Tuesday 29 December 2009

Kitting out by Kate

Just how many of these cute, pastel-coloured, curvy-shaped, cuddly character items are really necessary for a baby? Having just been on a (most enjoyable) shopping trip for our expected offspring, I've been quite staggered at the sheer amount of stuff being dangled enticingly under the willing and susceptible noses of potential parents and grandparents - stuff which I rather suspect is largely unnecessary for the health and well-being of the new infant. Of course, some items are essential and a few expenses unavoidable, but if people living in jungle tribes, two weeks from civilisation in all directions can successfully raise their new-born children without the benefits of ergonomically-designed breast-feeding cushions, baby baths and crib-bumpers, then I reckon we could probably manage it too.

Take nightlights, for example. Now, a low-wattage light to help you carry out the night-time feeds with minimal disturbance to your partner (and your retinas) seems like a decent practical idea. The little, plug-in lights you can get from the local electrical shop cost no more than a couple of quid/euros - and the job is done. In the baby shops, the nightlights made from soothingly-coloured, moulded characters with smiley mouse faces (for example) set you back by fourteen notes and yet they do exactly the same job as the two-quid widgets. And who's going to appreciate the extra twiddly bits on the fancy nightlight? The baby? Not on your nelly. Is it going to relieve your fatigue or boredom or enhance your enjoyment of the 3 a.m. nourishment session? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I seriously doubt it.

Anyway, as I said, some baby equipment is essential. Clothes, for example - although we've been donated and promised such a wealth of babywear already, that I doubt we'll have to part with much more cash to complete our newborn's layette. Nappies are unavoidable and as we're keen to try and mostly use washable ones, that will be an initial outlay of a couple of hundred euros (but should work out cheaper than disposables in the long run, even with the washing costs factored in). And there's baby transportation. By law, if you want to transport your little one in a car, it has to be in a proper, government accredited car seat. You're advised against getting them second-hand and the new ones don't come cheap. That's why we figured we might as well try and get a multi-purpose seat that would clip into a frame on wheels and therefore double as a pram and/or buggy. In fact, we've realised that the seat, as well as having its uses in our vehicle and on its own set of wheels, can also be a baby seat for general use around the house - when our little one needs to be set down somewhere safe in our vicinity while we do other things, for example - and indeed as a cot. The height of the pram set-up is about the same as our bed, so conceivably (assuming she's willing) we could have our nipper kipping in it at nights (if indeed she does kip at nights, Inshallah...) and be within easy paranoid new-mother checking distance and conveniently grabbable for breast-feeding in the wee hours. That's the theory, anyway. I guess we'll find out soon enough if our baby finds that solution as practical as we do.

For general child transportation, I'm very taken with idea of tying her to our bodies (one at a time, obviously) with a strong and stretchy length of cloth. Baby-wearing, in fact. The idea seems simple and flexible and assuming we can get it right and she takes to it okay, it seems like a good way of having your babe-in-arms snug against your body but not actually in your arms.

Still, I'm aware that babies are nothing if not adept at knocking all the best pre-parenting ideas into a cocked hat and I can only hope that our one will share at least some of our views on the best ways to make her (and us) comfortable. Unfortunately, if she takes after her parents she's bound to have some definite ideas of her own about the way she would like things done and will no doubt be unafraid to express them. Yikes.

Sunday 27 December 2009

Pregnant with desire by Kate

There will be no pornography in this post, but the fact I just wrote the word should at least garner our blog a few hundred more hits than usual. That and the word sex, which will be repeated several times in the course of the piece. Look away now if a) the combination of intercourse and pregnancy upsets you and b) if a few intimate-ish details about other people's carnality tends to give you indigestion. The brave, the curious and the prurient, read on!

Sex during pregnancy is generally encouraged by the experts - unless you're very miscarriage-prone (in which case, the advice is to leave off for the first few critical months), they see no reason why the hanky-panky shouldn't continue unabated. That's not to say the couple concerned doesn't have issues with the whole area of How's Your Father, of course. Morning sickness, over-tender boobs and exhaustion can all contribute to a low mojo in the recently impregnated woman. Meanwhile, men can find the concept of "something else up there" a bit of a performance-dampener and as the foetus gets bigger, there are concerns about accidentally squishing the future offspring in-utero in the throes of passion. Then there are the women who feel like big lumps of unattractively wobbling flesh as pregnancy enters its later stages and the men who involuntarily envisage the Fat Slags in Viz and can't help making unflattering and enshrinkening comparisons with their expectant partners.

I'm pleased to report that none of the above problems have affected Theo and me. In fact, the only thing that's prevented the frequency of our sex life being as high as previously has been late night fatigue, morning medical appointments and early Spanish lessons. If anything, pregnancy has enhanced the quality of our carnal relations, despite the necessary diminuendo in acrobatics and the restriction of positions for bump-avoidance reasons. I don't know whether it's the pregnancy hormones, the yoga (which includes a move aimed at "freeing and encouraging the flow of sexual energy") or simple practice, but achieving climax certainly seems to have become more effortless in recent months, which has got to be a bonus. Not that things in that department were ever bad, I hasten to add, but considerably more time and energy was required to get there previously and I'm only human.

I think we're also aware that the days of our - relatively - unfettered and spontaneous sex-life are now severely numbered, so here's to matrimonial bliss and tranquility while it lasts. Not to mention the rumpy pumpy.

Saturday 26 December 2009

Christmas in Madrid

We finished work on the 22nd December - for Kate her last day as she won't be returning in the near year. It was a horrible, wet day but still some students made it in, and what with our uber-generous boss Will handing our glasses of Cava and plates of turron to teachers and students, much fun was had. The generosity didn't end there, as we were both given (as were all the teachers) a Christmas hamper containing Champagne, Rioja and chocolates. Nice!!

We promptly opened one of the bubbly bottles the following night when Belen, Cesar and Nataly joined us for a Christmas dinner: mulled wine, nut roast, roasted spuds, cauliflower cheese, broccoli and onion gravy, followed by Christmas pudding and rum butter. The Spaniards seemed to enjoy it all and though we had so much left over we knew we wouldn't need to cook again on Christmas Day itself!
Christmas Eve morning was spent hanging around while the technician from Telefonica fixed our internet, then we had a lovely lunch with our American friend Anne at Artemesia after checking out an exhibition at Alcala 31. Then, after some last minute Christmas shopping - Fosbella had finally decided what she wanted to get Kate for Christmas so I went to pick that up - we settled down to watch a whole load of You Tube.

Kate and I have clearly been very good this year as we woke up to two very full Christmas stockings at the end of the bed. Kate got some tea, chocolate, underwear and handbag; I got boxers, turron, and a jumper. Eventually we got up and had scrambled eggs on toast, Skyped our families, ate left-overs and opened more presents. My family gave us some useful baby things, including a sling. We both practised wearing it, using a stocking stuffed with clementines as a baby stand-in.
Kate gave me an Ipod - awesome - and I got Kate series 1 to 4 of Bones, while the Rainbow family had sent us the movie Once on DVD, so we snuggled down to watch those. Nothing particularly Spanish about our Christmas, but bloody lovely though.

Wednesday 23 December 2009

los padres

My parents (aka Santa Claus - well they arrived loaded with presents) made their first, flying, visit to Madrid. They could only come for two days, which was a real shame, doubly so because they managed to time their trip so it coincided with our last two days at work and the wettest two days we´ve ever had in Madrid. Consequently we couldn´t spend much time with them and the time we did spend with them was decidedly damp!! Still it was lovely to see them and we´re very pleased they made it over, especially as they had to endured over 6 hours of delays at the airport going back. Makes me glad that we generally stick to four wheels.

Monday 21 December 2009

First mince pies of the season

Although we've been stuffing ourselves with turron and pannetoni, we didn't manage our first mince pies until Saturday, when Juanmi, Kirsty and Emily invited us to their Christmas party in Rivas.
We were late arriving, having had to work until 2.40pm, so there was a fair crowd clustered round the food when we arrived. It was like a meeting of Expats Anonymous, or rather, Anglo-Spaniard Couples Anonymous, for as well as our hosts our friends Fermin and Rebecca were there and everybody else we spoke too seemed to be in mixed Spanglish relationship. Just a run down of the names (Tracy & Ignacio, Manuela & James, Jason & Dolores) makes it pretty clear! I was worried I wasn't going to get a chance to practice my Spanish at all, but luckily we managed to find about the only other linguistically homogeneous couple there, Nani and Jose Ramon, who grew up in our barrio to chat to. It was a lovely afternoon, with plenty of recent or soon-to-be mums for Kate to compare hospitals and midwives with, plus some carols round the piano.

