Barcelona

Barcelona was the first place I ever visited in Spain. I loved Barcelona. So vibrant, so exotic, so exciting. It's because of Barcelona, and Maggie, that I now live in Spain.

My brother, Garry, had arranged a short break in the Catalan capital along with his wife and sons. He suggested that we meet him there. It was all a bit fraught partly because we were just back from Egypt but moreso because it was an 1100km journey along toll motorways operated by bandits. We did it though and I'm glad we did.

We haven't been to Barcelona for maybe 10 years, certainly before we lived in Spain. The last time we were there we were made to feel very unwelcome by people determined to give us a bad time for trying to speak Castillian. The rivalry between Catalans and Spain is legendary. This time that wasn't so much of a problem. Written informatin was generally in Catalan but we were foreign so we were spoken to in English. It seems to me that English is becoming omnipresent.

We didn't see a lot of town. My family was staying on the Ramblas and we were in a basic hotel in Ciutat Vella. The only time we left that bit of the city was for a jolly up to the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya (Notice the claim to nationhood even in the name of a museum). What we did see didn't wow us though. The town smelled of piss, the prices were high, service was indifferent, food was moderate, the streets were dirty, waiters warned us about possible thefts and it all felt a bit squalid. It compared badly with Madrid where we were a couple of days ago, with the peace of Culebrón and the compact friendliness of Cartagena. I suppose it's just us - getting older, more set in our ways - or maybe we were just a bit tired.

Bank comparison

We've been on holiday. Away from both Culebrón and Cartagena; in Egypt in fact. 

Now, being a citizen of the world I have access to money in both pounds sterling and euros. Nothing in Egyptian pounds though. Holes in the wall provided us with the local cash. I used both British and Spanish bank cards. Both were current accounts and the amount I withdrew each time was the same.

My British bank charged around £2 and my Spanish bank 6€ which is well over twice as much for exactly the same service and presumably with similar costs to them. Spanish banking can be remarkably expensive - charges and comissions everywhere.

Venta Viña P

All over Spain, at the side of the road, there are places called ventas. From the outside they just look like restaurants or bars but, as the word venta is related to sales and selling I wondered if, traditionally, they were a bit like roadside inns cum general stores. Ventas get a mention in el Quijote, Don Quixote in English, and in the Richard Ford travel books so they must have been around for quite a while. I imagined farmers buying their seeds and tools there whilst they drank large quantities of rough wine.

My thinking was conditioned by the traditional difference between English inns and taverns. As I recall, technically, an inn is a place to stay, drink and eat whilst a tavern is a place to drink and eat. It's a distiction that's long gone of course. I thought it was probably something similar with ventas. But the definitive Spanish dictionary says simply of ventas: a posada established by the side of the road to put up travellers. For posada it says a place to put up travellers. The only difference then is that a venta is, traditionally, out in the countryside and not in a centre of population.

I went in a venta today for the first time. It was certainly away from a centre of population.

Diarrhoea and tears

I've moaned about it before. I'll moan about it again.

We went to buy diarrhoea potions this morning. And paikillers, plasters and some other things that may or may not have begun with a p. The conversation was a disaster. We got the stuff but we were like blind people in a sighted world. I came away cursing, belittled.

I'm reading a book by a bloke called Eloy Moreno. It's a cracking book. Best I've read for ages. I was just reading the chapterlet where the fat man, having abandoned his job, bank accounts and family, makes it to the top of the hill and down to the hostel. I was sobbing with emotion. The book is just so well written.

How is it that I can read a book but not ask for a beer?

Sounds

Sitting in the garden, reading. There's a breeze, hair dryer warm. The air sort of crackles. Things crack and jump with the heat. The traffic on the main road makes a whooshing sound. Bare metal burns. The principal colour is bright. The principal sound is the song of the cicadas. The air is alive with the sound. It's been like that for weeks

And then the Spanish neighbours came; with friends. Maybe for the weekend, maybe for the August fortnight and now the cicadas have competition. The difference is that the Spaniards never stop.

String and glue

I may well be wrong. I haven't checked last year's programme against this. Nonetheless it seems to me that the Pinoso Fair and Fiesta has been simplified because there isn't any money. And, in being simplified I think it has been improved.

When I wrote about the fiesta a couple of years ago I made a point that maybe the event had lost some of it's purpose. I suggested that the rich and mobile population of Pinoso could now seek out entertainment and goods whenever it wanted. The Fair and Fiesta had become less relevant. Maybe by changing its focus it can regain that relevance.

I've got it into my head that initiative has taken over from cash as the way of making an impact. As Ernest Rutherford said "We've got no money, so we've got to think"

Take the opening ceremony. In years past that used to be somebody giving a speech from the Town Hall balcony before the great and the good of the town trooped off, en masse, to stroll around the fair and take the front row seats for some musical event.

