chorizo in cioler! - bad translations and unnecessary signs for the stupid

We all love a humorous bit of signage, but really Spain takes the proverbial biscuit. Just thought I'd share to brighten up your weekend.

On leaving the terminal building at Almeria, as you enter the conveniently located car park directly opposite (wonderful!), you are confronted by choices. Thankfully someone has thought to help out non-natives by providing a lovely translation for the English and for our German friends. The signs, hung one above another read, "Caja" "Kasse" und "Cash". On closer investigation, there is no welcome payment for English speaking visitors, but rather a machine to charge you the earth for having parked your car in the conveniently located car park.

But how about this? Has Spain turned all American and now everyone is paranoid about being sued? The wording "riesgo de corte" is to help the less aware among us know that the glass you've just shattered might cut you.

If you've ever been to Spain you may have noticed that quite often words for shops like butcher's, baker's, candlestick maker's end in an -ía - carnicería, panadería, candelería. In honour of the gin craze sweeping the nation, this "new word" was spotted in Garrucha. Brilliant.

On a jetty out into the Mar Menor lagoon I spotted this not so inviting sign aimed at deterring anyone who might be considering swimming out with beach towel and sun cream, avoiding the huge scary gate and making use of the oh-so-private pier-like construction rather than staying on the lovely sandy beach. Odd.

In Spanish, the typical way to say "No dogs allowed" is the eloquent "¡ Perros, no !" So it was a welcome surprise to see this sign in Valencia. At last, dogs are allowed. ¡ Perros, sí !

And finally, in a bible-bashing, Obama-style....

 

bits in my gin

It was the weekend. It had been a hard old week of abstinence. A gin tonic was calling. I reached for my trusty Xoriguer only, to my horror, to find there wasn't enough juniper juice to make a whole G&T. As panic reared its ugly head, Gordon, popped his head around the port and saved me. Gordon's is fine, but a spiced up Gordon's would be even finer. Indeed, a G&T sprucing up kit had been purchased before Christmas so things were looking up. Oh yes, having paid the earth for a gin and tonic on the beach with bits floating in it, I could now attempt to replicate that holiday feeling while watching Dancing on Ice (and I hate Dancing on Ice, so there'd better be more G than T).

Rather than going out and buying a catering size pack of rose petals, juniper berries and the like to chuck in your drink, you can now buy a neat set from toque especial with plenty of necessary/unnecessary packaging thrown in. Well, let's be honest, the whole thing is not really "necessary", it's just fancy. I cracked open my set and crushed a cardamon or two into my glass, liberally sprinkled some hibiscus petals and plopped in some juicy juniper berries. Lovely. Give it a swirl and the flower petals start to release a pretty drift of pink and the other bits just infuse their thing. The different flavours were actually noticeable over the gin and the added spectacle of colour was a bonus. Good if you're trying to show off, I'd say. I did find, though, that the floating flavours made me drink quicker, as I was constantly saying "oh yes, I can taste the hibiscus now - sip - oh yes, and the cardamon - sip". Still, at least Dancing on Ice went quicker.

Oh, and apparently you can now get a set of little dried up spices for "Vodka&Tonic", "Cuba Libre" and "Vermouth", so you can have bits floating around (and in theory adding flavour and interest) to all your favourite long drinks. The vodka variety contains pieces of dried ginger, star anise and malva flower (whatever that is). Enjoy!

un gin tonic, por favor

Now that the crazy festive season is finally over, and let’s be honest it does go on a bit in Spain, let’s consider more serious matters at hand. Gin.

We arrived back in Spain in September and I for one was looking forward to having a Menorcan gin and tonic in some swanky bar, or at home, or wherever really. You might think it strange that gin, or “ginebra” to its Spanish friends, might be made in Menorca, but it was in fact the British that imported the idea of gin to the island in the 1700s when we invaded and were obviously in need of a tipple one Sunday afternoon, as one does. My favourite gin is Xoriguer, a wonderfully herby gin with a very full-flavoured, non-spirity finish. It is full of the flavours of the Med; rosemary, thyme and other such woody gnarled up bits of bark you probably wouldn’t know the name of or assume would be in a gin in the first place. The distinctive taste of juniper is of course still there but the other botanicals make it a fuller gin than most. Oh, I’m gushing (read: am parched).

