...It is approaching one of the greatest evenings of the calendar here in La Cala. San Juan. This fiesta happens on the 23rd of June every year and coincides with the summer solstice, and it is a strange mixture of Christian beliefs and pre-Christian actions. It is all about baptism San Juan being Saint John the baptist. However, there are a lot of pagan overtones which could be likened to the midsummer pagan feast. Even some of the costumes are pagan.
On San Juan everyone congregates on the beach, some light bonfires, some have candles, everyone has a cold box filled with food and drinks, people sit in collapsible chairs on towels on walls and really get into a party spirit. Prior to midnight a procession comes down to the bay from Finestrat village, people dressed up in uniform similar to the ku klux klan but in red are whirring fire crackers around their head, they walk to and fro along the shore and eventually they walk up the beach and light a firework rocket. This signals the start of a firework display that blows your mind.
When the fireworks finish this is the queue for you to write all the bad things that have happened to you over the past year on a piece of paper, they must be odd numbers of things 1,3,5,7,9 etc. you burn the paper in your candle. You then write down the good things you are hoping for in the year to come again odd numbers. you walk backwards into the sea and throw the paper over your shoulder into the sea. The burnt paper cleanses the bad and the new paper is the rebirth or baptism. The young Spanish males leap across the bonfires which is supposed to enhance fertility (the odd slip could easily cause the opposite in my opinion).
The formal bit ended, people seem to carry on partying into the small hours...
The Marina Bar
La Cala de Finestrat beach. On the right of this page there are site links of people who have been in my blogs. Feel free to go have a look.
Thursday, 5 June 2008
The bars and the music, but not the Karaoke!!!
...Pepi and Antonio, the owners of the marina bar, are very astute. The have made sure they appeal to all nationalities. That is why they are the busiest bar in La Cala. They also have numerous artistes in the evening to try and attract more custom especially in the winter months when only the ex-pats are guaranteed to be here.
The winter month also attract the 6 monthers, retired people who take a long lease of 6 months on an apartment to avoid the chills in their own countries and take advantage of the warmth of Spain. These days I guess they benefit in many other ways too, no British, gas, electricity, water and petrol costs to name a few. And a least 6 months away from nanny state England, which tells you where you can drink, when you can drink all the various colours of bins to put rubbish and re-cycling in, which is emptied between once and twice a week and a council tax bill per Annum in excess of a thousand pounds.
Here in Spain bottled gas costs are going down in price dust bins are emptied every single night annual community charge maximum one hundred and seventy Euros, electricity and water costs are half those in the UK and you can drink the clock round with no hassle. And equally there is little or no thuggery through booze (except in the square, Benidorm New Town which is full of English, who can do what they want there, in drinking terms, and because the UK state has kept them oppressed they go mad here and make a bad name for all British people).
Anyway back to the Bar. In winter Eric Pollard comes over (he isn't called Eric but he sort of gained that label) for about 3 months and he is promptly hired by Pepi. He brings his keyboard twice a week and whilst he is a good performer, wades through a certain eras musical hits. Like "we''ll meet again" "Rambling Rose" "I bid you all a sad goodbye", you know the type, music to commit suicide to. This of course attracts the older generation who after an hour of getting into the mood start to jitterbug or quick step or jive to the weirdest of songs. At one stage he does a World War two medley and the audience often has a white hankie waving in the air. The more middle-aged ex-pats sit on the terrace huddled around the garden heaters Antonio cleverly positioned to catch the dissenters.
On Mondays and Fridays there is Andrea, or "Just a girl" who also does a "Madonna" tribute act in the New and Old town of Benidorm. Andrea is the 'eye candy' entertainer too, clearly Pepi and Antonio want to attract younger clients into the bar, Andreas constant companion is Rick her boyfriend who does a great printing service a sort of speciality service large frame printing, and does business cards etc, as well as acting as Andreas roadie. Andreas music is more appealing to the younger and middle-age groups, most of us know the words, that always helps.
On Wednesday and Saturday there is Cheryl, who sing various songs but her speciality is Dolly Parton. Clearly Cheryl has the ability to to impressions, her Mrs Merton is second to none and I know she appeared on a couple of regular TV programmes Like "Who do you do" and others apparently. Jeremy her husband is the sound man, seen outside pretending to check the sound level but is really sneaking in a few puffs from his pipe of tobacco.
