One sometimes reads that one profession or other has the highest suicide rate in the country/world. Usually it’s dentists but what I can’t understand is why it isn’t weather forecasters on British TV. I mean, what can it be like, every single day of the year, having to tell at least half the population that rain is going to fall on them today? Incidentally, one of the main challenges for these people is to think up new ways to describe the arrival of the UK’s daily dose of showers. Having heard it this week on two different channels, the in-vogue expression of the moment seems to be “Showers will be bubbling up during the morning”. I guess it makes them more exotic. Like witches.

Readers with long memories may recall I once corrected the menu of a place along the coast here which, among other oddities, was offering “Mussels to the seaman’s blouse”. For Mejillones a la marinera. I was there again yesterday to find that, while most of the menu was now OK, they’d added the dish of “Gallega teat of fumbling with grelos”. This is simply Galician cheese – which comes in the shape of a breast – with turnip tops. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out where the fumbling element comes from. Perhaps some professional translator could help.

Talking of restaurants . . . I was in one on Sunday night where the two highly efficient waitresses spoke excellent English – still a rarity around here. They turned out to be Polish, leaving me wondering why foreign labour is needed when local employment rates are so high. Apart, perhaps, for a requirement to speak good English, my friends tell me that few young people here are prepared to give up their summers to hard work when they can live comfortably off their parents, doing (and paying) nothing. Which is understandable, I guess.

Here in Pontevedra, the guide for our July-August events finally emerged on Saturday. Needless to say, two of them had already taken place. So one wonders how well patronised these were.

I mentioned recently that I drive slowly down the road to the bridge into town as I have to pass two kids’ playgrounds frequented by youngsters from the nearby gypsy encampments. As if this wasn’t worrying enough, I also have to contend with five-year-olds racing their bikes down the middle of the road as they head home. Typical contrary gypsies. Why can’t they terrorise the pedestrians by using the pavements, like everybody else? [Note for American readers: Pavement is sidewalk in British English, not the road surface.]

Finally . . . In Pontevedra’s Vegetables Square – which actually has a (meat-serving) vegetarian restaurant in it – we used to have an “Indian” restaurant. Though it wasn’t very good, it did at least it had a soupcon of international flavour about it. But it didn’t last long and was converted last year into a Kebab house. This apparently found it hard competing with the other five Kebab houses that had sprung up almost overnight and now it’s become a tapas bar. Which is just what the city needed – another place offering exactly the same menu as the other 543 options in the old quarter. But I guess it’s profitable. So what do I know?

As expected, the Pamplona authorities have said that the death of a young man yesterday will make no difference to their bull-running event. Using an excellent example of what I’ve long called the true-but-irrelevant school of logic, they’ve stressed that “If no one ran, there’d be no deaths”. This insouciant sentence alone would be worth millions to a negligence lawyer in the Anglo-Saxon world. And, in a reasoned editorial today, even El Mundo has pointed out it might be time to take some sensible measures, such as reducing the excessive number of what I called the other day “heroic idiots”.

But back to the detail – Before the start of each run, an arms-linked group of eight or nine policemen prevent the crowd from getting close to the pen the cows and bulls run from when the rocket goes up. I guess this is to allow the beasts to get up a good head of steam before they hit the throng. But, when the camera pans from the gates to the crowd, the cops are nowhere to be seen - either in the lane or on the other side of the fence. So, are they lifted out by helicopter? And do they have a more balanced view of the concept of safety than any of the other participants? Not to mention the organisers.

Ever the optimists, the Spanish government has said that the recession will end here in the first half of next year. Meanwhile, though, Spain’s is the only large economy for which the IMF’s forecasts this time round are even worse than the last lot for 2009 and 2010.

My historical search for info on Drake and Pontevedra threw up this Parador page. It’s a nice intro to the city. And an excellent example of the sort of English you get when you eschew using a native speaker and blow the budget on a relative or friend.

It was a bit of a Wild Life day for me today. First there was a dead rat on my front lawn this morning. Then there was a large green lizard and a two-metre snake on the forest track this afternoon. And now, this evening, I’ve just surprised a large mouse or small rat outside my back door. The lizard was chased off by my dog, Ryan. Which probably saved its life, as I suspect the snake was just about to wrap its dislocateable jaws around it.

Finally . . . A word of advice . . . Unless you love crowds, 6pm of a Saturday is not a good time to go shopping in a supermarket in Spain. At least not when several of the conurbation’s shops are closed because it’s the feast day of the patron saint of a part of it that used to be a separate village.

Regular readers will know I do like to point out that the Spanish don’t display much of a duty of care to strangers. Meaning they can be remarkably inconsiderate of the interests of others. On the other hand, I do stress they have a very high duty of care towards family and friends. And that, most importantly, it doesn’t take much to become a friend. Once you do, then the Spanish can be not only very affable but also remarkably gracious and kind. This is quite a contrast and, since the Spanish see themselves only in the latter light, they tend to get pretty annoyed at the regular foreigner’s comment that they’re a rude people. To stay positive, here are three recent examples of the sort of thing that more than compensates for the stuff of which I complain:-

1. In the café where I take my morning coffee, I asked the young waitress if she’d take a minute to listen to a video of a comedienne telling a joke in Asturian and then tell me whether it was fully comprehensible to a speaker of Gallego. She willingly did so and then talked a bit about Spanish languages and ended up saying she’d bring me in a book on them. This is the first time we’ve spoken, other than for me to order my café con leche.

2. When I polled up at the petrol station at the nearby shopping centre at 2.40 yesterday, the young lady told me they’d closed at 2.30. But, seeing the crestfallen look on my face, she immediately ignored her own comment, came out and filled my tank.

3. This evening, I was waiting in my car at the side of the road for some people who are renting my house in the hills. A car drew behind me and the driver came to my door, offered his hand, and asked me if I was Juan Pablo Garcia. When I said I wasn’t there was much smiling and well-wishing and off he went. Only to return a couple of seconds later to ask whether I was parked because of problems with the car.

As I say, it doesn’t take much to become a friend and then to be entitled to such generous treatment. In fact, thinking about it, all it seems to require is that you cease to be a stranger by exchanging a few words. Perhaps this is why the Spanish talk so much. Which some would say is rich, coming from me. But, then, perhaps that’s why I fit in. As I’ve written before, it doesn’t pay to be a shrinking violet in Spain. You’ll be a perpetual stranger and come to hate the place.


