Following on from my comments on the importance of being regarded as a ‘friend’ in Spain, there’s been a little bit of (public and private) dialogue on the essential superficiality of some of these relationships. Indeed, someone has rightly pointed out that stranger-ship much also be superficial, if it can be converted into friendship by the exchange of just a few words. Or even by the bumping of shoulders. But, yes, it’s true – many Spanish relationships are very superficial. More like acquaintanceships, really. Some of us have no problem with this but others find they need the sort of deep relationships they’re used to in other cultures. Where living away from your family – or having piss-poor relatives – means you have to have good friends as a safety net and a support mechanism.
Anyway, the estimable Ben Curtis – of Notes from Spain and lots else – has learned the hard way to eschew the sort of critical comment I am wont to make and has taken things to the other end of the spectrum this week. He’s started a series on what makes the Spanish the great people they are. His first blog was on the impressive honour system which rules in bars here and his second offering in on how meals are shared here and how the bills are divvied up at the end of them. Click here for this one and scroll down for the first one.
It will, I’m sure, surprise no one that El Tráfico has announced they’ll be ramping up the number of random breathalyser tests this summer. But who can object to this, so long as it involves none of the chicanery that takes place around speed traps?
News about Spanish banks continues to confuse me. Santander and BBVA still rank among the world’s most profitable banks but the industry as a whole (“The most robust in the world” – Pres. Zapatero) is reported to be about to close 10,000 branches and shed 35,000 employees. Of course, most of these could be in the troubled savings bank sector, about which Charles Butler comments here. One of the interesting aspects of these (less than transparent) banks is that the regional governments have a veto over any of ‘theirs’ being taken over by one from another region. And it seems that the central government – which needs all the friends it can get – is going to chicken out of removing this political barrier to commercial progress.
As of 1 July, we’re supposed to be free to change our electricity supplier. As we have only a limited time to exercise our choice, it would have been nice to know what the competitive prices are. But this has proved beyond the capacity of the government and the industry and I forecast that 1. there will be little other than inertia, and 2. prices will rise. Beyond the 2% announced yesterday, I mean.
Finally . . . For those who don’t know, BBC3 is their TV channel aimed at the ‘young’ audience. But I suspect the channel is secretly premised on a maximum IQ of 90. Sky News, on the other hand, now seems to be aimed at viewers who would find BBC3 too taxing. Which is why I’m very glad I can also get news-for-adults from France 24, Al Jazeerah and even, at times, the EU’s EuroNews. And I never thought I’d ever say that.
Dawn
Showing posts with label Spanish culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spanish culture. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
If you live in a country long enough, you begin to realise that apparent illogicalities and inconsistencies are really perfectly rational and consistent. By the rules of local custom and practice, I mean.
I repeated yesterday my explanation of why the Spanish can come across to foreigners as, on the one hand, rude but, on the other, kind and gracious. It all comes down to whether you rank as a friend or not. And an extension of this explains the bizarre fact that the 'rude' Spanish are the best in a world when it comes to apologising.
Take the (relatively frequent) example of someone who unwittingly bumps into you because they essentially have no spatial antennae. At this point, the physical contact is even more effective than a mere exchange of words in establishing the personal relationship which justifies gracious treatment. Which immediately comes in the form of an embarrassingly profuse apology.
And this logic also explains why someone who comes out of a shop and walks straight across you (instead of waiting a micro-second so they can walk behind you) invariably never says anything. Or even gives the impression of being aware of your existence. Simply put, you haven’t exchanged words or touched each other. So you’re not a 'friend' and there’s no personal relationship. Now, in theory at least, you yourself could establish the relationship which should lead to an apology by speaking to the perpetrator. But this is tricky. If you show any degree of anger – or even what our American cousins call ‘assertiveness’ - you will immediately be in the wrong and are likely to get the treatment once dished out to V S Naipaul in Madrid – “Go back to South America! We have no concept of personal space here.” If, however, you utter a mild expression of hurt – say, “Hommmbre!?” – then you might just get a apology. But it won’t be an effusive, gracious one because face has been lost and the giver is a little on the defensive. In short, you’ve rather forced yourself on him/her as an (aggrieved) friend. And this is not always taken well.
Another example of Spanish ‘difference’ explained itself to me last night, in the wifi café I was writing and drinking in. In many (most?) countries of the world, you’re not really welcome as a singleton who takes up a table for four. But here in Spain no waiter or waitress ever gives the impression either that you’re unwelcome in the first place or, an hour and just one drink later, have long outstayed your welcome. Could this be because tipping is rare in Spain and so the staff don’t rely on it? By occupying a table for four, you’re not denying anyone the money they’d get on a larger order. Plus, you’re less work than a larger group. So . . . same money, less work. No wonder no one objects. The owner might but would be foolish to show it; competition is tough.
I’ve now seen several examples of trucks parked at the new bus-stop down at the roundabout. In each case, they’ve had their hazard lights flickering away. In another example of Spanish custom and practice, this means they’re not technically there and so can’t be given the sort of fine the rest of us get on a monthly basis these days.
Finally . . . If any Spanish reader wants a fascinating explanation of the apparently insane illogicalities and inconsistencies of British society, then he or she could do worse than to get hold of a copy of the book on Englishness by Jane Fox which I cited a few months ago.
I repeated yesterday my explanation of why the Spanish can come across to foreigners as, on the one hand, rude but, on the other, kind and gracious. It all comes down to whether you rank as a friend or not. And an extension of this explains the bizarre fact that the 'rude' Spanish are the best in a world when it comes to apologising.
Take the (relatively frequent) example of someone who unwittingly bumps into you because they essentially have no spatial antennae. At this point, the physical contact is even more effective than a mere exchange of words in establishing the personal relationship which justifies gracious treatment. Which immediately comes in the form of an embarrassingly profuse apology.
And this logic also explains why someone who comes out of a shop and walks straight across you (instead of waiting a micro-second so they can walk behind you) invariably never says anything. Or even gives the impression of being aware of your existence. Simply put, you haven’t exchanged words or touched each other. So you’re not a 'friend' and there’s no personal relationship. Now, in theory at least, you yourself could establish the relationship which should lead to an apology by speaking to the perpetrator. But this is tricky. If you show any degree of anger – or even what our American cousins call ‘assertiveness’ - you will immediately be in the wrong and are likely to get the treatment once dished out to V S Naipaul in Madrid – “Go back to South America! We have no concept of personal space here.” If, however, you utter a mild expression of hurt – say, “Hommmbre!?” – then you might just get a apology. But it won’t be an effusive, gracious one because face has been lost and the giver is a little on the defensive. In short, you’ve rather forced yourself on him/her as an (aggrieved) friend. And this is not always taken well.
Another example of Spanish ‘difference’ explained itself to me last night, in the wifi café I was writing and drinking in. In many (most?) countries of the world, you’re not really welcome as a singleton who takes up a table for four. But here in Spain no waiter or waitress ever gives the impression either that you’re unwelcome in the first place or, an hour and just one drink later, have long outstayed your welcome. Could this be because tipping is rare in Spain and so the staff don’t rely on it? By occupying a table for four, you’re not denying anyone the money they’d get on a larger order. Plus, you’re less work than a larger group. So . . . same money, less work. No wonder no one objects. The owner might but would be foolish to show it; competition is tough.
I’ve now seen several examples of trucks parked at the new bus-stop down at the roundabout. In each case, they’ve had their hazard lights flickering away. In another example of Spanish custom and practice, this means they’re not technically there and so can’t be given the sort of fine the rest of us get on a monthly basis these days.
Finally . . . If any Spanish reader wants a fascinating explanation of the apparently insane illogicalities and inconsistencies of British society, then he or she could do worse than to get hold of a copy of the book on Englishness by Jane Fox which I cited a few months ago.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Friday, June 26, 2009
What a strange morning, today. I couldn’t find any news at all on any TV channel. Except, of course, that a rather confused, if talented, pop star had unexpectedly died. It left me wondering, firstly, whether The Second Coming would receive such coverage. And, secondly, whether we shouldn’t call last night’s development The First Going.
Anyway, I was pondering this morning the implications of living in a society where no one really believes anything anyone else tells them. Well, here’s one significant consequence for those selling property in today’s falling market in Spain. Actually, things can currently work out badly for the buyer as well as the seller. I’m still half-waiting for the tax authorities to write to me to say they believe I paid more for the house in the hills than I did. Even though, if you can follow this, the price declared (in my case the correct one) is much higher that that which the town hall has on its books (the valor catastral). The consequence would be an additional 7% transfer tax on the difference between the actual price I paid and their over-inflated notional market price. I guess there’ll be some theoretical appeal process but I won’t take much comfort from this. As I don’t from the fact it’s now more than a year since the transaction took place. In Spain, a lag of this order hardly counts as serious.
What it all means is that the tax authorities can use a plummeting market to take extra money from both the buyer and the seller, not caring whether this is fair or not and probably knowing that it isn’t. Their operating logic appears to be that, if you can afford to run a car in Spain right now, you can certainly afford more taxes via legitimate/illegitimate speeding and parking fines. Even more so if you can afford to buy a property. And even if you’re forced to sell one. It’s all just a game, after all.
The president, Señor Zapatero has repeated yet again that the Government will not make the sacking process cheaper for employers, despite the pressures being put on him to do so. He defended his stance by saying that such a change was not contemplated in his election manifesto. But, then, this would also be true of the increased taxes on petrol and cigarettes just announced. And the higher income tax he’s trying to get approved by parliament, with the support of minority left wing parties. Plus, as we now know, the ‘permanent’ tax rebate of 400 euros each is going to have a shelf life of about two years. There seems to be a widespread view that Sr Zapatero is not very able, not much of a leader and not to be trusted on whatever he says. His good fortune – in this televisual, ‘progressive’ age – is that his charisma bypass operation was less successful than that of the leader of the Opposition, Señor Rajoy.