The other days a Belgian lady organists plays who is also good but hers is more like Musak rather than join in music.
So all through winter there is mucic, and come the Summer time somewhere in the middle of June they tail off the music because tourist numbers often fill the bar without them trying. This is when us ex-pat get our noses shoved out a bit. But we all have to make a living out of the tourists.
This season lasts solidly three months June, July and August. Sometimes they erect a stage on the beach. We wake to the sound of a fitness instructor wailing "uno, dos, tres, quatro....Uno dos..." and various sizes of scanty clad tourists wobble up and down on the sand like demented penguins, red faced and profusely perspiring, making me wonder what type of relaxing holiday they had in mind. The physical beating up the Spanish tourist office gives the holiday maker by this regimented daily exercise routines, gives way to the Spanish karaoke. Having been physically beaten up by the gym instructor, the Finestrat Ajunamiento now enforce audio attacks on the unsuspecting holiday maker. If you think Karaoke is bad in English, try listening to it in Spanish. This goes on until lunch time, no! not 12 noon, but 2 pm official siesta time. Then you see a mass exodus of the Spanish, they start to quiver as the allotted time approaches you can feel the tension and the slight agitation as they start to pull down parasols, roll up towels, dust the sand off themselves and shuffle off to their chosen eating place.
On the beach there is a major fish restaurant and in the bay there are at least 4 beach side Spanish restaurants, all reasonable food with a typical Menu del dia (menu of the day) costing about 9 to 12 euros. That is for 4 courses and usually half a bottle of house wine.
Now as the British holiday maker probably went for his/her lunch at 12, they are back sat or lying on a now spacious beach, wondering what on earth all that noise is in the distance. The noise is cutlery clinking plates and the polyphonic chatter of the Spanish diner. Spaniards like to talk at the same time, and because of that they then have to raise their voices to be heard which causes the knock on effect that the other people have to as well, hence a crescendo of speech emanating from the restaurants. This sojourn lasts until 4 or 5 pm. and the beach starts to re-fill with the replete Spanish tourists and many of the restaurants close for their own siestas.
La Cala in summer becomes a typical Spanish resort for the Spanish juxtaposed to the more Brit/Dutch/German winter. In winter the English pubs "Molly Malones", "The Ship" "Shananakins" all go for the more brash British appeal, the ship has bingo and quiz nights, Shananakins Irish folk music and Molly Malones an electric guitarist at mega decibels. The winter is when I avoid the British bars completely...
The winter month also attract the 6 monthers, retired people who take a long lease of 6 months on an apartment to avoid the chills in their own countries and take advantage of the warmth of Spain. These days I guess they benefit in many other ways too, no British, gas, electricity, water and petrol costs to name a few. And a least 6 months away from nanny state England, which tells you where you can drink, when you can drink all the various colours of bins to put rubbish and re-cycling in, which is emptied between once and twice a week and a council tax bill per Annum in excess of a thousand pounds.
Here in Spain bottled gas costs are going down in price dust bins are emptied every single night annual community charge maximum one hundred and seventy Euros, electricity and water costs are half those in the UK and you can drink the clock round with no hassle. And equally there is little or no thuggery through booze (except in the square, Benidorm New Town which is full of English, who can do what they want there, in drinking terms, and because the UK state has kept them oppressed they go mad here and make a bad name for all British people).
Anyway back to the Bar. In winter Eric Pollard comes over (he isn't called Eric but he sort of gained that label) for about 3 months and he is promptly hired by Pepi. He brings his keyboard twice a week and whilst he is a good performer, wades through a certain eras musical hits. Like "we''ll meet again" "Rambling Rose" "I bid you all a sad goodbye", you know the type, music to commit suicide to. This of course attracts the older generation who after an hour of getting into the mood start to jitterbug or quick step or jive to the weirdest of songs. At one stage he does a World War two medley and the audience often has a white hankie waving in the air. The more middle-aged ex-pats sit on the terrace huddled around the garden heaters Antonio cleverly positioned to catch the dissenters.