We nipped off earlyish in order to do some shopping in Carre Four on the way home, where we encountered the most impressive Belen (nativity scene) yet. The Spanish go for their Bethlehem scenes the way a certain type of English male goes for model train sets, and this one, with its functioning water wheels and hand-painted miniatures, was really quite something. For childless couples only though, methinks.

Sunday 20 December 2009

Bothanica by Theo

Accompanied by our friends Fermin and Rebecca, Kate and I made our first venture to a Spanish Theatre on Friday night when we headed to Teatro del canal to see Bothanica, a contemporary dance spectacular by the American company Momix choreographed by Moses Pendleton. I was slightly feeling the pressure as the show had been my idea and tickets were really pricey - €35 - so I was really hoping it would be good!


It was. The two-hour show, presented in two acts, had no real plot as such, but rather focused around themes of evolution and nature but was none the less enthralling, beautiful, emotive and occasionally humorous. Prancing centaurs, whirling jellyfish, dinosaur puppets, living rocks, amorous trees and macho bees that looked like Brian Blessed's hawkmen out of Flash Gordon were among the characters. Particularly effective I felt was the opening scene in which a twirling anemone tempted dancers out from the ocean sands to taste its poison fruit - the Garden of Eden on the sea floor. Some scenarios were more or less straightforward - a woman dancing on a mirror a metaphor for asexual reproduction - others more complex (what the hell was going on with the two lovers being attacked by rocks?) but they were always engaging. The use of often oversized props - massive flags, huge snail shells - and clever costumes added another spectacular element to the show. We'd definitely recommend it, even if the price is a bit steep.


(not my photos by the way!!)

Saturday 19 December 2009

Getting the Social Security to step in By Kate

In Spain, if you've made social security payments for a minimum of six months, you're entitled to maternity money from the national system. You get four months fully-paid maternity leave and after that it's up to you and your employer to negotiate the remainder (I'm a bit hazy about that part because maternity leave would take me to the end of my contract with the language academy where I've been working anyway).

However, the widely practised way of enhancing one's maternity allowance is to request a baja del medico from your doctor. Basically, you quit work and ask the doctor to officially sign you off on sick leave. 99.9 per cent of doctors are happy to do this for any embarazada complaining of tiredness or a sore back - the usual health complaints that accompany the third trimester. You then lumber back to your health centre once a week and your doctor renews the sick note, usually without any further conversation required. The good part about this is that you start receiving sick pay (70 per cent of your salary) and it continues until the day you give birth, at which point maternity leave officially kicks in and instead of losing part of it pre-partum, you get the whole paid four months once the baby is born.

However, my boss wants me to go one better than this. I had indicated that health-allowing, I would be willing to work until at least the end of January (mainly because I would like to contribute another month's-worth of salary to the domestic piggy bank before earning a living becomes a secondary priority after baby care). He accepts this, but from his point of view, it makes more sense for me to finish my classes at the end of the Christmas term and my replacement to take over at the beginning of the Spring term. Not wanting to cheat me out of my full January salary (and possibly because he would also receive a little financial support from the government) he's been advised by his lawyer that I should request a baja for an embarazada del riesgo.

What this amounts to is that I claim my work is not just becoming difficult for me to perform because of my condition, but that my work is actually putting my pregnancy at risk. A baja obtained for this reason would basically mean I was treated as if I had had an industrial accident. I would receive 100 per cent of my salary from the Social Security until the day of the birth and I wouldn't have to keep heaving myself to the health centre to get it renewed.

When I first consulted my GP about being signed off, I hadn't appreciated the difference between the two bajas. Dr Paniagua indicated that she would be willing to give me the ordinary baja, but I would need to return once I'd actually stopped going to work. Once my boss realised my Spanish wasn't up to the intricacies of discussing the finer points of the other baja, he bade me to make another appointment and lent me his Spanish wife as chief negotiator and translator.

Marina and I arrived at the appointed time in the waiting room, only to observe Dr Paniagua choose that moment to leave her consulting room, lock the door behind her and depart the vicinity. We both treated her disappearance philosophically, as did the other patients in the queue, and settled down to chat until such a time as she should choose to reappear. This she did some twenty minutes later, carrying a shopping bag and with renewed post-coffee break vigour. She then glanced perfunctorily at her appointment list and called my name ("Katt-ee Sal-eess-boorr-ee?"). Marina and I promptly took up positions in front of her desk.

Luckily, I only had to say one sentence in my halting Spanish before Marina took over and laid out the facts of my risky pregnancy to Dr P. The whole time Marina was making her impassioned plea on my behalf, Dr P seemed more interested in trying to disentangle the cord holding her ID, then re-attaching what looked like a small pair of surgical scissors to it - no easy task as far as I could judge. Half way through Marina's brilliant and articulate outlining of my case, another medic unceremoniously walked in and interrupted her flow with some query or other for Dr P, which then became a peripheral discussion. When she thought the other medic had finished, Marina started again, only to be interrupted a second time with another question, which completely ignored the fact that Dr P was in the middle of seeing a patient. Marina and I waited patiently for Dr P's attention to come back to us, such as it was.

When Marina resumed, it seemed clear that Dr P was not buying the risky pregnancy scenario. "So what if she gets tired and has to work late in the evenings, so do I," seemed to be the central tenet of her argument. Eventually - once I'd pointed out that I was awaiting the results of a test for gestational diabetes - Dr P grudgingly gave us a form indicating a suspected risky pregnancy, but told us we would need to get the opinion of an obstetrician before she was prepared to give me the baja.

Both Marina and my boss were taken aback by the doctor's attitude. Apparently, signing people off work for whatever reason is usually a straightforward process in Spain and the medics don't generally fuss too much about establishing the veracity of each case as it's not their problem. Just our luck to get one of the few who was a tougher nut to crack on that score.

Of course the irony of all this is that my pregnancy is unlikely to be risky, given its progress so far (touch wood). Yes, I do get a bit tired (especially when climbing the steps of the Metro) and I have a little backache, but these are relatively minor discomforts. Overall, I feel pretty healthy and have had a very easy pregnancy so far. The only risk element is my age - 39 - but that's hardly unusual nowadays, half my friends have had their babies at around the age of 40 with no serious problems to speak of. As for the diabetes, well I was being honest about waiting to hear the results of my second glucose curve test, but given that I haven't been recalled (beyond a routine 32-week appointment with my obstetrician in January) with any urgency, I rather suspect the result was normal.

Anyway, Marina will come with me to see my obstetrician and have another crack at getting the baja. Only this time she will be armed with a risk assessment my boss commissioned for the academy in terms of hazards for a pregnant woman. Rather to our surprise, they are many - three full pages of them. It seems my work-place is a potential death-trap for people in my condition, with danger lurking in every computer, photocopier and classroom (not to mention the biological hazard of coming into contact with so many germ-infested students). Whether this will convince the Madrid medical profession of my imminent peril - well, we shall see.

Tuesday 15 December 2009

Madrid PI Reunion

On Saturday we had a bit of a reunion. Not with private investigators, but rather with some of the delightful Spaniards we got to know on a Pueblo Ingles immersion week that we did last year and who had largely been responsible for us moving to Madrid in the first place, so positive was the impression of both Madrid and Madrilenos we got from them. Some, like the lovely Belen, we see relatively often, while others not as often as we'd like due to work, family and distance constraints - Amalia and Juanvi live in Valencia for example, while Olga and Silvano have young children.

Naturally not everyone could make it, sadly and ironically including Vanessa (whose idea the reunion had been) and Jero (who had made an online calendar so we could arrange the most convenient date), but there was a still a decent showing - 15 of us - at Horno de Juan in the Islas Filipinas barrio. It being a traditional Spanish restaurant vegetarian fare was not featured heavily on the menu - the rest were tucking into black pudding following by huge slabs of cochinillo (suckling pig) - but we did pretty well on salad, tortilla, and roasted vegetables. Max and Cesar desperately wanted to speak English so made sure that sat near us, which was fine except I wanted to try out my Spanish, so I made sure I moved down to near Olga, her (non-English speaking) husband Fernando and Jaime's wife Teresa for pudding so I could get some practice!
We finally left the restaurant at 6-ish and retired to a nearby bar where Olga regaled Kate with horror stories from her first birth and Max described his attempts at kite surfing which I just about understood, before Kate and I decided to call it a night. We also received our first presents for Fosbella, a beautiful, tiny pair of woolen shoes from Maria-Jose and Amalia. It was a wonderful day, and I hope it isn't too long before we do it again.

