Thoughts from Galicia, Spain

2009-07-12T19:35:00.005+02:00

Well, it was another bad day for the bull-runners in Pamplona this morning. Especially for the poor chap who was gored at least twice before he was dragged away under the boards by his feet. I wonder if the authorities will use their previous logic to say that, as no one was killed, things are safer than they were two days ago. Incidentally, one of the pre-run pictures was of a medic donning surgical gloves but I couldn’t help wondering how aseptic these would be after she was later seen scrambling over a fence to get to one of the injured.

It’s said that the French have a poor view of the Spanish. But, then, don’t they have a poor view of everyone? Anyway, I was reminded of this by a report on the France 24 TV channel that the Girona-Barcelona leg of the Tour de France was taking place in the south of Spain. Which displays a certain disregard for the facts, I feel.

My recent sorties into matters historical have thrown up contrasting profiles of Sir Francis Drake, here and here. The first is generally favourable and, for example, explains that he only embarked on his career of piracy after a spot of Spanish treachery. Of course. The second is less of a hagiography but, then, it is written by a foreigner.

For anyone whose appetite for knowledge of Brits in Galicia has been whetted by all this, here’s information on 6th century settlements in North West Spain.

Back to modern times . . . For those who are as confused as I am, here’s an Economist report on Spanish banks. There’s also an interesting article in the Business Section of today’s El País which concentrates on the regionally-organised and politically-managed savings banks.

Today’s El País also has a nice article on corruption in Spain over the last decade. Which is a nice link into the news that Tony Blair has lost the support of President Sarkozy for the future position of EU President, once the Irish have been drummed into line on the Lisbon Treaty. As a result, he’s no longer the favourite for this sinecure. This is now Felipe Gonzales – described as “Spain's charismatic socialist former prime minister, whose government collapsed in a sleaze scandal in 1996”. So, perfect for the job.

Finally . . . You may not have heard that 75,000 people filled Real Madrid’s stadium last week just to see Cristiano Ronaldo walk on the grass, smile and wave his hands. And another 5,000 were locked out. If you told me the suckers had paid for this privilege, I’d have to admit I’d believe you. And, sticking my neck out, I’d bet Ronaldo’s career in Spain won’t be successful. Like Figo before him, he’ll soon be spending as much time horizontal as vertical.

2009-07-11T20:18:00.001+02:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009-07-10T20:32:00.005+02:00

Well, things certainly took a different turn in Pamplona this morning. One of the six bulls did what it’s not supposed to do but what we all tune in to see – it stopped and turned on the crowd, killing one of the participants. This is the 15th death in the history of this event but it’s hard to see it leading to any pressure to change things. Health & Safety not being in Spain what they are in the USA, or even the UK. Not to mention the litigation and insurance backcloths. I might add that I didn’t actually see the bull-run this morning, as I still have no signal from the community TV and my portable set refused to give me a picture of the relevant channel. But, no matter. Given what happened, TV España naturally showed it a zillion times later in the morning.

Talking of rules and restrictions, there’s said to be a plethora of new ones on Spanish beaches this summer. As someone has said, the jury is out on whether this is a true societal change or merely a revenue exercise on the part of desperate and opportunistic municipal authorities.

I did get to Pontevedra’s archive this morning. I’m not sure what I was expecting but it certainly wasn’t that, after filling out the requisite forms, I’d be given a box containing original papers from the year 1589! Sadly, the yellow, dog-eared documents were covered in what appeared to be the scrawl of a 16th century spider and I couldn’t make much of anything. Though the words armada enemiga (enemy army/fleet) jumped out at me from one page. This reflects the fact that 1589 was the year Francis Drake attacked La Coruña and then sailed down the coast to destroy a monastery on the island of Tambo in the Pontevedra estuary. Coincidentally, this is the name of my street here in Poio. And the only bit of the sea visible from my house in the hills. There’s no evidence that Drake sailed further into the Ría and landed at Pontevedra itself. But the good burghers must have been terrified he would. It seems his parting shot was to chuck a statue of the Virgen of The Graces into the sea but you won’t be surprised to hear this was later miraculously rediscovered and restored. Drake seems to have had a thing about statues of virgins. Repressed sexuality, presumably.

Back to mundanity . . . . The Spanish Consumers’ Association reports that electricity prices have risen 23% in just a few years. Which is certainly likely to be true, though you’d never know it via communications from the supplier companies. Which number exactly nil. Monopolies are monopolies, whether they’re national (Spain) or ‘national’ (region). As it happens, I looked at my water/rubbish bill for the first half of the year today. There are 6 items on this and each of them rose between 2 and 13% in January, without any indication as to why. I should add that 95% of these charges – to me at least – are fixed. I could consume nothing and the bills would be much the same. What a cosy business.

Finally, I saw a wonderful example of the inconsiderate-parker’s art in town this morning. A woman left her car on a zebra crossing at the corner of a small square, meaning that the bus couldn’t make the turn. I managed to get my camera out before the horn of the bus brought the driver out of the café but didn’t realise it was set on video. So I only managed to get the car moving off. But you get the picture . . .