On Mondays and Fridays there is Andrea, or "Just a girl" who also does a "Madonna" tribute act in the New and Old town of Benidorm. Andrea is the 'eye candy' entertainer too, clearly Pepi and Antonio want to attract younger clients into the bar, Andreas constant companion is Rick her boyfriend who does a great printing service a sort of speciality service large frame printing, and does business cards etc, as well as acting as Andreas roadie. Andreas music is more appealing to the younger and middle-age groups, most of us know the words, that always helps.
On Wednesday and Saturday there is Cheryl, who sing various songs but her speciality is Dolly Parton. Clearly Cheryl has the ability to to impressions, her Mrs Merton is second to none and I know she appeared on a couple of regular TV programmes Like "Who do you do" and others apparently. Jeremy her husband is the sound man, seen outside pretending to check the sound level but is really sneaking in a few puffs from his pipe of tobacco.
The other days a Belgian lady organists plays who is also good but hers is more like Musak rather than join in music.
So all through winter there is mucic, and come the Summer time somewhere in the middle of June they tail off the music because tourist numbers often fill the bar without them trying. This is when us ex-pat get our noses shoved out a bit. But we all have to make a living out of the tourists.
This season lasts solidly three months June, July and August. Sometimes they erect a stage on the beach. We wake to the sound of a fitness instructor wailing "uno, dos, tres, quatro....Uno dos..." and various sizes of scanty clad tourists wobble up and down on the sand like demented penguins, red faced and profusely perspiring, making me wonder what type of relaxing holiday they had in mind. The physical beating up the Spanish tourist office gives the holiday maker by this regimented daily exercise routines, gives way to the Spanish karaoke. Having been physically beaten up by the gym instructor, the Finestrat Ajunamiento now enforce audio attacks on the unsuspecting holiday maker. If you think Karaoke is bad in English, try listening to it in Spanish. This goes on until lunch time, no! not 12 noon, but 2 pm official siesta time. Then you see a mass exodus of the Spanish, they start to quiver as the allotted time approaches you can feel the tension and the slight agitation as they start to pull down parasols, roll up towels, dust the sand off themselves and shuffle off to their chosen eating place.
On the beach there is a major fish restaurant and in the bay there are at least 4 beach side Spanish restaurants, all reasonable food with a typical Menu del dia (menu of the day) costing about 9 to 12 euros. That is for 4 courses and usually half a bottle of house wine.
Now as the British holiday maker probably went for his/her lunch at 12, they are back sat or lying on a now spacious beach, wondering what on earth all that noise is in the distance. The noise is cutlery clinking plates and the polyphonic chatter of the Spanish diner. Spaniards like to talk at the same time, and because of that they then have to raise their voices to be heard which causes the knock on effect that the other people have to as well, hence a crescendo of speech emanating from the restaurants. This sojourn lasts until 4 or 5 pm. and the beach starts to re-fill with the replete Spanish tourists and many of the restaurants close for their own siestas.
La Cala in summer becomes a typical Spanish resort for the Spanish juxtaposed to the more Brit/Dutch/German winter. In winter the English pubs "Molly Malones", "The Ship" "Shananakins" all go for the more brash British appeal, the ship has bingo and quiz nights, Shananakins Irish folk music and Molly Malones an electric guitarist at mega decibels. The winter is when I avoid the British bars completely...
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
Nameless friends and public works
...There are many Dutch ex-pats in and around Benidorm. A few frequent the Marina bar. Often when you sit on the bar terrace looking into the bay you are unaware who is behind you. A group of ex-pats congregate with mixed nationality it seems some are dutch and some Norwegian. Their common language is always English. They tend to be coming towards the end of their session when I arrive, their volume is quite high and they obviously have had a good time. One of the group, an elderly lady with blond hair easily into her seventies, always shouts "Yuppie" when she is either trying to attract attention or just when she is exclaiming joy, but to the rest of us she has now been christened "Yuppie".
This is very much the trend amongst ex-pats, we don't know anyone's second name, it is either Brian, nicks partner, the other Brian being Uncle Brian, and due to a plethora of Trevor's, its either Birmingham Trevor, or Company Bar Trevor, etc. Some may be named after what they do, Jeff the window cleaner or Sally from the shop.