Anyway, we arrived in Almeria and low and behold not a drop of Xoriguer in sight. We must have visited every supermarket, every bodega in the region and although people knew there was a gin from Menorca, its charms obviously hadn’t quite made it this far south. I ended up having to buy a bottle online, which of course I could have done ages ago in Germany or the UK, but at least I have my (half empty) bottle now. Might need to re-order in a minute.

But then that swanky bar moment came and there I was reclining on a huge white sponge in an “oh-so-trendy-loungey” sort of beach bar with the sound of the waves in the near distance and unflattering green lighting in the palms. Surely they have my gin. I asked initially for a gin tonic knowing the snobby waiter would ask “which gin?” and he did. “Which gin?, we have 64 types” (a silent “you bastard” was in there somewhere). But I could trump him with his “I’m so cool because I work for shite pay in this cool bar and what’s more we have 64 types of gin” attitude. The impact of my retort was however diluted a tad, as having forgotten the name of my favourite gin (names with Xs are always tricky for me) I asked if he had “that gin from Menorca?” He was instantly my best friend. It was like a code had been cracked. “Of course, Xoriguer?”, “Lovely, gracias”. The gin was fantastically presented with its close friend, Tonic and a swirl of other activity in the bowl-like glass. At last, my gin.

Gin is so the drink of the season (last and maybe this coming season!) in Spain. Who in their right minds would go into a bar with less than 50 gins on offer. The humble G&T has suddenly turned into a status symbol. This was confirmed when the bill came and my lovely Xoriguer and tónica was indeed 11 euros. Maybe if they’d left out all the bits floating around in it, they might have been able to do it for less and still make enough to pay the oh-so-friendly waiter his shite wage. In any case, it was doubly worth every euro as when we left my ginebra connoisseur friend rushed out and gave me a mini bottle of the elusive stuff as a present. What a nice man. Cheers.

fiesta, fiesta... and more fiesta

We all know the Spanish love a fiesta. At the start of December we all had about a week off to celebrate Spanishness, Virgins and the like, then there was Christmas, then New Year and now the one all children, young and old, are most looking forward to, Reyes - Kings' Day.

Whereas in the UK in January we might be exhausted from a month of Christmas drinks, office parties and family gatherings followed by New Year, the Spanish are gearing themselves up for yet another shopping frenzy, processions, cake and partying. The Coca-Cola red-clad Santa figure never really took off in Spain and so traditionally it is the day of the Three Kings in January that brings ridiculous amounts of present giving and receiving. Admittedly, it might be more about iPads and Bob Esponja nowadays rather than gold and smelly incense, but the Spanish know how to party.

A traditional delight at any Kings' Day meal is of course a "roscón". The bready cake is like a huge ring, more often than not carefully sliced open and then stuffed with as much whipped cream and other sweet sickly things as you can manage. Maybe Spanish New Year's resolutions start on 7th January.

So while the British in Britain are battling with yet more floods and deciding what to cut out their diets for a month, the British in Spain are enjoying the sun and leaning back with a San Miguel on their blotted festive bellies, the Spanish are busy worrying themselves with "have I got enough cake in". But then that's it, it really is January. But fear not, Spring is just around the corner and surely there's a Festival of Spring somewhere.

¡ Feliz Año Nuevo !

Do you speak Spanglish?

My neighbour said to me yesterday, “oh no, I don’t need to learn Spanish. Not round here.” She then went on to explain that even a hint of Spanish was just not necessary for an expat living in a valley almost exclusively inhabited by other English-speaking expats, who shop at Lidl and go to “bridge ‘n’ chat” evenings once a month. She sort of has a point. If she only mixes with people who don’t speak Spanish how on earth would she ever practise what she’s just learnt in class. But that’s the point, though. If she learnt to speak the native language of most people in the country then maybe she’d meet more Spaniards. Tricky one, though. In the meantime, I suppose “I’d like a carrier bag”, “hola” and “gracias” will suffice.

