Thursday 30 June 2011

Heading back to Bristol - by Theo

The hardest part of travelling over 1500 miles in two days by boat and car with a 17 month old toddler? Keeping her entertained in the queue to board the ferry! We were among the last to board (meaning, as is often the case, we were almost first off and cruised through immigration - no strike delays for us!) so we had to go through the full repertoire of Rosie entertaining: taking her to see the dogs in the pet lane; showing her photos on the digital camera; letting her clamber about the seats; reading her books and so on.

I think nearly everyone within a 100 metre radius had heard her yelling "Dame!" by the time we were called forward. Typically she had just done a poo and we were in the middle of changing her....On board Rosie was a dream, charming everyone from the Captain down. It was a late sail - 9pm - so after a quick run around to try and tire her out, we all crashed in the cabin, Rosie sleeping through in the travel cot we'd booked, despite the strangeness of the surroundings. She still woke up early though.

We were very lucky with the crossing, it was very smooth and as a result I wasn't troubled with mal de mer the way I had been the previous year so could help Kate out with Rosie. Much fun was had, especially with the toy doggies in shop.

We were also very lucky with Rosie's naps - she's obligingly slept well for us on the drive up to Santander from Madrid, and then napped so well in her buggy in the cabin - 2 hours - we were forced to wake her up - we then had to wake her up again from her nap in the car on the way up to Bristol from Plymouth. Still, a rested if slightly wired Rosie is way better than a cranky one. She had a huge grin for Aunty Hermione, who came with Richard and a delicious veggie lasagne to help us move in to the house in Redfield we're renting from our friend Dave. It all worked out perfectly. Even the weather is being kind.

Wednesday 29 June 2011

Things to miss about Madrid - By Kate

After two and a half years of life as Madrileños, our flat is now empty of our possessions and we've said our goodbyes to the friends we've made here and we're en route to board a boat for Blighty.

Not surprisingly, I'm consumed with mixed feelings. I'm looking forward to living closer to our families and our old friends in England again. The ease of living in a country where I can speak and understand the language is definitely something to be appreciated. And having "the knowledge" of a place - all those little details that make life easier, which has to be learned from scratch in a new location - is something I now appreciate like never before.

But there are plenty of things I shall miss about living in Madrid and indeed Spain. Here are the main ones in no particular order:

The sunshine. There's a lot of it. Sometimes too much. But especially during Spring and late Autumn, it's wonderful.
The fresh fruit. It's great to be able to eat things like mangoes and Kiwi fruit, knowing they haven't been imported. And I shall really miss things like brevas (a large, early type of fig) and picotas (wonderfully sweet dark cherries).
The Hispanic love of babies and small children. Everywhere you go your little cherubs are routinely admired and welcomed by people of all ages and in all places. Where many in the UK tend to assume a slightly pained expression suggesting a bad smell under their nose when they catch sight of children, Latinos smile indulgently and affably chub their cheeks. Even tantrums are greeted with sympathy tinted with the knowing amusement.The breathtaking number of children's play parks. The generosity of spirit extended towards little nippers isn't confined to the general public, Spain's local authorities also make sure their younger citizens are amply provided with places to have fun and let off steam.
The easy give-and-take of high-density living. Take noise, for example. We've never once experienced any dubiousness towards the inevitable noise made by Rosie both as a baby and an energetic toddler. In fact, one set of neighbours came round specifically to tell us not to worry about it. When we've wanted an early night and the sound of loud TVs or music have penetrated our flat, a simple knock on a wall, ceiling or window or (in a couple of cases) a polite request to turn things down have yielded a generally good-natured and prompt response. Why do so many people in the UK take umbrage if requested to keep it down as a mark of consideration for those who live nearby?
Friendly neighbours. Related to the above. We hadn't been living here long before we knew the names of those also living on our floor and were on "que tal?" terms with many more. And although they don't know us well, many have expressed regret when we've told them we're leaving.
The drinking culture. Spaniards love to drink, especially en masse and for extended periods of time. But they don't usually drink to get drunk and it's very unusual for people to show aggression after they've had a few. I can walk through Madrid's busiest nightlife areas on a Friday or Saturday night, surrounded by people drinking and not feel the slightest fear that a fight may break out near me or I might get accosted by an inebriated arsehole who can't see straight. You can't say the same thing about many of the UK's towns and cities, unfortunately.
The public transport. Madrid's system of underground trains and bus routes is excellent. Generally clean, air-conditioned, inexpensive and very frequent. AND the bus drivers don't throw a hissy fit when you board their vehicle pushing a baby buggy.
Non-homogenous high streets. There are still large numbers of independent specialist retailers in Spain and each barrio has its own particular character.
The cafe/bar culture. With lots of outdoor seating and food served all day. Plus the free tapas, of course, meaning ordering food is often not necessary.The trees. Madrid is the most wooded capital city in the world - thankfully, the shade provided is desperately needed during the summer months. Mind you, it does make for an awful lot of municipal leaf-blowing during the winter...
Cheap but stylish women's hair-cuts. There are various things that cost less in Spain compared with the UK, but this is the one where the gap seems to be biggest. €12.50 for a cut and blow-dry....
The sense of satisfaction the comes from communicating in non-mother tongue. The flip side of struggling to understand and be understood. One source of regret is that we're leaving just as I was starting to get a handle on Spanish to the extent that I can at least have a basic conversation with someone.