The benefit of this however, is we tend to know someone who can provide a service to help you if you need it. We have plumbers, electricians, painters, carpenters, etc. all British to do the odds and sods around your apartment, but we are all too aware some are apt to rip you off too. So word of mouth is the best way of getting a craftsman to help you out. There is nothing wrong with Spanish workmanship, but the Manana mentality can drive you to distraction. And you don't really want to try and explain to a Spaniard that the hinges on the oven door are distorted and the door won't shut, all because your wife opened it to take something out and the door bell rang she forgot it was open and fell on it. Fortunately I read the instructions discovered I could easily remove the door and with a pair of adjustable pliers managed to repair it.
On the theme of work, it is interesting to watch the public works in and around the bay. Outside the Marina bar is a street which comes from a roundabout under which there is a culvert. The culvert is to take rainwater out to sea. 90% of the year there is no substantial rain. But when it decides to rain it torrents and Avenida Marina Baixa becomes a river. The reason being that the culvert is in fact taking the full effect of a river which only forms when there is a deluge. Rain to Spain is like snow is to England.
The council (Ajunamiento) in Finestrat decided they would fix it by making a stone base and walls along the beach in order to aid the progress of water. The real problem is that the culvert is too small, it can't take the force and the water has to go somewhere and the road being the best path so that's where it goes.
We all watched the tractors and diggers bring stone and lay it to form a three sided water chute. This took several weeks. And when they had finished they piles tons of sand on the beach to replace what was washed away. We were somewhat mesmerised when they piled sand into the channel they had just made. We knew what would happen when the next rain water came down the river bed, and into the culvert, it would hit the sand, then back up then cascade over the road.
The Summer season came and the rain didn't come through out the season.
In October we were in the Marina and the rain clouds formed. The chair cushions were quickly gathered in and the todos awning was quickly wound out. when the rain starts its a bit like someone turning on a tap. It rained very hard, the thunder and lightning was nearing. We all got ringside seats just in from the awning drips, replenished our glasses and waited.....
....One, then a second and a third manhole cover erupted like a fountain, the rainwater had started to stream from the Puig Campana mountain, all focusing on the bay to get to the sea, the water level raised. The sand on the beach was washed into the sea and the riverbed formed by the large boulders were once again revealed, the Police cordoned off the road either side of the deluge. The buses were re-routed and drivers were abandoning cars caught in the flood water...then past our very eyes floated two large refuse bins (the type you see in England behind restaurants) up the street sailing towards the roundabout was a white Mercedes, which fortunately came to rest after colliding with the telephone box, because the driver was still in it looking very pensive. It was there he abandoned it and waded to higher ground. The rain then subsided, and we waited whilst the river ran dry, doing a kind of ex-pat postmortem on the naivety of the boulder river bed, the luck of being marooned in a bar, and thinking we all might profit from becoming dealers in sand...
This is very much the trend amongst ex-pats, we don't know anyone's second name, it is either Brian, nicks partner, the other Brian being Uncle Brian, and due to a plethora of Trevor's, its either Birmingham Trevor, or Company Bar Trevor, etc. Some may be named after what they do, Jeff the window cleaner or Sally from the shop.
The benefit of this however, is we tend to know someone who can provide a service to help you if you need it. We have plumbers, electricians, painters, carpenters, etc. all British to do the odds and sods around your apartment, but we are all too aware some are apt to rip you off too. So word of mouth is the best way of getting a craftsman to help you out. There is nothing wrong with Spanish workmanship, but the Manana mentality can drive you to distraction. And you don't really want to try and explain to a Spaniard that the hinges on the oven door are distorted and the door won't shut, all because your wife opened it to take something out and the door bell rang she forgot it was open and fell on it. Fortunately I read the instructions discovered I could easily remove the door and with a pair of adjustable pliers managed to repair it.
On the theme of work, it is interesting to watch the public works in and around the bay. Outside the Marina bar is a street which comes from a roundabout under which there is a culvert. The culvert is to take rainwater out to sea. 90% of the year there is no substantial rain. But when it decides to rain it torrents and Avenida Marina Baixa becomes a river. The reason being that the culvert is in fact taking the full effect of a river which only forms when there is a deluge. Rain to Spain is like snow is to England.