2009-07-09T20:13:00.007+02:00

Another boring bull-run in Pamplona this morning, with the toros not-so-very-bravos showing no inclination whatsoever to gore anyone. Not even the guy who got himself cornered on a 90 degree bend where death - or at least serious injury - seemed inevitable. But, no. Nothing. Nada. Not even a scratch. Even so, the TV station was so desperate for interesting footage, it gave us this clip over and over again. At least until I switched off. By which time my thoughts had wandered to the question of whether the same cows are used each year to lead the bulls from pen to bullring as fast as they can run through the ever-larger throng of heroic idiots. Or whether there are training days for new cows during the year. Hemingway would be proud of me, I’m sure.

All of this talk about the history of Pontevedra – and particularly the air of mystery which still hangs over General Homobod – motivated me to do something today I’ve been planning to do for years – pay a visit to the city’s archives. Except that I didn’t. I went down to the lovely new building next to the ugly new museum, to find this was the provincial archives. The municipal archives are still where they always were – up in Avenida de Crístobal Colón. Maybe tomorrow.

For years now, I’ve been telling visitors that the church of Santo Domingo next to the Alameda in Pontevedra had been reduced to ruins by Francis Drake when he sacked the city during one of his periodic visits. But this seems to be fanciful as there’s no evidence of this either on the web or on the placards outside the ruins. Actually, I'm not sure he actually ever hit Pontevedra itself. Rather, he seems to have concentrated on the Atlantic Islands off Vigo, plus the town of Bayona a little further south. And La Coruña further north. But there is a connection between Pontevedra and the infamous pirate/British hero. We have in one of our churches here the statue of Our Lady of Pastoriza (Shepherds?), which is said to have been damaged by Drake’s men during one of his raids on La Coruña and then brought here for safekeeping. Where it miraculously repaired itself. Anyway, more anon.

All of which reminds me . . . I got the English version of the city brochure from the Turismo today and was surprised to find no reference in it to ‘bloodthirsty incursions’ by English corsairs. Perhaps it will mirror the Spanish version when it’s revised.

I was enjoying a glass of wine and a tapas meal with two Spanish lady friends last night when my eyes began to itch rather badly They naturally asked me why and I said I suspected it was the smoke. They sympathised. And then each lit up another cigarette. I suppose their logic was that the place was so smoky their desisting would make no difference. But I’m only guessing here. And I’m sure they would have stopped if I’d asked them to.

Finally, a British columnist has taken issue with the government for its plans to reduce university fees for students who live at home during their course. The writer feels that, if this were universal, it would mean the end of the human race within a few generations. Her logic is that most middle-class teenagers have no understanding of the world and need to be kicked out of the house to learn to become mature and competent adults. But this can’t possibly be true. For, if it were, Spain simply wouldn’t function. Anyway, you can read more here.

2009-07-08T19:02:00.001+02:00

As I’ve said, for some years now I’ve tried to obey all speed limits when driving. Though I appreciate my record of three fines over the last 12 months might be seen as giving the lie to this. Anyway, I’m particularly careful when driving down the hill to park at the mall before walking across the bridge into town. This is because, firstly, there are children’s playgrounds on both sides of the road. And, secondly, because most of the kids using them come from the nearby gypsy settlements. Rumour has it that it’s not a good thing to even slightly damage one of these with your car. I say ‘rumour’ but we did have the report of a few years ago of an incident down south when a gypsy girl ran out a bar and across the road and was slightly injured by a passing car. The driver of which was then shot six times at close range by her father. Or rather five, as one shot went into the dashboard. Naturally, I try to keep this image in mind as I drive down.

The Ferpes shop I mentioned the other day turns out to specialise in lingerie. Another good reason why it was spelled the Gallego, and not the Castellano, way. En passant, I suspect ‘underwear’ is ropa interior in both languages.

Talking of shops . . . I walked past one this evening called Huevos Grandes, with the byline Dirt Shops. It specialises in motor-cycle gear. The literal translation of the Spanish is ‘Big Eggs’ but I imagine a Spanish reader could give us the real sense. And somebody might be able to explain the Dirt Shops bit.

On the subject of noise, I’ve been twice blessed this week. Not only has Tony gone away to sea but the Catalan kids who normally spend the entire month of July screaming in the pool next door appear to be giving us a miss this year. Which, I guess, is why the above-ground pool is currently being dismantled. There must be some way I can (noisily) celebrate all this. Especially as the change looks permanent.

Finally . . . I thought you might like to know that the budget for the new bus-stop down at the roundabout was 98,252 euros. But I’ve no idea what it actually cost. Secondly, after a brief hiatus, it has now resumed its previous role as a parking space. That said, we’re only in phase 2 of the transmutation, as so far the parking is only single file. It may be a few days before we get to doble and then – sure as big eggs are big eggs - triple fila. With all the chaos that causes on the roundabout.

2009-07-07T19:48:00.002+02:00

If you think I exaggerate about noise in Spain, read Lenox on the subject, here. In Galicia, 50,000 families are reported this week to be affected by excessive noise from nocturnal revellers. Against that, in the year since it came into force, only two people have been prosecuted under Pontevedra’s new law to ban binge drinking in the streets of the old quarter.

Likewise, if you feel I exaggerate about drug smuggling in Galicia, click here for an interesting development in the port I can see from my window.