I say that President Zapatero is not to be trusted on anything he says but the news today on anti-recession government spending in Europe suggests he's sticking to his word that he’ll only try ‘socialist’ solutions to the crisis. At 2.3% of GDP, Spain’s spend is twice as much as other EU members. So I assume that mountains of government debt are now piling up. To be paid for later, as in the UK.
For those looking for an explanation of Iran’s ludicrous infatuation with the power of the British government, here’s a good start.
Finally . . . Spain has a lot of great looking cake shops (pastelerías). But here’s why giving in to temptation is usually not a good idea. Believe me, Lenox is spot on; they may look like the cakes you can buy in France but they certainly don’t taste like them. As he succinctly puts it – “Here in Spain, cakes are to be seen and admired, but never, ever eaten.” You have been warned.
Anyway, I was pondering this morning the implications of living in a society where no one really believes anything anyone else tells them. Well, here’s one significant consequence for those selling property in today’s falling market in Spain. Actually, things can currently work out badly for the buyer as well as the seller. I’m still half-waiting for the tax authorities to write to me to say they believe I paid more for the house in the hills than I did. Even though, if you can follow this, the price declared (in my case the correct one) is much higher that that which the town hall has on its books (the valor catastral). The consequence would be an additional 7% transfer tax on the difference between the actual price I paid and their over-inflated notional market price. I guess there’ll be some theoretical appeal process but I won’t take much comfort from this. As I don’t from the fact it’s now more than a year since the transaction took place. In Spain, a lag of this order hardly counts as serious.
What it all means is that the tax authorities can use a plummeting market to take extra money from both the buyer and the seller, not caring whether this is fair or not and probably knowing that it isn’t. Their operating logic appears to be that, if you can afford to run a car in Spain right now, you can certainly afford more taxes via legitimate/illegitimate speeding and parking fines. Even more so if you can afford to buy a property. And even if you’re forced to sell one. It’s all just a game, after all.
The president, Señor Zapatero has repeated yet again that the Government will not make the sacking process cheaper for employers, despite the pressures being put on him to do so. He defended his stance by saying that such a change was not contemplated in his election manifesto. But, then, this would also be true of the increased taxes on petrol and cigarettes just announced. And the higher income tax he’s trying to get approved by parliament, with the support of minority left wing parties. Plus, as we now know, the ‘permanent’ tax rebate of 400 euros each is going to have a shelf life of about two years. There seems to be a widespread view that Sr Zapatero is not very able, not much of a leader and not to be trusted on whatever he says. His good fortune – in this televisual, ‘progressive’ age – is that his charisma bypass operation was less successful than that of the leader of the Opposition, Señor Rajoy.
I say that President Zapatero is not to be trusted on anything he says but the news today on anti-recession government spending in Europe suggests he's sticking to his word that he’ll only try ‘socialist’ solutions to the crisis. At 2.3% of GDP, Spain’s spend is twice as much as other EU members. So I assume that mountains of government debt are now piling up. To be paid for later, as in the UK.
For those looking for an explanation of Iran’s ludicrous infatuation with the power of the British government, here’s a good start.
Finally . . . Spain has a lot of great looking cake shops (pastelerías). But here’s why giving in to temptation is usually not a good idea. Believe me, Lenox is spot on; they may look like the cakes you can buy in France but they certainly don’t taste like them. As he succinctly puts it – “Here in Spain, cakes are to be seen and admired, but never, ever eaten.” You have been warned.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Can it really get much worse for Gordon Brown? Has anyone ever seen a government crumble in front of their eyes before? No wonder the Westminster village is agog. Even beats the Thatcher defenestration, I suspect.
Here in Spain, President Zapatero has been able to pull a rabbit from the hat just before the European elections on Sunday. After months of rising steeply, the unemployment figures suddenly dropped last month, we’re told. But even the government-supporting El País finds this a tad hard to credit, pointing out the numbers were ‘early’ and hadn’t been seasonally adjusted. Needless to say, the Opposition merely accused the President of lying. But that’s what they say about all his utterances. And vice-versa. One irony is that quite a few of us were sceptical about the bad numbers, suspecting they were not as awful as painted. If so, I guess it wasn’t very difficult for the government to indulge in a bit of sleight-of-hand when it most suited it. But, that said, statistics are not generally believed here. Which is why it amuses me so much that they’re often given to two decimal points.
Contemplating my bad luck of the last two weeks, I got to thinking about how and why things go wrong in Spain. In a nutshell, it tends to be when you want some after-sales service, especially technical. As a Spanish friend said when I relayed my comment about good customer service here amounting to giving bad news with a smile, the reply was “No. Good service here is getting any answer at all.”. Putting this another way, thanks to very rapid growth, Spain probably lacks a depth of infrastructure commensurate with its wealth and economic ranking. But, anyway, all this got me pondering where Spain would have a competitive edge in international markets. And my inevitable conclusion was that it would be where products and services didn’t need any follow-up. In other words, things that are consumed, enjoyed and forgotten about, most obviously wine, food and tourism. All of which just happen to fit with the national obsession for having fun. Which I don’t suppose is a coincidence.
But this is just what it says on the label – a Thought from Galicia. I won’t be very upset if anyone shoots it to pieces. Honest.
One obvious exception has just occurred to me – Aren’t some excellent shotguns made here? Though I don’t suppose after-sales service matters very much once a beautiful piece has blown up in your face.
None of this is to say there are no excellent operators here in Spain, corporate and private. The plumber who worked at my house for eight hours this week was a good example of the latter. Almost impossible to tie down but superb when he finally turned up. I asked him if he were a perfectionist – there are some here – and he replied “No. For example it really annoys me I can’t do the brickwork as well as a bricklayer. But I do like to do the very best job possible.” I rest my case.
Here in Spain, President Zapatero has been able to pull a rabbit from the hat just before the European elections on Sunday. After months of rising steeply, the unemployment figures suddenly dropped last month, we’re told. But even the government-supporting El País finds this a tad hard to credit, pointing out the numbers were ‘early’ and hadn’t been seasonally adjusted. Needless to say, the Opposition merely accused the President of lying. But that’s what they say about all his utterances. And vice-versa. One irony is that quite a few of us were sceptical about the bad numbers, suspecting they were not as awful as painted. If so, I guess it wasn’t very difficult for the government to indulge in a bit of sleight-of-hand when it most suited it. But, that said, statistics are not generally believed here. Which is why it amuses me so much that they’re often given to two decimal points.
Contemplating my bad luck of the last two weeks, I got to thinking about how and why things go wrong in Spain. In a nutshell, it tends to be when you want some after-sales service, especially technical. As a Spanish friend said when I relayed my comment about good customer service here amounting to giving bad news with a smile, the reply was “No. Good service here is getting any answer at all.”. Putting this another way, thanks to very rapid growth, Spain probably lacks a depth of infrastructure commensurate with its wealth and economic ranking. But, anyway, all this got me pondering where Spain would have a competitive edge in international markets. And my inevitable conclusion was that it would be where products and services didn’t need any follow-up. In other words, things that are consumed, enjoyed and forgotten about, most obviously wine, food and tourism. All of which just happen to fit with the national obsession for having fun. Which I don’t suppose is a coincidence.
But this is just what it says on the label – a Thought from Galicia. I won’t be very upset if anyone shoots it to pieces. Honest.
One obvious exception has just occurred to me – Aren’t some excellent shotguns made here? Though I don’t suppose after-sales service matters very much once a beautiful piece has blown up in your face.
None of this is to say there are no excellent operators here in Spain, corporate and private. The plumber who worked at my house for eight hours this week was a good example of the latter. Almost impossible to tie down but superb when he finally turned up. I asked him if he were a perfectionist – there are some here – and he replied “No. For example it really annoys me I can’t do the brickwork as well as a bricklayer. But I do like to do the very best job possible.” I rest my case.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
I read this morning that car sales in May in Spain were well down on last year. Which left me even more surprised that no one in any of the showrooms I’ve managed to find open so far seemed particularly keen to sell me a new car. If any of them has had any sales training, the investment appears to have been wasted. But, anyway, it put me in good spirits as I set out to talk face-to-face to the Ford salesman who’d promised to call me yesterday to let me know whether the June price would be even better than the May price he gave me last Friday. Alas, no. It had actually increased 500 euros. And the rationale? Firstly, it’s June and, secondly, I don’t have a 10 year old car to exchange under the Spanish government’s just-introduced swap scheme. This, it seems, has boosted both the trade and the spirits of the car dealers and led them to reduce the discounts they were previously offering to those of us with, say, a 5 year old car with a useless engine.
But I had a bit of good luck last night when I bumped into my old piano teacher and he told me the Suzuki dealership was now housed in the Opel showrooms. So I went there after visiting the Ford place, only to discover that it isn’t.
So another productive morning. But the good news is that the car wreckers down in Poio will give me 200 euros for the car and arrange for it to be officially taken off the road. Or rather “About 200”. I wonder what on earth it depends on. Me getting the car there and finding I have no other option but to leave it with them, I imagine. I’m guessing 100-150 in practice.
But the really good news is that I didn’t pay the garage 245 euros for the wing mirror knocked off in a January storm but got one for 70 euros via the net when I was in the UK in April. And nor did I pay them 50 euros to put it on. So, anyone want to buy a green RHS wing mirror for a Rover 45? If not, I guess there’s always e-bay.
