Cantabria
and Asturias: Motoring along the coast towards Galicia on an
empty autovia on a sunny day must rank as one of the most pleasant
drives in Spain. With the sea on your right and the almost
perpendicular mountains just beyond the verdant greenery on your
left, it's impossible not to feel happy. But I would advise against
detouring into Unquera and beyond for petrol and a meal. After 10km
or so, someone will tell you - if you ask - that you can only get
back to the autovia by doubling back on yourself, since the local
road takes you a long way into the interior before it hits a
northwards route. I should also warn you that, if you stop at the
restaurant by the petrol station in Panes, you'll feel you're in
Deliverance 2, as the natives sitting outside will all stare
at you with intent, as you park your car and enter the place. Where
the owner will not smile, though his wife will, when she comes out of
the kitchen to ask how your lubina(sea bass) is. Delicious, acxtually. Just the fish with no potatoes or veg. Beautifully grilled. Despite
the hill-billy environment, highly recommended.
Corporate
Mergers & Catalan Coalitions: In the context of the latter,
someone yesterday quoted a truism of the former: If you can't see
the dagger on the table, it's because it's in your back.
Notaries:
These are powerful, high-status animals in Spain, whereas lawyers
aren't. Needless to say, they don't have the Pope's infallibility and
they make mistakes. When I asked a lawyer friend yesterday if notaries
were ever sued for negligence, I merely got a hollow laugh. Be
warned.
Guapo/a:
This is a ubiquitous word in Spain and I think I've said it seems to
mean something between 'pretty' and 'beautiful'. Every baby - however
ugly - is guapo or guapa. As indeed are many
unattractive old women. The words's most useful feature is that it
can be used for every woman whose name you've forgotten. Not so much
with men, though. With whom hombre serves quite well.
A Visit
from the Boys in Green: At 12.50 last night, my doorbell was rung
by a posse of Guardia Civil officers - one in mufti - who said they'd
seen my gate was open and that a light had just gone out upstairs. I
doubt this is special treatment because of the robbery of a few
months ago and wondered whether they knew burglars were again in the
area. Ironically, I'd had a problem with the front door earlier in
the evening and had had to climb up to the terrace and force my way
in through the window of my other daughter's room, which I'd
forgotten to close. This, ironically, would have provided exceptionally easy
access to any miscreants bent on mischief. But, anyway, my
achievement in scaling the wall was accompanied by non-stop screams
from my lovely neighbour, Ester, to the effect that I should stop as I was going to kill
myself. Which didn't really help. But the ladder from the chica
next door did. To some extent. Ester did take a foto of my ascent and
I will try to post it tomorrow.
Finally
. . . VW: I can't resist
posting this foto, received this morning from friend and reader,
Jennie.
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