Dia del Deportes

Well that was a lot of fun!

Yesterday we begged, bullied, cajoled and persuaded 20 of our Madrid-based friends to join us in our local park for an English Sports Day and Picnic. What with the gorgeous weather which is practically a permanent fixture here in Spain and the proximity of the shady, flat spaces of Parque Tierno Galvan, it seemed a crime not to! Egg and Spoon races, Rounders, Cricket and Three-legged races were all scheduled in, as we began to assemble from 1pm, with people coming and going all day and a hard-core dozen lasting a good 8 hours until a sudden thunderstorm sent us bolting for cover, hasty goodbyes said as our guests ran for the Metro.



Turn out was much better than expected, with a strong representation from our Pueblo Ingles friends and the writing group, and there was way too much food! As we have discovered many, many times during our 14 blissful months of marriage, when you ask people to bring something to share they make enough for about five people!! Maria-Jose's veggie croquetas, Jero's home-baked bread and Vanessa'a tortilla were among our favourites. In fact the, only thing we were short of was enough to drink, especially in the 30 degree heat, so several expeditions to the local supermercado were organised.



The egg and spoon races - 4 heats followed by semi-finals and then a grand final - caused much hilarity and some outrageous cheating, and were eventually won by the athlete from Senegal, Aboubacar, after the local challenger Javier and the early favourite Owain both suffered disastrous egg-breaks mid-race. (The GB representatives Kathleen and Richie took silver and bronze). However, in an outstanding display of Anglo-German cooperation Owain eventually grabbed a gold in the three-legged race when he and Nico narrowly triumphed over Kate and Maria-Jose's stylish team.



Rounders, played under a shady canopy with trees for bases and a rolling-pin as a bat, was popular with Max's tight pitching keeping some of the big-hitters in check and the first game finishing in a 8-8 tie. Cricket was less successful, though Sylmara - a Puerto Rican we'd met the weekend before - turned out to be a demon-bowler in her first ever attempt at playing. Naturally Kate got the guitar out as well - her Dirty Bitch Tango being requested by her loyal Pueblo Ingles fans - and Owain joined her for a duet on a song they'd written together. Then Javier wowed us all with some amazing magic tricks and sleights of hand, roping me into helping him with a trick he'd only explained to me once before; I just managed to get it right!

Mucha Musica!

Another weekend rolls by and another bunch of excellent live shows. This is one aspect of living in Spain (and Madrid in particular) that is especially attractive. If World Music isn't your thing, then perhaps you wouldn't feel as blessed as we do, but we love global grooves and WOMAD Caceres, Planeta Madrid and now Africa Vive have showered us in riches.

We picked up flyers for Africa Vive while in Caceres, but it wasn't until I spotted the words "entrada gratuito" in tiny writing at the bottom that we decided we had to go. Stingy? Perhaps. I prefer "thrifty".The show was held at the main university on huge stages, built side-by-side so one act began even as the applause was dying down for the previous artist, with no gaps for set-ups and sound checks in the middle.
When we arrived, with Pueblo Ingles Anglo chum Lynne and another fresh Anglo, Barbara in tow, the first thing we saw was the scrum around a stall giving out free T-shirts. The second thing we saw was our former classmate from Spanish lessons, Aboubacar, a Senegalese who's currently studying at the university. Big hugs all round, introductions to his cousin and some Spanish friends, beers bought and we all went to watch the first act.Bassekou Kouyate, a virtuoso n'goni player (African guitar) from Mali was in full flow, head to toe in flowing, tie-dyed robes and grooving with his band like The Shadows on speed. Superb stuff, and Theo's and my favourite of the night.He was followed by Smod, another Malian group who specialise in catchy acoustic pop and endearing three-part harmonies. Daara J, a riotous hip hop act from Senegal were up next and Aboubacar was almost beside himself as the familiar beats and raps from home poured forth. They had loads of energy and were tonnes of fun.
Next up, the home-grown Spanish act, Ojos de Brujo, whose breathless flamenco fusion was a massive hit with the crowd (as you'd expect!), with North African influences in some of the tunes probably giving them qualification for the event, as well as their crowd-pulling ability. The best moment was when Daara J joined them on stage for a fantastic flamenco/African hip-hop mash-up.

By that time, the music had been playing without a break for more than two hours and, enjoyable though it was, we were all starting to get a little footsore. We sacrificed the last act in favour of the trudge back to the Metro and some chill time.

By the way, honesty compells me to point out that after the unpardonably patronising tone of my "sizzler" blog post, the hot weather broke with a terrific storm on Friday night and Saturday was cool and rainy. At times, it almost felt like Glastonbury at Africa Vive, as passing showers of rain continued to top up the many puddles. Mind you, only one of them was heavy enough to warrant a mass opening of umbrellas. And at least we didn't have to squelch our way back to a muddy tent.