There was a rather odd supplement in the Diario de Pontevedra last week. Essentially, it was a celebration of all the public works which make the city even more of a mess than it’s been for the last 10 years. And I guess it was paid for by the local council. Or, in other words, the taxpayers. But I was delighted to read that between Monday and Friday between 5 and 7 of the evening, you can go up onto the balcony of the town hall and have a guided gaze at the excavations going on in what used to be Plaza de España around an underground car park that should be with us some time in the next ten years. I may not be able to resist.
Which reminds me . . . Another breezeblock or two were added to the bus-stop-in-process yesterday and then faced with granite. But my suspicions are growing that some architectural genius who is either ignorant of or oblivious to our weather has designed a facility that not only has wood in the roof but which is also open to the elements. I do hope I’m wrong and that plate glass is going to installed at the back and around the sides. Vamos a ver.
For what it’s worth, the latest forecast for Thursday’s European elections give the right-of-centre PP party 43% of the vote, against 39% for the ruling socialist PSOE party. The predicted turnout is 45% but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were rather less than this.
Finally, if you’re fed up of reading about expenses abuse by British MPs, you might like to raise your sights and read Henry Kamen’s article in yesterday’s El Mundo about corruption among the members of the European Parliament. Who’ve banned any publication of their own expenses, I believe. One wonders why. Or, rather, one doesn’t.
Postscript: As I finished this, the Ford salesman called to ask me to go back again tomorrow to discuss an improved offer. Which is a lot more sensible than his stance this morning. Things are finally looking up. Sort of.
Post postscript: The internet provider Ya.com who threatened to sue me last year and against whom I’ve lodged an official complaint with the Consumer Bureau has just called to invite me to subscribe to ADSL through them. I needed a laugh.
I leave you with the thought that the call from the Ford guy endorses my long-held suspicion that no business in Spain treats an enquiry as serious until the potential client follows up with a second face-to-face meeting. Which makes it either very logical or illogical that they usually, in the case of cars, won't give you a price on the phone.
But I had a bit of good luck last night when I bumped into my old piano teacher and he told me the Suzuki dealership was now housed in the Opel showrooms. So I went there after visiting the Ford place, only to discover that it isn’t.
So another productive morning. But the good news is that the car wreckers down in Poio will give me 200 euros for the car and arrange for it to be officially taken off the road. Or rather “About 200”. I wonder what on earth it depends on. Me getting the car there and finding I have no other option but to leave it with them, I imagine. I’m guessing 100-150 in practice.
But the really good news is that I didn’t pay the garage 245 euros for the wing mirror knocked off in a January storm but got one for 70 euros via the net when I was in the UK in April. And nor did I pay them 50 euros to put it on. So, anyone want to buy a green RHS wing mirror for a Rover 45? If not, I guess there’s always e-bay.
There was a rather odd supplement in the Diario de Pontevedra last week. Essentially, it was a celebration of all the public works which make the city even more of a mess than it’s been for the last 10 years. And I guess it was paid for by the local council. Or, in other words, the taxpayers. But I was delighted to read that between Monday and Friday between 5 and 7 of the evening, you can go up onto the balcony of the town hall and have a guided gaze at the excavations going on in what used to be Plaza de España around an underground car park that should be with us some time in the next ten years. I may not be able to resist.
Which reminds me . . . Another breezeblock or two were added to the bus-stop-in-process yesterday and then faced with granite. But my suspicions are growing that some architectural genius who is either ignorant of or oblivious to our weather has designed a facility that not only has wood in the roof but which is also open to the elements. I do hope I’m wrong and that plate glass is going to installed at the back and around the sides. Vamos a ver.
For what it’s worth, the latest forecast for Thursday’s European elections give the right-of-centre PP party 43% of the vote, against 39% for the ruling socialist PSOE party. The predicted turnout is 45% but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were rather less than this.
Finally, if you’re fed up of reading about expenses abuse by British MPs, you might like to raise your sights and read Henry Kamen’s article in yesterday’s El Mundo about corruption among the members of the European Parliament. Who’ve banned any publication of their own expenses, I believe. One wonders why. Or, rather, one doesn’t.
Postscript: As I finished this, the Ford salesman called to ask me to go back again tomorrow to discuss an improved offer. Which is a lot more sensible than his stance this morning. Things are finally looking up. Sort of.
Post postscript: The internet provider Ya.com who threatened to sue me last year and against whom I’ve lodged an official complaint with the Consumer Bureau has just called to invite me to subscribe to ADSL through them. I needed a laugh.
I leave you with the thought that the call from the Ford guy endorses my long-held suspicion that no business in Spain treats an enquiry as serious until the potential client follows up with a second face-to-face meeting. Which makes it either very logical or illogical that they usually, in the case of cars, won't give you a price on the phone.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The campaign for the June European elections apparently began at the weekend. It will be fascinating to see what percentage of the EU’s (hitherto) most pro-Europe nation actually bothers to vote.
Meanwhile, it has at least provided another opportunity for the President and the Leader of the Opposition to each label the other a liar. And it has spurred El Mundo to counter El País’s long ‘corruption’ campaign against the Opposition with one of rampant nepotism on the part of the ex President of Andalucia, now a government minister. So, all in all, not very edifying.
A few years back, I wrote about the new stamp machine in the foyer of the revamped Post Office, highlighting the fact it took you through eight steps before - usually - telling you it wouldn’t give any change. Today – having seen the long queues at the desks - I decided to forego the 3 centimos due back on my 65 and duly requested a stamp at the end of this process. But I underestimated the machine. Up came a notice saying EXACT MONEY! and my coins were spewed out at the bottom. But at least I’d got the weight of the letter and was able to buy the right stamp at a tobacco kiosk down the road, before walking back to post the letter. When I write that time often gets mysteriously eaten up in Spain, this is the sort of thing I have in mind. Thank God I have a lot of it.
Just about the only positive of last week was the number of Followers to my blog rising from 18 to 21. Which more than offset the drop in those using Google Reader from 66 to 65. So imagine my disappointment when I realised that one of the three new Followers was actually me. Which struck even me as rather presumptuous. So I spent some time today finding out how to delete myself, as it were. But I won’t be bothering to ascertain how I managed to add myself.
Finally . . . Down at the roundabout, a couple of new crews arrived today to work on the bus-stop-in-process. But these were hardier types and were eschewing safety harnesses while doing various things to the roof. Even though, in one case, this meant perching precariously atop a lofty step-ladder. And fooling around with electrics. Barring accidents, I should be able to post a photo of the finished construction by, say, end August. This year, I mean.
Meanwhile, it has at least provided another opportunity for the President and the Leader of the Opposition to each label the other a liar. And it has spurred El Mundo to counter El País’s long ‘corruption’ campaign against the Opposition with one of rampant nepotism on the part of the ex President of Andalucia, now a government minister. So, all in all, not very edifying.
A few years back, I wrote about the new stamp machine in the foyer of the revamped Post Office, highlighting the fact it took you through eight steps before - usually - telling you it wouldn’t give any change. Today – having seen the long queues at the desks - I decided to forego the 3 centimos due back on my 65 and duly requested a stamp at the end of this process. But I underestimated the machine. Up came a notice saying EXACT MONEY! and my coins were spewed out at the bottom. But at least I’d got the weight of the letter and was able to buy the right stamp at a tobacco kiosk down the road, before walking back to post the letter. When I write that time often gets mysteriously eaten up in Spain, this is the sort of thing I have in mind. Thank God I have a lot of it.
Just about the only positive of last week was the number of Followers to my blog rising from 18 to 21. Which more than offset the drop in those using Google Reader from 66 to 65. So imagine my disappointment when I realised that one of the three new Followers was actually me. Which struck even me as rather presumptuous. So I spent some time today finding out how to delete myself, as it were. But I won’t be bothering to ascertain how I managed to add myself.
Finally . . . Down at the roundabout, a couple of new crews arrived today to work on the bus-stop-in-process. But these were hardier types and were eschewing safety harnesses while doing various things to the roof. Even though, in one case, this meant perching precariously atop a lofty step-ladder. And fooling around with electrics. Barring accidents, I should be able to post a photo of the finished construction by, say, end August. This year, I mean.
Friday, May 22, 2009
I wondered out loud earlier this week where the next municipal revenue-raising scheme would come from. Well, here’s one candidate - a tax on noise during the dead hours of the Spanish day. Not to mention on sex in the street. In Granada at least.
How can one hope to understand the power of the internet when one reads that a video of a baby laughing has been seen by 83 million people in two years? I wonder what the numbers would be for sex in one of Granada's streets.
There’s been bad blood between the neighbouring cities of Pontevedra and Vigo for centuries now. Indeed, you can read about it here (Chapter XXVIII) in George Borrow’s wonderful 1840 book about his journeys through Spain while trying to flog the Protestant Bible. The key to the conflict is that Pontevedra city has always been the capital of Pontevedra province but Vigo has progressively grown to be almost four times its size and surely now merits this honour. The new Xunta has recently made some sort of tiny step in this direction, resulting in a violent reaction from Pontevedra dignitaries. Including the mayor who is sitting on the next table as I type this. The result is that the economic crisis, massive unemployment and even this week’s violent metalworkers’ strike have been shoved off our front pages so that we can all appraise ourselves of the minutiae of this local distraction. God help us.
Anyway, down in said Pontevedra I see there’s a kids’ clothing shop called Neck and Neck. Ignoring the obvious question of Why, exactly?, I wonder if this will be the next place to go bottom-up, after Better and Stop.
Something else seen while walking into town today – Did I mention I don’t have a car? – On the wall of an empty plot of land guarded 24/7 by a solitary husky, someone has spray-painted “Would you like to live like this dog, if things were different?”. Being a border collie, my dog Ryan was able to respond with a heartfelt No!.
Finally, if you thought the scandal of British MPs being overpaid was bad enough, click here for a shock.