Naturally, there are aspects of life in Madrid I definitely won't miss:

The summer heat. It quickly becomes unbearable and despite awnings, shutters and ceiling fans, sleep is a restless business when temperatures hit the high thirties. On the other hand, laundry is dry within a few hours of being hung out, so it's not all bad.
Language befuddlement. I've still got a distance to travel before I'm truly comfortable operating in Spanish. It's frustrating to be unable to express myself to someone or to not understand what they're telling me. I can "get by" in Spanish, but to my regret, that's my current limit.
Doggy do's. Urban Spanish dog-owners are somewhat behind their British counterparts when it comes to cleaning up after the family pet. Apparently, they're a lot better than they used to be - which makes me shudder to think what state the streets were in a few years ago.
Over-packaging. Especially fruit and veg. Shops are now beginning to be less generous when it comes to dispensing plastic bags, but there's a way to go yet.
The paucity of charity shops. We found one not far from our barrio, but they are few and far between. Second-hand shops do exist, but the time and energy needed to dig through the jumbled heaps of unsorted clothes to find a decent bargain is usually more than I'm willing to give.
Screeching washing lines. Aerial clothes lines tend to operate on a pulley system and unless you're an abseiler, its very hard to lubricate the metal wheels, which get steadily more oxidised as the years pass. Therefore an alarming series of banshee howls as someone hangs out their laundry is inevitable. And responsible for many a disrupted nap (in my case - Rosie seems to be able to sleep through them, thankfully).

One thing's for sure - as a first experience of living in a country other than the one where I was born it's been a fantastic adventure. I return with a wealth of experience I would never have otherwise had. Not to mention as mother of a daughter who was conceived and born in Madrid. That's an incredible thing in itself.

Will we come back to Spain to live? Perhaps. Certainly, our sojourn here has done nothing to put us off.

Meanwhile, we will do our best to keep our Spanish alive and encourage Rosie to grow up with a grasp of the language from the country of her birth.

Tuesday 28 June 2011

Street life - by Theo

Madrid, being a big city, naturally has street life in all shapes, sizes and styles, from buskers and beggars to hookers and hawkers. Some areas are particularly known for a certain type of street worker - Plaza Mayor for its human statues, the area around Opera for Chinese ladies selling fans, a street near Gran Via metro for its working girls and so on. Even our local high street, Jose del Hierro has its share of street life.

Firstly, there are the lottery sellers. One of the main lottery companies in Spain is Once, a charity set up to provide blind people with employment. Thanks to the Spanish love of the lottery, it is now a huge company and has expanded its remit to employing anyone with a disability. As a result, not only do we have a kiosk for a blind female lottery seller, but there are also two other regular sellers on our street - a woman in a wheelchair who hangs around the supermarket and a chap with a very dodgy knee (it bends inwards) who stations himself outside the Caja Madrid and always has a smile for Rosie.