It’s funny how coincidences arise. I mentioned recently that the USA is unpopular here for “essentially history-related reasons”. I was, of course, referring to the war of 1898 which resulted in Spain losing all of her remaining colonial possessions, including Cuba. Well, it turns out this disaster for Spain was something of a compensation for a bellicose American public which had been denied a confrontation with Britain around a border dispute between Venezuela and British Guiana. This had been averted – after much American anti-colonial sabre-rattling – by Britain conceding to the US demand for arbitration. Which took place in Paris and, ironically, found in 1899 in favour of the colonial power.

The running of the bulls began in Pamplona this morning. This is one of the few things I watch on Spanish TV. So, naturally, the satellite in our community is on the blink again. Watching on a portable TV this morning, I think I finally figured out why the course is always wet, causing the bulls to skid and crash at one corner in particular. It’s the consequence of the early-morning operation to clean up all the immense debris from the previous night’s revels.

Which reminds me . . . Our big fiesta month is said to be August but, in truth, things get rolling in July. As this happens every year, it would make sense to have the program of events out early this month. But it never is. When I asked the helpful young lady in the tourist kiosk yesterday when I could expect to see one, she thought maybe by the middle of the month. By which time some events will have taken place. This is not much of a problem for me as I come into town every day and can operate on the fly. But I have tenants in my house in the hills and, being foreign, they arrive with the ridiculous notion it’ll be possible to plan things in advance. Poor misguided fools.

Actually, I had a minor triumph at the tourist place. Having suggested the middle of the month for the bumper guide to events in July, August and September, she then apologised for not even being able to give me the standard monthly guide to normal events in July. “Don’t worry,” I replied. “I got one from a pile in the new museum last night, when visiting an art exhibition.” And then I knocked her down with a feather.

Finally . . . A comment on Wimbledon from a fine English journalist:-

“Every year, Wimbledon effortlessly exhibits everything that is pathetic, weird, embarrassing and unattractive in England and the English. And every year, with glib, blind vanity, England and the English assume they are exactly the reverse, an advertisement for all that is enviable and exceptional in the old place.”

No one can say I'm not even-handed.

2009-07-06T21:03:00.004+02:00

Well, thanks to the research efforts of trusty readers and myself, we now know that, in 1719, a British raiding party descended first on Vigo and then on Pontevedra. It was under the command of Viscount Cobham, assisted by Vice-Admiral Mighells (“Micheles” in Spanish accounts). The party of 1,000 men which moved on to Pontevedra was led by General Wade but no mention is made in British sources of the elusive General Homobod. But there was a Brigadier-General Honeywood and so I’m naturally left wondering whether his name (like that of Mighells) has been transmuted over time. Incidentally, the British Army records have it that Wade et al ‘marched the 30 miles from Vigo to Pontevedra and caused the garrison there to flee in panic’. I know this to be a malicious calumny. It’s only 27km from here to Vigo. More info here, for those interested.

Briefly returning to the subject of closed shops . . . I was sad to see that one of my favouritely-named places – Don Bacalau (Mr Cod) – hadn’t survived. But I was less than surprised to see that the outlet in Vegetables Square selling nothing but soap had gone under. To be honest, I’d always been astonished it had opened in the first place.

Talking about Vegetables Square . . . At the flea market there on Sunday, I asked the price of a battered Castellano-Gallego dictionary, being prepared to go as far as a couple of euros. So when the guy asked me for 20, I could scarcely refrain from laughing before I put it back. Is the seller really unaware you can get one for nothing on line? In similar vein, my tenants told me later in the day they’d seen an old Cadillac bus at a garage near town, researched it on the net and identified the going price in the USA as around 2,000 dollars. So they called the owner and asked him what he was asking for it. “60,000 euros” was the reply. Presumably he knows something they don’t.

There continues to be talk of mergers between Spain’s troubled saving banks. Here in Galicia, there’s probably a strong case for merging our two biggies, Caixa Galicia and Caixa Nova. But, as a writer points out in today’s Voz de Galicia, standing in the way of any sensible outcome are the ‘Bonapartist’ attitudes of the respective directorates and the urban rivalries arising from their differently located HQs. Some head-knocking is surely required. If unlikely to happen, unless it’s made a serious precondition of a hand-out from Madrid.

Finally . . . I was right that the letter from the Xunta was about one of the three subjects I listed. But I was wrong to be so pessimistic, as it merely advised someone had objected to plans to clean up the forest and I could pop along to some office or other to see the details. And for this I – like all my neighbours – needed a registered letter?

2009-07-05T21:04:00.005+02:00

For essentially history-related reasons, the Spanish have long been the most anti-American nation in Europe. So it’s a shame not many of them will ever read this article, which destroys the myth that social/welfare services in the USA are inferior to those in Europe. Turns out that, in several cases, there’s more on offer there than there is here in (socialist) Spain. Who’d have thought it? By the way, Prospect is a left-of-centre magazine.

As in most Spanish cities, Pontevedra’s train and bus stations are on its outskirts, within a few yards of each other. Meaning a stiff walk or a taxi ride, if you want to get to or from the centre. But at least the former gives you a chance to clock the wide range of shops now boarded up en route – not to mention the ground-floor premises not yet bought or rented out in the massive blocks of new flats near the stations. Grocers, wine bars, estate agents, furniture stores and several others. But no mobile phone shops or hairdressers as yet. I guess things will have to get a lot worse for these to start shutting, despite their large numbers. And my impression is there are more kebab houses and health-food shops than ever. Unlikely as this seems.