How can one hope to understand the power of the internet when one reads that a video of a baby laughing has been seen by 83 million people in two years? I wonder what the numbers would be for sex in one of Granada's streets.
There’s been bad blood between the neighbouring cities of Pontevedra and Vigo for centuries now. Indeed, you can read about it here (Chapter XXVIII) in George Borrow’s wonderful 1840 book about his journeys through Spain while trying to flog the Protestant Bible. The key to the conflict is that Pontevedra city has always been the capital of Pontevedra province but Vigo has progressively grown to be almost four times its size and surely now merits this honour. The new Xunta has recently made some sort of tiny step in this direction, resulting in a violent reaction from Pontevedra dignitaries. Including the mayor who is sitting on the next table as I type this. The result is that the economic crisis, massive unemployment and even this week’s violent metalworkers’ strike have been shoved off our front pages so that we can all appraise ourselves of the minutiae of this local distraction. God help us.
Anyway, down in said Pontevedra I see there’s a kids’ clothing shop called Neck and Neck. Ignoring the obvious question of Why, exactly?, I wonder if this will be the next place to go bottom-up, after Better and Stop.
Something else seen while walking into town today – Did I mention I don’t have a car? – On the wall of an empty plot of land guarded 24/7 by a solitary husky, someone has spray-painted “Would you like to live like this dog, if things were different?”. Being a border collie, my dog Ryan was able to respond with a heartfelt No!.
Finally, if you thought the scandal of British MPs being overpaid was bad enough, click here for a shock.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Talking to my Monday evening Spanish ladies about finding a new partner, I said the good news was I had the two things most sought by women in a man. I meant, of course, money and breath but, when asked what I was talking about, their consensus was ‘blue eyes’. Interestingly, while I was joking, I don’t think they were. Life should be so simple.
It must be spring. El Pais has had a series of articles on the scourge of Spain’s huge (and still growing) prostitution industry. Which reminds me, I see another ‘club’ has opened on the outskirts of Pontevedra, on the old road down from Ourense. So I guess all the adverse publicity isn't working.
Talking about crisis-beating businesses, I noticed today that, while shops and even bank branches are closing around us, two more up-market bars opened this week in Pontevedra. And this in a city already renowned for the ratio of bars to just about everything else. Can this really be because the many public sector workers here are cosseted from and impervious to economic developments elsewhere?
The other day I wondered out loud what the secret was of getting things done here. But this was disingenuous; I already knew it was to go native and piggy-back on the network of personal relationships of everyone I knew. And, as I result, this week I’ve already had two plumbers visit me and give me an estimate for immediate work and I’m having to fight off a third. As I’ve said before, people here owe no duty of care to strangers but an immense duty of care to family, friends and friends-of-friends. Using the personal connections arising from these, obstacles can always be hurdled and queues jumped. Levels of efficiency leap upwards. And you can even get people to phone you back. Of course, it helps to be a sociable, outgoing sort of person and, in Galicia for example, to speak Spanish. If not, you’re likely to find Spain a frustrating place and, if thinking of coming here, would be best advised to live in those parts of the country which are no longer Spanish. By which I mean the foreign enclaves, of course. It’s quite possible that a first come, first served system operates in these. For a price.
Finally, I note that the Speaker of the House of Commons becomes the President when the institution is translated into Spanish. But, then, almost everyone is a president of something here. Even if it’s just a community of neighbours. Of course, my border collie, Ryan, is the President of my house.
It must be spring. El Pais has had a series of articles on the scourge of Spain’s huge (and still growing) prostitution industry. Which reminds me, I see another ‘club’ has opened on the outskirts of Pontevedra, on the old road down from Ourense. So I guess all the adverse publicity isn't working.
Talking about crisis-beating businesses, I noticed today that, while shops and even bank branches are closing around us, two more up-market bars opened this week in Pontevedra. And this in a city already renowned for the ratio of bars to just about everything else. Can this really be because the many public sector workers here are cosseted from and impervious to economic developments elsewhere?
The other day I wondered out loud what the secret was of getting things done here. But this was disingenuous; I already knew it was to go native and piggy-back on the network of personal relationships of everyone I knew. And, as I result, this week I’ve already had two plumbers visit me and give me an estimate for immediate work and I’m having to fight off a third. As I’ve said before, people here owe no duty of care to strangers but an immense duty of care to family, friends and friends-of-friends. Using the personal connections arising from these, obstacles can always be hurdled and queues jumped. Levels of efficiency leap upwards. And you can even get people to phone you back. Of course, it helps to be a sociable, outgoing sort of person and, in Galicia for example, to speak Spanish. If not, you’re likely to find Spain a frustrating place and, if thinking of coming here, would be best advised to live in those parts of the country which are no longer Spanish. By which I mean the foreign enclaves, of course. It’s quite possible that a first come, first served system operates in these. For a price.
Finally, I note that the Speaker of the House of Commons becomes the President when the institution is translated into Spanish. But, then, almost everyone is a president of something here. Even if it’s just a community of neighbours. Of course, my border collie, Ryan, is the President of my house.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I wrote week or so ago that an astonishing 62% of Spaniards prefer to deal with their personal affairs face-to-face, instead of via snail-mail, phone or the internet. Actually, it should have been 72%. Talking about this to the five teachers of English I meet of a Monday evening, I asked how working couples could do this, as the banks and bureaucrats tend to be open/available only before midday. The first comment was that many people in Pontevedra work as civil servants and so can easily take a break of an hour or more each morning. The second comment - even less surprising - was that parents/parents-in-law are often roped in for this. So the face-to-faceness can, in fact, be rather vicarious. Of course, this in only possible if you don’t move away from your place of birth and so can rely on your family to do your errands (recados) for you. As, indeed, is the case for most Spaniards, I believe. Though I do know some ambitious, hard-working folk who’ve moved far from home in search of employment which will allow them to achieve their full potential. As you’d expect, these qualities tend to go together. Staying where your family lives certainly represents the easy option.
Another way in which the Spanish family has become relevant recently is in understanding the absence of serious protest against the high unemployment rate (now nearing 20%). Many of the job losses will have hit ‘young’ people (up to 35 in Spain) who are on temporary contracts. If they were not already still living with their parents, there’s always the option of moving back in with them. So the economic impact of a downturn is less than it would be in other cultures. And not necessarily just Anglo Saxon ones. This is good but also bad and I sometimes wonder whether the close family isn’t both Spain’s greatest strength and its greatest weakness - in that it allows harsh realities to be ignored and solutions postponed. Which even the Spanish will tell you is something of a national trait. Perhaps things will change when the easy funds stop flowing from Brussels. If they ever do.
At a lower level, I went to pay my parking fine yesterday and asked whether the category of non-serious offence actually existed. Yes, the young lady. Asked what the criteria might be, she replied gnomically “It depends.” Mostly on the state of the municipal coffers, I imagine. Incidentally, the payment of this fine was a good example of how sometimes here you have no choice but to waste an hour of your or a relative’s time. The only two options were going to the office of the collection agency or or the Post Office, to queue for a giro cheque to send them. But, then, time here isn’t what it is elsewhere.
Pondering on where the municipal revenue-raisers might strike next, it occurred to me that my border collier, Ryan, doesn’t have the compulsory microchip. As he’s getting on for a century in human terms, I’m wondering whether the 70 euros ‘sacrificio’ vet fee wouldn’t be a good bet.
Just joking. But please don’t tell him. An old border collie always knows how to make your life a misery. Even when you’re in his good books.
Another way in which the Spanish family has become relevant recently is in understanding the absence of serious protest against the high unemployment rate (now nearing 20%). Many of the job losses will have hit ‘young’ people (up to 35 in Spain) who are on temporary contracts. If they were not already still living with their parents, there’s always the option of moving back in with them. So the economic impact of a downturn is less than it would be in other cultures. And not necessarily just Anglo Saxon ones. This is good but also bad and I sometimes wonder whether the close family isn’t both Spain’s greatest strength and its greatest weakness - in that it allows harsh realities to be ignored and solutions postponed. Which even the Spanish will tell you is something of a national trait. Perhaps things will change when the easy funds stop flowing from Brussels. If they ever do.
At a lower level, I went to pay my parking fine yesterday and asked whether the category of non-serious offence actually existed. Yes, the young lady. Asked what the criteria might be, she replied gnomically “It depends.” Mostly on the state of the municipal coffers, I imagine. Incidentally, the payment of this fine was a good example of how sometimes here you have no choice but to waste an hour of your or a relative’s time. The only two options were going to the office of the collection agency or or the Post Office, to queue for a giro cheque to send them. But, then, time here isn’t what it is elsewhere.
Pondering on where the municipal revenue-raisers might strike next, it occurred to me that my border collier, Ryan, doesn’t have the compulsory microchip. As he’s getting on for a century in human terms, I’m wondering whether the 70 euros ‘sacrificio’ vet fee wouldn’t be a good bet.
Just joking. But please don’t tell him. An old border collie always knows how to make your life a misery. Even when you’re in his good books.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Finding myself alone at home at 9 last night, I had a choice between the Eurovision song contest and an hour or two of getting cat hairs off a duvet hanging in the garage. Despite an allergy, I plumped for the risk of involuntary sneezing over that of involuntary vomiting. Which was surely right as it would have been painful to see Spain’s entry come second-last. Even if it is rubbish.
It being the weekend, Sunday dawned just as wet and cool as Saturday. At 9.30 – the time of the start of the women’s triathlon – the temperature outside my house was 11 degrees and the rain was torrential. Not a lot better than last year. The men’s event started at 12.30, by which time the rain had stopped and the temperature had rocketed up to a life-preserving 13. Will they move the event to June next year? Or just forget about it? Meanwhile, I wonder what crowds they were expecting for the women’s race at 9.30 of a Sunday, a time when the only Spaniards up and about are those who haven’t yet got to bed after a night on the tiles.