Monday 14 December 2009

Well that was a surprise

Yesterday was a bright, beautiful, sunny day. No indication we'd wake up this morning to a blanket of snow over streets and roofs!

Funnily enough I'd been complaining that the warm weather was stopping me from feeling really Christmassy. Let it snow, let is snow, let it snow!

Saturday 12 December 2009

O tannenbaum, o tannenbaum

We're starting to get into a Christmas mood. Madrid is looking pretty, with lights strung out over the streets and little markets popping up all over the place. We've got what must be one of the smallest Christmas trees ever: it's a cypress tree we picked up at the Rastro last weekend. We didn't want to buy a fake one, and we couldn't find a real fir so this was the closest we could get. Still it looks very pretty.We'd already been availing ourselves of the piles of Turron and Panettoni beginning to make their seasonal appearance in the shops, and yesterday we stuck all our Christmas cards in the post. Plus, we embarked on a mammoth Christmas-music playlist compilation on Spotify yesterday to ensure our first Madrid Christmas is suitably sound-tracked.

Naturally we've gone for the cheesy party tracks - The Pogues, Boney M, Band Aid - but for when we just want to chill we've found some lovely versions of some traditional hymns; Maddy Prior and the Carnival Band singing "I saw three ships" and an instrumental version of "The Holly wears the Crown" by Martin Simpson - weirdly we couldn't find a decent vocal version of "The Holly and the Ivy" though there were loads to choose from - they were all too slow. We found a cracking Dolly Parton version of "Go tell it to the Mountain", there's some Jethro Tull, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong (controversially, perhaps, we've gone for his version of "White Christmas" rather than Bing's). Speaking of Bing Crosby, his duet with David Bowie was annoyingly prefaced by 2 minutes of chatter, so we picked the Jackson Five for "The Little Drummer Boy" instead. There's Handel, Troika, Gaudete and the Snowman in our playlist, but what's really making me nostalgic and bringing up memories of Christmases past is Nat King Cole singing "Holy Night" and "O Tannenbaum"; it reminds me of Christmases in Kenya as my parents would often play it back in the days of cassettes. Once we moved back to England and bought a CD player he disappeared from our Christmas soundtracks. I'm glad he's back.

Friday 11 December 2009

bonding and bowling

We had our work Christmas Party last night. Well, there wasn't much that was Christmassy about it, but it was a party, and it's nearly Christmas, so.... Anyway, our boss kindly treated us all to a trip to the bowling alley with beers, food, taxis and suitably ridiculous nicknames all thrown in. Very nice of him.

As Theo "Thunder" Berry I was paired up with Anna "Maverick" McKendrick as we took on Tim and Kate B in the first frame. (Kate S having decided that bowling and pregnancy weren't a good combination, she'd relegated herself to a cheerleading capacity). Sadly, while Anna and I ratcheted up a combined score that would have beaten any of the other 4 teams, Tim and Kate B turned out to be the two best bowlers there, both being the only people to manage three-figured scores.

Still, what's important to remember here is that Anna and I won the following two games comfortably and the beer was all paid for.

Wednesday 9 December 2009

The Yucky Bits by Kate

I always quite liked the idea of being pregnant - swanning around, proudly sporting a neat bump up front and blooming with glowing skin and shining hair. That's the glamorous image of approaching maternity and I've been fairly lucky in managing to pull off all three so far. But there are so many less appealing aspects to the process - and bear in mind, I've actually had it pretty easy so far!
Wind - those hormones sure stir up the digestive gases. Most unladylike.
Leaking orifices - runny or blocked nasal passages, for example. I'll leave the rest to the imagination.
Bleeding gums and nostrils - apparently the maternal hormones are responsible for thinning out your membranes in these areas. Still, they've stopped short of absolute haemorrhage, thankfully.
Spots and rashes in odd places - while the skin on my face is loads better than usual, my thighs seemed to have developed an ongoing acne problem. At least it's easier to conceal from the world at large.
Backache - changing centre of gravity and loosened joints because of the hormone relaxin can be a killer combination. Luckily, I have a husband who is always willing to massage the affected area.
Acid reflux - as the womb expands with the growing foetus, everything else gets compressed, including your stomach. Hence, food reasserting itself in fiery fashion at unexpected moments.
Constant need to pee - see above. Drink half a glass of water and you're running to the loo fifteen minutes later. A short stroll to the shops can be punctuated by any number of urgent toilet dashes. You never squeeze out much more than a trickle, either, it's very unsatisfying.
Clumsiness - changing body size and shape tends to impede co-ordination pretty effectively.
Absent-mindedness - studies have demonstrated the veracity of this one. I can't seem to start a class without rushing back to get the text-book, register or note-book I forgot to pick up.
Tiredness and breathlessness - heaving the extra tum around is pretty knackering.
Fat in unwelcome places - the bump's pretty cool, but why did I have to get an even-bigger-than-before arse to go with it? It's all fat deposits for lactation, apparently. Go, breast-feeding!

All the above thankfully excludes things like constipation, piles, swollen ankles, face-rashes and other delightful side-effects of growing a bairn. So far, anyway.

Tuesday 8 December 2009

Tai Chi

Sometimes I can be really impulsive; I think of something and I do it, and I'm quite single-minded about it. On other occasions it can take me ages to act upon something. This was one of those occasions.

It all started with a workshop on the Sunday morning of the Rocket Festival in May 2008. We were feeling a little groggy so, looking for something to perk us up a bit, we headed to the healing fields and ending up taking part in a Chi Kung workshop with some friends. I really enjoyed it.

Now the most well-known form of Chi Kung is Tai Chi, so I guess it was back then that I first got the idea that I would like to take up Tai Chi. For a while I had a decent excuse for doing nothing about it - Kate and I were on the road. I couldn't join a class. Then we moved to Madrid and I didn't have that excuse anyone, so that key skill of all art graduates - procrastination - came into play. It was only on our return to Spain this autumn that I thought I really must get around to joining a class. I was feeling physically inert and Kate's dedication to her morning yoga routine shamed me into doing something about it.

The first few places I checked out online were dead ends - either the timetable advertised on their site was no longer valid and the sessions clashed with my work or they'd ceased offering Tai Chi classes altogether (this was when they bothered to reply to my e mail inquiries at all!) Eventually I found the Centro de Relajacion in nearby Quintana that had a Monday class I could make from 12 til 1pm. So along I went for my free trial lesson.

I suppose if I'd thought about it a class from 12 til 1pm on a Monday was unlikely to attract large numbers of young professionals, who are no doubt gainfully employed at this time. However I was still surprised to find myself the only male and only under 60 in the class! Still, the senoras were very welcoming and laid back. It was also helpful for me as the class I was joining was technically an advanced class; what I lacked in experience I was able to make up for in youth flexibility. They were very complimentary about my efforts to copy the tablas they were working through - for while the teacher was giving us instructions in Spanish it took me a copy of seconds to translate - too slow, so in the end I just focused on copying. I had been worried about following the instructions but as it turned out I was able to understand most of them, though this was occasionally detrimental; during the relaxation exercise to start the class I was so busy concentrating on understanding I wasn't able to relax!

Sunday 6 December 2009

Cumpleaños a ti...

It was our venezuelan friend David´s birthday on Friday and so Saturday night saw us heading to his and Nataly´s flat for a fiesta. Jez and I were a little stiff and sore after an afternoon´s cycling around Casa de Campo, and were grateful to park ourselves on the sofa while trying to hide our glasses (as David would fill them up again immediately if he thought the levels were getting low). Belen and Cesar were there, as well as an old friend of David´s (also called David) and his girlfriend Olga. Everyone made a big effort to try our their English with Jez and to humour our attempts at Spanish. Personally I feel I´m nearly there on the language front, understanding most of what is said to me but still struggling to select the right tense and person when responding.

Nataly had, as usual, laid on a delicious spread with plenty of veggie options, and as the booze flowed we pushed on into the early hours, dancing away to some of Cesar´s mix CDs. Clearly David and Nataly don´t like their neighbours very much!

Saturday 5 December 2009

Cycling in the Sierra

At our prompting, Kate's brother Jez booked himself on a flight over here for a week; knowing Jez to be particularly fond of outdoor pursuits, I immediately got on the case hiring a couple of mountain bikes for his visit. I haven't been cycling for years and I'm terribly unfit, whereas Jez has cycled from Land's End to John O'Groats, but as surfing and sailing weren't an option I felt I would try my best! Besides with the Sierra de Guadarrama surrounding Madrid we're spoilt for choice over potential routes to explore, so having secured two bikes for a reasonable price from Bike Spain I picked a route out near the Palace/Monastery complex of El Escorial for Friday's ride. This was for three reasons: 1) Having walked the route before I was pretty sure we wouldn't get lost or die, as it was pretty easy and mostly downhill 2) I figured that we could go and get cultured up by checking out El Escorial afterwards which 3) would help to persuade Kate to come along as well and drive the 'support vehicle'.

