Spain:
This is an insightful article by a Brit who runs with bulls. I guess
this is hard to do in Hampstead. Even on the Heath.
France: A few culture shocks Tuesday, en route to the Cherbourg ferry--
- Most hotels in and around Bordeaux are full.
- No wifi or SMS operation in the hotel eventually found on edge of the city. France profonde?
- 20 channels on the hotel TV in the morning. No one shouting at anyone or talking at the same time. Female announcers elegant but not blond and dressed to kill.
- Male receptionist/waiter (young male) probably the softest spoken in the world. And the shyest.
- Everyone whispering at breakfast, if making any noise at all. Could be Portugal. Or England.
- No one driving up my arse. Could be England. Though definitely not Portugal.
- No one cutting across in front of me as I exit the roundabouts.
- Bayer don't sell Aspirin that dissolves in your mouth in France. Sorry Lecky.
- Few cafés on the high street in the village I stop in and the one I eventually find doesn't have wifi. Am I really in the First World?
Security: I had my
car searched - rather perfunctorily - by the French police at the
Cherbourg ferry port. And was then pulled over by the Customs people
in Poole. "And what are you retired from", said The Man.
"From people like you" I felt like answering. But didn't.
As an
aside - I hate everything to do with Costa Coffee and its ilk. This
is partly because I know from someone high in the parent company just
how profitable is this business of selling primarily water but also
because of conversations like this one. Which is actually
my first, as I've never been compelled to use one of these rip-off
places before:-
Can I help
you, sir?
Yes, a
black coffee, please.
Medium or
large, sir?
Do you
have a small one?
Yes, sir.
Ok, I'll
have a small one then.
Certainly,
sir. Would you like that strong, sir?
Sorry?
Would you
like that stronger than normal?
[Scenting
another price increase] No thanks.
There you
are sir. That's £2.89(€3.96)
[In tone
of astonishment] Is that for a small black coffee?
Yes, sir.
BTW -
Every one of the 5 people working there was foreign. Which presumably
keeps their main overhead low. I will quit Pontevedra the moment an
operation likes this opens there. Though I doubt it would fly with
Spaniards, who get better coffee for far less. But, then, I predicted male cosmetics would never take off. So, what do I know? I
wonder if I can get done for urging people to fire-bomb all these
phoney coffee houses? Can you imagine the reaction of a Spanish
visitor who's endured the grey weather and the traffic jams to get an experience like this?
Finally .
. . Not so long after this - in one of many traffic jams endured
during my drive north - I bump slightly into the car in front of me, at
just about the lowest speed you can do this. The other driver jumps
out and immediately takes a foto of the back of his car and the front of mine. He then
snaps me as I get out to survey whatever damage there might be. There
isn't any and when I point out there isn't even a scratch, he agrees that this is true but says he's worried there might be hidden damage behind
the bumper. I say this is very unlikely. He replies that he has the car's annual check up
next week and will tell "his" mechanic to check. Then he
asks me for ID and gets a bit confused when I give him my Spanish
card. But, nonetheless, he takes a foto of it. He asks whether I have
relevant insurance and whether I do a lot of driving in the UK. He
also asks if I want his name and address but I decline these as, in
the unlikely event there's any damage, he'll surely write to me. I
continue to bite my tongue as we agree there probably isn't any and he
goes to the back of the my car to take a foto of that as well.
Presumably in case I've got different number-plates fore and aft. I
still hold my tongue and we then part. But he stays at the side of the
road - writing notes? - while I drive off. Wondering what on earth he'll do if I ignore
any letter he might send me.
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