They aren't the only people selling things on Jose del Hierro, though I suspect they are the only ones doing so legally. Two sisters station themselves outside the bakery every day with their buckets of flowers, while an older couple (who I assume are gypsies) are across the way selling knock-off make-up, clothes and occasionally extremely cheap melons. Nobody seems to mind, even though there are several clothes shops and fruiterias on the street that they are presumably undercutting.

Finally, there are the beggars. These come and go, but the most regular, rain or shine, 7 days a week, is the African guy. He's probably in his mid-twenties, I remember first seeing him when we came to view the flat prior to moving in, so he's been around at least 2 years, maybe more. He stations himself outside the supermarket, ostensibly selling La Farola (the streetlight), the Spanish equivalent of The Big Issue, though I've never seen anyone buy a copy, let alone read one, from him or any other "seller" around Madrid. Neither does he make any effort to sell one. Rather, he greets people and makes himself useful, holding a dog lead or some shopping bags while the owner shops, and accepting the odd piece of change people (including ourselves) give him. The boredom factor must be huge, despite all the people that pass the time of day with him, and I'm sure when he made the risky and dangerous crossing to Spain this wasn't what he envisaged doing. Yet judging by his perseverance and the preponderance of other Africans doing the same thing at supermarkets all over Madrid, it must be living, and a better one than they could hope for 'back home'. I can't help but think it's a terrible waste of humanity and yet further evidence that western immigration policies based on restricting both numbers and permission to work is failing and wrong-headed.

Monday 27 June 2011

Swimming and so longs Part 3 - by Theo

Rosie has a new book, Tommy, El Perro, about a dog who loves water except when it comes to bath time. Rosie is clearly his opposite. After a lovely al fresco lunch at Bianca's we formed a bucket chain to fill her paddling pool with warm water before her son, Ollie, happily climbed in. Rosie could not be tempted (or, indeed, forced) into the water. Kate tried, I tried, Bianca tried; Rosie is definitely not a water baby.

We didn't even bother trying her in the pool - she was more interested in the pool cover than the water - but the rest of us enjoyed a refreshing dip in relay. Bianca's very lucky to have such a facility on hand, and such an acquiescent son in Ollie, as she is 8 months pregnant and suffering a bit in the high temperatures - 38 degrees today. Yet another baby we sadly won't be around to welcome into the world.

Later on Belen and Cesar popped round for a quick drink and a promise to see each other soon. I'm glad because they couldn't make it to our Dia de Deportes and were away in Cordoba this weekend, but it would have felt wrong leaving without seeing them - they were of course the couple that put us up the first 3 times we came to Madrid. Our sojourn here would have been much poorer without them.

Hasta luego todos.

Sunday 26 June 2011

Swimming and so longs Part 2 - by Theo

Rosie is still on a two nap regime (of her own choosing) which means that heading anywhere is always a logistical challenge in order not to end up with an irate toddler. This theory was duly put into practice when Jon suggested spending Sunday in Cercedilla, a mountain town in the Sierra to the north of Madrid, where there are some swimming pools fed by mountain springs called Las Berceas. There are of course plenty of swimming pools in Madrid itself, but with temperatures due to hit 38 degrees in the city, the relatively cooler temperatures of mountains definitely appealed.

With this in mind I took Rosie out for a mega-playground session that morning in order to get her nice and worn out, with the hope she would sleep happily in the car. We then arranged to meet Jon by the metro stop - he lives near us, but was coming from his girlfriend's in Canal. He was slightly late as he had popped back to his flat to grab his swimming trunks. Sure enough, shortly afterwards, Rosie nodded off in the car and slept most of the way there getting about 45 minutes nap-time. Less than she usually has, but we figured it would even out with a slightly longer than normal nap on the way back.