The council (Ajunamiento) in Finestrat decided they would fix it by making a stone base and walls along the beach in order to aid the progress of water. The real problem is that the culvert is too small, it can't take the force and the water has to go somewhere and the road being the best path so that's where it goes.
We all watched the tractors and diggers bring stone and lay it to form a three sided water chute. This took several weeks. And when they had finished they piles tons of sand on the beach to replace what was washed away. We were somewhat mesmerised when they piled sand into the channel they had just made. We knew what would happen when the next rain water came down the river bed, and into the culvert, it would hit the sand, then back up then cascade over the road.
The Summer season came and the rain didn't come through out the season.
In October we were in the Marina and the rain clouds formed. The chair cushions were quickly gathered in and the todos awning was quickly wound out. when the rain starts its a bit like someone turning on a tap. It rained very hard, the thunder and lightning was nearing. We all got ringside seats just in from the awning drips, replenished our glasses and waited.....
....One, then a second and a third manhole cover erupted like a fountain, the rainwater had started to stream from the Puig Campana mountain, all focusing on the bay to get to the sea, the water level raised. The sand on the beach was washed into the sea and the riverbed formed by the large boulders were once again revealed, the Police cordoned off the road either side of the deluge. The buses were re-routed and drivers were abandoning cars caught in the flood water...then past our very eyes floated two large refuse bins (the type you see in England behind restaurants) up the street sailing towards the roundabout was a white Mercedes, which fortunately came to rest after colliding with the telephone box, because the driver was still in it looking very pensive. It was there he abandoned it and waded to higher ground. The rain then subsided, and we waited whilst the river ran dry, doing a kind of ex-pat postmortem on the naivety of the boulder river bed, the luck of being marooned in a bar, and thinking we all might profit from becoming dealers in sand...
Monday, 2 June 2008
Cornish visitors and the Grim Reaper
...There are regular visitors to Spain as holiday makers, they may own a property or arrange a long lease, from a month up to 6 months. La Cala is no different, often I find my drinking companions are familiar faces from last year and ultimately we became friends. A couple called David and Doreen have an apartment up 'Cardiac hill' (not lightly named). They bought it several years ago and its a nice place, but they have a business in the UK in Cornwall, a hotel with room for Caravans near Newquay. Therefore they can only come a couple of months a year, these tend to be in February and November but Dave sneaks a week in May when his sister comes over. Dave clearly work very hard back in the UK, so when he is here he likes to relax with good food, cheap and plentiful.
They don't attempt to speak Spanish at all. The Piug Campana restaurant they call 'el pug'. The Spanish pronounce every letter in the alphabet except the letter H. So Calpe is pronounced
Cal-pay but Dave and Doreen call it Calp. If Dave has an opinion, it is not easy to sway him. And if Dave prefers a product, he will challenge why you would get anything else. I had a Seat Ibiza car. Had it from new, and Dave said: "what you need is a Berlingo, get loads of stuff in it, runs on diesel so cheap, engine never wears out" I told him I don't want one, they look like work vans I don't need reminding about work. Eventually my car had problems that Seat dismissed and I lost faith in it, so I was looking for another car. Dave kindly said he would take me to some garages to have a look, I still didn't want a Berlingo, and Dave had heard of the Kia cee'd which he now preferred. He took me to a dealer, and I must admit I did like the car. I decided to pursue it, the dealership wouldn't however accept my seat as part exchange. I eventually went to the official dealer and got a new car part exchanged my other and have a 7 year warranty on it.
Dave also knows how to let you know your faults, he said: "You were doing well negotiating a purchase with the first guy you got a quote from, but you could learn from the experience, the buying bit you did well, but the selling of your car could be the problem. He lost interest when you said it was a pile of rubbish and always lets you down!".. I conceded he had a point.
Dave's sister Jennifer is a nice lady and comes over with her husband Roy, an equally nice chap. The first month I met Roy we got to know each other well, around 6 pm every day he would appear in the bar along with Jennifer and join me in a drink. One particular day he came with a tale. He had been on the beach and saw a major crowd on the beach, a poor elderly chap had been swimming and must have had a heart attack and got into trouble, the life guard ran into the sea to help rescue him Roy also helped, they got him on shore and another person, a lady, helped resuscitate, it seemed to work and he was taken to hospital, but he unfortunately died on the way.