There are, of course, other expats who wholly embrace the linguistic challenge that stands proudly before them. They embark on lessons, teach yourself courses and “intercambio” language exchanges, whereas others think they’ve mastered the “lingo” by using, God forbid, Google Translator. It’s not easy learning a foreign language at an advanced age (apparently, so we’re always told), but maybe it’s more a problem of  learning a foreign language when you’ve never learnt one before. When you’ve never really thought about how language works, not even your own. Let’s be honest, a lot of people have a problem expressing themselves eloquently in their own language, innit.

There is indeed a strange linguistic phenomenon at large amongst the expat community who do try and learn a little Spanish. A curious, but distinct peppering of their own language with random Spanish words. As if showing off, Dean and Carol would never be heard saying “rubbish bin” or “rubbish”, oh no, “I’m just taking out the basura, dear”. Having listened to this linguistic mix up for a number of years, I’ve noticed some words have made their way into this Spanglish mess more than others. Who in the right mind round here would say “valley” or “dried up riverbed” when speaking English? No one. If in conversation with another expat you mentioned you lived “two valleys beyond Santa Maria”, they may not even understand you! “Oh, you mean “rambla”!

I can understand someone’s vocabulary growing under the strain of new foreign words never used before in your mother tongue. If you’ve never done roofing or construction work before you may never have needed the word “beam” and the first time you might have used the word is here in Spain where you learnt to call it “viga”. I love a dab of schadenfreude, though and can’t help but smirk when someone is convinced they have learnt a word correctly, can’t wait to randomly slip it into their own version of Spanglish and they get it wrong. All that showing off for nothing. Instead of “viga”, they say “vega” and consequently order 30 concrete fields as opposed to 30 reinforced concrete beams.

I had an odd experience once with an English neighbour who confronted me with “sorry, I thought you spoke Spanish”. Yes, I do, but we’re speaking English now. Turns out my neighbour wasn’t. He’s obviously soooo integrated into Spanish life that he now only speaks Spanglish. “Yes, we’ve had a nightmare lately with our calenderdor”. “I’m sorry? With your what?” “Our calenderdor. Been a nightmare, mate.” “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.” “The thing that makes your hot water!” “Oh, calentador.” How was I to know he was going to throw in a Spanish word into the middle of an otherwise English (admittedly Yorkshire) sentence. What’s wrong with “boiler”?!! It’s not exactly a weird technical word that’s bound to trip people up. No, obviously I’m slacking. Must brush up my Spanglish. Not my Spanish. Who needs that round here!

no pasa nada

When I was having the house rebuilt years ago some rather curious reasoning would often rear its confused head. Spain is indeed full of bizarre rationale. When I pointed out the doorstep sloped markedly inward towards the door and that water (dare I say it, rainwater) tends to flow downhill, and so the front door might get flooded, the response from Juan the builder was the all-encompassing “no pasa nada”. The “no pasa nada” cure for all ailments, “it’ll be fine”. After reiterating my concern of the silly laws of physics I was placated by Juan’s extension of the no pasa nada response, in the form of a “solution”. No pasa nada, “we’ll put a porch on the front of the house”. That was the uncanny solution. It was obvious. To Juan. He brimmed with pride at his brilliant use of logical reasoning.

To solve the problem of nature and that annoying thing called gravity, I was now to end up with a porch strapped on to the front of my house. No admittance of the problem with the tiles on the step, just a way of sorting it out, while “blaming” gravity, of course.

This seems quite often the case around these parts and in essence is also the reason you see roads with grand pavements and fancy street lighting disappearing off into a field. Literally a road to no where. So often have I seen these ghost estates looking like driving lesson centres or disconnected bridges and motorway fly-overs standing forlornly in fields that I’m starting to think it’s a Spanish thing.

There may be other reasons for such bizarre town planning (like gravity or the like), but to the uninitiated it does simply look like things might not have been thought through properly. Having lived in Germany for years, maybe this has affected my view on things, but when you see some astroturf around the bottom of a tree, you just know there’s going to be a dog turd on it within the week. Don’t you?