Over in the UK, the scandal of British MP’s submitting any old claim in order to justify their ‘automatic’ right to 24,000 pounds a year on top of their salary has naturally led to some introspection on the theme of what it all means about the UK at large. As someone who’s banged on about the Age of the Bureaucrat, it was inevitable I’d be attracted to this sort of analysis – “There has been an inchoate sense for some time that Britain no longer functions effectively. Virtually every activity the law-abiding undertake seems to have become entangled in a web of energy-sapping orders from officialdom. What ails Britain is that we have allowed a bossy House of Commons to legislate our society piece by piece, to the point where modern life is excessively rules-based. In this obsessive culture of compliance everyone involved could point to boxes that had been ticked, to show they had followed the rules. The problem was not an absence of rules. It was that there were so many rules that they crowded out any space for judgment or the exercise of individual morality. Free individuals encouraged to act ethically are more likely to arrive at the right answers than an over-mighty bureaucracy.”
Which is OK but, absent religion, who’s to say what is ethical? And is Spanish society, on balance, a better place to live because – though generally less ethical than the UK – it has a matchless capacity to ignore rules? And/or because the morality of the Catholic Church still holds considerable sway? And/or because family life is still pretty sacred? Whatever the answers, is Spain now heading in the same direction as Britain? Or do I just feel this because I’ve been hit by speeding and parking fines for the first time in my life?
I say that Spain is a better place to live but one can overlook this when three people in a single week fail to fulfil their promises to call you back re work you want urgently done on your house. Prompting the most important existential question of the week – What on earth is the secret to getting things done here?
Finally, I now see that the hoarding next to the bus-stop-in-progress is of the blue, EU variety. Danke schön and Goodnight.
It being the weekend, Sunday dawned just as wet and cool as Saturday. At 9.30 – the time of the start of the women’s triathlon – the temperature outside my house was 11 degrees and the rain was torrential. Not a lot better than last year. The men’s event started at 12.30, by which time the rain had stopped and the temperature had rocketed up to a life-preserving 13. Will they move the event to June next year? Or just forget about it? Meanwhile, I wonder what crowds they were expecting for the women’s race at 9.30 of a Sunday, a time when the only Spaniards up and about are those who haven’t yet got to bed after a night on the tiles.
Over in the UK, the scandal of British MP’s submitting any old claim in order to justify their ‘automatic’ right to 24,000 pounds a year on top of their salary has naturally led to some introspection on the theme of what it all means about the UK at large. As someone who’s banged on about the Age of the Bureaucrat, it was inevitable I’d be attracted to this sort of analysis – “There has been an inchoate sense for some time that Britain no longer functions effectively. Virtually every activity the law-abiding undertake seems to have become entangled in a web of energy-sapping orders from officialdom. What ails Britain is that we have allowed a bossy House of Commons to legislate our society piece by piece, to the point where modern life is excessively rules-based. In this obsessive culture of compliance everyone involved could point to boxes that had been ticked, to show they had followed the rules. The problem was not an absence of rules. It was that there were so many rules that they crowded out any space for judgment or the exercise of individual morality. Free individuals encouraged to act ethically are more likely to arrive at the right answers than an over-mighty bureaucracy.”
Which is OK but, absent religion, who’s to say what is ethical? And is Spanish society, on balance, a better place to live because – though generally less ethical than the UK – it has a matchless capacity to ignore rules? And/or because the morality of the Catholic Church still holds considerable sway? And/or because family life is still pretty sacred? Whatever the answers, is Spain now heading in the same direction as Britain? Or do I just feel this because I’ve been hit by speeding and parking fines for the first time in my life?
I say that Spain is a better place to live but one can overlook this when three people in a single week fail to fulfil their promises to call you back re work you want urgently done on your house. Prompting the most important existential question of the week – What on earth is the secret to getting things done here?
Finally, I now see that the hoarding next to the bus-stop-in-progress is of the blue, EU variety. Danke schön and Goodnight.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
As if Spain didn’t have enough woes right now, it’s said that she’s the EU country most at risk from climate change. I guess this is simply because we’re furthest south. Of course, it’s an ill wind that blows no good and it seems that here up north ‘it’s becoming more Mediterranean”. But, then, this can only mean we’ll shortly be overrun by the sort of expats who’ve converted the south into Clacton-con-Sol. Time to think of moving on. A Basque farmhouse, perhaps? Or an Asturian ciderhouse.
In the survey of Spanish views I quoted from recently, more than 60% of people said they preferred to deal with their household affairs face-to-face, rather than via a letter or on the phone. Or, these days, via the internet. In a society where letters are simply not treated seriously – assuming they arrive – and where no one delivers on a promise to call you back, there’s a certain logic about this. And it’s one reason, of course, why the streets of Spain’s towns and cities are awash with bank branches. But it all rather supposes that one member of the family – traditionally the wife – is available during at least the morning to invest all the time it takes to do things this way. So I’m left wondering just how possible it is these days, when more and more couples are both out at work. Perhaps the long-suffering nearby grandparents are roped in for this as well. And I’m reminded of something John Hooper wrote in his book “The New Spaniards” a few years ago about the ability of Spanish companies to compete in an increasingly digital world where wanting to do everything personally and face-to-face would be something of a competitive disadvantage. Or something like that.
On opening the Voz de Galicia this morning, this headline jumped out at me –“The trial of the cousins of the President of the Galician Xunta kicked off yesterday with a written confession from a hired killer.” Are we living in the Wild West now? Or is this what they meant when they said things are becoming more Mediterranean up in this part of Spain?
Here’s Mark Stucklin with further comment on yesterday’s topic of the banks and their property sales.
Finally . . . Last night, with football looming, I knocked off my post in 10 minutes and felt bad because it wasn’t up to scratch. But readership shot up from its normal 150-170 to over 200. So, what do I know? I suppose the answer will come if numbers now plummet to 10.
Looking for a holiday place to rent in Galicia this summer?
Click here for details of a lovely cottage in the hills outside Pontevedra.
In the survey of Spanish views I quoted from recently, more than 60% of people said they preferred to deal with their household affairs face-to-face, rather than via a letter or on the phone. Or, these days, via the internet. In a society where letters are simply not treated seriously – assuming they arrive – and where no one delivers on a promise to call you back, there’s a certain logic about this. And it’s one reason, of course, why the streets of Spain’s towns and cities are awash with bank branches. But it all rather supposes that one member of the family – traditionally the wife – is available during at least the morning to invest all the time it takes to do things this way. So I’m left wondering just how possible it is these days, when more and more couples are both out at work. Perhaps the long-suffering nearby grandparents are roped in for this as well. And I’m reminded of something John Hooper wrote in his book “The New Spaniards” a few years ago about the ability of Spanish companies to compete in an increasingly digital world where wanting to do everything personally and face-to-face would be something of a competitive disadvantage. Or something like that.
On opening the Voz de Galicia this morning, this headline jumped out at me –“The trial of the cousins of the President of the Galician Xunta kicked off yesterday with a written confession from a hired killer.” Are we living in the Wild West now? Or is this what they meant when they said things are becoming more Mediterranean up in this part of Spain?
Here’s Mark Stucklin with further comment on yesterday’s topic of the banks and their property sales.
Finally . . . Last night, with football looming, I knocked off my post in 10 minutes and felt bad because it wasn’t up to scratch. But readership shot up from its normal 150-170 to over 200. So, what do I know? I suppose the answer will come if numbers now plummet to 10.
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Looking for a holiday place to rent in Galicia this summer?
Click here for details of a lovely cottage in the hills outside Pontevedra.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Those who lived through the final years of the 70s in the UK will perhaps see something familiar in the picture of the Spanish trade unions endorsing the government’s avowedly ‘socialist’ response to the economic crisis and threatening to call a general strike if there’s any relaxation in what are widely considered to be generous unemployment and pension provisions. So, will there be a winter of discontent here later this year? Probably not.
In the UK yesterday, it was considered newsworthy that the first two people to contract swine flu had recovered from it after a few days. As people usually do from flu. Of course, it wouldn’t be modern Britain if they hadn’t been able to flog the ‘story’ of this miracle to the tabloid press via the ineffable Max Clifford. Today, the medical profession is urging people not to panic. Just a tad late for that, of course. My view is we should slaughter all the pigs, along with the lawyers. And the journalists.
Only in Spain? There was a large rear-view picture of both Princess Letizia and Carla Bruni in the quality media this week, as they went up the steps of Moncloa palace. Ironically, it was re-shown in an El Mundo article yesterday in which the writer railed against the macho-sexist treatment of the visit of the La Bruni with her rather-less-well-appreciated husband. From an article in El Pais today, I gather the picture originally appeared in this – of all things – left-of-centre paper. The writer quoted the (female) editor of El País spouting the sort of justificatory guff one hears from the (usually female) editors of UK magazines that tell 12 year old girls how to satisfy the sexual demands of their boyfriends. With sisters like these . . .
It was suggested on Skye this morning that it costs around 200,000 pounds to bring up a child until he/she leaves home. And about double that thereafter, in my experience.
Some of you will know I got it wrong about the start of the match last night. It was 8pm, not 8.45. And I also miscalculated on the venue. Even the alleged gay bar was stuffed to the rafters and the screen was hard to see through the curtain of thick smoke. So I repaired to my regular smoke-free bar and gave myself a semi-permanent crick in the neck by watching it from a bar stool directly below the TV. But at least Barcelona treated us to another exhibition of their scintillating play, scoring six more goals than they managed against Chelsea last week.
Finally . . . Theft around the world:-
1. “A cardboard cut-out police constable, displayed in a Stockport (UK) shop to deter thieves, has been stolen.”