It’s reported in the local press that Galician students of English score better than those in most other Spanish regions. Given how badly it’s spoken here, I have to assume this is in respect of mastery of the finer points of English grammar.

Which reminds me . . . I went back yesterday to the restaurant which – among other bloomers – gave ‘Prat in Garlic' for Gambas en ajillo. I checked out the printing of the translation I’d given them. And found it to be perfect. Except for the one Spanish word on it. Pimientos de Padrón was given as 'Peppers from Pardon'. As so often in life, you couldn’t make it up.

Finally . . . I have a registered letter from the Xunta to collect from the Post Office tomorrow morning. Will this be yet another speeding fine? Or the half-expected demand for more transfer tax on a speciously high transaction price for the house in the hills I bought a year ago? Or will it be just a notification that the undergrowth is going to be cleared from the land near our community? I fear one of the former but will know soon enough.

2009-07-04T23:56:00.002+02:00

One of the differences between Spanish (Castellano) and Galician (Gallego) is that many words which begin with H in the former begin with F in the latter. Since this is usually the way they were in Latin, this gives Galician – some say - a good claim to superiority. So we have horno/forno, hormiga/formiga, hormigón/formigón, hogar/fogar and so on. I thought of all this last night when I saw a shop called Ferpes. And realised it was a good thing the name was Galician. Probably.

In this year’s version of the brochure put out by TurGalicia on Pontevedra, the opening page tells us that this part of Spain has been a natural target for numerous people who ‘practised pillage’, including the Normans, the Danes, the French, the Portuguese and (“the most bloodthirsty”) English under “the pirate Drake and the general Homobod”. Which is nice. But, anyway, a Google search for said general Homobod threw up only this and this, being the same text from local tourist agencies. My thought this might be some Dutch corsair called Humboldt was not endorsed by a second search. So I’m offering a huge prize for the most plausible explanation for this Spanish libel.

Mention of this guide on Pontevedra reminds me it’s one of my monthly challenges to get to the Turismo after the guide to local events has been published but before it has flown from the shelves. As there’s really no way of knowing which day (relatively) early in a month this will be, the only sensible strategy is to go in every day, on the off chance. This month, though, we have the added element that, as in every year, the July guide will be combined with that of August, to cover the entire spectrum of our summer fiesta. The advice at the Turismo today was that I come back on the 8th or the 9th of July. With which I may or may not comply.

Finally, if you don’t yet know what the Spanish mean when they talk of a kamikaze driver, then read this.

2009-07-03T20:46:00.005+02:00

The Irish band, U2, has been fined for making too much noise during their rehearsals in Madrid. This has to take the biscuit – foreigners being punished for being too noisy in Spain. I can die in peace now.

The oposiciones are the exams which legions of young Spanish hopefuls take to try and get one of the highly valued government jobs. From what I’ve seen, they’re as tough as they’re reputed to be. But they’re invigilated locally, not in Madrid. Which, I guess, is why one can read in the Galician section of El País . . . “The list of the successful aspirants is monopolised by the children and relatives of local mayors, of the head of the Ourense administration, of well-known lawyers and of judges,”

Another Spanish institution is the bridge, or el puente – the Friday or Monday which is added to the weekend if there’s a public holiday on Thursday or Tuesday. In a country dedicated to fun, these are important. So I gauge that the tone of this headline today was one of deep regret and disappointment – “The work and holidays timetable for 2010 will only permit two bridges.” Times are certainly tough.

I wrote recently about the expense being incurred at the far end of our community on new paving stones, while the wooden boards at our end are being left to rot. I speculated that the president of the community lived in that part of the development. And so it turns out to be. But, as of next year, my neighbour next-door-but one, Manolo, will assume this position. So I button-holed him today on the subject of getting the boards treated in his current capacity as vice-president. Pointing up my naivety, he said “No. We’ll wait until next year. And then I’ll have expensive metal walkways installed.”

Actually, this option was discussed at a three-hour community meeting I attended – without much Spanish – in November, 2000. The only decision arising from this was that we'd meet again within 20 days, to have another go at agreeing what to do. As it happens, the next meeting was some five years later. By which time, work had begun on installing the untreated wooden boards.

Finally, and self-interestedly . . . I read this week that Galicia is towards the bottom of the Spanish list as regards the provision of casas rurales, or rural getaways. Which is a tad ironic, given the magnificence of its countryside. And I’ve heard it said there’s also a shortage of eco- and gay-friendly places in Spain. To which all I can say is – If you’re looking for somewhere which fits one or all of these bills, click here. And then write to me on colindavies@terra.es if you want more info.

2009-07-02T19:17:00.003+02:00

I went to Vigo by train today and at least on the way back no one was sitting in my designated seat. On the outward journey, the alternative empty seat I chose naturally turned out to be the one allocated to the anally retentive pedant who’d been standing in the doorway of the carriage making a mobile phone call when I got on.