If you’re coming to Pontevedra this summer, be aware that the place is full of public works that are proceeding at a pace which would shame a lame snail. Six week from our annual huge fiesta, the alameda where much of it takes place is an almighty mess and there are already warnings this won’t be cleared up by mid-August. Of course, even if it isn’t, the show will still go on and you’ll have a great time. If not necessarily in the place where you should be having it.

Regular readers will know I do like to point out that the Spanish don’t display much of a duty of care to strangers. Meaning they can be remarkably inconsiderate of the interests of others. On the other hand, I do stress they have a very high duty of care towards family and friends. And that, most importantly, it doesn’t take much to become a friend. Once you do, then the Spanish can be not only very affable but also remarkably gracious and kind. This is quite a contrast and, since the Spanish see themselves only in the latter light, they tend to get pretty annoyed at the regular foreigner’s comment that they’re a rude people. To stay positive, here are three recent examples of the sort of thing that more than compensates for the stuff of which I complain:-

1. In the café where I take my morning coffee, I asked the young waitress if she’d take a minute to listen to a video of a comedienne telling a joke in Asturian and then tell me whether it was fully comprehensible to a speaker of Gallego. She willingly did so and then talked a bit about Spanish languages and ended up saying she’d bring me in a book on them. This is the first time we’ve spoken, other than for me to order my café con leche.

2. When I polled up at the petrol station at the nearby shopping centre at 2.40 yesterday, the young lady told me they’d closed at 2.30. But, seeing the crestfallen look on my face, she immediately ignored her own comment, came out and filled my tank.

3. This evening, I was waiting in my car at the side of the road for some people who are renting my house in the hills. A car drew behind me and the driver came to my door, offered his hand, and asked me if I was Juan Pablo Garcia. When I said I wasn’t there was much smiling and well-wishing and off he went. Only to return a couple of seconds later to ask whether I was parked because of problems with the car.

As I say, it doesn’t take much to become a friend and then to be entitled to such generous treatment. In fact, thinking about it, all it seems to require is that you cease to be a stranger by exchanging a few words. Perhaps this is why the Spanish talk so much. Which some would say is rich, coming from me. But, then, perhaps that’s why I fit in. As I’ve written before, it doesn’t pay to be a shrinking violet in Spain. You’ll be a perpetual stranger and come to hate the place.


If you’re coming to Pontevedra this summer, be aware the place is full of public works that are proceeding at a pace which would shame a lame snail. Six weeks from our annual huge fiesta, the alameda where much of it takes place is an almighty mess and there are already warnings this won’t be cleared up by mid-August. Of course, even if it isn’t, the show will still go on and you’ll have a great time. If not necessarily in the place where you should be having it.

I occasionally mention the speedboats abandoned on our Galician beaches. There may now be rather fewer of these, as “The members of the leading smuggling gang operating in Galicia, a well-travelled gateway for cocaine into Europe, were arrested and their boats seized in an operation which involved scores of officers from the police and the Civil Guard. The so-called lancheros - launch men - were under contract to Colombian cocaine cartels to bring ashore large consignments of the drug. After getting it on dry land, the lancheros hid the drugs to await transport to Britain and other destinations in Western Europe.” Now, this may seem like very good news to you, but spare a thought for our local economy. Times were hard enough already.

I’m used to reading odd female names inspired by the Catholic religion – like Penitencia, Imaculada and Purgatorio (though I may have made up the last of these) – but pickings are less rich when it comes to males. However, I see the father of the new president of the Galician Xunta is blessed with the name Saturnino, Which translates as, well, saturnine. Or melancholy, grave or gloomy. Which seems a lot to load a kid with. I wonder if anyone’s called Diablo. Or even just Lucifero. If so, it'd have to be recent development, as it’s only a few years since the Spanish state withdrew the obligation to name your children after saints. But Santo Saturnino? Well, yes, actually.

Roundabouts again . . . It’s struck me that, in the article I cited, there were no instructions about what signal to give when entering or exiting one of these. Perhaps this is just as well, as any signal, absence of signal or combination of signals seems to be perfectly acceptable. Which leads to the superordinate rule on any roundabout – Don’t trust any signal made by any other driver.

Apart from several Chinese and Italian restaurants, Pontevedra doesn’t offer much by way of international cuisine. The Korean restaurant closed down after only a few months and two Indian restaurants didn’t last much longer either. But the city is now overflowing with kebab places. I guess it’s the perfect dish for hungry souls patronising the dozens of bars and discos of the old quarter. Coincidentally, I’ve heard today that a kebab house in Santiago is offering Thai dishes. Which will have to be investigated.

Meanwhile . . . Hits to this blog have soared today. I’ve suggested this happens if I refer to sex, brothels or prostitutes but, in this case, it looks as if it’s because I cited ETA and terrorism. Perhaps there’s a horde of angry Basques out there tracking the blogosphere for any reference to these. Actually, most of Spain’s Basques seem angry but I guess this is because they’re the ones who get the media attention. They wouldn’t, of course, regard themselves as angry Spaniards.

One of the features of Spanish life is that no one seems to really trust the national mail service. After eight years of waiting – sometimes vainly – for overdue magazines from the UK, I can certainly sympathise. Not to mention the packages that never did arrive.

The economic news continues to be bad. But not universally so. The (French) Carrefour supermarket company has announced a 10% fall in sales here. I knew I‘d be setting a trend when I decided never again to set foot in any of their stores after the printer saga of a couple of years ago.

And talking of France . . . I don’t know whether Brussels will again fine the French government for not stopping the disruption of their ports this week by various strikers. But I am sure that, if it does, the fines will never be paid. Perhaps they all think this is very funny in Paris and Brussels. Rule of law? What rule of law? Some rules are clearly less rule-ish than others. I believe Spain adopts much the same approach. And why not? If it’s good enough for the core members who wrote the bloody rules, why not for everyone?

Someone arrived at this blog yesterday after googling lesbians in Galicia, where do they go? Not to Pontevedra, I’d hazard a guess.