Of course, I could be completely wrong but a similar thing seems to be happening at the entrance of our nearest town, Huércal-Overa. As you leave the town there are about 400 metres of nothingness before you get to the motorway junction. You pass a ruinous pig farm and some scrubland then you’re at the motorway. The council has therefore decided to spend 850,000 euros on building a three metre-wide pavement. As pedestrians generally have no place on the motorway, it does beg the question, why? What’s more, for half of the 400 metres there is already a two metre-wide, never walked-upon pavement. This polished pavement is now receiving a pavement upgrade and visitors to the town will be greeted by a landing strip of pavement that they will never need to walk on as it doesn’t go anywhere. Like the severed motorway fly-over in a field. Just not particularly well thought through. But, it’ll be fine, put a porch on it!

Five things to buy a Spaniard for Christmas

1. Turrón
The mince pie equivalent of Spain is turrón. We might call it nougat (which ever way you wish to pronounce that), but there are so many versions one word doesn't suffice. Every Spaniard loves a bit of turrón. At Christmas shops throughout the country are swamped with it in all its varieties - chocolate (like Nutella with Rice Krispies), a hard jaw-breaking version with peanuts, soft like marzipan and everything in between. If in doubt, give turrón.

 

















2. Posh wine
As an average red is part and parcel of most lunches in Spain, when it comes to a special occasion like Christmas you definitely need to up the ante and give a posher bottle as a present. Go on, spend more than 1.69. Hideously wrapped in cellophane is an option, but it must have flimsy wiring around it, as a minimum requirement to give that special touch.

3. Polvorones and mantecados
They look a bit retro in their greaseproof wrappers, but these little cakes are a vegetarian's worse nightmare. Trying to lure you in with promises of cinnamon and a hint of lemon, these traditional Christmas delicacies are in fact flavoured lard-filled pastry. Spaniards love them.

4. Chocolate con churros
A year-round calorie bomb but especially loved during the "cold" winter months is a cup of hot chocolate so thick you can stand your spoon up in it served with deep-fried extruded doughnut batter. Obviously, you dip your greasy churro into the chocolate first. Some people love it. I can imagine it's good for hangovers and for those who are too lazy to make a batch of batter, Mercadona supermarket now sells churros batter in a spray can. Class! While they're frying nicely you can open a tetra pak of thick chocolate as well.

5. Money
Let's face it, it's what most people want. Maybe not the cheap chocolate variety.


.... and some unashamed self-promotion.... you could give your Spanish friends one of my curiousmap prints!

¡ Viva Las Vegas !

Our favourite local restaurant goes by the star-spangled name of "Las Vegas". Oh the glamour, the lights, the prawns! It never fails to entertain when you say, "I know, let’s go to Las Vegas for dinner". How extravagant! The food on offer at this culinary mecca to the stars is definitely not all glamour and flashing lights. More a single, non-energy bulb kinda glow. There's no molecular, pea-in-spit starter, no jus de framboise, no muddled or pulled anything. In fact, all they sell is good, simple food.

That's the great thing about most Spanish eateries, the food is simple. Consequently, the flavours aren't in constant strife with each other, they come through loud and clear and can indeed hold a conversation at a dinner table, so to speak. There's no overwhelming whiff of a mystery ingredient. You get what it says on the menu. Of course, this can be shocking to the uninitiated. You order fish, you get fish. If the chef is feeling a bit fancy that day, you may be treated to a limp lettuce leaf on the side, but in general, you'll just get a beautifully cooked bit of fish. Fantastic.

Apart from the delights of "chocolate mouse",  the Las Vegas menu also tries to tempt you with curious local dishes such as "migas". On many a menu this is translated rather directly as "crumbs". A plate of your best crumbs, please. It turns out "crumbs" is a mix of breadcrumbs, strangely, and lard. Some people, locals mainly, get very excited about their crumbs, but it's just not my cup of tea, I'll stick to the fish, gracias.