But anyway, the real reason for mentioning this is that, as we pulled into Vigo station and I casually glanced at the awning above the platform, I was flashed back to Alicante in the early hours of a summer morning in 1971. The brain being what it is, I also got the smells of Spain of 38 years ago. But, believe me, none of these can be found on Vigo station in 2009. Or anywhere else in Spain, I fancy. Indeed, I suspect that, if one could accurately describe this yesteryear mixture of cheap tobacco, body odour, garlic, cooking oil, drains and whatever else to a modern Spaniard, they simply wouldn’t believe you. Especially if you’re British and so come from a nation regarded as irremediably dirty by today’s Spaniards.

We all have our own way of dealing with the modern blight of telemarketing calls. I’ve said before that I usually claim I’ve just died, which is very effective. But, with more time on my hands, I sometimes try a bit of stuttering or pretend I’m deaf. But I won’t have to do any of this in future. In theory, at least. For I’ve registered at the new service of www.listarobinson.es and this will stop me being bothered by unsolicited phone calls and emails. Unless it results in more of these because some bastard has sold my numbers. Incidentally, I’ve no idea why it’s called a Robinson List. Perhaps someone could enlighten us.

If you’re going to apply (on line) for this service, be warned that you might have to enter the security code quite a few times (in my case at least 10) before the system deigns to accept it. I suspect it’s got something to do with upper and lower case letters. So keep clicking for a new code until it’s all or nearly all just numbers.

The main reason I go on and on about the 3 or 4 speeding fines I’ve received in the last year is that I’ve been genuinely trying to comply with the limits. Which is not something I could have said earlier in my life. So I feel very aggrieved to have been caught in carefully constructed traps. And now they’ve only gone and added insult to injury by giving an extra 2 points only to those ‘good’ drivers’ who’ve still got the 12 they were given two years ago. These, of course, are those drivers who never take their cars on the road. So didn’t even need their original allocation. I guess it makes sense to someone.

Finally . . . Now that our elections are well and truly over, the government has stopped pretending we’ll be able to get to Madrid on the AVE high-speed train by 2012. Now they say it’ll be 2015. But I’m still prepared to place a large bet on it being 2018, at the earliest. By which time Spanish stations will surely smell like heaven.

2009-07-01T21:09:00.001+02:00

It’s so rare to see a parking space in any of Pontevedra’s streets that I regularly wonder how folk ever find one. Is it all just a massive game of chance or are there actually ‘rules’ which make it easier for the cognoscenti to find a spot? Anyway, as I was walking into town at 11 this morning, I passed a car which was pulling away from the kerb and leaving a space free. This is so unprecedented that I felt like a character in a Bateman cartoon – The Man Who Saw A Parking Space In Pontevedra. Which, I guess, will mean nothing to most readers. Ah, well.

There are, it has to be said, certain areas of the city where there’s a lot of (free) parallel parking spaces and, if you drive round and round these for a while, you might strike lucky and coincide with someone leaving. The trouble with these areas is they’re patrolled by the worst of Pontevedra’s panhandlers – the less-than-lovely men and women who ‘guide’ you into a space and then hold out a hand for your contribution to their outgoings. Reputedly, these are essentially drug related and it’s arguable that it’s very pragmatic of the council to keep the petty crime rate down by allowing this to happen. Intellectually, I can easily understand this. But, emotionally, I find myself so irritated by being forced to pay for a free space that I cut off my nose to spite my face by resorting – on the very few occasions I drive into town – to one of the more expensive underground car parks. Which is marginally more attractive than being jailed for mowing down one of the beggars on the way into a space.

Talking of beggars . . . For a pretty rich country, Spain does seem to have a lot of them. Though, thankfully, we don’t get many of the “Look at my festering sore” variety these days. The market niche which seems to be getting crowded right now is that of the middle-aged, middle-class men who sit, silently, on a shop step with a small placard in front of them, saying something along the lines that they have no income but a family to feed. One of these I passed yesterday was using a ring binder, raising the question of whether he had a different page and different message for each day of the week. I really can’t decide whether any of them are genuine or not. So I give free rein to my cynicism and walk quickly past.

The number of boarded-up shops continues to rise in town. And I see today that even the snobby delicatessen in the centre has shut its doors. But it’s not all closures. A clothes shop on the edge of the main square has re-opened as a sweet and ice-cream shop, despite the fact there are several others within spitting distance. Must be a recession-proof business. Or have a long planning lead-time.

Finally . . . I see that President Berlusconi insists he’s never paid for sex. Well, neither have I. But I have been impoverished by two marriages. Does this count?

Incidentally, it’s just possible I’m more trustworthy on this score, than Il Presidente.

2009-06-30T21:04:00.004+02:00

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.

2009-06-29T20:53:00.007+02:00

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.

2009-06-28T20:49:00.003+02:00

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.

2009-06-28T20:49:00.002+02:00

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.

2009-06-27T20:34:00.008+02:00

Here’s an interesting and well-written take on the Jacko madness du jour . . .

On this, did anyone else see Sky news reach a nadir this morning, when one of their star reporters vamped by speculating on which door or window of his house MJ’s body might be brought out of? Thank God for France 24 so I could switch over and find out all about Sarko’s trip to the Caribbean to stamp on some revolting natives. Caraille, presumably.

Actually, I was impressed to see that France has no colonies, only ‘overseas Departments’. Surely this is the way to go for Gibraltar. It could simultaneously become both a county of England and an autonomous community of Spain, with shared sovereignty. An immediate end to all the emotional arguments about a British colony on Spanish soil. Even better than being an enclave. This, I have to say, is the sort of brilliance for which I’m never paid.