En passant, it may or may not be the right time to consider Spanish property again. Especially as the pound is creeping towards the rate of 1.25 to the euro on which I think I‘ve staked a bet. But remember, everything’s cheaper in Galicia, where the summers are glorious and the countryside magnificent.

I’ve finally corrected the malfunctioning links on my Galicia web page. So, if anyone wants to see pictures of dove chicks developing or of the Medieval Fair fiestas of 2006 and 2007 in Ponters, click here, here and/or here.

Spanish banks are now operating at the country's largest estate agents (realtors) and are inevitably resorting to notional discounts and easy finance to get shut of the thousands of properties taken onto their books as settlement of loans made to developers and builders. Not everyone is convinced that the prices are yet realistic.

Still on construction . . . It seems that the flow of new - but unwanted - properties onto the market has finally begun to slow down. That it's taken this long reflects, of course, the long lead time on the buidling of flats and houses here. Those in front of my house are now in their fourth year of construction and, alas, the end is not yet in sight. At this rate, someone might actually want to buy one when they're finished.

Only in Spain? Here’s the opening paragraph from a report I read in one of today’s national papers:- The gang of drug smugglers who stole 600 kilos of cocaine from the port in Barcelona, in a raid which uncovered a racket involving the National Guard and the national police, celebrated their achievement with a two-day party in a brothel which was made exclusively available to them.

Here’s The Economist’s take on the cabinet changes announced last week. I always enjoy the dialogues these generate between Spaniards of a different stamp. Until, that is, they descend into tribal mud-slinging. Which, sadly, sometimes doesn’t take very long. Anyway, the magazine endorses my own comment that President Zapatero is only now beginning to pay the price for a downturn which started some time ago.

I also wrote that, as a result of EU membership, President Z’s room for manoeuvre was severely restricted. But a major development was, in fact, trailed today. If I understand it, the intention is to extend unemployment pay from the current two years to three. One wonders, firstly, where the money will come from and, secondly, whether this really is the best start that could be made on re-structuring Spain’s economy. But it certainly fits with a socialist administration and it might restore a bit of popularity before the EU elections in the summer.

Financed by the funds flowing from property transaction taxes, the town council of Pontevedra has been carrying out disruptive public works (obras) for at least the eight years I’ve been here. And they’re still at it. In fact, the area in front of the town hall and the Alameda which stretches away from it down to the old port are totally obscured by temporary metal fences surrounding excavations in respect of a new underground car park. A complete mess. So, if you intend to visit us this summer, you have been warned. If you read anything suggesting it’ll all be finished by the time you come here, don’t believe it for a second.

Looking ahead, and pondering an ‘adventure holiday’ - Has anyone produced an advance guide to the summer riots of 2010?

To end of a positive note - Road deaths over the Easter holidays were 39, against 58 last year. A real success.

At last a non-partisan article in the Spanish national press on corruption. In El País today, Rosa María Artal spares no blushes in attacking Spanish practices and attitudes and calls for an end to this huge stain on the country’s reputation. What she’s up against is the statistic she quotes herself – Only 2% of Spaniards think corruption is a national problem. But, hey, it’s a start.

As it happens, I hear there’s a program tonight on British TV about land abuses down south. This should further postpone the day when Brits start re-investing in property here. I guess it’s just possible that economic distress will cause something of a re-think here. But it’s hard to be confident.

Talking of the economy . . . The eminent economist, Paul Krugman, came to Madrid over the weekend and re-acquainted President Zapatero with some truths about his room for fiscal manoeuvre within the eurozone and the pain which must be inflicted on Spain, if she is to resume convergence towards EU norms. In brief, ‘Very deep and unpopular structural reforms’. Hard times. Some, of course, have argued that this is exactly why Spain is in the eurozone. But this may take some explaining to the man in the street.

The north west of Spain is naturally not as hot and dry as the south of the country. Indeed, I recently described Galicia’s maritime climate to friends as ‘like living in the Atlantic but without the bobbing up and down’. And in winter we usually get a lot of rain. And I do mean a lot of rain. Though it’s not so wet right up in the hills, I believe. All that said, we’ve just had a month of superb sun and the temperatures today are again up in the 20s. In fact, at 29 degrees, the Galician city of Ourense was set to have the highest temperature of the day for all Spain. This city up in the mountains sits in a natural bowl, alongside the river Miño. As a result, it’s the only city in the country capable of achieving the national extreme at both ends of the temperature scale. Though not on the same day, of course.

It’s not unusual in Pontevedra to see two women coming towards you of similar height and build, wearing an identical style of clothes and sporting the same hairstyle, despite the fact there’s about 20 years between them. These, of course, are mother and daughter and it makes me smile to think how much of an anathema this would be for young British women. From the back, these be-jeaned mothers look like their daughters’ sisters and are referred to by my own sharp-tongued elder daughter as 17/60s. Seventeen from the back and 60 from the front. This is because she’s still nearer 17 than 60 and I guess her attitude could change.

A bar owner in Barcelona has been jailed for several years for driving his neighbours mad with noise. And down in Malaga new laws are being introduced to prevent one practising one’s guitar at home. The local authority says it’s imposing a max of 45 decibels generally and only 40 in bedrooms, which is described as being as loud as a library. I wonder if that’s a Spanish library or, say, a Japanese library. I’m left wondering by how far Tony’s bawling would exceed these. Not to mention every moped in every street in Spain.

Finally, an interesting article on that modern sham, the Irish Pub.

There is, it seems, someone who accurately predicted – back in 2005 - the financial mess the world is now in – an economic historian called Edward Chancellor. This is when he wrote a report entitled “Crunch time for Credit”. What a shame he wasn’t in charge of anything.

The political wrangling that’s currently taking place in the Basque Country may or may not be a example of good democracy in action. Over at The Spanish Shilling, Lennox sheds some interesting light on one or two aspects. But, as I say, I bow to almost anyone when it comes to understanding what’s going on there. My general view remains that, if a big slug of an existing nation wants to sail off on its own, then is should be allowed to do so if that’s what the majority want. Whether it’s Scotland, Wales, the Basque Country, Cataluña or Galicia.