Las Berceas is gorgeous. Two large pools with deep and shallow ends set among lush lawns under shady stands of pines trees surrounded by forested mountain slopes. Absolutely stunning. The approach wasn't the most pushchair friendly, but do-able, passing under the tree-top rope walks of the adventure park next door. We found a shady spot and set out our rug and Rosie's play tent. It was about this point that Jon realised he had somehow, despite making a detour to get them, forgotten his swimming trunks. Kate and I tried hard not to laugh too much. We soon solved the problem though, as I lent him my (non swimming) shorts to swim in. This meant I later had to walk back to the car and drive home in only my (rather skimpy and tight-fitting) boxers. Kate did take a photo, but I'll spare you.

The water, when we did get in, was extremely refreshing - just what was required. After our attempts to entice Rosie into the water the previous day we didn't even bother trying her in the pools - much too cold for her liking. She was quite happy though, chasing after balls that weren't hers, counting pine cones and later walking around the adjacent picnic site (occasional tannoy announcements reminded the swimmers that picnicking wasn't permitted on the lawn.)

Refreshed and fed, we headed off about 3pm to let Rosie have her second nap, though we were soon no longer refreshed as the car was like an oven and the air conditioning is badly in need of a recharge. Still, she quickly dropped off and stayed asleep even when we pulled in to Canal to drop Jon off. As he jumped out I noticed something under the passenger seat - his swimming trunks!

Saturday 25 June 2011

Swimming and so longs Part 1 - by Theo

The first of our three bathing and bidding farewell dates saw us gatecrashing a lunch party at Kirsty's down in Rivas. Kirsty had invited round some friends and their children from the Sticky Fingers playgroup, some of whom we knew, for a roast chicken lunch (hence, why we hadn't originally been invited). I was pretty impressed with Kirsty pulling this off seeing as she's 6 months pregnant, the mother of a toddler and her husband was away in Almeria! Kudos! So, with 5 babies and toddlers napping, and a newborn mewing in her mum's arms (Kate kindly took over so the mum could eat) we added ourselves to the merry chaos. Well we had to - we had to return her play ring that we'd borrowed, as we'd forgotten it last time we'd visited.

We forgot it this time too, so I spe... drove in a sensible fashion back home to get it while Rosie had her afternoon nap. Doh!Kate and I both enjoyed a swim in Kirsty's pool, though Rosie was not keen in either the main pool nor the paddling pool, preferring instead to attempt to build the world's largest ball collection (her current obsession) and hang around in the sitting room.

It was a lovely day and we're really going to miss Kirsty and Juanmi when we get back; it's a real shame we won't be around to greet their second child or see Emily Grace grow up, nor the general relaxed, laid-back attitude towards children that seems to prevail here in Spain.

Not that the hispanic love of children rubs off on everyone. As we lazed in the pool one of the other mothers present mused wistfully about how great it would be to have a swimming pool. "Well" I said, "most of the new build apartment blocks have a communal one and they aren't that pricey." "Oh god no!" replied the mum of two "then I'd have to share it with other people's children! Horrible!"

Friday 24 June 2011

Farewells - by Theo

So an era has come to an end. We're on the cusp of leaving Madrid; today most of our belongings shipped out and we'll follow, also by ship, on Wednesday. I've already finished work - Wednesday was my last day, which is to be the subject of this blog.

Working in a language school is a strange dynamic. You have colleagues but you don't really work with them; after all there's only ever one of you in a classroom. Sure, we swap lesson ideas and banter during the brief breaks between classes, but unless you're highly sociable (and I, as a new father, haven't been) you don't really get to know each other. In fact I know my colleagues who shared Spanish classes with me, both of whom were new this year, perhaps better than those who joined with me, two years ago.

Still this is not to say I won't miss them, or the boss and his wife, who were both hugely supportive to Kate and myself during Kate's pregnancy and Rosie's first few weeks. So I was more than happy to join them for raciones and drinks in Goya after work on Wednesday and then again in the Retiro for a picnic the following day - I thought I had stayed out reasonably late, heading home at midnight, only to find most of my (now former) colleagues had stayed out until 6am! I guess I never quite got the hang of that aspect of the Spanish lifestyle.