My plan was duly executed, and after a reasonably straightforward drive out from Madrid we found the starting point, la Silla de Philipe II, a beautiful picnic and viewing area with stunning views of both the surrounding snow-capped Mountains and El Escorial. It was here that the full beauty of my plan was realised, for la Silla was the highest point on our ride and by persuading Kate to come with us and drive we'd be able to skip out the biggest uphill and have her meet us at the bottom. Result! It was a beautiful, clear sunny day, the leaves still on the trees in their autumn colours and as it was a Friday there was hardly anyone else around.


We got kitted out, which in Jez's case involved a complete change of clothes, in my case just putting on my helmet. Hmmmm, something told me my lack of fitness was quickly going to become apparent. I was even more pleased with the wisdom behind my choice of route - as it was mostly downhill I could get gravity to work for me. This turned out to be basically the case, although I did dismount and push on a couple of the uphills and one of the (extremely steep and rocky) downhills - hey, I'm not ashamed! Everything went pretty much to plan, with the ride being lots of fun and the trails deserted (great, as it meant nobody witnessed my total lack of balls and over-use of the brakes). As we neared the end of the trail there was a particularly fun, long downhill where we really cut loose and got some speed up. As I pulled up to stop at the gate I noticed that the quick-release catch on my front wheel was about to fall off. The nut holding it on at the other end had come off at some point and I had been one over-confident jump away from loosing my front wheel entirely and face-planting onto the rocky path. How relieved did I feel!! The support car was duly summoned and the last little stretch (along the road to El Escorial) was abandoned as we put the bikes in the back of Delilah and drove up to the monastery.


The huge, sprawling and slightly-forbidding building that is now part college and part museum, was originally built by Philip II as a monastery and summer Royal Residence; it contains in its crypt the tombs of much of Spain's royal family since Philip's time. The tour ranged from a fascinating collection of architectural tools and models in the cellars, to a large collection of art by Dutch and Spanish masters, a cathedral sized basilica, plus the sumptuous private royal apartments with stunning carved doors and incredible maps. Taking photos wasn't allowed, so I literally had to shoot from the hip, keeping our little digital camera in my pocket and surreptitiously snapping away, to get a few shots.


We piled back into Delilah and, while Jez and Kate took their siestas, I managed to get lost going back to Madrid. Typical.

Saturday 28 November 2009

Sweet enough already? by Kate

Another week and I make the acquaintance of another troop of white-coated Spanish medics and give them yet more phials of my blood to examine. They must be getting pretty familiar with my corpuscles by now.

First event was a routine appointment with the obstetrician - well, another obstetrician. Female again with the standard nurse sidekick and in this case, a junior obstetrician observing as well. Theo and I had arrived early and were resigned to hanging around for half an hour or more before our appointment came up, but as it happened, none of the embarazadas scheduled before us had turned up so we got ushered in within a minute of our arrival.

Blood pressure and a quick scan plus some general questions about how I was feeling covered it on this occasion. The tocologia was more friendly than our previous one and she not only smiled a few times, but actually took the trouble to give us a quick guided tour of the latest scan of Fosbella, who seems to be doing fine and definitely resembles a baby, which is a plus. The whole thing was over in less than ten minutes, which meant we could enjoy some time at home before having to leave for work.

Then the day I had been - well, not dreading, but definitely not looking forward to. The O'Sullivan glucose curve test. I had been on a supposedly special diet for the three days previous to the test (although I couldn't really see anything especially special about it, apart from the requirement for me to ingest at least four big desert spoonfuls of sugar every day, which is quite a bit more than my usual intake) and was then told not to eat anything in the ten hours prior to the test.

I arrived, hungry and a little late at the massive Ramon y Cajal hospital and found the now familiar scene of a packed waiting room full of impatient Spaniards and South Americans waving their volantes (appointment forms) and complaining about the lack of chairs and the queues. Luckily, it didn't take the team in Cabina 4 too long to get to me and I was swiftly sat in a chair, (similar to a dentist's chair, but with better arm rests) and duly tourniqueted and jabbed. I then had to drink another flat, supersweet orangeade-tasting glucose drink and was sent to wait for an hour.

I obediently found a corner of the waiting room and joined the other potential diabetics who were all undergoing similar procedures to me and all looked similarly hungry. A goodly chunk of my paperback later, I was called back and jabbed again, this time in the other arm. The medic was less hassled than the first one (the queues had gone down by now) and took the time to make a little friendly smalltalk while she extracted another few ml of my blood.

Back I went to the waiting room and did a bit of marking to take my mind off my empty stomach, before going back to my book and getting through another few chapters before my next call back to the jab chair and another blood test. I was becoming an old hand by now and even made a joke with the medic about having to start on the veins in my legs soon as she stuck the needle back into my vein.

Back to the waiting room and this time I had a brief chat with another embarazada, who was by now the only other patient left in the place apart from me. She was quite young and was accompanied by her heavily tattooed and highly attentive boyfriend (Theo had offered to come with me, but I had turned down his offer with thanks. No point in two of us hanging around for hours). The girl's bump was impressively large and I was surprised to learn that she was almost a month less pregnant than I was. She assured me there was only one in there, a boy and I concluded that he could well be a future prop-forward for one of Spain's emerging rugby teams. When her turn came to be jabbed, she whimpered, went pale and looked like she might throw up while the attentive boyfriend and I both made reassuring sounds. She got through the ordeal intact and climbed out of the chair, face suffused with relief. I thought of Theo.

Then it was my turn, now with a different medic, who was also rather sweet as she asked me to choose which arm for the final blood test. I went for symmetry, two in each arm and a few minutes later we were finished. It was half past twelve and I was starting to get obsessed with the idea of food. Thankfully Theo had thoughtfully packed a banana and clementine in my bag. I devoured them ravenously as I made my way back to the train and the promise of a lunch date with friends. I was looking forward to seeing my friends, but I'm afraid they took second place to the prospect of food. I can't remember the last time I was so pleased to see a bread roll.

Thursday 26 November 2009

and so it goes...

When we first moved in to our new barrio, back in October, the council were carrying out extensive road works on nearby Jose del Hierro. Well, pavement works would be more accurate. The seemed to be re-jigging the parking spaces, putting in ramps for prams and a cycle path. Anyway, having spent about two months avoiding bollards, JCBs and the dust from stone cutters we were pretty pleased when the works finally came to an end and we could walk the streets more or less unimpeded. The results looked good too.

Then on Tuesday another bunch of council workers moved in and ripped up the newly laid pavement, just a week old, in order to re-lay some pipework underneath.

Sunday 22 November 2009

Mus, Yoga and Pretty Persuasion by Theo

Spanish lunches are quite a thing. Last weekend we were invited to lunch at Belen and Cesar's and made the mistake of having plans for that evening. Bad idea. This weekend we were more sensible, as when we were again invited to lunch at Belen and Cesar's (clearly Belen wanted a rematch at Parcheesi/Ludo), we cleared the schedule!!

We arrived at 2pm as instructed to find that Nataly and David had not only beaten us to it, but were also providing food - a delicious goat's cheese salad followed by cannelloni. Kind of unfair we thought, seeing as we had been ordered in the strictest terms NOT to bring any food. A slight double standard on the part of our hosts, but we graciously let this slide especially as our tongues started to melt with delight at the taste of Nataly's culinary arts. Mmmmmmm! A delicious meal and great company, Cesar bravely trying to insist everyone speak in English (apparently the others need practice, not that we noticed), though lots of Spanish was spoken too.

We hadn't however turned up completely empty handed. We had discovered the previous week that our hosts lacked a set of Spanish playing cards, which we remedied on this visit. Spanish cards have coins, clubs, swords and cups as suits and further differ from English cards by lacking the queen, the nine and the eight. However these cards are completely necessary for playing Mus, a popular card game in Spain, often practised by large groups of old men in bars and squares around town. We first came across it a year ago in Vaughan Town and totally failed to understand it - our complete lack of Spanish back then being a major barrier.

On this occasion Belen, the only one who knew how to play, was much more successful at teaching us despite constant interruptions, questions, protestations and disagreements among her students. It's a combination of poker and bridge, in that you play with a partner and you bet on the strength of your hand, though there are no trumps and the value of the cards changes depending on the stage of the game. Very complicated. Needless to say, the Belen/Katetheo team won.