If you’re a foreigner who sold a Spanish property between 2004 and 2006, it’s very likely that you were charged excessive tax and can now reclaim it, with interest. If you’re patient - and lucky - you may get it back before you kick the bucket.

On the other hand, if you’re Spanish and plan to drive in the UK, you should know that the law will shortly allow the British police to copy their Continental cousins and impose huge roadside fines on people who don’t live there. Or even on Brits who can’t prove that they do. Given my luck of the last year, I fully expect to be hit during my next visit. On a point of detail:- “The standard fine for a careless driving offence — including driving too close to the vehicle in front of you – will be 300 pounds.” This really will be problematical for Spanish drivers, as few of them consider tailgating at high speed anything other than obligatory. Incidentally, the report on this said the average length of the driving test is 19 minutes in France, 20 in Spain and 36 in the UK. Not that this necessarily means anything. Perhaps they take a break for tea.

In the last ten days, I’ve signed up for three UK-provided services via the internet. Now, I wouldn’t want to suggest British companies have any less interest in profit than Spanish companies. But it certainly does seem they have a different view on how to maximise it. In each case, the process was easy and quick and the customer-orientated follow-up was amazing. Or maybe I’m easily astonished these days. That said, the British approach of enticing customers and then persuading them, via excellent service, to stay does rather contrast with what I’ve called the standard Spanish process of trapping your customers, screwing them and then making it difficult to impossible for them to escape. Cue comments from Spanish readers about examples of appalling service in the UK. Which surely does exist but I’m making a general point, based on recent personal experience. It's one of the things that make me worry about Spain's ability to compete internationally now that the good times are over.

Finally, three fotos . . .

This is A Casa da Luz, in Plaza Verdura in Pontevedra's lovely old quarter. It hasn't been occupied for at least 8 years but used to be the HQ of the local police. Now it's being converted into the offices of the Rias Baixas tourist organisation. It gets its name - Electricity House - from the fact it was the first place in Spain to have power, generated from a local stream. Anyway, this is what I'm told and it's a nice story.


In contrast, here's the front of some flats recently completed in the nearby port of Combarro.


If you think this is bad, here's what they look like from the back . . .


I think I've mentioned before that this is what I call the 'toilet' style of architecture. Sadly, it's become quite common along the coast here. Or should I say 'very common'?

Second post of the day . . .

Yesterday’s regional elections have changed Spain’s political landscape quite significantly. Here in Galicia, the local BNG nationalist party has certainly lost its position of power after the defeat of the coalition between it and the PSOE socialist party. And up in the Basque Country the – rather larger – nationalist PNV party might well be out of power after a couple of decades or more, once all the other parties manage to come together in a massive – and possibly unworkable – coalition.

Galicia’s papers overflow today with impressively-immediate analysis and commentary. The return to government of the right-of-centre PP party is universally seen as a surprise. And I guess that, both relative to the polls of the last month and in light of the record high turn-out which normally favours the Left, it must be counted as a shock. But, as with the financial crisis, if all the reasons now given for it were as obvious before the event as they are now, the really surprising thing is that, as far as I know, no one had the courage to predict it. Reasons adduced this morning include the sort of thing I’ve occasionally touched on here - resentment at the Xunta’s divisive language policies, the bloody-minded arrogance of the minority nationalist partner in the coalition and the willingness of the majority socialist partner to allow it to dictate policies that could only ever appeal to a small minority of voters. As one commentator wrote – and as I’ve claimed in my own regard – not all Gallego-supporting Galicianists are Nationalists. I could write more but, firstly, it’s probably boring and, secondly, I’ve mislaid my notepad.

Coming right down to street level . . . The Spanish word civismo is translated as ‘sense of civic responsibility’ or ‘public spiritedness’. I’ve occasionally noted that, while the Spanish can be the most affable, the most sociable and even the most noble people on the planet, civismo is a quality which is often conspicuous by its absence here. This is because it runs counter to the national trait of individualismo. It’s true that a Spaniard will treat you royally if he or she is aware of your existence but, failing this, you often don’t count. I’m reminded of this by a surprise article in one of the local papers here which carried a photo of a car parked across three parking bays down by the river. The driver is accused of “A total lack of civismo and of respect for others.” And the writer adds that “As usual the grua [tow truck] was not in evidence and was not expected to be.” As it happens, I’ve been compiling an album of such inconsiderate parking practices over the past few months and must post it one day. But I think we’ve had quite enough pix for this week.

But talking of photos . . . I posted one on Saturday of the rubbish outside the new Burger King place after Friday’s revels. I read today that it’s been closed down for not having a licence either for change of use or for the works involved in converting it from a private café into a public burger bar. Which is not now open to the public. Temporarily, at least. Spain is a wonderful place but sometimes it’s also Wonderland.

Finally – Yet another town hall corruption case. As I’ve said before, there’s been so many of these that one wonders what the unlucky few have to do to trigger their arrest. Boast of it? Anyway, one of the more interesting observations on the victory of the PP here yesterday is that it rather proves how little the Galician voters care about the corruption scandal which has enveloped the party in Madrid. As if we didn’t know. In fact, I doubt that they’d care much about it if it were in their own backyard. At least, not during ‘fat cow’ years. But we might be on the cusp of a change.

Apart from the news at the end of it, this post is a Foto Special, showing several of the floats amassing at the start of last weekend’s Entroido [Mardi Gras] procession down in Pontevedra. Having since seen pictures of events in other towns around the region, I now realise these fine folk compete in several. Which probably explains why they’re spaced out over a week. Apart from the Nautilus creation I showed several days ago, I don’t know which of them won the Pontevedra prizes. I would’ve given them all an award for effort and ingenuity. They certainly cheered me up. And almost made me forget my parking fine.

A group of neighbours affected by road-widening plans and using characters from the work of the famous Galician cartoonist and writer, Castelao.

Part of a troupe from Tomiño, I think, sporting costumes more appropriate to Sevilla.


DittoYour guess is as good as mine.


Clearly deserves a prize. Probably not a commentary on the proliferation of Chinese bazaars in the town.

Something to do with Mama Mia, I believe.

I'm stumped again on this one.

And this one.

A comment on the Atheist/Believers bus saga. Enjoy yourself whether He exists or not.

More magnificent dancers. Waiting to dance.

