Kate and Theo´s Big Night Out

Our time as a married couple had been threatening to settle down into a routine comprising a modest beer or glass of wine and in bed before midnight, with French socialising confined mostly to people older than us and revolving around eating (mostly lunch - but it´s hardly an easy deal, you need the rest of the day to recover from some of those dejeuner do´s, I can tell you). So we resolved to put that right in Spain and do some partying. Our first night on the tiles en Español was last night, here in Salamanca - and if that´s an average night out with the Spaniards, then I´m sold.

We arrived in Salamanca at lunchtime and pitched up at easily the best campsite we´ve stayed in so far, at the Hotel Regio in St Marta, a few kilometres outside Salamanca itself. After an easygoing afternoon, we took the bus into town, which conveniently left the campsite every hour and cost a little over one euro each.

When we got to Salamanca, we followed the general drift of humanity until a joyous hubbub reached us and the narrow street we were walking down opened out into the wonderful Plaza Mayor. It´s a very large, very beautiful and very popular square with the city´s residents, tourists and large student population. All sides are lined with tables and chairs put out by the cafes and the centre of the plaza was filled with teenagers and twenty-somethings sitting in groups, just hanging out on the flagstones.

We chose a table and opted, like most of the other clientale, to enjoy a caña and coffee and drink everything in for a while. As we sat there, three storks flew gracefully overhead to their nests on one side of the Plaza. Soon after, as the light fell, the Plaza was suddenly lit up, a moment greeted with appreciative applause from all its assembled visitors.

Our time after that was spent trying out the Spanish habit of taking small drinks accompanied with tapas - basically small portions of barsnacks. We tried out El Bardo, which had a few vegetarian options among its tapas. More memorable was the bar specialising in Asturian sidra, which confusingly gave out very small measures of the drink served in glasses about the size of a pint, plus two tapas and even more confusingly, two corks. These last were taken away when we opted for a second helping, although we never quite worked out what their significance was. Meanwhile, we watched intrigued as portable sidra dispensers were wheeled around to groups of customers. A tall, metal, snake-like contraption, which held a bottle of sidra at the back and had a cradle for the glasses at the front, was operated by a large handle - which at first glance looked like the non-business end of a big kitchen knife. The sidra itself was dry with a clean, appley taste. Good stuff.

Eventually - gone midnight, when the night was still young as far as most of Salamanca´s younger generation was concerned - we decided to sample some of the clubs. This was easy to do because none of them charged for entry. The first one we went into, Camelot, was a haven for under-agers, with most of the clients looking like they were still waiting for their sixteenth birthday. Even Theo felt old there, so you can imagine how I felt. We didn´t stay long.

The next stop was at the Country Club, which was actually nothing of the sort. Steps led down to a cramped, mosaiced room and glowing with UV. It played vaguely left of centre rock music, which was actually pretty good, so we stayed and danced for a while. Before we moved on, we were accosted by a friendly and somewhat merry young Spaniard, who initially took Theo to be an Italian. As I had invested in some trousseau for him in Biarritz (Theo´s default mode of dressing being best described as scruffy), I felt reasonably pleased, given the Italian reputation for being stylish. Mind you, the guy was pretty drunk.

Finally, we opted for a rather more tacky dive in the "street" area of Salamanca - a litros bar, where you could get beer, spirits and other concoctions in one-litre buckets costing from three and a half euros. I ordered "agua de Valencia", which turned out to be a mixture of Cava and a shot of rum, topped up with orangeade, in a half-litre plastic glass. A terrible thing to do to Cava, really. The whole thing tasted like an alcoholic Fanta.


By now it was almost three and although we´d been told many of the clubs didn´t really warm up until four am, we were beaten and took a taxi back to the campsite (more like UK prices - cost us just over nine euros).

We both thoroughly enjoyed our experience of partying with the Spaniards and I truly wish going out could be such fun occasion in the UK. No aggro or edgyness, just loads of people out to have a great time. It´s certainly whetted our appetite for our forthcoming visit to Madrid and the Rocket and Primavera Sound festivals. Bring it on!

Today we both awoke mainly unscathed from our agua de Valencia experience and after a lazy time at the campsite, are now back in Salamanca appreciating some more of its considerable culture. The buildings are absolutely stunning. It´s a friendly place and I can highly recommend the ice-creams (helados) and hot chocolate with churros. Although you need a strong constitution for the latter - Theo and I felt quite dazed after a cup each of the really thick, dark chocolate served with four deep-fried strips of doughnut mixture. I´m amazed the Spaniards aren´t a great deal fatter in general, but it explains where they get the stamina for their marathon nights out.

Tomorrow, Portugal.