One thing I tried recently and did really like was ajo blanco. Again, like the beloved horchata, a slightly chalky texture, but this time not sweet but a touch vinegary and garlicy. It’s made of almonds, oil, vinegar and water, oh and a hint of garlic. I loved it, but can imagine other north europeans wouldn’t. I think it’s the colour. Where as horchata looks like dirty milk, ajo blanco looks like clean milk but certainly doesn’t taste of it. I think that’s the problem, it looks like milk so your brain has already told you, “that’s milk”, but surprise, it’s a sour garlic drink. Don’t put it in your tea.

Once you’ve managed to tell your brain, “don’t worry, I know it’s not milk, I’ll be fine”, you’ll be able to enjoy a pernod and water a la France, ajo blanco for lunch and a tasty horchata to cool down in the afternoon. My love of milky looking drinks however has never extended to Gaviscon. Although, I might need some at this rate. More crumbs anyone?

¡ Que aproveche !

Five ways to spot an English house...

... in Almeria

The rain in Spain...

It doesn’t rain that often in Almeria. Maybe four times a year. Well, maybe a little more than that, but still. But when it does rain, you know about it! Flash floods, people washed out to sea, and the like. Strangely, no one has thought to try and capture any of this torrent to water their gardens, flush the loo or whatever. No one that is except for a couple of expats in Santa Maria de Nieva. Unlike any Spanish house I have ever seen, there a little perfectly painted house in SM de N with hideous, white, plastic gutters. Brilliant.

Woof

Whereas the English expat is likely to have a gnome or two, most houses still owned by Spanish people seem to feature a large cage in the garden containing a rather angry looking dog. No English house has this. Any dog rescued by an expat is allowed in and must be stroked and fussed over.

No flies on me!

About ten years ago most of the farmhouses, or pile of stones pretending to be a farmhouse, round these parts were bought up by sun-seeking English expats. Systematically, a couple of months in, fly-screened areas started popping up attached to the said farmhouses. It normally took about six months in general for a newly-purchased farmhouse to get a fly-free area. Now the expat with the knowledge can enjoy his or her sangria in semi-shade, but with no pesky flies. Meanwhile, José, the ex-farmer, is enjoying his retirement in an air-conditioned flat in town.

Casa Clive

Quite simply, the name gives it away. Whereas in the UK a bungalow proudly named DebBen or Joyron blends beautifully into the urban landscape, here in Almeria Casa Kimberley sticks out like a sunburnt expat. Of course, Linda can get away with it. “Linda” is Spanish for “beautiful” (yes, like “bonita”), so it’s not that strange to see a tiled sign saying “Casa Linda”. Although, putting a sign up calling your house “beautiful” could be seen as a tad showy. Linda can get away with it though.

Stop!

Even if you don’t have a dog, it seems the done thing is to make sure you have a “stop, dangerous dog” sign at the entrance to your property to deter would-be thieves. Yes, even if the savage beast turns out to be Lolita the micro-poodle. Apparently, word has got round that all those potential thieves are scared shitless of the canine horrors waiting for them. Cunning plan.

Horchata

I love horchata. Most people hate it, I love it. With everyone else around me ordering their coke zeros and una caña, por favor, I go straight for the straw and sup my horchata. Horchata is an over-sweetened drink made of tiger nuts (none the less). It’s sort of an “elephant breath”-coloured drink that is slightly chalky. Not selling it, am I. If you’ve been to Valencia, you may have tried it and even fallen in love with its weird sweetness. If you’ve not been, you may never heard of it. The truth of the matter is, if you’ve been to Spain, it’s more than likely you’ve seen it in a bar somewhere in an over-sized slush puppy machine being constantly stirred and rarely drunk. Right next to the fluorescent blue smurf drink.

Valencia is the capital of horchata. Saying that, actually Alboraya, a small village suburb to the north of Valencia is the epicentre of Spain’s horchata production. A true mecca of tiger nut lovers. It’s not busy. Anyway, it’s here on the outskirts of Valencia, in the fields that start right where the city stops, that the famed tiger nuts are cultivated. Tiger nut fields as far as the eye can see, well, until Alcampo by the motorway. Valencians are very proud of their horchata, even if it’s a Alborayan invention.

