At the Flicks

We're just back from the cinema in Petrer. Maggie persuaded me to see something with Meryl and Tommie Lee Jones. Big mistake as a film but always good to get out to the cinema.

Spanish cinemas are just like modern cinemas everywhere.* Ten, twelve, fourteen screens built alongside some shopping centre. Worldwide the building design is similar. Always the ticket office is placed so that people standing in the queue to pay get tangled up with the people grasping their tickets and those milling around the foyer looking for friends or returning from the outrageously overpriced drink, popcorn and pic 'n' mix stand. I suppose the new trend to combine the sales of tickets and snacks at the same counter will either exacerbate or improve that situation depending on your view.

There are still a few cinemas that are single screens with a slightly musty smell and two week old films. They're usually in small towns - we used to go to a great on in Ciudad Rodrigo - they're cheap, have normal sized bags of sweets and sell popcorn at reasonable prices. Their days are obviously numbered so if you are ever in Caravaca de la Cruz on a Monday evening take the opportunity. Their creaky floorboard theatre is a treat.

In a standard multiplex tickets cost around 7.50€ and on one of the duff days of the week, either Monday or Wednesday the cinemas usually knock a couple of euros off the standard price.

Films are generally either Hollywood or Spanish with TV company money. Very occasionally there is a European offering. You might expect a reasonable number of Latin American releases but generally they don't make it out of Madrid and Barcelona to the provinces. I suspect that has something to do with the generally negative feeling that Spanish people have about hearing Spanish spoken with Ecuadorian, Mexican, Chilean, Argentinian and other American accents.

Titles are strange. The Road, for instance was called "The Road (La Carretera)" using both the original title and a direct translation. The Sound of Music though translates as Smiles and Tears and the one we saw today "Hope Springs" came out as "If You Really Want To." I prefer the titles to be in Spanish because then I can say the words reasonably easily. Trying to produce the Spanish pronunciation for an English title is really hard.

There are almost no subtitled films outside the art house venues in the biggest cities. Films are dubbed. This is very strange if you know the actor's voice. Imagine Morgan Freeman speaking Spanish and not sounding at all like Morgan. Or "You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and... blow" but without Lauren Bacall. The voice actors who lip sync the Spanish voice versions of various stars usually stick with them through their career. So at the Madrid premiere of a new film there will be the voice star too - Michelle Jenner (English descent, Spanish born) was the voice of Hermione Granger in the first four Harry Potter films for instance. Ernesto Aura did Schwarzenegger for years. "Hasta la vista, baby" the line from Terminator 2 isn't quite so amusing for a Spanish audience and very few Spaniards know that Ernesto's "Sayonara, baby" was just for them.

One very strange side effect of this dubbing is when a Spanish star like Penélope Cruz, Antonio Banderas or Javier Bardem makes a film in English. They get dubbed back into Spanish for the Spanish market but not with their own voices. It must be very confusing for a Spanish person who knows what Penélope sounds like hearing her with someone else's voice. 

I should say that the newer digital film formats do allow a third option to subbing or dubbing which is playing a dual soundtrack. This allows the listener to choose between the original language or the dubbed language. I know of a cinema in Torrevieja where you can put on cordless headphones to listen to the Hollywood soundtrack whilst the general audience gets the dubbed version.

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*Obviously I've not been to cinemas everywhere but I have been to similar complexes in the USA, France, Portugal and Mexico so I'm willing to take the risk of guessing that they are all the same.

Busy doing nothing

When we are in Culebrón we don't do much. We avoid the cleaning. Eddie goes out to slaughter small animals but still demands lots of Whiskas. We usually catch up with our British pals and we luxuriate in a comfy sofa to watch the telly.

The Saturday morning ritual includes going into Pinoso where the one key job is checking our PO box at the the Post Office. We've done that today - Post Office, newsagent, supermarket, greengrocer and Chinese shop. About as ordinary and as boring as ordinary and boring could be.

Tasks done, arm stretching carrier bags dumped in the boot of the car we set out to get a cup of coffee. On the way we bumped into a couple of acquaintances who dance in one of the local folk groups - the Spanish may be halting but we nattered about cutbacks in medical services, incompetent politicians and life. Two hundred metres later it was Ernesto, the ex lorry driver, he supports Arsenal and asked, as he always does, for Maggie's football alleigances. She's Liverpool through and through and the 1971 Cup Final still rankles.

We finally got a clear run and headed to Oasis to have that coffee. The Uruguayan waiter was as pleasant as ever. Outside, in the warm sun Maggie commented how the dry and sweet smelling air of Pinoso was infinitely superior to the stickier and more industrial air of Cartagena.

Not at all bad.

August in Culebrón

These are the official weather figures for Pinoso in August.

The hottest day was the 10th of August when the temperature reached 44ºC. The coldest night was on the 5th when the temperature dropped to 14.5ªC.

Averaging out daytime highs and nightime lows the average temperature across the month was 27.6ºC.

There were 28 cloudless days and it only rained on the 30th when we got 19 litres per square metre.

Just a little post script. We're back in Cartagena now and the maximum minimum thermometer I left here shows a high of 32ºC and a low of 24ºC for all the days from early July to the end of August. That's quite different to Culebrón.

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.