2. Why do they remove the traffic lights from the roadworks half-way down the hill into town every night? Do they think they’ll be nicked by gypsies from the nearby settlements? If so, this is surely disgraceful.
Looking for a holiday place to rent in Galicia this summer?
Click here for details of a lovely cottage in the hills outside Pontevedra. Ideal for a vacation centred on rural pursuits.
In the UK yesterday, it was considered newsworthy that the first two people to contract swine flu had recovered from it after a few days. As people usually do from flu. Of course, it wouldn’t be modern Britain if they hadn’t been able to flog the ‘story’ of this miracle to the tabloid press via the ineffable Max Clifford. Today, the medical profession is urging people not to panic. Just a tad late for that, of course. My view is we should slaughter all the pigs, along with the lawyers. And the journalists.
Only in Spain? There was a large rear-view picture of both Princess Letizia and Carla Bruni in the quality media this week, as they went up the steps of Moncloa palace. Ironically, it was re-shown in an El Mundo article yesterday in which the writer railed against the macho-sexist treatment of the visit of the La Bruni with her rather-less-well-appreciated husband. From an article in El Pais today, I gather the picture originally appeared in this – of all things – left-of-centre paper. The writer quoted the (female) editor of El País spouting the sort of justificatory guff one hears from the (usually female) editors of UK magazines that tell 12 year old girls how to satisfy the sexual demands of their boyfriends. With sisters like these . . .
It was suggested on Skye this morning that it costs around 200,000 pounds to bring up a child until he/she leaves home. And about double that thereafter, in my experience.
Some of you will know I got it wrong about the start of the match last night. It was 8pm, not 8.45. And I also miscalculated on the venue. Even the alleged gay bar was stuffed to the rafters and the screen was hard to see through the curtain of thick smoke. So I repaired to my regular smoke-free bar and gave myself a semi-permanent crick in the neck by watching it from a bar stool directly below the TV. But at least Barcelona treated us to another exhibition of their scintillating play, scoring six more goals than they managed against Chelsea last week.
Finally . . . Theft around the world:-
1. “A cardboard cut-out police constable, displayed in a Stockport (UK) shop to deter thieves, has been stolen.”
2. Why do they remove the traffic lights from the roadworks half-way down the hill into town every night? Do they think they’ll be nicked by gypsies from the nearby settlements? If so, this is surely disgraceful.
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Looking for a holiday place to rent in Galicia this summer?
Click here for details of a lovely cottage in the hills outside Pontevedra. Ideal for a vacation centred on rural pursuits.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
I said the other day that cabrón was the worst thing you could call anyone here but a more acceptable serious insult is mal educado. Which means badly brought up, rather than badly educated. I thought of this when driving down the hill this evening and negotiating my way around the cars waiting for the kids from the private school. This was because one of them – unable to get onto the chevrons because these were fully occupied – had double parked alongside them and entirely blocked my side of the road. When I gave the driver a long, hard stare, she responded with an imperious exhalation of smoke. So, in one fell swoop, at least four subliminal lessons for her child – 1. Don’t bother to walk 50 metres; 2. Ignore the law; 3. Don’t worry about inconveniencing others; and 4. Smoke yourself to an early death. Poor kid. Still, as I say, this probably happens in Chelsea as well.
Talking of smoking . . . at lunch today with Spanish friends, I asked one of them whether she was going to continue doing this now that the food had arrived. Her reaction suggested she felt it was ruder of me to say this than it was for her to smoke while I ate. But, if I’m right that the basic rules of Spanish life are Have Fun and Live and Let Live, then there’s a certain logic to this view. I should have let her do what she wanted to do with her life, even if it adversely affected mine. Which philosophy underpins individualismo, I guess.
Here’s a surprise news item – “It was World Anti-Noise Day on Wednesday, an event generally ignored in Spain, the country considered to be the noisiest in Europe.” It looks as if the sound of any media report was drowned out by the ambient noise. Also very logically.
The list of eminent people calling for structural reforms in Spain grows longer by the day. “Now the EU has joined the calls suggesting a later retirement age or a reduction in pension levels to ensure their future.” President Zapatero shows no sign of changing his obdurate stance and insists that “The worst is behind us’. Optimism is, of course, a fine virtue. But a strategy . . ? Is anyone giving him a rough ride on the TV? Or is government control proving effective in this regard?
Many thousands of people around the world do die each year because of ‘flu. Several thousand hospital patients in the UK do die from infections caught there. But these aren't considered newsworthy. However, billions could die from the new variant of swine 'flu so the world is in turmoil again. As Simon Jenkins says in The Guardian today, “We appear to have lost all ability to judge risk. Risk aversion has trounced risk judgment.” I occasionally say the attitude to risk is rather lax here in Spain but sometimes I’m tempted to conclude this is better than a mad, headlong rush to the other end of the spectrum. Where, as someone else put it, “People seem helpless in navigating the gulf that separates public information from their daily round. They cannot set a statistic in context. They cannot relate bad news from Mexico to the risk that inevitably surrounds their lives. The risk of catching swine flu must be millions to one."
Ah, well. Where’s me face mask?
Talking of smoking . . . at lunch today with Spanish friends, I asked one of them whether she was going to continue doing this now that the food had arrived. Her reaction suggested she felt it was ruder of me to say this than it was for her to smoke while I ate. But, if I’m right that the basic rules of Spanish life are Have Fun and Live and Let Live, then there’s a certain logic to this view. I should have let her do what she wanted to do with her life, even if it adversely affected mine. Which philosophy underpins individualismo, I guess.
Here’s a surprise news item – “It was World Anti-Noise Day on Wednesday, an event generally ignored in Spain, the country considered to be the noisiest in Europe.” It looks as if the sound of any media report was drowned out by the ambient noise. Also very logically.
The list of eminent people calling for structural reforms in Spain grows longer by the day. “Now the EU has joined the calls suggesting a later retirement age or a reduction in pension levels to ensure their future.” President Zapatero shows no sign of changing his obdurate stance and insists that “The worst is behind us’. Optimism is, of course, a fine virtue. But a strategy . . ? Is anyone giving him a rough ride on the TV? Or is government control proving effective in this regard?
Many thousands of people around the world do die each year because of ‘flu. Several thousand hospital patients in the UK do die from infections caught there. But these aren't considered newsworthy. However, billions could die from the new variant of swine 'flu so the world is in turmoil again. As Simon Jenkins says in The Guardian today, “We appear to have lost all ability to judge risk. Risk aversion has trounced risk judgment.” I occasionally say the attitude to risk is rather lax here in Spain but sometimes I’m tempted to conclude this is better than a mad, headlong rush to the other end of the spectrum. Where, as someone else put it, “People seem helpless in navigating the gulf that separates public information from their daily round. They cannot set a statistic in context. They cannot relate bad news from Mexico to the risk that inevitably surrounds their lives. The risk of catching swine flu must be millions to one."
Ah, well. Where’s me face mask?
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Looking for a holiday place to rent in Galicia this summer? Click here for details of a lovely holiday cottage in the hills outside Pontevedra. Ideal for a vacation centred on rural pursuits.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
It’s always a great pleasure to visit Salamanca and to be reminded of the wealth and artistic genius of 16th century Spain. And to enjoy a range of tapas not available in Galicia. Including farinato, which I’d much appreciate the recipe of, if anyone knows it.
I won’t bore you with any of my pix except this one . . .
What with the sashes, the hair-dos and the gorgeous dresses, one could be forgiven for thinking this was a beauty contest. In fact, it was a graduation ceremony.
A few seconds after I snapped this, someone issued an instruction to move to another staircase, whereupon several of the lovely ladies treated us to the traditional Spanish response of “Joder!” Or “Fuck!”. The beast within the beauty.
I won’t bore you with any of my pix except this one . . .
What with the sashes, the hair-dos and the gorgeous dresses, one could be forgiven for thinking this was a beauty contest. In fact, it was a graduation ceremony.
A few seconds after I snapped this, someone issued an instruction to move to another staircase, whereupon several of the lovely ladies treated us to the traditional Spanish response of “Joder!” Or “Fuck!”. The beast within the beauty.
Friday, April 24, 2009
As I’m travelling this evening, here’s an early hotchpotch of stuff that will hopefully interest or amuse. But don’t overlook last night’s post. Even if it is rather long . . .
There are now four Spanish restaurants in the world’s top ten, with El Bulli again nabbing the top spot. But I must say I don’t see much evidence of this hegemony in my corner of the Iberian peninsula.
Not very surprisingly, 53% of Spaniards are reported to feel they’d be better off if they still had the peseta, instead of the euro. Only in Portugal, apparently, is the degree of dissatisfaction with the level of protection provided by the single currency greater than it is in Spain. I guess many people feel an inevitable devaluation would have saved the day, not understanding that this is exactly what joining the eurozone was intended to prevent. I wonder how many of them are aware of the painful restructuring of the Spanish economy that was/is also planned but which Sr Zapatero naturally seems unwilling to engage with just now. Mañana, perhaps.
Great to see old Ambrose back, taking a view on the plight of the UK. Apparently, the good news is that Britain goes into the slump with a lower level of sovereign debt than some G7 countries. Though perhaps things don’t look quite as rosy after the recent Budget announcement.
As my stints in the wi-fi cafés show, it takes a lot to stop the Spanish eating and drinking out. But, in this, they still rank behind the Greeks and the Portuguese. As Portugal’s recession started several years before everyone else’s, this is a bit of a mystery to me. Perhaps it’s another reflection of the ‘submerged economy’ (black market) which thrives in each of these.
Finally, another depressing portrayal of British society. You don’t have to be a rug-chewing fascist to have deep regrets about what has been done to the UK culture in the few years since I was a boy. Or to fear that there are no easy ways to reverse the situation.