The story goes that King Jaume, the king whose name features most frequently on street signs in Valencia, happened to be passing Alcampo and a girl (valencian: chata) handed his majesty a glass of the yet to be named refreshing drink, the monarch took one sip (presumedly through a straw) and declared “this is or (valencian: gold), chata!” I think he liked it. When you’re in Spain next time, go on, risk it, try an horchata (pronounced: or-chat-a). You might like it, probably not enough to shout out “gold!” - that would be weird, but you never know.

The last time I went to Valencia I noticed a lot more pop-out horchata stalls (how very trending!). At every tourist site we were greeted by fake rustic ladies presumedly in their tiger-nut-harvesting frocks trying to get us to sample their chilled horchata. Strangely though, not one of them asked us if we wanted to try their horchata, instead they had obviously all been told to ask people if they wanted to try a tiger nut. A hard shrivelled up old bean. As a marketing ploy, I can’t see that being over-successful, to be honest. Crunching on a dried up nut and then thinking, oh I’ll have to try an horchata now. But fair enough, trying to engage people into a conversation about the grey concoction was a way of breaking the horchata ice. I thought they were going to rip me off, so I instead headed for the horchata ice lolly dispensing machine (yes, they exist!). Lovely and no gritty bits of tiger nut in your teeth. A win-win. In fact, horchata is the way ahead as they are traditionally eaten with a sponge pastry known as a “farton”, so there’s comedy value, too.

Spanish, everywhere!

Things have changed in this part of Spain. We’ve been back just over a month now and some things are noticeably different.

For one, there are less clapped-out British cars on the road. Now, when we see a British registered car driving towards us, it’s a novelty and, like people in boats, we suddenly have the urge to wave as the white-haired occupants fly past. The lack of British traffic could of course be due to Brits finally getting round to changing their cars over to Spanish plates. Tired of being stopped by the police whenever they pop to town for a cafe con leche. More likely it seems, it is because the Brits are leaving their mediterranean paradise and moving back to Blighty.

Gone are the days when walking round IKEA in Murcia meant hearing more northern English accents than you’d hear on an average day in Bradford. Now, it’s a couple of leather-faced Swedes and maybe a stray Frenchman that you’re more likely to encounter, oh and hundreds of Spanish. They are everywhere! And we thought they’d all up and moved to Germany! No, it turns out, Spain is full of Spaniards!

Walking round our local town of Huércal-Overa is like walking around a Spanish town! How strange. Old señoras clan in black sitting in leafy squares discussing the price of potatoes. Children everywhere screaming and running in to you, followed by the parents finally noticing and smiling with an “ahh, isn’t my child cute” look. There are, of course, still some expats shuffling around but now they seem to be in the minority. Whereas shopping in Mercadona was like shopping in a poorly stocked, cheaper Waitrose, now if you go there at siesta time, you really are the only person there! There are definitely less shops specialising in dodgy pies and sausage rolls. You see less adverts around the place for Dave’s Removals or Big Colin’s Plumbing Services. Yes, things have gone decidedly Spanish in Almeria.

In our valley, I think we’re about the only people not selling. Times are hard and for many it’s time to leave. Of course, there are many reasons why the Brits are leaving in droves, too many to contemplate here. Everyone has a reason. The fantastic weather, slow pace of and general quality of life are however the same as before, so the exodus must be for other reasons. Or maybe it’s just that. Jean and Dave are fed up with the sun, the mañana way of life, the kilo of prawns for the price you’d pay for one in the UK. Maybe it’s all just got too Spanish for them. In fact, a strange thing happened the other day, the house over the valley was bought by a Spanish family! Imagine that, Spaniards moving in to your valley. What will happen next! Spain is definitely getting more Spanish. ¡ Olé !

Ten reasons to love winter

Following the Guardian's recent ludicrous, ten reasons to love winter, here are my ten reasons to enjoy winter... in Spain.

Bills, bills, bills

In Spain, your heating costs will be half that of those in the UK. Although there may be a cold night or two, it's pretty unlikely the mercury will plummet to anything to get you worried about your gas bill.

Drizzle

There isn't really a word in Spanish for "to drizzle" (apart from when coating a lemon cake), so Spain's suicide rate is right down, so that’s a bonus.

