't shy about having a political view. SER, Onda Cero and Punto Radio are some of the bigger national broadcasters. The Church didn't want to get left out and has a radio station called COPE. None of the talk radio stations has the breadth of the BBC and there seem to be almost no drama, soaps, comedy or quizz shows. Sport, and by sport in Spain I mean football, takes up huge chunks of the talk radio airtime.

Contemporary music is badly served by Spanish radio. Radio 3, mentioned earlier, could be absolutely splendid. They have some great music with the most eclectic range you could imagine but they also seem to love presenters who prattle on for hours in a monotone. It is about the only place to hear the up and coming Indie bands though whether they be Spanish or International. On the more standard pop channels the presenters seem to be pretty good but their problem is that they play the same music over and over again. The Top 40 charts stand still and there are very seldom anything but mainstream Spanish and International artists in them. I've copied this weeks chart at the bottom of this post. Look how long the songs have been around. The National music channels include 40 Principales, Kiss FM, Cadena 100 and Cadenadial which limits itself to Spanish songs. There are the Golden Oldie channels too.

The only Classical Music I've ever heard on the radio is from RNE. I haven't heard a lot because, so far as I can tell, Radio Clásica specializes in trying to bore their listeners to death. It's a personal opinion of course and maybe Music and Meaning or the World of the Phonograph have their audiences. There is absolutely nothing like Classic FM that I'm aware of.

Local Radio Stations are often very local. We have a generalist one in Pinoso, there's one in Aspe too and typical programming includes music, local news, local jobs, local ads and local ads - oh, and local ads. It's far more common though for local programming to be delivered by the local team of one of the national broadcasters. They take over a local frequency for their programming for a couple of hours each day. There are plenty of local music stations too including a few English language ones on the coast but none of the programming is very adventurous. There is a smattering of religious broadcasters as well.

In summary good quality radio in general but with a very limited scope. Oh, and it's not digital, no DAB here to speak of, so reception can be a problem out of the cities.

Cuarenta Principales chart as of Saturday 21 January 2012



1 Ai se eu te pego, Michel Teló
Last week Nº 2 Weeks on chart: 6, Highest position: 1
2 Someone like you, Adele
Last week Nº 1  Weeks on chart: 10, Highest position: 1
3 Titanium, David Guetta
Last week Nº 4  Weeks on chart: 15, Highest position: 1
4 Got 2 luv u, Sean Paul
Last week Nº 3  Weeks on chart: 19, Highest position: 3
5 Good feeling, Flo Rida
Last week Nº 6  Weeks on chart: 12, Highest position: 5
6 Cometas por el cielo, La Oreja de Van Gogh
Last week Nº 5  Weeks on chart: 9, Highest position: 5
7 We found love, Rihanna and Calvin Harris
Last week Nº 8  Weeks on chart: 13, Highest position: 1
8 No sigue modas, Juan Magán
Last week Nº 10  Weeks on chart: 5, Highest position: 8
9 Domino, Jessie J
Last week Nº 7  Weeks on chart: 9, Highest position: 7
10 Stereo hearts, Gym Class Heroes
Last week Nº 14  Weeks on chart: 7, Highest position: 10

Life in the fast lane

Until I moved to Spain I associated Calor Gas heaters with caravans. Caravans at Filey Brigg to be precise. Here, in the countryside at least, everyone has a gas heater to help combat the intense cold in our uninsulated houses. We own three.

The heaters push out around 3kw of heat and one 15€ bottle of gas lasts around 60 hours which makes them a cheaper form of heating than electric. We don't have our bottles delivered though so having to collect them is a bit of a pain.

The other day a friend was talking about having replaced a heater. He feared that it was on the point of blowing up his house. They have a bit of a reputation for doing that. Well either blowing you up or asphyxiating you. It acted as a reminder. I know that the bright orange rubber tubes that connect the gas bottle to the heater have a "sell by" date on them. I checked. Whoops! The oldest one we had said March 2010 and even the most moodern bit of piping (on the gas cooker) was six months out of date. They're now all good till June 2016.

I don't suppose it was much of a threat really. At least that's what I told Maggie.

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.

Els Enfarinats in Ibi

Els Enfarinats means covered with flour in Valenciano. Ibi is an inland Alicantino town. Each 28th December, the local equivalent to All Fools Day, there is a takeover of local government in the town  by the fourteen els enfarinats. Their battle cry is "New Justice" and that's what they set about imposing on the town. One is the mayor, one the sheriff, one the prosecutor, one the town clerk etc. But it doesn't go smoothly. The old town authorities don't give up easily and there is a pitched battle in the Church Square. It's a battle fought with eggs, flour, talc and 12,000 jumping jacks.