However, I think it's inevitable that when teaching English, or possibly any subject, it's with your students that a real bond forms, especially in the short-term. After all, if they stay the course you'll end up spending a considerable amount of time with them over the months, much of which will hopefully be by turns enjoyable, frustrating, amusing, challenging and sometimes outright hilarious. Such shared experience usually helps form bonds and ties, though not always: Of the two classes of intermediate teenagers I had this year, the group that were all new students to me in October turned out in full to say goodbye, while the group that included students I'd been teaching for 2 years was a total no-show. Not quite sure what that proves, but I'm sure it proves something.

So it was somewhat gratifying that my favourite group (now I've left I think I'm allowed to admit I had favourites), an adult proficiency class, pretty much all turned out on their last day (Tuesday), despite the fact that they'd already had the exam results back and most other classes weren't even half full. We had a fun time imagining which celebrities might make good English teachers ("David Beckham... well, he didn't speak English very well at the start of his career, but he does now, so he's clearly been through the learning experience") and then, joined by a former classmate who had already passed the Proficiency exam, we grabbed a table in the Plaza de Felipe II and spent a very enjoyable couple of hours setting the world to rights in both English and Spanish.

What a shame I forgot to take my camera to all three farewells.

Wednesday 22 June 2011

Heat and Teeth - by Theo

Well the summer has now well and truly arrived, bringing with it cloudless blue skies and temperatures that hit the 30s around 10am and stay there until well after midnight. This seems, as ever, to have come as a huge surprise to the Spanish who unfailing great you and each other with comments about the heat - "Que calor!" - as if the weather was somehow unusual!

The spike in temperatures, which began last Thursday coincided with both Cathy, Kate's mum coming to visit, and Rosie's canines making their entrance. The latter in particular, coupled with the sweaty night-times made for a general lack of sleep all round. Until now Rosie's teeth hadn't given her many problems, but the canines trying to squeeze between her incisors and pre-molars was clearly causing our dear one a lot of pain. It was heart-breaking watching her at meal-times as she enthusiastically stuffed an over-cooked (for softness) bit of pasta in her mouth only to erupt in tears at the first bite. For the first time in ages she suffered herself to be spoonfed purees!

It was lovely to see Cathy, although it wasn't a very exciting visit for her. With Rosie in such a grump due to lack of sleep we ditched plans for an expedition to the Mazanares and stuck instead to more local parks, the Retiro, el Calero and los Molinos. There's far more shade there anyway.

Monday 13 June 2011

Background check - by Theo

As has often been observed, Spain is different, and as I have previously observed, nowhere more so than in their attitudes towards Child Protection.

In the UK if you want to work, or even volunteer, in any capacity that will bring you into contact with children or vulnerable adults, you need to pass a Criminal Records Background (CRB) check and in all likelihood have some kind of Child Protection training. Since coming to Spain I've worked in two different schools teaching classes of children and two residential summer camps for children and I've not once received any kind of specialist training nor been asked about my eligibility to work with children. Whenever I've brought up the point, such as at the first summer camp or with my boss at school, I've been told there is no equivalent to the CRB check in Spain.

Except there is. As I'm going to do a PGCE in September I have obviously had to complete a CRB check but of course this is not valid for the time I have been in Spain. Thus I was asked to provide a 'Certificate of Good Conduct', without any kind of instruction as to how to get it or what form it might come in. The CRB themselves were no help (Them: "Have you tried calling the Spanish Embassy?" Me: "I'm in Spain now." Them: "Oh.") and the University couldn't be specific as to what they required. I had a vague notion of a confusing conversation at a police station trying to get a bemused duty officer to sign a letter saying I'd committed no crime. However when I asked my lawyer friend Juan about it he said "Oh, I need one of those to. It's called a Certificado de Antecedentes Penales. You really don't need to speak Spanish to work out what that means. All of which begs the question as to why I'd never been asked for one before (to be fair to my boss he immediately showed an interest once I informed him that they do in fact exist).