There are now four Spanish restaurants in the world’s top ten, with El Bulli again nabbing the top spot. But I must say I don’t see much evidence of this hegemony in my corner of the Iberian peninsula.
Not very surprisingly, 53% of Spaniards are reported to feel they’d be better off if they still had the peseta, instead of the euro. Only in Portugal, apparently, is the degree of dissatisfaction with the level of protection provided by the single currency greater than it is in Spain. I guess many people feel an inevitable devaluation would have saved the day, not understanding that this is exactly what joining the eurozone was intended to prevent. I wonder how many of them are aware of the painful restructuring of the Spanish economy that was/is also planned but which Sr Zapatero naturally seems unwilling to engage with just now. Mañana, perhaps.
Great to see old Ambrose back, taking a view on the plight of the UK. Apparently, the good news is that Britain goes into the slump with a lower level of sovereign debt than some G7 countries. Though perhaps things don’t look quite as rosy after the recent Budget announcement.
As my stints in the wi-fi cafés show, it takes a lot to stop the Spanish eating and drinking out. But, in this, they still rank behind the Greeks and the Portuguese. As Portugal’s recession started several years before everyone else’s, this is a bit of a mystery to me. Perhaps it’s another reflection of the ‘submerged economy’ (black market) which thrives in each of these.
Finally, another depressing portrayal of British society. You don’t have to be a rug-chewing fascist to have deep regrets about what has been done to the UK culture in the few years since I was a boy. Or to fear that there are no easy ways to reverse the situation.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I mentioned that the two wi-fi cafés I use don’t mind if you use their electricity, even as one of five cybernauts plugged into an extension cable in one case. I also said that I doubted this would be looked on kindly in the UK. But, of course, we’re talking about two very different cultures. In one, they couldn’t care less if you stayed stooped over your laptop for five hours and only bought one small coffee. And in the other, they certainly would. The difference centres on views of time. Not to mention the purpose of life.
As it happens, I was at my morning café early today and this gave me the chance to observe some of the rigidities of Spanish life that one can very profitably – as with herd-like beach behaviour – use to one’s advantage. Crudely, then . . .
10-11: Pretty empty and quiet. The loudest distraction is likely to come from the 1-5 TVs on the wall, especially if it/they are tuned to MTV
11-12: Starting to get busy and noisy as families come in, talk simultaneously, and try to make themselves heard over the TV(s) which have been turned up over the customer racket.
12-1: Pandemonium as the families are joined by office workers on their hour-long 15 minute break, and the TVs are turned up to their max to compensate.
I exaggerate, of course. But not much.
What can you say about Mr Darling’s utterly depressing budget numbers, other than they might just kick-start the stagnant Spanish property market as Brits decide to flee the implications for themselves and their children over the decades ahead. If so, it might cause an early revision to the statement I read yesterday that “Given the current rate of demand, homes on the Costa del Sol will take between four and eight years to sell.” It’s an ill wind. Meanwhile, I think I’ll give up on my bet on the pound rising to 1.25 against the euro. Or staying there, at least.
The right-of-centre newspapers naturally go to town on Messrs Brown and Darling but even the left-of-centre Guardian mocks their ludicrous optimism – “From the bridge of HMS Fantasy Island everything looks fine. . . Gordon Brown still nurtures hope that Labour will win in 2010, but has left a poison pill for David Cameron, just in case.” How admirable.
Click here for a selection of commentaries from the UK press. As ever, Polly Toynbee of The Guardian has the capacity to bring a smile to one’s face. Though this is not exactly her intention, of course.
Here’s a photo I took the other day, as I drove down the hill past the entrance to the street where there’s a private school for the offspring of Pontevedra's pijos. It’s of recently installed Don’t-Park-Here chevrons.
I guess they’ve been put there to stop the mothers-in-waiting making it virtually impossible for the school buses to come out of the road and turn left. This afternoon I happened to drive up the hill shortly before this daily ritual and noticed – needless to say – that the space was occupied by three cars, driven by ladies who are either blind or couldn’t be bothered to park 50 metres away. But I guess this happens in, say, Chelsea, as well. And it strikes me it could be yet another revenue initiative by the local council. As they say – Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean no one is following you . . .
Despite the overhang of a million or more unsold properties, building work hasn’t stopped in Pontevedra. There are several new blocks of flats going up around the city and, in the centre, they’re barely past the stage of digging out the foundations on one large site. My guess is that – with a lead time of 5 years or more – the constructors are betting on an upturn in the cycle before they’re completed. Nearer to home, however, work appears to have been suspended on the terrace of houses across from my front gate. The huge crane was dismantled last week, when I was out. Which was disappointing as, not having seen it mantled in the first place, this was something I’d wanted to watch. Anyway, as you can see, the properties nearer ‘my’ end of the block have been left without window frames and glass. But my neighbour, Tony - who is not only noisy but an expert on everything - assures me the crane is not needed for these. Should work ever start again.
And talking of properties . . . Here’s a dossier on my house in the hills I’m renting out this summer. And for which there are still a couple of weeks left in July and August. Write to me on colindavies@terra.es, if you’re at all interested. Actually, I’m happy to rent it out for longer – eternity even – if anyone is tempted.
As it happens, I was at my morning café early today and this gave me the chance to observe some of the rigidities of Spanish life that one can very profitably – as with herd-like beach behaviour – use to one’s advantage. Crudely, then . . .
10-11: Pretty empty and quiet. The loudest distraction is likely to come from the 1-5 TVs on the wall, especially if it/they are tuned to MTV
11-12: Starting to get busy and noisy as families come in, talk simultaneously, and try to make themselves heard over the TV(s) which have been turned up over the customer racket.
12-1: Pandemonium as the families are joined by office workers on their hour-long 15 minute break, and the TVs are turned up to their max to compensate.
I exaggerate, of course. But not much.
What can you say about Mr Darling’s utterly depressing budget numbers, other than they might just kick-start the stagnant Spanish property market as Brits decide to flee the implications for themselves and their children over the decades ahead. If so, it might cause an early revision to the statement I read yesterday that “Given the current rate of demand, homes on the Costa del Sol will take between four and eight years to sell.” It’s an ill wind. Meanwhile, I think I’ll give up on my bet on the pound rising to 1.25 against the euro. Or staying there, at least.
The right-of-centre newspapers naturally go to town on Messrs Brown and Darling but even the left-of-centre Guardian mocks their ludicrous optimism – “From the bridge of HMS Fantasy Island everything looks fine. . . Gordon Brown still nurtures hope that Labour will win in 2010, but has left a poison pill for David Cameron, just in case.” How admirable.
Click here for a selection of commentaries from the UK press. As ever, Polly Toynbee of The Guardian has the capacity to bring a smile to one’s face. Though this is not exactly her intention, of course.
Here’s a photo I took the other day, as I drove down the hill past the entrance to the street where there’s a private school for the offspring of Pontevedra's pijos. It’s of recently installed Don’t-Park-Here chevrons.
I guess they’ve been put there to stop the mothers-in-waiting making it virtually impossible for the school buses to come out of the road and turn left. This afternoon I happened to drive up the hill shortly before this daily ritual and noticed – needless to say – that the space was occupied by three cars, driven by ladies who are either blind or couldn’t be bothered to park 50 metres away. But I guess this happens in, say, Chelsea, as well. And it strikes me it could be yet another revenue initiative by the local council. As they say – Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean no one is following you . . .Despite the overhang of a million or more unsold properties, building work hasn’t stopped in Pontevedra. There are several new blocks of flats going up around the city and, in the centre, they’re barely past the stage of digging out the foundations on one large site. My guess is that – with a lead time of 5 years or more – the constructors are betting on an upturn in the cycle before they’re completed. Nearer to home, however, work appears to have been suspended on the terrace of houses across from my front gate. The huge crane was dismantled last week, when I was out. Which was disappointing as, not having seen it mantled in the first place, this was something I’d wanted to watch. Anyway, as you can see, the properties nearer ‘my’ end of the block have been left without window frames and glass. But my neighbour, Tony - who is not only noisy but an expert on everything - assures me the crane is not needed for these. Should work ever start again.
And talking of properties . . . Here’s a dossier on my house in the hills I’m renting out this summer. And for which there are still a couple of weeks left in July and August. Write to me on colindavies@terra.es, if you’re at all interested. Actually, I’m happy to rent it out for longer – eternity even – if anyone is tempted.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
One of the aspects of life in Spain about which I’m ambivalent is the scruffy men and women who collect money for guiding you into parking spaces that are, in all senses, free. These are apparently called gorrillas, from their habit of wearing a cap, or gorra. Part of me resents paying and part of me thinks that, if this really helps to prevent drug addicts from stealing my radio, then the council is being admirably pragmatic and sensible. But there’s a straw in the wind from Sevilla, where the town hall has counselled drivers against giving money to these unofficial parking attendants. Further, it says it’s going to start fining them 120 euros for importuning drivers. Even if they can’t pay. Along, I guess, with drivers who can pay for parking where they thought it was legal to do so. And indeed was until this week.
Talking of money – I see the British supermarket, Tesco, has today announced record profits of 3 billion pounds for 2008. My guess is they had to work pretty hard for this. Unlike, say, the two promoters of a new airport down in Ciudad Real who made the very similar sum of 3 billion euros when the rural land they’d previously bought was re-classified as industrial and sold to the local authority. What lucky chaps. And what unlucky taxpayers.