The floury folk win out and they then go around the town raising funds. They check that local shops are using the correct weights and measures - their's - and when they aren't the shops are heavily fined. Punsihment for those who decide not to pay is jail or maybe an eggy and floury punishment. But by 5pm all they can think about is dancing and the new Government gives way to the old.

The taxes levied go to local charities.

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

Opaque

Movistar is a big phone company here - they have both fixed and mobile services. Their customer service number is 1004. Last week 1004 called me repeatedly but I missed or ignored every call.

Sunday: a Sunday as it should be where I didn't get around to putting my contact lenses in till late evening and where I avoided proper work all day. I was too lazy even to clean the bath or hoover the floor. On the telly I watched one of those films where the busy executive realises the error of their ways at Christmas. The World becomes a better place.

In between the Christmas stories I watched the ads. Something I rarely do. The Movistar people seemed to have a good offer on for those of us who have both their fixed and mobile phone packages. There were two offers and the website suggested we were eligible for both.

But the Software said no to one offer. Odd that. I could have sworn we were paying for a 3Mb package but apparently not. I didn't fret. Even the poorer of the two offers saves us 20€ per month. They emailed me the contract and everything. The next day though they changed their minds. The exchange in Pinoso just isn't up to it they said. They told me all about their constant efforts to bring the most up to date technology to even we country bumpkins but we'd have to wait just a little longer to get this particular offer.

There's another advert on the telly at the moment for Golden Lady tights. Panty tupido it says. I didn't know the word tupido but it had a nice ring to it so I looked it up. The ad is for opaque tights.

Lots of things here are still very opaque to me.

New wines and new names all around

When we were at the village meal the other day the wine that came around the tables was from the local Culebrón bodega. It was different though; new wine varieties, new labels and a different, more modern, bottle design. Just to show how modern the white wine came in a blue bottle.

I only tried the two reds, the Shiraz and the Merlot, but I enjoyed them both.

The thing that caught my eye most though was that on the label, most of which was in English, the wine maker of the family, Roberto, had been renamed. Wines by Robert Brotons it said.

Foolishly, at the time, I forgot to take a picture of the wine which meant I had to pop back to the bodega the next weekend to buy a bottle for the pack shot. So, in the original picture, from the event, on the left, you can just see one of the new blue coloured wine bottles in amongst the sparkling Galician ciders and Catalan wines. Fear not - the orange stuff is Fanta.

The picture on the right is from the weekend after the meal.

Rice with rabbit and snails or rabbit stew?

The Junta Directiva

I haven't commented on the Neighbourhood Association meal for a couple of years so I will this time around. To be honest I could simply repeat most of the text on the link above down to the menu except that there were no lupin seeds this year. It's not quite true, there were a couple of things that I noticed as different.

I had an interesting conversation with the President of the Association, not in its content but in the fact that it took place at all. The last time we spoke for more than 30 seconds she commented that, unlike my wife, I couldn't speak Spanish and that I should be ashamed of myself. This time she was at pains to compliment me on the way that I expressed myself and was able to string an argument together (we were talking politics.) I liked that. I like compliments about my Spanish.

Another thing was that I needed to open a bottle of beer and I went in search of a bottle opener. The abnormal thing there was that I felt perfectly comfortable just searching through the detritus of the serving area till I found one. It may have taken six years or so but I realised that I didn't feel out of place or uncomfortable in just helping myself. Nobody jumped up from their seat to help the helpless and hopeless foreigner as has happened so many times before either. Maybe it's because when someone else had explained to me, in mime, how to use the press tap on a box of vermouth to pour it out I had said that I was English not stupid. Was I being assertive or just plain rude?

The AGM after the meal was the normal riot. As usual when things got heated the language changed to Valenciano. A bit of bad feeling about who should supply wine for the village events and a bit of argy bargy about whether the summer meal should be self or outside catered. The discussion about the stall at Villazgo was more relaxed though there were some barbed comments from the President about who had to put the work in each year. The discussion about a charabanc trip also had two definite camps, one for a cultural type outing (we've had trips to a musical in Madrid and to a an area with limestone caves and touristy villages) or whether it should be a mad night out in Benidorm. The compromise was to find out the best deals on both and then to see who would sign up for what.

Good fun as always.