Christmas decks

The Spanish love a fiesta and of course Christmas is up there with the main party days of the year. But strangely perhaps to us, Spanish people don’t really go in for the tacky overloaded Christmas tree or the Rudolph on the roof scenario. A more modest checking of halls is in order. A bit more restrained and still festive.

The white stuff

Snow. There won't be any. Not here, anyway. I love snow, but only when it's really cold (minus 10 is about perfect) and when I'm wrapped up warm. In Almeria, you don't really need to worry about snow. If of course you do want it, you can drive with the other thousands of snow-obsessed to a huge mountain near Granada.

Have a break

With Spain's on-going love of a saint or two, there are more public holidays in catholic countries than in the UK or anywhere north of the Alps. If Christmas and New Year aren't enough, fear not, December has more bank holidays in store when you can heartily celebrate the constitution, Mary and other religious figures. If you're lucky and you get a puente (holiday on a Thursday and a Tuesday) then why not take off the in between days and have six days off!

Sun, sun, sun

Whereas in Britain many people hope for a white Christmas and they get a grey one, here, we hope for a sunny one, and we get a sunny one. Simple as that.

Sherry and a mince pie, anyone?

The festive time of year invariably means ridiculous amount of festive drinking - with friends one day, colleagues the next, family the next day, and those friendly neighbours the next. Exhausted. It's great to socialise and be festive, but if you're having to sort out your diary in September to squeeze all these events in, then maybe you have a drink problem. In Spain, there is definitely much less forced merriment. Come if you want, arrive late, even better.

Twelve divided by four

Officially winter only lasts three months in Spain. This, of course, makes sense as there are 4 seasons and only 12 months. Of course, anyone non-Spanish might find it strange to think of winter as only being December, January and February. With the heating on full blast from October to April, northern Europeans may rightly feel hard done by. By March 1st everyone here is saying "ya es primavera!" It's already Spring!

Almonds

When the rest of Europe has sunk beneath a blanket of white or slushy grey, our valley and much of Spain has turned a delicate pinky white, with almond blossom. The depths of winter bring flowers to Spain, rather than sleet.

More stuffing?

If you want a traditional British Christmas roast, you can. Eating sage and onion stuffing may appear odd to a Spaniard, but if that's what you're craving, get down the beach to one of the English bars and Dave'll do you the best Roast on the Coast.

a burst of colour

The other day we went out and bought two big, very bright bougainvillea bushes. To add a burst of colour at the entrance to the house. They are beautiful and certainly welcome you with an impressive flutter of colour. Who doesn’t love bougainvillea? They are stereotypically mediterranean and for me, they are typically Spanish. They can, of course, also be found anywhere where the climate permits, hence the Swiss city of Locarno proudly showing off its stunning collection with which they really want to say, “Hurrah, we have a fantastic climate here despite being in the Alps!” Fair enough.

That’s just it, bougainvillea is not a quiet background kinda plant, it’s all showy and “look at me! look at me!”, maybe even boisterous. In fact, we could go as far as say, it’s quite Spanish. Its long tentacle-like branches waving demonstratively in the air, waving the brightest colours you’ve ever seen, almost fake-looking they are so bright. It’s almost fluorescent, very loud and uncontrollable and strangely moody - you get too near and it’ll prick you, for behind that vivacious front is a spikey stem just waiting to attack. Who doesn’t love a bougainvillea?

It turns out our pool man doesn’t. Despite the beauty of the faux flowers, they are indeed a little too temperamental for Malcolm. Unfortunately, the pool is right in front of the house, welcoming people as they arrive, much as the bougainvillea will be unless Malcolm gets his way. I saw him cursing the new arrivals through his teeth this morning. More flowers in the skimmers. It’s true, the flowers and the leaves can go astray, right in to the pool, ready to be fished out by the skimmers. That’s what they are for, the skimmers. Admittedly, there are times of year when a light breeze will de-flower, so to speak, half a bush. But the good old bougainvillea just keeps on flowering, that’s what it’s there for. I’ll plant them while he’s not looking.