So I braced myself for what I imagined would be another battle with Spanish bureaucracy, but actually it turned out to be a hell of a lot easier than in the UK. For starters the form was only one page long, with no endless lists of prior addresses that give serial movers like me writer's cramp. Secondly, there's no pre-ordering of an assigned form (that you have to re-order if you mess up); you can just download it and print it from the internet. Thirdly you can do the form yourself; no need to run it through another organisation and have an approved person counter sign it. Finally, it's a hell of a lot cheaper. As with many forms here in Spain you have to take the form to a bank and pay the taza, or administrative charge, before you hand the form in. After one false start (neither I nor the cashier knew how much I had to pay) this was easily achieved for the measly sum of €3.54; compare that to £44 for an enhanced disclosure in the UK.

Having done this I toddled off to the Ministerio de Justicia in Plaza San Jacinto, just round the corner from Plaza de Sol (meaning I finally got to check out the protest camp - or what's left of it) to file the form. With book and ipod in hand I went through security, grabbed a number and settled down for what I assumed would be a long wait. 15 minutes later I was out the door, somewhat surprised, with a signed and stamped certificate proclaiming my innocence. (Again, compare that to the four week wait in the UK).

So on balance I'd say, like the U21 football, England 1:1 Spain. If only the Spanish efficiency could somehow infiltrate the English thoroughness, and vice versa, we'd be onto a winner.

Saturday 11 June 2011

Dia del Deporte III - by Theo

Well, our third Dia del Deporte was a great success. I was slightly apprehensive about the turn-out to begin with - Kate, Rosie and I arrived at 12pm to find my student Irene already there. Bearing a delicious homemade yoghurt cake, she had been decidedly un-Spanish and turned up at the time advertised. For about an hour I was worried that it was going to look like we had no friends, but then a steady stream of North Americans, Africans and Europeans swelled our numbers to 20 as we gathered around an ever-growing mountain of food.


The guests included Rosie's boyfriend Ollie and his mate Jack (whose parents, Helen and Steve happened to be visiting Stefan and Bianca, but that's by the by - we know it was really the kids who arranged it all.) The toddlers were on fine form, randomly wandering about the place and never seeming to mind which of our friend's mobiles they stole or whose water bottle they were drooling over. Actually it was great, as Rosie seemed to be delighted by all the people and more than happy to sit on somebody else's lap while Kate chatted and I called Ibrahima for the umpteenth time to try and give him directions.

We had a great spread. Jero had brought some homemade tortillas, Sophie and Jon a delicious pasta salad, Elena a carrot cake, Javier a huge empanada (a kind of fish pie), Bianca some Pimms and almost every other person brought cherries! The little ones ate happily and even got stuck into the booze....

After a brief break for digestion, the sports began. With there being so many of us, we had to have three heats for the egg & spoon race (during which, one egg became grass fertiliser) before the qualifiers lined up for the final.


Ibrahima, the youngster that he is, took the checkered flag in style, before he and his brother Aboubacar treated us to a rendition of the Senegalese national anthem at the medal presentation ceremony.

Following that, we had the three heats for the third-legged race, which fitted around the baby nap-time buggy relay (Kate and I took the gold) and the arrival of some of my colleagues bearing takeaway burgers. The third heat was composed solely of English teachers and nearly resulted in injury due to some questionable tactics.Luckily we had a physio on hand (Fermin) and everyone was fit to line up for the three-legged final.

As you can see it was a close run thing, but yet again the Senegalese contingent prevailed, this time older brother Aboubacar taking gold along with his partner Jon.

Time was getting on, so we gradually cleared up and said our goodbyes, making many promises to try to meet up again over the 18 days we have left in Spain, before winding our way back home with even more mixed feelings about leaving. For it's days like today that make Madrid a wonderful place to live.

Tuesday 7 June 2011

An Adieu By Kate

Today we say farewell to Jean - he may not have been biologically family, but he was family nonetheless.

We will miss his kindness, his endearing sense of humour and the great affection he showed to Rosie and all his "adoptive" children and grandchildren. And many other things besides.

Our thoughts are with the other members of his family, his many friends and especially my mum, his loving partner until the end.

Rest in peace, Jean.