A comment on Global Warming, I suspect.


This last foto has nowt to do with the procession but serves to demonstrate how odd one or two of my neighbours are . . .


Finally, some readers might have noticed that I have a regular [Spanish? Male?] contributor to the Comments who likes to tell us how awful things are in the UK. He writes anonymously but I think of him as Mr Chippy. Anyway, it occurred to me this morning that his contributions are so regular he’s effectively writing a parallel blog to mine. So, taking this to its logical extreme, I’ve decided to move all his comments to a new blog which, because he writes from Dartford, I’ve called Kentish Counter-Thoughts. But be careful how you say this. You can access this blog from the Links on the right but click here if you want to read yesterday’s achingly funny comment about Brits spitting and urinating in their litter-ridden streets. It follows an equally hilarious post the previous day about the national sport of vomiting.

My suspicion is that Mr Chippy is not a happy camper. So I do hope my bit of charity cheers him up a bit. But, most of all, I do hope he keeps writing. If not to me, then in his own genuine blog which we can all avidly follow.

If this initiative is well received, I might follow up with the comments of someone who calls himself Piney Moustache and who writes directly to my email address to tell me what an ignorant, arrogant, bigoted, racist I am. I rather get the impression he feels that, if you’re British, you’re born with these qualities. He says he’s not Spanish and writes from the USA. So I’m guessing he has Irish blood. Though, ironically, not as much as me.

No sooner have I written that a coffee in Pontevedra costs a minimum of 90 cents than I find I can get a coffee, two pastries and a thimbleful of fresh orange juice at a place near the town hall for 85. And, this morning, I paid only 80 on the terrace of a café along the coast. Perhaps prices are actually falling.

Thanks, it’s said, to excessive regulation, the number of VoiceIP users in Spain is extremely low compared with those of other European countries. A mere 375,000 against 10.8 million in France, for example. I’m not sure this can be lain at Telefónica’s door but it still seems an appropriate point at which to report that, despite the recession, their profits rose handsomely last year. Who knows, perhaps one day they’ll be able to invest in the provision of lines in rural areas of Spain. Not to mention decent ADSL at reasonable prices. But I’m not holding my breath.

And speaking of that wonderful company, Trevor at Kalebeul passes on a tip on how to deal with the nuisance 1485 calls I mentioned a couple of weeks ago.

Today there can be no campaigning ahead of our regional elections tomorrow as it’s a compulsory ‘day of reflection’. So, I bring you a picture of the PSOE poster showing the PP presidential candidate as the ventriloquist’s doll of the octogenarian ex-President, Manual Fraga.

In Ourense a couple of days ago, some clever wags managed – overnight – to replace these faces with those of the socialist candidate as the doll and the nationalist candidate as the ventriloquist. Which is an echo, of course, of my comment about the nationalist tail wagging the socialist dog for the last four years. And which we might get a lot more of over the next four. But, as I’ve said, this time round no PSOE voter can possibly be under the illusion that this won’t happen should the coalition stay in power.

And here’s the promised pictures of the parrot Ravachol, sporting a top hat that you might just be able to make out.
And here’s an example of the irreverent sort of thing that takes place in these early Lenten celebrations.


And, finally, here’s the scene late last night outside the BurgerKing place that opened a week or so ago in the old quarter of Pontevedra. At best, this is merely the one-off result of Ravachol revels. At worst, it’s progress.

This is a day for quoting from the blogs of net colleagues . . . .

- Trevor at Kalebeul cites an interesting irony about Galicia's three competing mini-airports.

- Charles Butler at Ibex Salad provides a piece that will interest Banco Santander watchers.

- And, finally, Graeme at South of Watford gives us some fascinating practical advice on booking trains in Spain via the internet.

For those still interested in it, here’s a bit more on Act 6 of the National Comic Opera

Over in the UK, feather-nesting continues among the Great British Bureaucracy. For the nth year running – and in the teeth of a recession-cum-depression, when the major concern is now deflation - municipal taxes are to rise at many times the level of underlying inflation. As I keep on asking, when are taxpayers going to revolt against this? Perhaps it could all start in Boston. The one in Lincolnshire, of course.

If you’ve been flying over Galicia this week and smelt burning fish, the reason is that this is the time of year – the end of the first week in Lent – when mock funeral processions are held and various large effigies immolated at the end of corteges which involve a great deal of wailing and much cross-dressing. In most towns along this coast, the stuffed creature is an unimaginative sardine. But, here in Pontevedra, it’s a gaudy parrot called Ravachol. This year, of course, he will be dressed as a banker. Pictures tomorrow, maybe.

It’s been a long time coming but today is the last day of campaigning in our regional elections. In retrospective, it might have bit more interesting if my taxpayer status had given me a vote. But I rather doubt it. Anyway, we should have the results early next week, unless it all hinges on the overseas votes that will take a week or two to verify and count. And possibly recount. On a more positive note, I can now look forward to the European elections later this year, in which I do have a vote. And in which - I’ve just discovered - I can stand as a candidate. In fact, I’m now contemplating joining the EU racket, as President of the Galician Gravytrain Party. Anyone know how to translate this into Spanish and, more profitably, Gallego?

But . . . I may be too late. The experts who’ve argued that the economics of realpolitik make an EU implosion impossible seem to be breaking ranks. Just my bloody luck. Hopefully, though, Herr Pohl is just putting the frighteners on the likes of Greece and Ireland. Though old Ambrose doesn’t, of course, think so. Can he possibly be right after all? And, if so, what on earth will it mean for us here in Spain?

So, Act 4 of Spain’s national Comic opera has begun. Assailed by accusations of corruption but flushed with the success of the scalp of the Justice Minister, the Opposition Partido Popular announced yesterday they'd today officially accuse the prosecuting judge of perversion of the course of justice, if he didn’t remove himself from the case. And they may well have done so by the time you read this. This will run and run. To a full house.

And talking of madness, I don’t always agree with the writer and commentator, Will Self, but on the issue of the ghoulish media circus around the wedding and death of the ‘celebrity’ Jane Goody in the UK, I plead as guilty as him to the charge of being a hard-hearted cynic. You can read his trenchant views here.