The next time he came I was on the balcony of my apartment and witnessed a crowd on the street, it looked serious. My phone rang. It was Roy. "Bob you'll never guess what's happened?" "Let me see I said, is there another body on the beach?" He said: "Yes, how did you know?" I said "There is a crowd on the beach and you are in town." He is affectionately known here now as 'The Grim reaper'...
They don't attempt to speak Spanish at all. The Piug Campana restaurant they call 'el pug'. The Spanish pronounce every letter in the alphabet except the letter H. So Calpe is pronounced
Cal-pay but Dave and Doreen call it Calp. If Dave has an opinion, it is not easy to sway him. And if Dave prefers a product, he will challenge why you would get anything else. I had a Seat Ibiza car. Had it from new, and Dave said: "what you need is a Berlingo, get loads of stuff in it, runs on diesel so cheap, engine never wears out" I told him I don't want one, they look like work vans I don't need reminding about work. Eventually my car had problems that Seat dismissed and I lost faith in it, so I was looking for another car. Dave kindly said he would take me to some garages to have a look, I still didn't want a Berlingo, and Dave had heard of the Kia cee'd which he now preferred. He took me to a dealer, and I must admit I did like the car. I decided to pursue it, the dealership wouldn't however accept my seat as part exchange. I eventually went to the official dealer and got a new car part exchanged my other and have a 7 year warranty on it.
Dave also knows how to let you know your faults, he said: "You were doing well negotiating a purchase with the first guy you got a quote from, but you could learn from the experience, the buying bit you did well, but the selling of your car could be the problem. He lost interest when you said it was a pile of rubbish and always lets you down!".. I conceded he had a point.
Dave's sister Jennifer is a nice lady and comes over with her husband Roy, an equally nice chap. The first month I met Roy we got to know each other well, around 6 pm every day he would appear in the bar along with Jennifer and join me in a drink. One particular day he came with a tale. He had been on the beach and saw a major crowd on the beach, a poor elderly chap had been swimming and must have had a heart attack and got into trouble, the life guard ran into the sea to help rescue him Roy also helped, they got him on shore and another person, a lady, helped resuscitate, it seemed to work and he was taken to hospital, but he unfortunately died on the way.
The next time he came I was on the balcony of my apartment and witnessed a crowd on the street, it looked serious. My phone rang. It was Roy. "Bob you'll never guess what's happened?" "Let me see I said, is there another body on the beach?" He said: "Yes, how did you know?" I said "There is a crowd on the beach and you are in town." He is affectionately known here now as 'The Grim reaper'...
Sunday, 1 June 2008
15 minutes of fame and the intrepid mariners
...Benidorm the UK sitcom was filmed mainly in Benidorm New Town, the Sol Pelicanos was the hotel they filmed and several ex-pats lined up as extras, some were successful. One was Rob who calls bingo in another bar round the bay. He was in series 2 episode 1 collecting keys at reception at an Altea hotel, as the posh couple try to check in. Local Celebrities, like Gary from Rich Bitch AKA "Miss Jordan Rivers" got a speaking role as the Vicar who married the orange lady and rich boyfriend. Jonny Vegas was seen walking around La Cala with the rumour that he had an apartment in one of the avenues off the bay.
One night we were in the Marina bar and flood lights were lighting up every nook and cranny and it was soon clear the film crew were doing a scene somewhere. Eventually we could see them on the beach. They had set up a ramp over the sand and as it was off-season they had brought their own sunbeds for the shoot. A dolly was set-up on the pavement and the orange lady and husband to be were filmed walking up and down, whilst I watch there were several takes. We went on to the beach to get a closer look but we couldn't really get close but the man half of the swingers was one of the actors we recognised.
We eagerly awaited the screening a few weeks ago only to discover that our beach was referred to by the swinger as the "dogging" beach............well Andy Warhol La Cala had its 15 mins of fame.