El Rastro

El Rastro is the vast Sunday morning market that sprawls around the streets and squares of La Latina every weekend. Famous for its antique stalls (though in truth you're unlikely to find anything exceptional) it also sells pretty much everything else, with several side streets seeming to specialize - pet paraphernalia, watches, flowers and so on - with the bulk of the stalls on the heaving main street dealing in cheap clothing.

It's a quite a tourist attraction, as you might imagine, though the foreigners were easily outnumbered by locals hunting for a bargain amid the jumbled second hand clothes stores or sipping canas under the shade of a tree.


The market also seemed to attract - if not demand - a far higher quality of busker than normal. We enjoyed the music of (in order) a rather excellent hurdy-gurdy player, a Chinese Chinese violinst (i.e. both the player and instrument were Chinese) and an excellent circus band with a rather marvellous line in jaunty tunes and facial hair. We tipped all of the above.

We made a couple of purchases - some summer trousers for me and a gorgeous red dress for Kate - I think you'll agree she looks quite stunning.

So, no change there then!

up to our ears in fruit

Red fruit is in season in Spain and has been for the past 3 weeks - we've got cherries, peaches and strawberries coming out of our ears. Here's another kilo punnet I just bought for €2.50.

Mmmmmmm!

Sizzling UK "hotter than Spain"

I had to laugh when the UK headline, proudly proclaiming a "sizzler" for the bank holiday, popped up in front of my eyes as I logged into my email. Excitedly, it said it would be "hotter than Spain!" Here's the story:

The weekend temperature will be the hottest of the year, beating the current record of 22.1C (72F) reached in East Malling, Kent, in mid-April.
"We can expect temperatures to rise to 24C (75F) on both Saturday and Sunday," said a Sky forecaster.
Paris can expect temperatures of 22C (72F), Madrid 23C (73F) and Lisbon 21C (70F). Rome will be basking in temperatures of above 30C (86F).

I am, of course, delighted that the UK's Whitsun break is getting a decent spell of sunshine. It was the "hotter than Spain" boast that made me smile.

The story neglects to mention the fact that here in Madrid we've been "basking" in temperatures of above 30 degrees for the last three days. The temperature is expected to go down a tad at the weekend - latest forecasts suggest it'll be somewhere in the region of 25 C. Which will be something of a relief. Even our Spanish friends, who generally have a far higher tolerance to heat than we cold-blooded northern Europeans, are describing the weather as "hace mucho calor" (making a lot of heat).

It's only a brief respite, though. From the middle of June the temperature here tends to ascend towards (and into) the early forties Celsius and remain there until September. I'm not sure how Theo and I will cope, although he had some practice at surviving the heat during his childhood, when his family lived for a time in Tanzania. As for me? I'm investing in a traditional Spanish fan.

legally resident

I am finally legally resident in Spain, having procured my NIE - Numero de Identidad de Extranjero - this week after many Catch-22 style antics. Well, not that many, but enough to stress me out.

Getting the number is free and easy, but getting the appointment is not - there's a 6 month wait which is why I only just got mine. You need it to pay taxes, get a bank account and so on. There's a 10 euro administration charge which you have to pay at a bank beforehand and take the receipt with you. After getting Nataly to help me fill in the forms, this bit was easy: 8.30am (my appointment was at 10pm) at the bank, queue for 10 minutes, pay, on the metro to the address on the form. I arrive in good time, just after 9am, and join the back of the queue that snakes its way out of the building along the pavement and across the road. I'd taken some marking with me to keep me busy. The line moves fairly quickly and as I approach the door a policeman asks to see my form. Noting I'm English he tries to be helpful: "You need line 5." Anyway, either he got his numbers confused or was just plain wrong, because after 15 minutes of queuing in line 5 I finally get my turn and am directed to line 7. I queue again. Finally I am summoned to line 9, to be told I'm in the wrong place altogether. "Donde de Reino Undido? Vale, debes ir a Puerta de Toledo," says the man at the desk, giving me an address. I'm a bit pissed off; not only is the address he's given me not on the form but I recognise it: I've been there before, with Kate when she wanted to change the address on her NIE - there (at Puerta de Toledo) we were told to go to a different office - the one I was currently in, in fact! I explain this to the man, and he bumbles off with my forms into a back office. Ten minutes later he comes back.

I still need to go to Puerta de Toledo.

Which is on the other side of town.

I just made it. Funnily enough when I finally got there, there was no wait and no awkward questions (just when I was really psyched up to get argumentative in my limited Spanish). Instead a nice woman checked the spelling of my name, stamped my forms, gave me a certificate and welcomed me to Spain.

I now feel truly at home.

101 Uses For A Bucket no.12

How on earth did I manage to break the bed on my own?? It's a sad tale and one that must be told.