Anyway, inured as I am to low levels of concern for risk and high levels of inconsideration for strangers in Spain, I'm still occasionally taken aback. Like today, when I saw that the zebra crossing down by the new bus-stop was blocked at both ends by vans which were presumably delivering stuff to the nearby shopping centre. The poor pedestrians were reduced to playing peek-a-boo with their lives in the gap in the middle.

Here's a series of 3 fotos, to illustrate my occasional inability to understand Spanish priorities . . .

Firstly, some new tiles down near the houses of my neighbours in our community. Incidentally, my suspicion is we're all going to have to pay for these, as we did for their snazzy new entrance.

And here is the walkway behind my house, down to the communal gardens and the pool.

And here are the steps at the end of the walkway.

Why am I showing these banal objects? Well, the walkway planks were replaced about 2 years ago - as part of a project that took 4 years - after one of my legs had gone right through a rotten plank and I almost fell 20 or more feet to the concrete below. As you can see, they haven't been treated against Galicia's rain and damp. Unlike the (red) steps going down into the garden.

So the question arises - Why is it more important to replace perfectly good tiles while woodwork remains dangerously untreated? Is it simply because the President of the community lives down at the tile end of the development? Or is it because everyone knows none of us has a chance of successfully suing anyone if we do actually fall to our death or serious injury? Especially in the former case.

To end more positively, here's a foto of my resurgent jasmine . . .

2009-06-26T21:53:00.006+02:00

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.

2009-06-25T20:56:00.001+02:00

All this media attention to events in Iran has prompted me to re-think my plans to re-visit the country sometime soon. Preferably after realising a lifetime ambition of going to Samarkand first. But it’s also given me a good excuse to further postpone polishing up my Farsi. At least until MI6 get in touch with me.

By far the most pleasant recollection that’s been prompted is that – with all due respect to Spanish señoritas – Iranian young women must rank as the most beautiful in the world. Though perhaps my perspective would be different now, if I was more impressionable back then.

On the other hand, the talk of freedom has reminded me of a hairs-on-the-back-of-the-neck moment when my Farsi teacher – an unsimpatico cove by the name of Tavakoli – told me that neither I nor anyone else in Britain understood or could ever understand what it was to be free. “You have freedom from the moment you’re born”, he said. “And take it completely for granted. None of you will ever know what it’s like to walk from a plane knowing that you can now think whatever you like.” A sentiment endorsed when a friend warned me that he couldn’t chat in front of his four year old daughter, in case she unwittingly relayed something dangerous in class. That, of course, was under Savak, the Shah’s notorious secret police. When “Evin prison” were the two most terrifying words you could hear in Iran. Turns out they still are.

All of which has reminded me of this little tale I wrote a while ago.

I was going to write something trite about Spanish priorities now but, having just re-read this, I’ve decided to leave this for now. My heart’s just not in it. Sometimes life really is more of a tragedy than a farce.

2009-06-24T19:53:00.004+02:00

Good item on the early morning news today – A glass of red wine with each meal is not only beneficial but essential for longevity. I’m almost there but will now try harder in respect of breakfast.

Last night saw the celebration of the feast of St Juan (Xoan) here in Galicia and, indeed, throughout Spain. This involves leaping over fires - for one pagan reason or another - but I discovered the real significance of the festival when I tried to enter the car park of the shopping mall on my (Poio) side of the river this morning. Different municipalities, different holidays. The place was closed.

I had planned to engage in the traditional eating of sardines which marks this feast day – I once managed to finally get some at 3am – but the hayfever that mysteriously hit me yesterday turned out to be a summer cold. So I stayed in to sweat it out, swapping red wine for a hot toddy make of Scotch. Life can be tough. I don't much like Scotch.

Talking of holidays . . . The kids have broken up and are now off school until mid September. Which means the 11 o’clock surge in the wi-fi café now brings not only raucous adults but also noisy offspring. I wonder if the library offers wi-fi.

I mentioned the other day that activists on the left of the political spectrum appeared to have arrogated the Progressive label to themselves. But now I discover there are Progressive Conservatives as well. Indeed, they all belong to the constituency of ‘Progressive Politics’. Soon the word will be as confusing and as useless as Liberal. Meanwhile, though, it seems that Gordon Brown’s biggest fault is that his face doesn’t fit. Literally. “Gordon Brown is a victim of the fact that progressive politics has become personality-dependent, charisma-driven, messianic almost.” Poor idealistic bastard.

By the way - The program on Spain I cited yesterday (Paradise Lost) is on ITV tonight at 9, or 10 Spanish time, if you have a satellite.

Finally . . . an solicited testimonial for “In the Garlic”. I’m re-reading (and re-enjoying) this book by a couple of ladies who know Spain well. I’ll try to resist quoting too much from it but I smiled today at the comments that, when you take anything back to a shop here, you have to remember that the customer is always wrong. Especially if it's Carrefour, in my experience. And that Spanish road signs remain “un asunto pendiente”, a matter yet to be sorted. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, neither of these will come as much of a surprise, of course.

And now I'm off to have zamburiñas in garlic in my favourite tapas bar and then to watch the Spain-USA football match in my preferred bar. Both of these are about 20 metres from this wi-fi café. Spain can be oh so . . . . well, convenient at times.