This year the square in front of the Town Hall was brightly lit. They made use of a big screen (the Town Hall has television production facilities) to warm up the crowd and then they introduced all the Carnival Queens by parading them through a passageway formed by a dance troupe. For the cost of a few spotlights and a bit of computer wizadry the organisers turned the opening speech into a bit of a show. The speech, like last year, took place on a dais in amongst the crowd so that ordinary people were much closer to the action. It all felt much more participative to me. The fireworks afterwards were set off right in the heart of the town using an empty building plot. A simple change but so much cosier.

Yesterday there were classic cars in a square that isn't usually used for much. I've noticed in the programme that the events are much more evenly spread through the squares and open areas of the town.

Classic cars, very cheap to arrange and a bit different. There was some gachamigas cooking going on in the same square. Cheap and cheerful again. Oh, and there was a little band trogging around the streets playing some regional instuments. Very jolly. Later it was judging the decorated streets. I have no idea how it actually works but I can see a model for that - get your 50€ grant from the Town Hall to deck out your street. So some streets ask for the grant but they have to put in a bit extra. People from the street get involved. The town looks pettier and the band comes down your road along with the Mayor.

We're off into town tonight to see some music and we've paid for a concert on Saturday night. We've still to get along to one of the vermouth sessions (old hat now) but the wine tasting is new. As is the idea of a paella competition rather than the usual free giant paella (which apparently cost 5,000€ last year.) There's lots more that's different and I must say that being less of a consumer and more of a participant feels better to me.

All in all it seems a much more grass roots sort of festival. If that's the thinking then I reckon it's good work on somebody's part. I'd heard that we were into a post industrial phase, a return to pre industrial revolution thinking. Now all we have to do in Pinoso is to tag it up as being sustainable and we'll be very 21st Century.

Powerless

Around 6.30am, as dawn breaks Eduardo the cat starts to moan and demand food outside our ground floor bedroom window. The bathroom is a bit of a favourite for a late night visit amongst we older people. I tend to go to bed later than Maggie. All in all then one or other of us is often wandering around the house in the dark.

Last night Maggie, pestered by a singing mosquito and contemplating a "call of nature" noticed that the normal Christmas tree like lights were missing from the bedroom and living room. No glowing LEDs on the modem, alarm clock, anti-mosquito plug in, TV or satellite box. Eerily dark. A power cut of course.

Power cuts are not an unusual event in the countryside, well not in our house anyway. Our power supply is rudimentary to say the least and we often lose power for a few minutes. Occasionally it's longer.

We left the house today with the power still not restored. When we got home all was well. Doing the maths from the flashing alarm clock the power came back on just after two this afternoon. Maggie's nocturnal safari was around 4am so that's more than ten hours. No information in any of the local sources as to why but ten hours is a long time.

Thank goodness we have a gas hob. Boiling water for tea in a pan. Goose Green all over again.

A nice evening in front of the telly

"Good evening, sir," said the Guardia Civil, "Alcohol test." Thus saying he passed me a mouthpiece sealed in cellophane which I cracked open before attaching it to his breath meter thingy. I blew into the machine - "Correct," said the Guardia. "You may proceed." And proceed I did. That's the second time I've been stopped for a random breath test in Spain.

It was about three in the morning and I was just joining the motorway to drive back to Culebrón. We'd been to the Low Cost Festival in Benidorm to see a few bands. I understand why the police were waiting. When we'd watched some of the early evening bands we had several acres of space around us and we were surrounded by nice people chatting gently. By the time we got to the bigger bands the space was less than that required for the proverbial cat and the crowd was a little more boisterous. By the time we watched Vetusta Morla at about 2am we had only Ryanair space and everyone seemed determined to crash into us, jump on our feet, cover us in beer or burn us with one of their strangely smelling cigarettes. This is very boring stuff when you are completely sober. I have no problem at all with the police keeping unsafe drivers off any road.

Whilst we were being suitably outraged by being jostled and bumped into I started to chuckle. Unlike the time we went to Benicassim a few years back I was definitely the oldest person I saw all evening. I must have been one of the few people on the whole site who did not need to use the keypad of my phone to communicate urgently with someone or upload a few snaps or videos. I could have given a lift to everyone else there who was, like me, wearing long trousers (that's an exaggeration, I've only got a four seater but if I'd had a people carrier...) and my Ramones T shirt came from a gig when Joey, Johnny and Dee Dee were all still alive.

I was chuckling because I was having a whale of a time. All those young people bouncing up and down. All those bands that sounded just like tens of bands that I've listened to over the years but which were still different. The way my whole body was vibrating with the sound. All that sustainable, eco friendly talk that still left stinking toilets and mounds of rubbish strewn around and a car park full of jostling vehicles of every shape and size including VW camper vans.

Maybe I should have been at home curled up with a good book and a nice cup of cocoa. No, not quite yet.

Time passes

I was wandering home from the village yesterday evening. I'd just been to watch San Jaime and San José get their annual walkabout on the shoulders of the villagers. After all our village fiesta is held in honour of San Jaime.