Back in the little pool of Pontevedra, there were cars a-plenty without tickets in the little square today. But no sightings of any traffic cops. On the other hand, the old quarter of Pontevedra featured a feral pack of young Rumanian women with their clipboards and their monosyllabic demands for donations to some fictitious charity for the deaf and dumb. So, what on earth is the link between these? Well, it was a public holiday in Pontevedra today and the police had clearly taken time off from both persecuting motorists and arresting crooks. My initial thought was that crime must rise here on days like this but then I realised that Spanish criminals probably enjoy a good fiesta too. Though not their more industrious Rumanian colleagues, it would seem.

Which reminds me . . . At the head of the list of foreign nationals resident in Galicia I posted the other day were the Portuguese. At 19,000 as I recall. But, looking at the building site outside my house this morning, it dawned on me that the survey was probably done a year or more ago, when Galicia was full of construction workers from our southern neighbour. The real figure might be much lower now. Possibly around 19.

The Voz de Galicia this week gave this verdict on the campaign for the regional elections taking place next Sunday:- What we have is an empty campaign, devoid of ideas, devoid of proposals worth the name, devoid of debates but full of haphazard meetings. Which is like going to the bullring knowing that the bull’s horns have been trimmed. I wouldn’t disagree but, then, I don’t read all the guff so am probably not overly qualified to give an opinion. What I can do, however, is give you a picture of the poster for the PP candidate for President, looking as statesmanlike as he can. The other two will follow tomorrow. In line with my theory about the hankering for strong leaders, I can add that the theme next to the picture of the PSOE candidate – and current President – is:- Give him more power.

I give you Sr. Feijoo, of the Partido Popular . . .

Incidentally, consistent with my ad hominem theme, the PP is attacking the incumbent President for being responsible for Galicia’s economic plight. I suspect this is a mistake, given that most people here probably believe he’s been powerless to stop something caused by the dastardly Americans and not palliated by the bastards in Madrid.

At the same time, the BNG nationalist party is attacking the incumbent President – the head of their PSOE coalition partner - for being “A mouthpiece of the [fascist] PP party”. I suspect on the issue of which co-official language is to have de facto hegemony.

Said incumbent President seems to be too nice to make personal attacks on either of the two other candidates. Which rather suggests he’s not fit for office and shouldn’t be there in the first place.

Finally, I leave you with the odd results of two on-line polls carried out this week by local papers:-

Do you think the Oscars process is impartial?
NO - 67% YES – 33%

Do you think Penelope Cruz is Spain’s best actress?
YES – 10% NO – 90%

I’d be interested in any rationale for either or both of these.

Referring to claims of widespread corruption in PP party councils last week, I didn’t muddy the waters by airing my query as to how long it would be before the party’s leaders started claiming it was all a government set-up ahead of elections in the Basque and Galician regions. About 48 hours turned out to be the answer. In Spain, this is pushing at an open door. But what is really horrifying is that I find it at least plausible. So, I’m clearly well on my way to becoming a fully-fledged Spanish conspiracy theorist. Or perhaps just a plague-on-both-houses-ist.

Conspiracy thinking is one thing but I’ve now read the first example of pre-conspiracy thinking I can recall. Ahead of a football match between Spain and England this week, the Spanish Football Federation has advised the players to keep silent on the subject of xenophobia [and racism?] as any comments will only give the British ammunition with which to weaken the Spanish case for hosting the World Cup in 2018, in preference to the UK. So far, I haven’t seen any suggestion that this might be advisable because this [these] are abhorrent in its [their] own right.

Well, Ambrose Evans-Pritchard may not be Britain’s most admired financial commentator but at least he’s consistent. In this article this morning he told us EU finance ministers were planning to ambush the German government today into accepting the debt union Berlin regards as an anathema. I guess he’ll tell us the outcome tomorrow.

Four of Britain’s best known – and now most reviled – bankers were grilled live on TV by a parliamentary commission in London this morning. As they’d had serious coaching, it wasn’t very surprising they made a decent fist of defending themselves against claims of both cupidity and stupidity. But, then, bankers are traditionally good at holding their own . . .

The city of Pontevedra is blessed with a philharmonic society. A couple of years back I tried to join it but there was no web page and the address cited on its publicity material turned out to be a dead-end. Things are now much better. There’s a decent web page and you can apply to join on line. Or, rather, you can if you either have two surnames or are prepared to make one up. Otherwise it won’t let you proceed. So, I’m now officially Lord Davies. All of this is a prelude to a report that I attended one of the society’s concerts last night and was impressed at how much more civil things were than down at the Caixa Galicia film show for riff-raff a week or so ago. The piano recital started bang on time and no one was allowed in after it had begun. Plus we were instructed to turn off our mobile phones. But . . . Of the 42 people attending, 34 of them - 81% - aggregated on the left side of aisle, leaving a mere 8 odd folk on the right. So, not entirely un-Spanish.

As I’ve mentioned, Pontevedra also now has a bike-hire scheme. I noticed a couple of days ago that the ranks were empty at night. So I assumed they’re routinely removed for nocturnal safe-keeping. It did occur to me they might all have been stolen but I rejected this out of hand. Now I’m wondering, as I’ve just read that the world’s premier bike-rental scheme in Paris suffers inordinately high rates of theft and vandalism. And I know there are some French people living in Ponters.

Finally, it looks as if my ex internet provider, Ya.com, is about to take me to court over a debt of 39 euros. In the past two months they’ve sent me bills, reminders, debt collection letters and now a final demand from their lawyers. What they haven’t done is provide me with an explanation of this bill, despite an email back in December promising to do this. Such is life as a Spanish customer. So, on my lawyer’s advice, I’m off to the Consumo tomorrow morning to lodge a complaint against Ya.com and to seek an arbitration that should surely never happen. If that doesn’t work and I get hit for 39 euros plus expenses, I shall be shifting my mobile phone from Orange to Vodafone - on the grounds that both Orange and Ya.com belong to France Telecom, whereas Vodafone is British. That should hurt the Gallic bastards. And give me something British to moan about.

The Business Section of El País today avers that Spain’s chances of recovering as quickly as she might from the recession are hampered by the fact the Government is being vacillatory while the Opposition is rendered ineffective by a fratricidal internal struggle. Which is just another way of saying what I wrote yesterday, I like to think.