2009-06-23T21:30:00.002+02:00

Last year – just before the elections, as I recall – the government surprised us all with a promise to give many of us (though not me) a tax rebate of 400 euros. This, it assured us, was not a one-off election bribe but would be permanent. Which turns out to mean about 2 years. For the relevant minister has warned that, though it won’t be touched this year, it just could be next year.

As I’ve written, it isn’t easy to govern Spain from Madrid and one of the most intractable issues for the President to solve is that of regional finance. In short, he never resolved this when times were good and, now that they’re bad, the omens are not encouraging. For a start, one doesn’t exactly get the impression that the message coming from the regional governments is “OK, we realise our extortionate demands reflected the boom of previous years. And, now that the state’s coffers are somewhat depleted, we’ll come back to you with something more reasonable”. Rather the opposite; everyone wants at least the same formula that, effectively, gave Cataluña more money from the central pot. Or, rather, it didn’t, as even this long-running deal hasn’t yet been closed.

Perhaps a concentration on this issue explains why President Zapatero gives no evidence whatsoever he’s listening to the choir of voices telling him something has to be done about re-structuring a labour market which, it’s said, expensively protects the few and leaves the many without any safeguards whatsoever. The latest of which is that of the President of the European Central bank. Meanwhile, the metalworkers’ strike in Vigo just got a little more violent, with a bomb explosion at an office of the employers. Perhaps President Z fears there’ll be more of this, if he ever opens his mouth on this subject. Other than to say he will be implementing ‘socialist solutions’ to the recession and its concomitant highest unemployment in Europe.

Well, it turns out the Brits are quite important to Spain. Visitors are 18% fewer than last year, dragging the tourist industry total down by 12%. Some of this, of course, is due to the fall in the pound but one wonders how much Spain’s damaged image has played in the downturn. Perhaps there will be some comment on this in Paradise Lost, a program on Spain being shown on British TV one night this week. Possibly even tonight.

One of the joys of early spring here is the scent of jasmine from the two bushes in my front garden. And I was pleasantly surprised to see they still had flowers on them when I returned from a two-week trip to the UK in April. And astonished to see that new flowers were emerging this morning. I wonder if it’s connected with the recent heat.

Finally . . . It’s good to see that some folk in Pontevedra have petitioned the town hall in respect of action about the increasingly feral seagulls that plague the old quarter’s lovely little plazas. If nothing is done, I guess I’ll actually have to do something about my plan to buy a plastic eagle owl, to affix to whatever table I’m sitting at.

Technical postscript: A plea. Does anyone know how to solve the problem of a computer that goes black for a couple of seconds and then tells you the screen controller (controlador de pantalla) stopped working and has been recovered? If it’s a question of modifying/uninstalling the ATI Catalyst Control Centre, how is this safely done?

2009-06-22T21:39:00.003+02:00

In an interesting development here, the head of Spain’s secret service has demanded that ten of his personnel undergo lie-detector tests, in an attempt to find out which of them leaked data to the press about his use of public funds for private purposes. This, of course, is unheard of here. And everyone is truly shocked.

The other fascinating development is that Ana Obregon – one of Spain’s legion of blond women of a certain age who people the afternoon TV – has taken up with a 27 year old British footballer from the Sheffield United team. She herself may or may not be 50 or thereabouts. But why ever not? And it makes a change from Cubans

The wheel turns. Eight years or so ago, when I first came here and spoke not a word of Spanish, one of the few people I met from day to day was the 17 year old daughter of a neighbour who needed English lessons. To say she was a self-centred princess would be something of an understatement. But I bumped into her today and found she’s now a qualified paediatrician, of great charm and beauty. I wish I was at least 30 years younger.

Talking of Fortune, it must have been heartbreaking for Lewis Hamilton to come in last at the British Formula 1 race yesterday, having won last year. Incidentally, they say it’s effectively impossible to overtake on the Silverstone track, raising the question – Why on earth would anyone pay to watch a race there? But, then, I often wonder this about this sport.

It seems only a short while ago I was reading of the threat of deflation in Spain but I couldn’t help noticing yesterday that the price of my squid has gone up by 33% and the bread by 20%. But the wine has stayed the same. So I had an extra one to celebrate.

Iran again – Here’s a good take on the Supreme Leader’s demonisation of Britain. By London's head honcho.

Finally, if you’ve been waiting for fotos of the bus-stop down at the roundabout but didn’t read Friday’s post, then you need to scroll down.

2009-06-21T20:17:00.002+02:00

For those with an interest in what’s happening with the Spanish banks, here’s an expert view. Well, expert compared with mine, anyway. The writer cites the opinion of a Spanish banking analyst that "We're going to see a complete change in the banking landscape in Spain." Presumably this means more than them going into and out of the estate agency/realtor business.