The Mus lesson concluded, Kate proceeded to instruct Nataly on the finer points of the yoga sun salute (it was dark by now) and the afternoon was rounded off by a foray for films and popcorn followed by a showing of Pretty Persuasion on the large screen - who needs cinemas! It was a very good, blackly funny look at the bleakness of American private schools, teen jealousy and litigation. If you enjoyed Cruel Intentions, Heathers or Election then it's definitely worth renting. By the time we got home it was 11.30pm. Some lunch!

Saturday 21 November 2009

Equal Ops?

We're just around the corner from Calle Alcala, the longest street in Madrid and one of the main shopping areas, especially between Ciudad Lineal and El Carmen. Which happens to be our patch.

So, yesterday, after Spanish Class, lunch and a Siesta we headed out to do some shopping for Kate who is starting to need a new wardrobe - one that has room for her expanding belly and easy boob access. Sadly the latter isn't for me, though I'm sure I'll take advantage.

Late opening is the norm in Spain - in fact many if not most shops close between 2pm and 5pm - so us heading out at 5.30 was no problem. I'm not the best shopper in the world; I'm too impatient and when presented with a choice between two or more possibilities my response tends to be "buy both". Still in my role as supportive husband I was determined to be useful. Besides, I thought, at least I could pick up some plain t-shirts (my current ones all have holes) and socks (ditto) along the way.

Not so! One thing that I hadn't noticed before in Spain is that clothes shops are completely unisex. Even big chains like H & M, Bennetton and Lefties simply don't have a men's section. Sure they have a kids sections (because children clearer only going shopping with Mum - well way to encourage us Dads!) but nothing for the guys. No wonder we passed a few guys reading papers on benches while waiting for their other half to decide. So much for equal ops!

Friday 20 November 2009

Yann Tiersen by Theo

One of the great things about our jobs is that we finish work at 9pm, whereas at my old job I finished at 10pm thus ruling out midweek musical fun. Even so, we still had to jump in a taxi to make it across town in time to catch Yann Tiersen at the Riveria, arriving too late for Matt Elliot's support slot. Never mind, as he was on stage playing with Yann anyway, along with two chums of ours from Bristol: Robin Allender and Dave Collingwood (formerly of Gravenhurst). It's a small world! Familiar as we are with seeing them play in front of 200 or 300 people (at most) it was a bit strange having them appear as blobs on the stage in front of a sold out crowd numbering well into the thousands as part of tour that has already taken in Beiruit, Athens and Barcelona.
Yann Tiersen is probably best known for his soundtrack to the hit film Amelie, but anyone turning up hoping to hear folksy, accordion led instrumentals would have been bitterly disappointed (especially as tickets were €22!) Instead their largely instrumental set was more post-rock than anything else, though pigeon-holing their sound really does it an injustice as there was way more to it than that. A solo violin piece from Yann was particularly captivating as well as some of the slow-build choral numbers involving the whole band on vocals. As the set consisted of unfamiliar tracks to us, we weren't quite as into it as some of the more enthusiastic members of the crowd but it was really enjoyable and never dull.

Despite the best efforts of the ruthlessly efficient security guards who were trying to herd everyone out as quickly as possibly we managed to get Dave's attention and Robin came out to rustle us back stage. They'd had a hell of a day, with their bus breaking down in Barcelona and having to catch last minute flights, but it was great to see them both. We spent an hour or so backstage, managed a few rusty French phrases, bewitched them with Kate's bump before we all piled in taxis to head our separate ways. The next day they were due to head off to Santiago and then back to France, whistle-stop visits seeing the insides of hotels, service stations and gig venues. It used to be my life. While I had a little twinge of nostalgia last night, I don't miss it!

Thursday 19 November 2009

Modern Parents by Kate

Anyone remember the Modern Parents cartoon strip in Viz? Unwilling children who only wanted to be left in peace in front of their TVs and Playstations being dragged to all sorts of dreary eco-friendly right-on hippy activities by earnestly enthusiastic middle-class mums and dads? That's the kind of parent I aim to be. Theo's with me on that one, too. He even goes one step further, refusing to countenance any sort of TV in the house, but I'm not quite that far down the road.

So, intending to start as I mean to go on, I have been researching the availability of washable nappies and baby-carrying slings in Spain. The results of my research was a string of internet complaints about the impossibility of finding such things here and a solitary web-site which imports a few of these products, set up by two ex-pat English mums, who had come across the same problem. Not very encouraging.

I was seriously considering opening a shop in Madrid myself to fill the gap and paying the postage & packaging to get a stock of re-usable nappies, when we spotted a flyer on the wall of our midwife's office. It said Dos Manitas (Two Little Hands) and listed panales lavables among its products. That sounded promising. Then we looked more closely and realised the address was a street we walked along every time we went to or from the Metro station at Pueblo Nuevo. We must have passed it fifty times and never once sussed out what it was. Probably because it's opposite a confectioner's shop with mouthwatering window displays that invariably and understandably distract my attention whenever we're in that area.

Anyway, we went inside to discover the shop stocks seven or eight different makes of washable nappy and a bewildering array of slings in all shapes, sizes and colours. They even had fold-away carrycots made from recycled cardboard and half a dozen second-hand cradles and car-seats. Just the job! Unless I can find big savings on the web, I think I'm going to become a regular customer.

I have so far resisted the temptation of buying anything for the baby, largely for superstitious reasons (Christmas is my preferred date to start laying in supplies) but my expanding belly means I need to acquire a few things for myself. Luckily, the current fashion is for loose-fitting tops, gathered under the bust and designed to flow over the belly, which is perfect for pregnancy and saves me paying the inflated prices for anything officially labeled as Maternity Wear.

The other thing that was becoming urgently required was a maternity bra. I can barely cover my nipples with most of my bras now and the slightly larger underwired ones are just plain uncomfortable. So I went to a lingerie shop and tried on an unassuming white polycotton number, silently bidding farewell to sexiness and hello to stern practicality. But maternity bras cunningly turn into peep-hole numbers, thanks to their built-in suitability for easy nursing and there's an undeniably erotic aspect to that, which Theo was quick to appreciate. Time will tell if my breasts' conversion into udders will change all that. Dairy products aren't usually classed as aphrodisiacs, in my experience.

Wednesday 18 November 2009

Uno, Dos, Tres... empujad!!

A combination of a lack of half-decent Spanish and lack of tennis balls meant I approached my first pre-natal class with a certain amount of trepidation. I wasn't sure why the tennis balls were necessary, but Maite had instructed me to turn up wearing pantalones (trousers) and with two of the balls. I had successfully found my last remaining pair of trousers that I could get over my expanded derriere, but had failed with the tennis balls, owing to lack of time and the Spanish shop opening hours (10 am mostly - or at least those tiendas selling pelotas de tenis...). So, there I was in my pink pantalones, sans tennis balls and smiling in what I hoped was an ingraciating way at the arriving members of Cuidad Lineal's local Bump Club (Club de Bomba) with their impressive range of bulging tummies.

We started with exercises to help with breathing and labour positions. I managed the first pair activity by copying the other women and wih a little gentle encouragement from my partner. Maite then solved the problem of my patchy understanding of the lingo by firmly indicating to me to move to a spot on the mat beside her and saying "Tu, aqui!" She then proceeded to demonstrate the rest of the exercises by picking up my various limbs and manoeuvring them into the required positions, which was a very sensible way of handling the situation, all things considered.

The tennis balls, it turned out, were for a massage technique that involved rolling them firmly up and down each other's backs - and luckily, I could borrow my partner's sports equipment for the job, so that was okay. She was a quiet but friendly Muslim woman (Syrian, possibly?) who wore her head-scarf throughout the class and did a pretty decent job of easing some of the tensions out of my back.

After the exercises, which culminated in a lesson in pushing, Maite gave us a lecture about what to expect directly after the birth of our forthcoming babies. This may seem a little advanced given that it was my first class, but I had joined the group half way through the sessions - I would have to do the first few classes after Christmas. If, however, I had waited until then to do the whole course, it was a fair bet that Fosbella would have emerged before I had completed it. Doing the second half followed by the first half was the next best thing.

Anyway, despite the rapid Spanish, I managed to get the gist of most of the advice surrounding health, healing, breast-feeding, contraception and other post partum matters. I also learned some new vocabulary related to the female anatomy, including pechos (breasts) and suelo pelvico (pelvic floor). I also realised that the frequent mentions of la "ba-heenah" was actually the Spanish pronunciation of "vagina" and that cicatriz meant scar and cicatrizarse is the verb meaning to heal. It's probably just as well partners weren't allowed to the class, the discussion wasn't for those of a squeamish nature (ie, men).