In sharp contrast to Spain - where the government’s popularity is more than merely surviving the economic downturn – Britain’s governing Labour party now looks irretrievably doomed. Just a year or so ahead of general elections, all recent polls put them miles behind the Opposition Conservative party. One commentator has suggested the only surprising thing about this is that it’s been so long coming.

On a wider front, talk of protectionism is inevitably in the air - even in Britain, which has traditionally played rather more by the level-playing-field rules than most other nations, including its EU partners. Especially its EU partners. Which is all just an excuse to lift this joke from one of today’s papers – “To stem a flood of Japanese bicycles the French decreed that henceforth each machine had to be individually tested. OK, said the Japanese. Not at the port of entry, but in the remote provincial town of Poitiers, the French specified. OK, sighed the Japanese. And by a French Olympic medallist, the French insisted. OK, groaned the Japanese. Unfortunately, said the French, there aren't any French cycling medallists.”

The local police are referred to around here - and possibly everywhere else in Spain- as payasos, or clowns. But it’s be hard to beat the stupidity of two members of the better-regarded national police force, the Guardia Civil, who not only fooled around with three young women in and near their car but allowed them to take pictures of the proceedings. Which, of course, we can now all enjoy at our leisure.

So . . . is this the first sign of an answer to my regular question about how long it will be before we see evidence Spain is becoming less europhilic. Assuming you regard Cataluña as part of Spain, of course.

Talking of signs . . . Here’s one on Pontevedra’s inner ring, just before a large roundabout/circle . . .

But why? Well, it may help to explain why, after 8 years, I remain mystified as to how one is supposed to go through a roundabout in Spain. The inference to be drawn from the lines is that you can stay in either lane if you’re going straight on. But the evidence of my own eyes is that all drivers here are taught to get into the right-hand lane if they’re going straight on. And even if they’re turning left! In fact, I’ve seen them doing this even when executing a U-turn. Given what will happen if you stay in the left-hand lane to go straight on and the car on your right is turning left, perhaps it’s no great surprise that roundabouts account for the highest percentage of accidents here in Galicia. And possibly in the rest of Spain as well. Does anyone know what the law says? Not that this is always very relevant here, of course. Unless you want to avoid one of the ever-rising number of fines being handed out by the revenue-hungry traffic police.

Finally, here’s an article which suggests the British are on the verge of rising up against what I’ve been calling for years the country’s very own brand of corruption – feather-bedding by civil servants. Maybe. We will see.

Second post of the day . . .

The Duchess of Alba is said to be the richest woman in Spain. She’s in her eighties and has had enough expensive cosmetic surgery to leave her with a characteristic perma-stare. Though what accounts for her odd voice, God alone knows. Anyway, she’s upset her children by taking up with a man who, though considerably her junior, loves her deeply for what she is. I mention all this because I’ve read that she’s just been in for a bit of brain surgery and I’m wondering whether she knew anything about it.

The EU parliament has been treated to a "hard-hitting condemnation of Spain’s urban planning practices, weak property rights, and unresponsive legal system”. Click here if you want to know about the rather predictable reaction of Spanish MEPs from both major parties. Interestingly, this report coincides with a survey which suggests the British dream of buying property in the south of Spain has not been much affected by ‘scare stories’ in the UK media. Which must be music to the ears of many bureaucrats, developers, estate agents, lawyers and assorted crooks down there. Some of which are the same people. Or at least related.

This last week has seen two quotes from Spanish female singers which left me rather quizzical . .
Niña Pastori – Flamenco is suffering because gypsies are no longer poor.
Concha Buika – Galicia is one of the most African places in Spain.

Another thing I’d appreciate enlightenment on is when it is that Spanish uses capital letters, outside the obvious ones I mean. Tonight I saw that not only Government and State merited this treatment but also the Market. And Labour and Capital?

As I’ve noted a couple of times, Galicia has three small airports for a population of 3 million. They seem to spend a good deal of time and effort competing with each other. Not far south of us, Portugal has a truly international airport outside Oporto and this is growing far more rapidly than the three Galician facilities combined. There’s probably a lesson to be drawn from this but no one here gives any impression of understanding what it is. Too busy fighting their own corner, perhaps.

Which reminds me – A woman down in Pontevedra city was recently arrested for repeatedly scratching her neighbours’ cars. For parking outside her garage would be my guess.

Well, El País had jumped on my Sarkozy bandwagon, in the form of an article from British columnist Timothy Gorton Ash. TGA labels the petite Frenchman the President Emperor and accuses him of thinking he’s indispensable to Europe. But his main point is that Europe is failing to achieve a single voice over such things as the events in Gaza and the little problem with Russian gas. Instead, he says, Europe is seen in Washington and Peking as incoherent, hypocritical and irritating. But, above all, impotent. It reminded me of an article in the Voz de Galicia a day or so ago in which the writer said that the successors to Europe’s visionaries were the mediocrities of Brown, Merkel and, of course, Sarkozy. I suppose this might just be because it’s easier to dream than to solve tough problems when interests conflict. Especially when economies are declining and not booming.

One British paper at least – the Sunday Telegraph – did cover Friday’s demonstration in Andalucia. And in terms which surely won’t help the image of Spain with its million or so readers. There was even a mention of corruption. But I particularly like the response of the regional head of planning who said his hands are tied because he has to “work within the framework of the law." Which would surely make him pretty unique down there. And it does leave one wondering why huge blocks of illegal flats on beachfronts are still standing, when private houses in the hills can be summarily demolished. Perhaps they don’t have big enough machines.

Here’s the answer to the copyleft conundrum. Not Spanglish at all, it seems.

Finally, a few more Ponters pix:-

1. A defensive fossa/fosa [I guess] which has been unearthed by the old city walls. One side is of large smooth stones and the other of a rougher construction that I associate with the Middle Ages. So, did they dig a defensive ditch behind the original Roman walls and then erect another wall? Perhaps we will know when the new museum finally opens.


2. This is the third or fourth occupant of this place in the old quarter. In recent years, I mean. It’s called a ‘coffee and music club’ but my partner says the combination of ‘club’ and the colour pink is decidedly suspicious. You may not believe this but this hadn't occurred to me.


