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.

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.

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!

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.

Keeping our cool - by Theo

Ever since we arrived back in Madrid on Thursday we've been trying to keep our cool.

Well, it's 35 degrees out there, from about 11 until 11, not a cloud in the sky and we've only got a tiny air conditioning unit in the sitting room. We've also got ceiling fans in the sitting room and bedroom, and small portable fan, but they don't bring the temperature down (in fact the small fan gives off heat!) So we've had to come up with other methods to make the interior of the flat liveable.

The most obvious is judicious use of windows, shutters, blinds and awnings. At least one advantage of Rosie waking us up at 7pm is that we can at least enjoy a few hours with the windows wide open to catch the cool early morning breezes. This is when I've been doing all the cooking for the day, before the kitchen becomes a sauna. Then the shutters and awning come down to stop the sun hitting the glass, then finally the windows close at 10.30ish as the air outside increases in temperature. Time to bring out the home made air conditioning.

We've been freezing large tupperware containers of water and placing them, open, in front of the small fan so the air chills as it blows over the melting ice. Then, following a tip from my parents' Sudan days, we stand frozen bottles of water in buckets of cold water and cover the bottles with socks. Not sure of the physics here (an inverse convection current?) but it does seem to work. Finally, generous servings of iced smoothies throughout the day have been keeping us sane. Anyone else got any tips?

I'm a bit chilly... open the window!

After a rather playful debate between our three flatmates - Jorge, Pete and Alex - the air-conditioning has gone on in our flat. Alex, who pays the bills, wanted it set at 27C, while English Pete was lobbying for 22. I think they settled at 24 in the end.

To be honest Kate and I hadn't been that bothered by the heat. True we had been sleeping on top of the covers, but I think after spending last summer sleeping in 38 degree heat in Sheena, our campervan/solar oven, we've become somewhat inured to warm, windless nights. In fact for us, it's a bit too cold tonight and we've actually opened the window to let a bit of heat back in. Pete, meanwhile, after 4 years in Spain clearly hasn't acclimatised and sleeps with what sounds like a jet engine fanning his room.

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.

If you can't stand the heat....

... change your plans and go swimming.

Theo and I have become the last word in flexibility and seamless last-minute plan-changing. Our initial itinerary involving a visit to the Reggio cheese market on the way to Lake Como was abandoned on the autostrada and instead we turned off just after Modena to go north to Verona and Lake Garda.

After skirting Verona in search of that necessary evil, a supermarket, we arrived at Lake Garda, which was initially hidden behind a line of hotels, campsites and beach shops. But once the view began to open up we realised both how huge the lake is (more than 55km long, 16km wide in places) and how beautiful, especially towards the northern shores, as pine-studded mountains rear up to cast their reflections in the water.

We found a campsite that was thankfully relatively cool in the punishing 33 degree heat where Sheena could be parked under the shade of olive and alder trees and where a gentle breeze could be felt coming from the lake. Basically, our main motivation for going to the lake (rather than heading for Venice as we'd originally intended) was simply to have some respite from the soaring temperatures.

So we've been making the most of it. Three dips in Lake Garda itself and another three in the excellent campsite swimming pool. Last night in Bologna, Theo and I were still feeling uncomfortably hot at midnight. Tonight at dusk, the air feels pleasant, the scent of barbeque is in the air and we may take another swim before we turn in. This is the life.

One final thought: here at the Lake Garda campsite, apart from us, almost everyone is either German (probably 70 per cent) or Dutch. At the campsite on the Adriatic, where we were two nights ago, it was almost entirely full of Italians. Is it related to the salinity of the water, I wonder?

San Marino - seeing is believing

Some things, and some places, you just have to see for yourself - no description, photograph or anecdote can properly illustrate them for you.

We nearly didn't make it to San Marino. Even before we left the campsite we almost abandoned going there - it was out of our way, a complicated route and, with the temperature at 30 degrees already (it was only 8.30am) neither of us fancied a long drive. Then, as we stopped for the second on the steep, winding B road over the Appenines to let Sheena cool down, we again nearly abandoned our plan. But we persevered, crawling up the forested slopes to stop our van from over heating, before finally emerging the other side. Peak top fortresses after cliff-top castle hoved into view, each one making us think that we were near our goal, before we finally saw it. Approach from the mountains it wasn't so clear to us how high up San Marino was; later, looking back at it from the coast you could see its cliffs and castles towering over the Romagna plain. Up we crawled to the old quarter, high up on this isolated mountain, the views getting ever more spectacular. From the courtyard below the castle the views all around - over the flat plains and the sea to the east, back across undulating hillsides to the east - were amazing; I'd imagine they would be even better from the castle turrets, but we didn't venture in. (Somebody had forgotten to buy a parking ticket - doh!)

The old town had a quaint charm to it, with orange-shirted policemen and green-uniformed guards, but the tacky tourist shops and gunsmiths prevented it being picturesque. Instead they made me wonder about San Marino's past - if, to survive in today's world, this tiny and ancient Republic of 26,000 people most prostitute its views and uniqueness to over 3 million tourists, what kind of Devil's bargains must this Christian refuge have made in the past to ensure 1600 years of independence as the world's smallest republic?

Florence: Golf, Football and Skeletons

We'd like to consider ourselves relatively well informed about the places we have been visiting - their historical importance and so on. Florence took us a bit by surprise though; despite both of us having studied history I don't think either of us quite realised just how great a role Florence played, not just in Italian affairs, but in shaping the world, for it truly was the birthplace of the Renaissance. The amount of art gathered here is truly staggering - we didn't even attempt to see it all, though we did go and marvel at the original David which even after clocking both the replicas was still astounding. (The 10 euro entry price made us appreciate the free entry to London museums like never before.) The Duomo's facade and dome are remarkably beautiful, though after the marvels of the interior of Siena's Duomo, the interior here struck us as slightly austere and understated, though there were beautiful frescos and paintings to be found there and in other neighbourhood churches we ventured into.

The sheer wealth that must have once resided here must have been exceptional at one time and beyond even the conception of most Florentine contemporaries. This home of Dante, Giotto, Petrarch and Michelangelo is filled with beautiful townhouses, their eaves overhanging the narrow streets to give some respite from the baking sun, which was cooking at 9am and 6pm, and pretty well unbearable at midday. The Ponte Vecchio, still lined with jewelers had a charm that survived the hordes of hawkers and crowds of tourists that rivaled Rome.There were surprises and treats everywhere; a museum of musical instruments, including one of the earliest pianos; a missed bus stop which resulted in us watching the sun set over the city from the heights of Piazzale Michelangelo; discovering quite by chance that on the second evening we were there a large street party, Bianco Notti, would be taking place in the old town around Palazzo Pitti to celebrate (we presumed) the summer solstice; once there stumbling upon a University Museum still open at 11pm on a Saturday and filled with animal skeletons of all shapes and sizes. Florence is a truly magical and surprising city.

If only the campsite had had a swimming pool!! It was baking - by 8am the sun was already high in the sky with the tarmac radiating heat, and at night we were sleeping on top of the covers. The campsite did however have amazing views over the city, which led to the rather incongruous juxtaposition of the illuminated dome of the Cathedral with the bar's big screen showing a rather dull football match between Turkey and Croatia. Loosing interest (in the match not the view) we made friends with Damon and Hannah, two Mancunians spending a month riding the rails around Europe. They taught us a new card game - Golf - which I managed to loose quite spectacularly just in time for the equally spectacular end to an otherwise dull match - two goals in the final two minutes of injury time followed by a penalty shoot out, which Turkey won. Another surprising turn of events.