It all started with a creak. The bed, it must be said, was not the best constructed piece of furniture in the first place. Merely turning over was enough to set off a symphony of squeaks and groans from its prematurely arthritic joints. As I am a light sleeper at the best of times (even the smell of shower gel can wake me up - as does someone using the intercom six floors beneath us) I was having my shut-eye interrupted to an irritating degree. And you can imagine the kind of orchestral accompaniment we were getting during our bouts of conjugal activity, it was seriously off-putting. I dread to think what Jorge, our next-door neighbour thought of it all. It may explain why his television is often turned up on the loud side.

As well as the creaking, the bed frame had a tendency to whack against the wall in moments of more frenzied activity and frankly, it was all getting on my wick. I ventured a suggestion to Theo that we might try turning the bed round to see if we could at least relieve some of the pressure on the wall adjoining Jorge's room, but he was non-committal.

So, left dangerously to my own devices one afternoon this week I surveyed the scene and decided I would carry out a little rearrangement, turning the bed at right angles to see if it made any difference. I figured there was just enough gap to achieve the job without unnecessary lifting or dismantlement so lost no more time.

It all went horribly wrong when the edge of the bed became wedged against one of the plug sockets. I gave it an experimental tug to see if that would be enough to get it past the obstruction, but unfortunately the bed frame merely slid over the socket and stuck fast. Still calm at this point, I decided to lift up that end of the bed as a way of completing the rotation. Unfortunately, that only served to wedge it more firmly still, digging a hole in the wall in the process and making an ominous cracking sound. Panic was now setting in. I tried wiggling and jiggling the bloody thing, at which point, disaster struck. With a resounding splintering crash, one leg broke off, removing a goodly chunk of plaster from the wall as it did so.

Well, at least the accursed thing was finally free. I numbly pulled it round and wondered what the hell to do about propping up the drooping corner. My eyes fell on our trusty bucket. The very thing. I placed it under the missing leg and hey presto! The bed's list became less of a precipice and more of a nursery slope. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Buckets are amazing things, thank the lord they were invented.

I confessed to Alex and told him we will replace the bed (and I will repair the wall). Luckily, he found it funny. "It was only a really cheap one from ****", he said, "It didn't cost much." No kidding.

Still, at least the frigging thing has finally stopped creaking. I've had much better kip ever since I broke it.

The Way To Do Luncheon

We thought the traditional Spanish siesta had gone the way of so many other sensible habits of the past, but thankfully, we were wrong. And it took some South American friends to show us how....

Our splendid lunch date chez David and Nataly really can't pass without comment. They were excellent hosts, not only cooking up some delicious vegetarian nosh, including one of their own Venezuelan specialities (fried yam chips for dunking), but also plying us with generous quantities of booze and freshly-made CDs. Every time David put on some music, he asked if we liked it and if the answer was affirmative, he promptly burnt us a copy to take home. All very pleasant and civilized, but not hugely out of the ordinary so far.


No, the thing that made their hospitality a (so far) unique experience, was the inclusion of a siesta in the proceedings. A post lunch stroll or some other gentle digestive activity would probably be the expected thing to follow such a get-together in our home country, but David and Nataly had other ideas. Whether it's a general Venezuelan thing, or because they now live in Spain or because it's simply specific to them, a siesta is something that is a must after lunch in their household.

Accordingly, after Nataly's family limoncello had been sampled (half of Nataly hails from Italy), David announced it was time for some shut-eye. The sofa-bed in the lounge was duly pulled flat, cushions and clean sheets were provided and David even had the kindness to provide a couple of condoms. Down came the shutters and, replete with food and wine, we all enjoyed the luxury of an afternoon snooze.

The Spanish certainly know how to plunge their rooms into pitch blackness at the height of the day - shutters are an essential component of all houses and apartments. A sure sign that the siesta is not an entirely forgotten custom - not to mention a sensible way of preventing the intense summer sunshine from turning the window glass into an unwanted room-heater. On the subject of darkness, a Spanish friend who recently moved to Southampton was astonished at how ineffective most British curtainage is. "Haven't they heard of blinds?!" he asked us, "I'm going to have to buy a pair of dark glasses to wear in bed."

The other hangover from the obligatory siesta is the long lunch break many Spanish businesses give their staff. A good hour and a half, sometimes two is not uncommon. For many people, it's an ideal time to go shopping or take English lessons, but there are still those (like David) who use the time for its intended purpose. He told us he pulls the blinds down in his office and snoozes from two to a quarter to three every day without fail.

Anyway, we awoke feeling refreshed and ready for anything, which was just as well, really. Next on the itinerary was a free show by a Catalunyan performance artist, which was a mixture of surreal cartoons, computer interfaces applied to peculiar bodily protuberances and deadpan commentary. You need a siesta to handle that sort of thing, believe me.