Last year when I was taking my snaps I tried hard to get shots without the ubiquitous small vans in the background, without tractors and without the recycling bins. This time I decided that they were an integral part of the fun. More than that I decided they were actually a symbol of the relevance and the continuity of the event.

In the procession the Carnival Queen and her Maids of Honour were in a traditional costume. Everyone else (priest excepted) wore ordinary clothes. It's an interesting idea "traditional costume" - most young Alicantino women seem to be wearing shorts this summer or at least clothes bought from Zara, Mango and Stradivarius. They are unlikely to ever wear long pleated skirts and shawls. So, at some time in the future, will the Carnival Queen be decked out in shorts and T shirt? Who decides what period represents traditional? Why not 12th Century costume or clothes from the 1960s?

In fact the whole procession was a very everyday sort of event. I've seen scores of small carved this or that saint or virgin moving around the streets of Spain dodging the parked cars and litter bins just as presumably they once dodged middens and loose animals.

So, back to where I started. Wandering home, watching the sun set and thinking how nice it all looked in a scruffy and non twee sort of way. Time may be slower in the countryside but it hasn't stopped.

For goodness sake - get a grip

The maximum temperature in Stavanger, yesterday was 16ºC and the minimum was 11ºC. In Kirkwall, on Orkney 14/10ºC. In London 23/13ºC. In Alicante, just down the road, it was 29/20ºC and in Doha in Qatar 45/31ºC. No real surprises there then.

The highest temperature ever recorded in Spain is 47.8ºC in Murcia on 29 July 1976. Murcia is about 50 minutes from here by car.  The highest temperature ever recorded in England is 38.5ºC in Faversham, Kent on 10 August 2003. No big surprise there either.

Over the winter our perception was that Cartagena was warmer than Culebrón. In summer it's just the reverse; warmer by day in Culebrón but still warmer overnight in Cartagena. We think that it's a lot stickier in Cartagena now than in Culebrón. The figures for yesterday bear out our perception. Cartagena max. 29.5ºC, min. 21.2ºC, humidity 65%; Culebrón (Pinoso really) max. 30.3ºC, min. 15.4ºC, humidity 58%.

It's a while since I've been in the UK in summer but, if I were to describe June, July and August in England I would say that it stops being cold, that there will be two or three weeks worth of sunny, warm, dry days but that even when it's not sunny, dry and warm it's perfectly pleasant. That doesn't mean there won't be a couple of days when you'll need a raincoat or a jacket in the evening. You may even need to fire up the heating a couple of days but it's not like January. And yes, I have heard that it has been an exceptionally poor summer so far in the UK. Nonetheless, if you know the UK I'm sure that you would agree that the above description is largely accurate.

In Spain, at least in Alicante and Murcia, I would say that June, July and August will be hot and dry.

So why oh why does everybody I talk to in Spain say, and I paraphrase, "Crikey, it's hot!" Are they surprised?

Bread and tomato

Here in Alicante and just across the border into Murcia we eat a lot of toast with grated tomato  - particularly at breakfast or brunch time. It's also very common to get either bread or toast served along with little dishes of grated tomato and all-i-oli as a free appetiser before a substantial meal. Easy enough, nothing too complicated. Then I came across this piece written by a Catalan. You will see that they take the whole thing pretty seriously. The writer is disparaging of our ready pulped tomato - the devil's work!

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The ingredients to prepare it couldn't be easier – bread, ripe tomatoes, olive oil and salt. There is a second option which is to toast the bread and rub garlic on it but that's a matter of choice.

In Catalonia which, claims this snack as its own, they use “pa de pagès” or “peasant bread” which is the typical rounded loaf found in bakers the length and breadth of Spain. It's usually described as “village bread” or “farmhouse bread” or sometimes as “a drum loaf” - the important thing is that the bread should have an open grain and not be too compact. The bread is cut into slices and theses can be used as they are or they can be toasted a little. Should you decide to use garlic to flavour the bread or toast don't use much and just rub the garlic once or twice along the length. If you don't have access to the correct shaped bread wood baked bread of any sort does nearly as well.

Cut some ripe juicy tomatoes in half and rub the open face of the tomato onto the bread until the juice and the pulp give a nice pink colour to the bread. Never use tomato purée or ready pulped tomatoes – that's just not right – always rub fresh tomatoes directly onto the bread. The best tomatoes are “hung vine tomatoes” or “tomates de colgar” which are soft, juicy and have a lovely red colour.

Afterwards we add a little sprinkle of salt and a generous squirt of good virgin olive oil. Eat immediately.

The secret is not to prepare the dish beforehand because the bread will absorb the juice and become too sloppy and flabby. You have to prepare it as you're ready to eat it before the tomato and the oil soak into the bread.

In Catalonia it's very common to eat the bread and tomato with good mountain ham or with one of the the many varieties of local sausages. It goes well with a potato omelette too, with French omelette and indeed with any number of dishes.

It's a typically Mediterranean dish – bread, tomatoes, olive oil and garlic – healthy and easy to make. But the best thing is that it is yummy.