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.

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!

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!

The Customer Is Never Right

After hearing of our experience in the Movistar shop trying to recharge our phone, our friend Cesar said, "One thing you will learn in Spain - when it comes to shopping, the customer is never right."

I wouldn't describe Spanish retail assistants as rude exactly - indeed, compared with, say, Russian retail assistants, they're sweetness and light. But you do get the distinct impression with most that their attitude towards customers is at best, tolerant and at worst, disinterested.

The sales assistant Jorge flagged down when I was trying to buy my A-Z was a case in point. She made no attempt to disguise the fact that she had much better things to do than serve us and could scarcely contain her disgust when she realised the sale that required so much effort on her part only came to six Euros. Jorge and I both saw the funny side.

Theo, however, is more easily traumatised by unhelpful shop assistants and baffling retail systems. Shopping is a necessary evil, as far as he's concerned and large department stores can give him noticeable allergic reactions. This morning we had all the fun of returning a faulty item to just such a store - and boy, does it add to the fun when you can't speak or understand the language!

In my experience of large stores in the UK (M&S, Ikea, TK Maxx) if you want to return something, you take it up to their customer services counter, queue for a bit then have the exchange or refund dealt with then and there.

Part one of that process is the same at Hipercor in Madrid - Theo explained that the new computer speakers we'd bought the day before weren't working and the assistant dutifully fillled out a piece of paper and gave it to him.

At that point it all got rather hazy. Now what? If the assistant had indeed explained to Theo what he had to do next, he hadn't understood and when I found him (I'd gone to a different department to buy some contact lens solution) he was wandering around, gingerly holding the piece of paper between finger and thumb and looking bemused.

The paper itself contained no obvious clues, so we went down to another customer services desk and brandished it at the woman there, wearing pleading expressions. As it happened, we had found one of those rare creatures in Spanish retail, a kind assistant and when it was clear that her patient explanations had left us none the wiser, she actually smiled and told us to follow her.

Our customer services lady took us back up the ramp to the electronics department, all the time telling us reassuringly how difficult it was for people without much Spanish to understand the way things worked (ironically, both Theo and I understood perfectly what she was saying at that point). She then led us to another sales assistant, explained our situation and making sure we had finally got the hang of things, bid us farewell and left us to it. The rest was a breeze. The money was refunded to our credit card and we were free to go and find a replacement set of speakers.

As we walked back to the flat, Theo confessed that he felt rather dispirited by the whole episode. "But at least we managed it in the end!" I said, encouragingly.

I know what he means though. The frustration of not even having the simplest language at your fingertips to deal with a largely straightforward situation does make you realise what a long way there is to go with your linguistic prowess. But let's be realistic, we've only actually been here for four days. Meanwhile, we are more motivated than ever to learn the language and more thankful than ever that we moved to Spain and not Japan. At least we've got an alphabet in common.