Monday 6 June 2011

Brain malfunction

I knew I had reached a new point of tiredness when I tried to open the front door with my travel pass. While it's wonderful to have friends to visit, it isn't half knackering, especially when a certain little girl doesn't understand the concept of a post night-out lie-in.


So after three nights of being sociable with our lovely visitors Harry, Ayesha and Onno (who, in all truthfulness, probably didn't need my company in the evenings!) and then being woken at 6.30 each morning by my darling daughter I was all over the shop today. Wrong textbooks in classes, dodgy grammar explanations (ok, so that's par for the course) and pouring tea on my cereal. I guess now I know how Kate has felt for the past 16 months!

Sunday 5 June 2011

Africa Vive III - by Theo Berry

I tried pleading tiredness first, then tried selflessness, then appeals to logic, then dangling carrots, but nothing worked. Try as I might I couldn't persuade Kate to leave me in charge of Rosie and go to Africa Vive. So I had to go. Life is hard sometimes....

Now in its third year the Africa Vive concert is the culmination of two months worth of events aiming (or so it seems to me) to present a more positive view of Africa. You know, to show that the continent isn't just about corruption, famine and war, but is also able to create great art, literature and music, and thus joy and life.

My old University flatmate Harry is currently visiting (Friday to Monday) and so after dinner we headed up to the University on the metro, arriving late - the event started at 7pm, we got there about 9pm. Being in Spain for over 2 years has obviously taken its toll on my time-keeping! We immediately met up with Aboubacar - a Senegalese friend Kate and I made at Spanish class - and then were joined by Ayesha and Onno.

Ayesha, who lives in London, and Onno, who lives in Amsterdam, had been in Madrid since Wednesday, and we had already seen them for lunch on Thursday and dinner on Friday, but amazingly they weren't yet bored of our company so still decided to come along! The event was, after all, free and we're all music fans (we first met Ayesha at the legendary Rocket Festival).

We made a happy and enthusiastic group dancing away to firstly Takeifa, from Senegal, playing some lively Afro-pop with some very hooky beats. Following them came Babeloued Sound, an awesome Ska band that was pretty much like every other Ska band, except better and louder and with rap in Arabic and French (they were really more French than African - a couple of the 9 piece came from Morocco). Finally, Femi Kuti (son of Fela) blazed on, surrounded by colour and noise, acting like a coke-head in hurricane, all non-stop motion and hubristic hand waving. We left about half-way through his set, keen to make the last metro and avoid the rush. Femi was good, but not that good. However, although his messianic posturings were got tiring quickly, he was a great ambassador for the exuberance and joy that Africans are capable of and, as such, was probably the ideal ambassador for another excellent edition of Africa Vive.

Friday 3 June 2011

living the high life - by Theo

Go to any city in Spain and high-rise, high-density living abounds. Our current apartment block is quite small, having only five floors - our first flat in Madrid (in Mendez Alvaro) was on floor 6 of 9. Naturally, therefore, the Spanish have evolved several unique adaptations for this.

The first concerns furniture removal. As many, if not most, of the stairwells and lifts of Madrid's older buildings are too narrow to accommodate large items of furniture, those who don't want to get a flat-pack from IKEA have to employ a specialist removals company. These guys raise up the wardrobe or double bed on a massive lift that resembles a fireman's ladder outside the building and in through the windows. Whenever I see one I always wish I had my camera on me.

Not everyone uses ladders though. Often when a job is too small to really need scaffolding you see workmen abseiling down the sides of buildings rather than trying to prop up a ladder in among all the washing lines festooning the walls.

Meanwhile, indoors, the residents of these high-rises make adaptions and alterations just like their ground-floor living neighbours. Having no garden in which to build a conservatory hasn't stopped them - they just build one (of sorts) by covering over the ubiquitous terrazas. A range of styles is available, as can be seen from our bedroom window. Our flat used to have two terrazas, but the back one has been converted into a kind of utility room/storage space, while the front one has been covered over to add an extra 6m2 or so to our living room. Which is a bit of a shame as it would have been nice to have had a little terrace of our own to sit out on during hot summer evenings - oh well, I guess we'll just have to go to a bar. Que pena!