3. And here’s the city’s first rent-a-bike pick-up point. I’ll be interested to see how this scheme develops. Will we now have adults as well as kids racing towards us on the pavement?

Watching the tail end of a British TV program last night on the 100 Most Annoying People of 2008, I was delighted to find I’d never even heard of the winner, one Agyness Deyn. She’s an empty-headed model, apparently.

Talking of which . . . I’ve taken to accessing an on-line news and opinion digest called The First Post. Over the last 3 or 4 days, this has brought me nothing but at least a hundred citations of a report that the secret of fashion designer Valentino's perma-tan may have been revealed. Click here if this intrigues you.

As predicted, President Zapatero has announced that the poorer bits of Spain disadvantaged by his new system for financing the regions will benefit from a separate fund. As a result, says the government, all the regions will get more money than ever before and everyone in Spain will get the same level of services wherever they live. If you believe this, you’ll believe anything. Or at least that Spain will have full employment by the end of 2008. Anyway, President Z’s divide-and-rule strategy obviously owes so much to perfidious Albion that I’m surprised it hasn’t yet been labelled El Plan Britanico.

There’s no doubt Pontevedra is a finer city now than when I arrived 8 years ago. Assuming you’re a pedestrian. However, the price in daily disruption has been high and I had hoped this was coming to an end. So it was disappointing to see this headline in the Diaro de Pontevedra – “Get ready for a year of widespread works”. So, more road and pavement obras to avoid. Or at least negotiate. However, the good news is that much of the recession-easing cash will be spent on two more bridges over the river separating Pontevedra from my barrio of Poio. Ultimately, this will ease traffic bottlenecks but you don’t have to be a pessimist to envisage more chaos in the near term. Hey ho. I just hope they finally finish and open the monstrous glass and granite building which is destined to be the new home of the city’s fine museum.

If you’re thinking of bucking the trend and buying a property in Spain, you might want to give the developers and estate agents [realtors] a miss and head for the nearest bank or caja/caixa. As this commentary points out, they're likely to have a lot of stuff to shift. Perhaps at knockdown prices. Though I should warn you it’s a commonly held view here that bank auctions are dominated by a ruthless mafia who don’t take kindly to being overbidden on distressed properties. But this could be just an urban myth.

For one reason and another, we’re giving up the modem/dongle that allows us to get the internet on our laptops wherever there’s mobile phone coverage. Needless to say, it wasn’t enough to go back to the shop where we signed the contract. Nor just to ring the premium rate number they gave us and go through the customary time-consuming process of extrication. No, we also had to send a premium rate fax with a letter and a photocopy of both sides of an ID card. Just in case – I suppose – some twisted crook was trying to end the contract to our disadvantage. As I was walking through town later, I got to pondering just how long Santander’s business would last if they decided to introduce such Spanish practices in the UK, when I suddenly came upon this car . . . .


I may be mis-reading this but, on the surface, it looks like Santander’s acquisition of a couple of ailing UK banks has led them to try a few British practices here. But, if in fact they’ve been providing commission-free banking for some time, then I apologise for my rank opportunism. Frankly, though, it looks to me like a message from God. Who presumably reads this blog and has some sympathy with my view of Spanish banks.

By the way, the phone company from which we rented the dongle is Vodafone. Which is British, of course. It obviously cuts both ways.

Well, first off, you’ll all be wanting to know that El Fandi was the leading bullfighter of 2008, garnering the highest number of tails, ears and ovations. The last mentioned came cheaper to the bulls. Though they were probably past caring at this point.

The writer of this article reviews what went wrong in the financial and credit markets this year and offers a mea culpa which turns out to be rather more of an exculpation. As I understand it, it’s all the fault of those of us who aren’t as logical as economists feel we should be. Especially when the US government makes mistakes that the writer wouldn’t have made.

I have seen a few Pinter plays but never been a fan. Perhaps because I recall being bored stiff when watching The Birthday Party as an immature teenager. As opposed to the immature adult I later became. However, I’ve no reason to doubt the basic view of this columnist that he was a creative genius. Though I find it easier to agree with her comment that such folk often make silly political commentators.

While I may have drunk quite a lot of wine in my life so far, I can’t claim to have any great knowledge. Or, indeed, a decent nose or palate. So I was interested in this article on how to fake the ability to spout the sort of garbage we’re all familiar with. And even more so in the cited article revealing that even experts can find it difficult to distinguish between red and white wines, when denied knowledge of their colour. Makes you think.

The Pontevedra council has plans to make a permanent exhibition of the medieval ruins recently disinterred. And, understandably, to place a number of artefacts in the museum. The article on all this used the verb musealizar but it seems this has yet to be recognised by the Royal Academy. Which is a shame. Perhaps I jotted it down wrongly. Though Google gave me 5,000 citations just now.

Talking of councils in Galicia . . . The wealthiest turns out to be Beariz, up in the Pontevedran hills. I think I'm right in saying this includes the town of Avión, which [naturally enough] has its own little airport for the private jets of the descendants of the people who emigrated to Mexico and made their fortune from questionable business practices.

Which reminds me . . . Someone from one of the Madrid universities has analysed 42 films made in Spain between 2000 and 2006 and established that 31% of the male protagonists avail themselves of prostitutes. Which is hardly surprising, I guess. Cinema verité.

Those who are fed up with details of the Great Galician Turbine Turmoil should log off now. . . There are, of course, more articles in the local press today and, in this one, the writer says it was inevitable the BNG would take decisions on a political rather than a commercial basis – “It’s a nationalist and minority party; it applies linguistic rigour as it if were a mark of its symbolic identity and tries to open up real areas of influence based on economic pragmatism in its areas of influence. . . . As travelling companions, it chooses financial entities where it has political interest, rural companies where it enjoys influence, canning companies in towns where it governs or co-governs - a varied business base with which it wants to weave a middle-class nationalism.” For which you can hardly blame them as this is what has brought Cataluña to its present position. But the interesting thing to observe will be whether their unilateral – let’s-annoy-almost-everyone-important – approach on this issue will result in them reversing the trend of the last 2 or 3 elections and assure them more than 20% of the vote. Vamos a ver. Or Ya veremos. I can never remember which.