After that, we were instructed in the finer art of foot massage, which we were assured would be excellent to practise on our offspring to help them relax and sleep better and which would be excellent for our partners to practise on ourselves for the same reason. Then, while gentle ambient music played, we lolled about massaging each other's feet while Maite continued her lecture about the days following the birth (nappies, layette and other practical requirements our new-borns would be needing).

After the class ended I had a few brief conversations with some of the other women - a Paraguayan embarazada whose emphatic reply, when I asked if this was her first child was, "Si, y la ultima" ("and the last"); a Spanish woman with whom I compared gestation times and genders and a friendly Italian who chatted to me in English while I replied in Spanish, which had the satisfactory result of both of us practising our non-native languages and gave me a considerable boost in understanding her words as well as she could clearly understand mine. One thing's certain, I'm part of a highly international group of ex-patriots and although my command of Spanish is probably at the bottom of the class, it's comforting to know I'm not the only foreigner plotting my uncertain course through the Madrileno pre-natal set-up. Ex-pats of the world unite, all power to the embarazadas inmigrantes!

Monday 16 November 2009

La Matrona by Kate

I must admit, I was a bit apprehensive about meeting a Spanish midwife for the first time, having heard and read mixed reports about them. The rest of the medical profession I've encountered since lowering myself into uncertain waters of the pre-natal system in Madrid have tended to be brisk, brusque and professional and not exactly brimming over with what you might describe as bedside manner.

So Maite was a pleasant surprise. Brisk and professional, yes. And undeniably, a tad brusque at times (she castigated Theo and me for not being better at speaking and understanding Spanish by now - everyone else we meet has been highly complementary on our emerging linguistic abilities). But - and it's an important but - she has a sense of humour. Plus she wasn't afraid to speak a bit of English to us, which was very endearing as we floundered about trying to find the right words to ask for information on the hitherto more obscure aspects of giving birth in Madrid.

Best of all, she made it clear she was very much in favour of natural, active birth - she told me sternly it would require a lot of preparation and isn't for the faint-hearted, but seemed satisfied when I assured her I was already doing the yoga and relaxation practice to get ready. When we asked about ante natal classes (called pre-natal classes here) she shrugged and said she wasn't sure how useful I would find them as she would be speaking Spanish very quickly and I probably wouldn't understand anything. But she seemed willing to let me give them a try, although Theo was disappointed to learn that most of the classes aren't open to husbands and partners.

The other thing she told us, which was also reassuring, was that Hospital La Paz - our assigned hospital - has a policy of minimal medical intervention during the birth process and suggested that all being well, I should be able to try my hand at doing it naturally without major unwanted interference from the obstetrics team. A far cry from the days when Giles Tremlett's wife gave birth in the same hospital, as recounted in his excellent book, Ghosts of Spain. That book was responsible for grave doubts on my part about the business of having a child in a Spanish public hospital. Still, assuming that Maite is right, we'll go ahead and take the La Paz option, keeping fingers crossed that all will be as she says it should.

Sunday 15 November 2009

Au Natural by Kate

I blame Beans' lovely mum primarily, although my sister and my friend Natascha also have to accept their fair share too. I probably would have accepted every drug offered to me during labour and would have been content to lay on my back with my legs in the air to give birth. That's all changed now.

When Beans' mum heard I was pregnant she presented me with a much-thumbed copy of Sheila Kitzinger's The Experience Of Childbirth, apologised for the dated quality of some of its advice but said it had been invaluable in helping her have three children naturally and enjoyably.
"My mother looked at me while we waited in Bournemouth Nursing Home and said pityingly 'she really doesn't know what she's going to go through', but do you know? I was so relaxed! And it was wonderful! I think my mother was quite disappointed," she said.

When I asked my sister for advice on the best way to have babies (let's face it, she's had four, all at home, all without trauma and using nothing stronger as pain-relief than a warm bath and a paracetamol) she promptly said, "Janet Balaskas," and hunted through her book-shelves for New Active Birth, which she failed to find. When I asked Natascha (two children) the question, she gave me the same answer, so I figured this was well-worth following up. My mother kindly bought me Janet's book for a birthday present and I read it avidly.

As a result of Sheila and Janet's influence, I'm now very keen to try and have the baby sans pethidine, epidurals and all the rest and ideally while remaining in a generally upright position, if possible. So I've been doing loads of undignified yoga positions, practising relaxation techniques and rehearsing breathing methods for contractions and earnestly trying to discover if Spanish delivery suites will be open to this hippie earth-mother stuff or if I will have to consider forking out two thousand or so euros for a specialist private clinic just for the privilege of having a baby without being forced into unhelpful and painful positions or subjected to all sorts of unnecessary medical procedures. Of course, if things get complicated or there's any genuine danger to me or my child, I'd let them do anything they wanted to ensure we both got out of the experience in one piece. But I like the idea of getting through the birth process using only my own efforts, if possible. Having said that, I may wimp out and scream for analgesics, despite all the Taylor positions and Sun Salutes I've done. But I'd like to have a go. And I think there's an element of sisterly competition there too. After all, if Becky can do it...

Friday 13 November 2009

Português próxima

I've just finished reading Night Train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier, which I really enjoyed. Essentially a story of a teacher of ancient languages voyage of self-discovery triggered by a chance meeting with an unnamed Portuguese woman it was very enjoyable and thought provoking, putting me in mind of Sophie's World (though without the massive plot twist). The book is littered with quotations and phrases in Portuguese, which I was very pleasantly surprised to find I mostly understood - most of the nouns are similar to their Spanish counterparts, while the verbs and articles follow the same rules as other Romance languages. Pronunciation is the major difference. Anyway, I think I'll make a start learning Portuguese next. When I've finally mastered Spanish of course. So 2020 then.

Actually I'm feeling more and more confident about Spanish. I still litter my conversation with mistakes, but I'm generally understood and I usually understand. As we've been negotiating our unborn child's process through Madrid's health service we've both been called upon to engage with Spanish with a greater frequency than before, while hanging out with some of my former students (who have a lower level of English than our Pueblo Ingles friends) has meant we socialise more and more in the language. We've also been going along to free lessons at International House again - really these are training classes for new Spanish teachers, but the need guinea pigs, so we get them free. We've made some good friends among some of the regular attendees, although why there aren't more people taking advantage of them I don't know; often there's been just 3 of us in a class. Still, it means we get loads of attention.

Tuesday 10 November 2009

Puente

Any long holiday weekend in Spain is called a puente - literally 'a bridge' - often because if, say, the Thursday is a holiday they make it a bridge to the weekend by taking the Friday off as well. This past Monday was a puente in Madrid, so we felt it was only fitting to visit a famous puente on our way back from Estepona.


Ronda is one of the oldest towns in Spain, with remains in the area going back to the stone age, though it was under the Arabs that it really rose to prominence, a fortified rock in the middle of a high, fertile plateau, ringed by mountains that became a regional capital. Once Spanish control of Andalucia had been firmly in place for a couple of centuries, they decided the old part of town didn't need to be quite so inaccessible, and so the bridge for which Ronda is now chiefly famous was built, a beautiful construction spanning a plummeting gorge. However Ronda was not just a one-trick town. Even the drive there had been worth it, as we wound our way up the mountains of the Sierra behind Marbella which offered stunning views across the Straits of Gibraltar to Morocco, the Atlas Mountains clearly visible. Ronda itself, with its pretty whitewashed houses, doors open to the cobbled streets revealing beautifully tiled vestibules, was a pleasure to walk around and well worth the diversion on our way back to Madrid.

Monday 9 November 2009

Return to Eden

We just spent a lovely, relaxing weekend at Patty Pan's Paradise, just outside Estepona on the Costa del Sol. While still on our honeymoon, we had spent a great week there and we'd been itching for the chance to get back down, see the friends we'd made and catch some sea air. The 4-day weekend seemed an ideal time, so we loaded up Delilah and headed off. The drive was pretty easy - a cool 6 hours - though there were some hair-razing moments as the road twisted spectacularly through the mountains towards Jaen. Amazing views for Kate, sweaty palms for Theo! We arrived to a very warm welcome from Patty, who promptly put us up in her (absent) daughter's room - much comfier and warmer than Delilah!


It has suddenly got chilly in Madrid, with coats and jumpers coming out of cupboards, so it was wonderful to wake up to flip-flops and T-shirt weather. Naturally, hitting the beach before lunch was the only sensible option. Only Theo was brave enough to go swimming, though in fairness Kate's still getting over a chesty cough, so the bracing waters probably wouldn't have been a good idea. Funnily enough we had the sunny beach and views of Gibraltar pretty much to ourselves.