Over in the UK, there seems to be a wilful determination to ignore the truth underlying the scandal of the extraordinary expense claims of British MPs. Which is that, not wanting to raise their very visible salaries, they years ago introduced a system under which they could claim almost anything as a tax-free expense, up to an annual maximum. And most of them did. Displaying impressive creativity as they, or their partners, scrambled around for things to spend on. As one commentator puts it today – “Since the 1970s, governments have conspired with backbenchers to use the additional costs allowance as a means of boosting parliamentary emoluments but without incurring the public anger that they feared would follow an inflation-busting increase in their official pay.” But I’ve yet to hear any MP admit to this. They all seem to prefer to looking petty, venal, stupid, hypocritical and crooked. But least some of them are resigning. I guess both the government and the opposition prefer the public thinks merely individual MPs have taken them for a ride over the last 5 years, rather than the entire Labour and Conservative administrations of the last 3 decades. Or Parliament conspiring against the people.

Which reminds me . . . Exactly the same thing goes on in Brussels, of course. But with even less transparency. However, resignations are very unlikely there as it’s now a criminal offence to publish details of MEP expense claims. Not that anyone cares.

Here in Pontevedra the start of summer has brought the appearance of a new category in our ever-widening panoply of beggars – a Rumanian dwarf. At least, I think the lady was Rumanian, as she was using the standard phrases and wearing the standard clothes. Does anyone know the Rumanian for “Are you Rumanian?”. Which would, of course, be quite useless if she isn’t.

The writer of this article displays near term pessimism but longer term optimism for Iran, a viewpoint I share. As he says, “The coming crackdown will be bitter, not just because of the challenge in the streets, but also because the elite are at odds with each other over it, as well as over who should run the system and how. It is a crisis of legitimacy as well as of authority.” Elsewhere, another commentator has this to say about the country’s dichotomy:- “Today there are two Irans. One is prepared to support the Supreme Leader’s bid to transform the republic into an emirate in the service of the Islamic cause. Then there is a second Iran – one that wishes to cease to be a cause and yearns to be an ordinary nation. This Iran has not yet found its ultimate leaders. For now, it is prepared to bet on Mousavi. The fight over Iran’s future is only beginning.” Personally, I’m convinced the Iranian people will see off the autocratic Mullahs in the same way they saw off the despotic Shah. But much blood will be spilled along the way. A proud but sad country. And deserving of more understanding from the West.

2009-06-20T20:56:00.001+02:00

I’m still confused about the Spanish banks. Or maybe that should be the savings banks. For, while Banco Santander reports 2008 results equal to those of the previous year and the banking industry as a whole delivers the third best results on record, one of the major credit agencies has cast aspersions on 20-30 Spanish banks and the government has embroiled itself in the creation of a rescue fund. Which may or may not operate with more of an eye to politics than to economics. I guess it will all come out in the wash.

As forecast, the government has tripled the fines for speeding and reduced the period during which you can promptly pay and obtain a discount, though the latter has risen from 30 to 50%. Worst of all, there’ll now be no tolerance in the application of the law; you will be fined for exceeding the limit by as little as 1kph. Presumably we’ll all need to buy speed limiters or cruise control mechanisms to ensure we don’t inadvertently slip above 120 on the empty motorways. Or buy a GPS thingy to tell us every ten seconds what speed we’re doing - on pain of a massive fine and loss of points if we actually touch this, rather than the (OK) radio. You’ll also be hit hard if you wear earphones to listen to a podcast, though not if you have the radio on deafening full blast or have another four people in the car, joining you in a 5-handed (mouthed?) simultaneous shouting match. Can there be any more eloquent evidence of the intention to make el tráfico part of the tax set-up - at a time when President Zapatero is assuring us there’ll be no more tax increases? Truly has he dipped deeply at the Blairist well of stealth taxes.

Thanks to regular messages from my considerably-left-of-centre and politically-active (ex) stepson, I’m reasonably acquainted with the angst currently being suffered by he and his colleagues in the UK about what to do next and under which banner. Rejecting New Labour, they’re also unwilling to be too associated with Old Labour, Socialism or even Liberalism. And, whilst they may have more in common with Continental European Social Democrats than they care to admit, they don’t wish to adopt this label either. As I read their stuff, I get the impression they’re edging toward the public use of the term they routinely apply to themselves – the Progressive Left. You have to hand it to them for chutzpah – they are progressive and the rest of us are, thus, incontestably regressive. Que cara!

Incidentally, my (ex)stepson sees me as “a nice (and, therefore, deluded) Tory”. I suspect this is his British half speaking. His Spanish half would be far more blunt. At the minimum, I’d be “a liar”, I guess.

Finally, for those interested in knowing more about Iranian culture, click here.

2009-06-19T18:17:00.016+02:00

I see that Iran’s Supreme Leader has labelled the British government evil and treacherous. Hard as it may be to credit, this is essentially because all Iranians have believed for close on a hundred years now that perfidious Albion keeps a tight control on all global affairs. Even harder to take for Americans will be their subordinate view that our cousins are nothing but dupes of the British. Flattering but, of course, ridiculous. That said, it might well take another hundred years to rid the Iranians of this delusion.

Closer to home, here at last is the photo of the bus-stop down at the roundabout. Enjoy . . .

We may not have double-decker buses but double-decker bus-stops we do have!

And here is the engraving on the plate glass at one end . . .

Just down the road from this is the rather lovely restored old stone house which houses the Poio tourist office.

And here are three pix of what someone thinks is a suitable extension at the back of it . . .

I apologise if this is three too many.

The good news is that, in our climate, it won't be long before some sort of foliage climbs up the chicken wire and obscures the place.