Using a golf buggy – or boggie – at my local course for the first time today, I was surprised to see all the instructions were in English only, even though they stressed an understanding was essential for safe use of the vehicle. Worse, the bit warning about risk of serious injury or death was half plastered over with a sticker giving the buggy’s number. Now, one can take this as a good example of the relaxed Spanish attitude to risk but what it really is is evidence of the fact it’s hard to successfully sue someone for negligence in the Spanish courts. If and when things change, I guess we can expect some tightening up. Meanwhile, I noticed that foreigners (extranjeros) have to pay a green fee 10% higher than the locals. The word ‘insurance’ was written in brackets after the fee but I, for one, am dubious. Anyway, next time I will strenuously deny I am foreign. Insured or not.
Finally, I was approached today by a Chinese publisher of on-line bibles, on the basis that they’d “noticed that you are the Biggest Bible Publisher and Christian product sales channel in your country, and we would like to know if there is a possibility for us to introduce our product to your market.” Damn. My cover’s blown. I hope they didn’t copy it to the Hacienda.
God be with you.
Talking of money – I see the British supermarket, Tesco, has today announced record profits of 3 billion pounds for 2008. My guess is they had to work pretty hard for this. Unlike, say, the two promoters of a new airport down in Ciudad Real who made the very similar sum of 3 billion euros when the rural land they’d previously bought was re-classified as industrial and sold to the local authority. What lucky chaps. And what unlucky taxpayers.
Using a golf buggy – or boggie – at my local course for the first time today, I was surprised to see all the instructions were in English only, even though they stressed an understanding was essential for safe use of the vehicle. Worse, the bit warning about risk of serious injury or death was half plastered over with a sticker giving the buggy’s number. Now, one can take this as a good example of the relaxed Spanish attitude to risk but what it really is is evidence of the fact it’s hard to successfully sue someone for negligence in the Spanish courts. If and when things change, I guess we can expect some tightening up. Meanwhile, I noticed that foreigners (extranjeros) have to pay a green fee 10% higher than the locals. The word ‘insurance’ was written in brackets after the fee but I, for one, am dubious. Anyway, next time I will strenuously deny I am foreign. Insured or not.
Finally, I was approached today by a Chinese publisher of on-line bibles, on the basis that they’d “noticed that you are the Biggest Bible Publisher and Christian product sales channel in your country, and we would like to know if there is a possibility for us to introduce our product to your market.” Damn. My cover’s blown. I hope they didn’t copy it to the Hacienda.
God be with you.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Regular readers will know I occasionally say the British are too polite and the Spanish not polite enough. This, of course, is a personal view. Of someone who – as with Catholicism – may not agree with all he’s had to take on board but is still a victim of it.
Essentially, the Spanish are less fussed and more pragmatic than the British and, so, much less annoyed – if at all – by what would be considered unacceptable in some other societies. Whether this makes them rude or merely makes them seem rude, is for each individual to decide. There was a case in point this morning, when I was taking a coffee in the wi-fi café I use. Not once but twice, a couple came in and moved their chosen table – to accommodate their respective be-prammed babies – in such a way that it blocked an exit. The first exit was to the terrace and the second was to the changing room of the staff. In the UK, this would be considered bad manners and both customers and the staff would probably show irritation when (politely) asking the people to move so they could go through the door. Not so here. What happens is that the (unannoyed) customers and staff make some non-committal remark or just smile, the blockers apologise as only the Spanish can and then move out of the way. Much the same happens when people feel they need to park in front of a garage door while taking a coffee.
On balance, I suspect this is a better way of doing things, though this may be because I am assimilating. And because I know that the ‘offenders’ are not consciously ignoring one of the norms of polite society. Because there is no norm. The rule is give and take. As to why it happens, I suspect it has a lot to do with the Spanish concept of time. Which is that it’s simply not important, unless you’re waiting at traffic lights. Or there’s someone in front of you on the motorway piddling along at a mere 119kph. More normally, when you feel you have as much time as anything takes – or, to put it another way – you lack any sense of urgency, what does it matter that someone is preventing you from going through a door for a few seconds? As long as they apologise profusely. This,in essence, is the Spanish deal.
Later in the morning, I was taking my wine and tapa in my favourite café-bar. Sadly, it’s also the preferred midday meeting place of the ageing Ponters Pijas. And, if there’s one thing nosier in Spain that a table of teenagers, it’s a table of grandmothers. But today was particularly bad and I asked my favourite waitress, Teresa, whether they were perhaps all deaf. “Possibly.” she said. “But they also all operate the basic Spanish rule – If you shout and talk over me, I will shout louder to talk over you.” You can imagine the outcome. Or, as Teresa said, “They’re like a cage of hyenas”. Which she probably wouldn’t say to their faces. But, then, they do summon her – and her colleagues – by hissing. Now, that does seem rude.
If you follow British politics, you’ll be aware that a new low has been reached in what is, anyway, a dirty business by the revelation of email correspondence between two Labour heavyweights who were planning a campaign of atrocious smears against members of the Opposition and their families. Regular readers will know I’ve long seen the New Labour administration of Blair and Brown and one to which history will be very unkind. So, you’ll understand why I see this development as a fitting epitaph for it. The British media comes out of it badly too. Click here for a comment from the blogger who blew the gaffe on it all. The article he quotes by Alice Miles will explain how the media was implicated. And click here for an honest view from a woman who is sympathetic to Brown but who can clearly see that the core problem is the long-standing, to-the-death enmity between the Blair and Brown factions of the New Labour artefact. It's an odd feature of politicals (and life?) that such things occur more frequently on the Left than on the Right. I suspect it stems from the feeling of moral superiority that always drives ideologues to the conclusion that the stupid people don’t deserve them and that the end, therefore, justifies any means. Which reminds me . . . . but, no, I’ll leave the EU for another day.
And I’ll leave you with this follow-up to the comment yesterday about gay male marriages in Spain being between two husbands . . . . Following the first case of fatal domestic violence between two married men in Spain this week, the President of the court has pronounced it could only be called a gay ‘domestic violence’ incident if it had happened between two lesbians. He ruled out the case being considered as one of 'domestic violence' if two men are involved. So the case must be considered as ‘an ordinary crime against life’. Under Spain’s current domestic violence law, the victim is described as 'female', while the sex of the aggressor is left blank.
Oh, brave new world. Bloody lawyers!
Essentially, the Spanish are less fussed and more pragmatic than the British and, so, much less annoyed – if at all – by what would be considered unacceptable in some other societies. Whether this makes them rude or merely makes them seem rude, is for each individual to decide. There was a case in point this morning, when I was taking a coffee in the wi-fi café I use. Not once but twice, a couple came in and moved their chosen table – to accommodate their respective be-prammed babies – in such a way that it blocked an exit. The first exit was to the terrace and the second was to the changing room of the staff. In the UK, this would be considered bad manners and both customers and the staff would probably show irritation when (politely) asking the people to move so they could go through the door. Not so here. What happens is that the (unannoyed) customers and staff make some non-committal remark or just smile, the blockers apologise as only the Spanish can and then move out of the way. Much the same happens when people feel they need to park in front of a garage door while taking a coffee.
On balance, I suspect this is a better way of doing things, though this may be because I am assimilating. And because I know that the ‘offenders’ are not consciously ignoring one of the norms of polite society. Because there is no norm. The rule is give and take. As to why it happens, I suspect it has a lot to do with the Spanish concept of time. Which is that it’s simply not important, unless you’re waiting at traffic lights. Or there’s someone in front of you on the motorway piddling along at a mere 119kph. More normally, when you feel you have as much time as anything takes – or, to put it another way – you lack any sense of urgency, what does it matter that someone is preventing you from going through a door for a few seconds? As long as they apologise profusely. This,in essence, is the Spanish deal.
Later in the morning, I was taking my wine and tapa in my favourite café-bar. Sadly, it’s also the preferred midday meeting place of the ageing Ponters Pijas. And, if there’s one thing nosier in Spain that a table of teenagers, it’s a table of grandmothers. But today was particularly bad and I asked my favourite waitress, Teresa, whether they were perhaps all deaf. “Possibly.” she said. “But they also all operate the basic Spanish rule – If you shout and talk over me, I will shout louder to talk over you.” You can imagine the outcome. Or, as Teresa said, “They’re like a cage of hyenas”. Which she probably wouldn’t say to their faces. But, then, they do summon her – and her colleagues – by hissing. Now, that does seem rude.
If you follow British politics, you’ll be aware that a new low has been reached in what is, anyway, a dirty business by the revelation of email correspondence between two Labour heavyweights who were planning a campaign of atrocious smears against members of the Opposition and their families. Regular readers will know I’ve long seen the New Labour administration of Blair and Brown and one to which history will be very unkind. So, you’ll understand why I see this development as a fitting epitaph for it. The British media comes out of it badly too. Click here for a comment from the blogger who blew the gaffe on it all. The article he quotes by Alice Miles will explain how the media was implicated. And click here for an honest view from a woman who is sympathetic to Brown but who can clearly see that the core problem is the long-standing, to-the-death enmity between the Blair and Brown factions of the New Labour artefact. It's an odd feature of politicals (and life?) that such things occur more frequently on the Left than on the Right. I suspect it stems from the feeling of moral superiority that always drives ideologues to the conclusion that the stupid people don’t deserve them and that the end, therefore, justifies any means. Which reminds me . . . . but, no, I’ll leave the EU for another day.
And I’ll leave you with this follow-up to the comment yesterday about gay male marriages in Spain being between two husbands . . . . Following the first case of fatal domestic violence between two married men in Spain this week, the President of the court has pronounced it could only be called a gay ‘domestic violence’ incident if it had happened between two lesbians. He ruled out the case being considered as one of 'domestic violence' if two men are involved. So the case must be considered as ‘an ordinary crime against life’. Under Spain’s current domestic violence law, the victim is described as 'female', while the sex of the aggressor is left blank.
Oh, brave new world. Bloody lawyers!
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