That evening Patty cooked a delicious roast, and we were joined by Patty's boyfriend, San Steveo (patron Saint of vans), plus our friends we had met at the Rocket Festival, Andy and Kerine. Our attempts to poison Patty, who has a nut allergy, with various chocolates and a nut roast all failed, so we had to resort to beating her at Scrabble. The evening went on late enough that our vague plans for a daytrip to Cadiz on Sunday faded out of view.

Instead Sunday was another wonderfully chilled day of reading, Scrabble, home-cooked curry and an enjoyable stroll along the beach with Patty, Steve and assorted canines. We left earlier today, clutching gifts from the garden and an awesome travel backgammon set made of coloured cloth, which Patty had brought back from India. Hopefully we'll be back soon, especially as Patty wants to be the Jewish godmother of our as yet unborn child. There is definitely a touch of Maureen Lipman about her...

Friday 6 November 2009

The Internal View by Kate

Almost five weeks late, Fosbella foetus finally got her second proper scan. Actually, it's her fourth, if you count the ultra-sound part of the amniocentesis test and the quick check our local obstetrician gave her since we first saw her picture.

This time we had to take the train to yet another hospital in Madrid (Ramon y Cajal) where we had been told (the day before) we had a ten o'clock appointment. As it turned out, so did about twelve other people so, in fact it was another hour and a half later that we finally got ushered in to see the radiographer.

Once more, my belly was slathered with cold lubricating gel and the scanner was slid and pushed against various parts of my abdomen while Theo (with the best seat in the house again) got a variety of views and cross-sections of our fast-developing offspring.

"Lively, isn't she?" commented the radiographer (my translation) in a mixture of admiration and exasperation as our progeny wriggled and squirmed and resisted all attempts to capture her best side.

After about fifteen minutes, the radiographer gave a satisfied nod and told us everything was fine. She then gave us a tour of various cross-sections through Fosbella's bits and pieces, which all appear to be present and correct at this stage. The one thing I didn't get to see was a full head and body view, or even a sense of her face, which was a disappointment, although I did see inside her nostrils, which was something I suppose.

Any hope that the stills taken by the radiographer would offer some sort of clue as to Fosbella's external features were also in vain, although the inside view of her spine is pretty impressive. Theo, who did get a quick glimpse of her face assures me she has my nose (I'm not entirely convinced that's a good thing), although he also says she bears a striking resemblance to Skeletor. At least her internal organs all seem to be aesthetically arranged. True beauty, after all, is on the inside.

Thursday 5 November 2009

Wedding Cake

Our lovely friend S recently asked us to write a testimonial about the sumptuous wedding cake she made for us. As we haven´t had all that much to blog about lately I thought I´d stick what I´d written up here. So here we go:

The cake is one of the highlights of any wedding. Along with the vows, the exchange of rings, the procession, the speeches, and the first dance, cutting the cake is one of the standards of modern western weddings. No matter how out-there and avant garde your nuptials or traditional your marriage ceremony, it's going to feature in some way as a means of including and sharing the ceremony with your guests. The couple cut the cake and pieces are shared out among their loved ones; it's a beautiful, inclusive and poignant moment. It's a way of saying, in an echo of the eucharist, “take, eat; we wouldn't be here without you; you've given us gifts both emotional and physical and you've helped us make this marriage; help us keep it.” The cake is important.


Our cake was important. More than that, it was beautiful, delicious, special and so very us. Our favourite flavours, chocolate, ginger and fruit, were layered artfully on top of each other in stunning colours - bright, cheerful and joyous, with a subtle homage to Bristol Rovers! The gorgeous hand-made fascinater that topped-off the cake was later transferred to our honeymoon vessel to supply a constant reminder of the wonder of our special day. The cake, and its decor, was a perfect reflection of us. Not ones to be traditional about things - the bride didn't wear white and Nina Simone replaced Offenbach - the towering, delicious artifice reflected the festival feel of our boda, in both its conception and realisation. It looked stunning, laid out in the entrance hall as it collected congratulations cards around it, never diminishing in its impact and continuing to attract heartfelt comments and hungry eyes, even as the tables around it began to groan with the culinary contributions other guests had brought. Asymmetrical and delicately balanced, but laced with colour, passion and love, the cake seemed to reflect the reality of marriage - a difficult balancing act that can bring forth great beauty and happiness when worked at. If we put half as much work - and love - as S did into making our cake then we're going to be more than just fine; our marriage will be full of flavour and colour.

Tuesday 3 November 2009

Poked, Prodded and Spiked by Kate

The Spanish ante-natal system has now clutched me to its starchy white-clad bosom and my overriding feeling is that it's a good job I'm the one carrying the baby and not Theo. I'll come back to that in a moment.

Our first appointment with the obstetrician in our local clinic was best characterised as perfunctory. No leisurely hour-long chats with a friendly midwife here - at least, not yet. We were given a list of matronas and we assume we choose one, but we're still a tad confused about that part. Anyway, with minimum hanging around we were ushered into the consulting room where the obstetrician and nurse worked as a team. While the obstetrician asked questions and took notes, the nurse busied herself taking my blood pressure, weighing me, then ushering me round a screen and motioning me to bare my midriff. Once I had done this, the obstetrician came in, slapped on a load of cold gel and proceeded to scan me with breath-taking efficiency. Theo hovered at the back and managed to get a glimpse of our unborn daughter, but I wasn't so lucky. After less than a minute, the obstetrician nodded and gave me the briefest half-smile (she was far too business-like for a full rictus), said “Todo bien” (“Everything fine”) and handed me a tissue to mop the gel off my tummy. Apparently we would have to wait another three weeks for a full scan before we could take a proper a look at what was in there. When I asked Theo how she was looking, he replied, “A bit fat,” which was slightly worrying. Maybe I should cut down on the chocolate biscuits.

A few minutes later we were dismissed with a sheaf of forms, a pregnancy advice booklet and strict instructions to go to the medical centre at San Blas the next morning before nine with a urine sample and absolutely no breakfast (me - Theo was excused that part).

When we arrived at a quarter to nine prompt, we found the waiting room choc-a-bloc with a numbering system policed by a dour looking male nurse who periodically barked out the next five numbers and shooed their owners through a door. We never saw any of the patients come out again, which was slightly worrying. As an “embarazada” (pregnant woman) I was excused the queueing system and was instead told to wait until I was called. While perching on a moulded plastic chair I noted a number of other women with assorted tummy bumps and urine sample-shaped pots wrapped in various bags or bits of foil. Clearly I wasn't the only embarazada at this party.

“Embarazadas!” called out the dour nurse and about twelve of us heaved ourselves out of our chairs and crowded round the door. The nurse herded us into an ante-room where another medic gave us a brief lecture about what we could expect. From what I could understand we would be subjected to various tests, the last of which assessed us for possible diabetes and involved a wait of an hour and an absolute prohibition on eating or drinking anything except water. We were each given a sheet of numbered labels and bidden to queue up at the reception desk in another room full of tables with white-suited medics waiting expectantly behind them. While we waited our turn, the dour nurse abruptly changed demeanour and started cracking jokes, which I smiled at dutifully, despite a total lack of understanding of the punchlines.

When my turn came, an orderly took my urine sample and stuck my stickers on a bewildering variety of colour-coded vacuettes, handing them to me and motioning me to one of the waiting nurses. I sat down and watched in growing amazement as she rapidly took one blood sample after another out of my torniqueted left arm. I counted twelve. When she had finished, she wound on a compress and sent me back to the ante room where I waited, feeling the teeniest bit faint from lack of blood and exchanging glances with the other embarazadas, who were also looking slightly shell-shocked by the experience.

Once we were all assembled, another nurse came in and started handing out plastic bottles full of a suspicious-looking orange liquid. This we were instructed to drink - all of it - and then return to the waiting room. It tasted like a fizzy vitamin drink, only twice as sweet. Spanish people have quite a sweet tooth, but most of the other embarazadas grimaced a bit as the full sugary force of the glucose drink hit their taste-buds. Obediently, we all swallowed the bottles' contents and were released back to the moulded plastic chairs.

Throughout, Theo had been waiting patiently for me having foregone breakfast in a gesture of solidarity. It was a good job he hadn't been invited into the sampling room as I dread to think what effect a room full of medical blood-letting would have had on him. He was also astonished at the amount of blood taken and wondered aloud whether the medical centre was actually a front for a local detachment of vampires. We settled down with some marking to pass the time.

When the hour was up, there was another call for embarazadas and we all trooped back into the testing room. Numbers were called out and as ours came up we were sent to another of the tables and ordered to bare an arm - the other one this time. Thankfully, we only had to give a single sample and I was jabbed, blotted, told to go home and have breakfast, then sent packing again in the space of about ninety seconds. By now feeling somewhat light-headed from a combination of blood-loss and hunger, I gratefully returned to my dutiful husband and we did exactly as I had been told.

So that's that, for another few weeks. We've been informed we'll be notified about my next appointments by post or telephone and in the meantime, we aim to do a bit of research about the business of finding a midwife and choosing a hospital for delivery. On the language front, I'm pleased with myself at having managed a bit of pregnancy chat with some of the other embarazadas, including how far along we were and who was having a girl or boy - or twins in one case - and possible names. It made me feel like a little less of an outsider. Language barrier and unfamiliar systems aside, we are all in the Bump Club.

Thursday 29 October 2009

Sam and Stu´s wedding

The modern world is quite amazing. Friday evening we set off on this crazy metal tube 20 metres underground, that hurtled across Madrid and deposited us at Barajas airport. Then, with Kate clutching her little bottle of Valium, we climbed into another metal tube thing which whisked us up into the sky at 500 miles per hour back to Bristol for the weekend and the wedding of our good friends Samantha and Stuart. It's amazing what you can do these days!!

As the soon to be wed couple had met and befriended my sister Hermione and her betrothed Richard at Kate and I's stag and hen dos, we were going to have company at the wedding and the comforts of their hospitality over the weekend. Richard was meant to be chauffeuring the bride to the ceremony and the freshly married couple afterwards in his newly valetted BMW (Valerie). However, Stu had managed to flood the engine the night before and the AA went to the wrong address, so Sam was slightly surprised to have a hired Merecedes and driver turn up instead.

Still all was more than well. It was a lovely wedding, full of tears and laughter. A civil ceremony at the Bristol registry office, which brought back floods of memories for Kate and I, and then a short bus ride to the beautiful Circomedia building in St Paul´s square. (We felt slightly sheepish at this – Kate and I had just left people to make their own way to the reception!) My sister Hermione´s fingerprints where everywhere, from the bridal jewellery to the floral arrangements, and she and Richard got a special, tearful thankyou from the bride and groom. We ate, danced, chatted, blew bubbles, drank absolutely nothing (Kate´s pregnant and I was on antibiotics) and, best of all, played air guitar! A lovely weekend!

Monday 26 October 2009

a post about the weather

Madrid´s weather is consistently consistent. It´s not that it´s always perfect - though it usually is - but rather the great thing about the weather here is that it lasts all day. So if you wake up and it´s bright sunshine and clear skies, you know it´s going to stay that way and you can leave the house in just shirt sleeves without risking a drenching later. Similar, if it starts off windy and rainy, it´s going to stay that way - you wont end up sweating as you lug a jacket and jumper around when the sun comes out. When it rains, it rains all day.

Saturday 17 October 2009

The Kindness Of Strangers by Kate

So here we are back in Madrid and suddenly I've been promoted on the Metro. In the last few days complete strangers have been giving up their seats in crowded carriages and inviting me to have them instead. This is both touching and gratifying and one of the best bits so far about my abdomen sporting a now unmistakeable bump.

Spaniards - generally speaking - are very much in favour of children, babies and pregnancy and I'm just starting to appreciate that fact. It doesn't help us insert ourselves and our potential new Madrilena into the Spanish ante-natal system (they're chocka and trying to book ourselves to have our now overdue anomalies scan is proving to be a bit of a struggle) but it does bathe things like Metro journeys in a benevolent glow.

So back to the beginning for a quick recap. Theo and I abandon contraception at the beginning of the year and get on with business as usual. Just as the weather gets seriously hot I start feeling unusual. Alcohol and caffeine are suddenly unattractive to my taste buds, my breasts feel a bit strange and I keep getting ravenously hungry, but just don't fancy eating anything. I break out in the type of acne I only get when there is extra progesterone in my system (experience with previous contraception). I can't remember when my last period was, but I start feeling suspicious and report the symptoms to my experienced sister (four children). She admits they sound fairly classic, but counsels against any over excitement about the situation just yet. I don't actually feel excited anyway, just a tad queasy.

Theo has gone off to a residential camp for a week. On the phone I tell him about my suspicions. He forbids me to self-diagnose until he gets back. I pass the next six days feeling disinclined to eat or drink anything sweet. How did I get this virtuous?

Theo returns and we do the pee stick. The line flames up positive even before I have a chance to pull my knickers back up. Theo is very excited about the prospect of suddenly probable parenthood. I feel justified.

The next few weeks pass in a heat haze and Theo is highly solicitous, dealing patiently with my new found fussiness about food and giving me lots of back rubs and foot-massages. I milk it.

We get back to England to see friends and family, lie to the NHS about our current address and book ourselves in to see a midwife and radiographer in Bristol.

The first scan seems fine, as far as these things do. We suddenly realise there really is a living thing in my belly, not just a collection of physical symptoms. We also realise we're two weeks further on than we thought. A bump - still smallish - obediently appears below my midriff. I scour Bristol's charity shops for roomier clothes. The midwife takes lots of blood out of my arm and nods approvingly when I tell her I don't drink or smoke and I fully intend to breast-feed. Theo doesn't watch the blood extraction part.

First hitch when we are told we have a high risk of our foetus (now christianed Fosbury) having Downs Syndrome. This is upsetting news. I calm down a bit when I realise that a 1 in 65 risk still means it's less than 2 per cent. Nevertheless, we opt to have amniocentesis and thankfully that all goes fine.
“Look out for its feet!” says Theo at one point during the procedure.
“Oh, I've stuck loads of needles in babies, don't worry about it,” says the consultant cheerfully. He doesn't on this occasion, thankfully.

A few days later we are back in Spain and the initial news from the amnio is good. The three chromosomes which are affected if Downs Syndrome is present are normal. Phew. Two weeks later we learn that in fact, all the chromosomes are normal and we are growing a female. We change the foetus' name to Fosbella.

Which brings us up to date as, having registered with the Spanish health system, we wait for our next scan (although most possible anomalies were checked at 17 and a half weeks and nothing untoward was seen then, so we're not hugely anxious). Anyway, it seems like a good plan to get it done as soon as possible, so we are considering paying for a private scan or pulling strings to see if we can get one done when we are back in Bristol for a wedding.
Meanwhile, I am busy committing foetal-related words in Spanish to memory. Luckily, being medical, they are largely the same as their English equivalents, just pronounced in a more Spanish way. Disappointingly, “scan” is not “escano ultra-sono”, as we had hoped. Never mind. In the meantime, I will keep on enjoying my new Metro privileges.

Tuesday 13 October 2009

Birthday Weekend

Last weekend was not only my Birthday weekend - I reached the grand old age of 28 - but was also, rather awesomely, 4 days long. Thanks to the fact that we don´t work on Fridays and that Monday 12th was a holiday here in Spain for some reason or another, I had plenty of time to relax and enjoy myself.

Our first guests at our new flat arrived on Friday - my old school friend Dom and his Lithuanian girlfriend Justinia - and we quickly dashed to IKEA to buy a couple more chairs so we´d all have somewhere to sit. There had hitch-hiked and bussed their way to us from Braganza in Portugal where her sister is studying, and it was really nice to host them for a couple of days. A night out together on Friday featured all our favourite haunts - El Gato in Pueblo Nuevo, La Solea Flamenco Bar in La Latina and Choclateria San Gines - punctuated with in-depth political discussions; Dom and I have similar masters degrees (International Development and International Relations respectively) but different views. As Kate and I largely agree with each other in the political sphere our conversations on the subject rarely challenge us to justify our views, whereas Dom and I were still good-naturedly going at it when we dropped them at the airport on Sunday morning!

In between we hosted our first fiesta at our new flat, inviting a few friends over for drinks and tapas on Saturday night - I wanted to avoid the hideous Spanish tradition of the person whose birthday it is having to pay for everything - to warm the flat up. Rather stupidly we completely neglected to take any photos. Kate gave me a series of useful presents; shirts, a juicer and a hand blender - though she rather hilariously decided to start things off with a couple of kilos of oranges which left me rather perplexed, until the next present provided the rationale. A wonderful bottle of Venezuelan Rum from David and Nataly, some very fine wine from Cesar and Belen, a bottle of port from Dom and Justinia and some lovely scented stuff from Jero and Jose has helped make our flat even more homely.