I am often heard to misquote Matt Lucas by saying "I am the only straight in the village". Benidorm old town is quite a gay centre. There are some lovely bars which my wife and I frequent because the ambiance is good, there are no union flags flying, no egg and chip advertisements and never any trouble. The guys also like peace and quiet so they tend to live in La Cala. They also like the Marina bar, and Sunday afternoon can be a major party atmosphere. Jeremy & Colin, Dave & Pete, Gary & Michael, Nick & Brian, Laurence and Tony, and more besides can simultaneously arrive and the drinks start to flow. Remember John and Sue Mr and Mrs Bucket, well they are really confused when I and my wife sit with all these gay guys, John once told me I am the talk of the bay. What he meant was, the older straight ex-pat brits think I am gay. As my sexual preference is not in doubt and as I feel comfortable with my feminine side, I don't feel inclined to enter into conversation about it with such narrow minded people. Suffice it to say I find all my gay friends very nice people, only some of the straights are as nice. But as you can imagine it does get a bit camp sometimes and they do shake my hand in a manly way out of respect for my hetro-ness (yes I know the word is made up).
Laurence & Tony have a company to do with psychic things, and recently they bought a yacht. They took their seamanship certificate and decided to sail it themselves to their berth in Denia. It was a traumatic sail, they were fine across the channel and some way into the Bay of Biscay, but then a storm struck which buffeted them to and fro eventually snapping their mast. They had to find a shelter to patch it up before risking the sail into the straits of Gibraltar for the gentle final leg through the med. They did it safely and their boat is now at anchor in Denia. Last Sunday they invited 4 pals on board for drinks after a short sail, however it was raining so they cancelled.............what happened to the intrepid sailors from the bay of Biscay???????????...
One night we were in the Marina bar and flood lights were lighting up every nook and cranny and it was soon clear the film crew were doing a scene somewhere. Eventually we could see them on the beach. They had set up a ramp over the sand and as it was off-season they had brought their own sunbeds for the shoot. A dolly was set-up on the pavement and the orange lady and husband to be were filmed walking up and down, whilst I watch there were several takes. We went on to the beach to get a closer look but we couldn't really get close but the man half of the swingers was one of the actors we recognised.
We eagerly awaited the screening a few weeks ago only to discover that our beach was referred to by the swinger as the "dogging" beach............well Andy Warhol La Cala had its 15 mins of fame.
I am often heard to misquote Matt Lucas by saying "I am the only straight in the village". Benidorm old town is quite a gay centre. There are some lovely bars which my wife and I frequent because the ambiance is good, there are no union flags flying, no egg and chip advertisements and never any trouble. The guys also like peace and quiet so they tend to live in La Cala. They also like the Marina bar, and Sunday afternoon can be a major party atmosphere. Jeremy & Colin, Dave & Pete, Gary & Michael, Nick & Brian, Laurence and Tony, and more besides can simultaneously arrive and the drinks start to flow. Remember John and Sue Mr and Mrs Bucket, well they are really confused when I and my wife sit with all these gay guys, John once told me I am the talk of the bay. What he meant was, the older straight ex-pat brits think I am gay. As my sexual preference is not in doubt and as I feel comfortable with my feminine side, I don't feel inclined to enter into conversation about it with such narrow minded people. Suffice it to say I find all my gay friends very nice people, only some of the straights are as nice. But as you can imagine it does get a bit camp sometimes and they do shake my hand in a manly way out of respect for my hetro-ness (yes I know the word is made up).
Laurence & Tony have a company to do with psychic things, and recently they bought a yacht. They took their seamanship certificate and decided to sail it themselves to their berth in Denia. It was a traumatic sail, they were fine across the channel and some way into the Bay of Biscay, but then a storm struck which buffeted them to and fro eventually snapping their mast. They had to find a shelter to patch it up before risking the sail into the straits of Gibraltar for the gentle final leg through the med. They did it safely and their boat is now at anchor in Denia. Last Sunday they invited 4 pals on board for drinks after a short sail, however it was raining so they cancelled.............what happened to the intrepid sailors from the bay of Biscay???????????...
El plod!
..When you look out of the bar there is a street which looks pedestrianised. It is the access to Mount Benidorm and various residendias. Equally it is access to the bars for the delivery vans bringing in fresh supplies of booze and food. So on a sunny day it's nice to sit with a glass in hand looking out to sea across the street and beyond the street to the beach.
On a regular basis there is the Policia Local patrols by car and on foot. The Policia Local are one up from say an English traffic warden, they have responsibility to check bar licenses and vehicle details, slap a ticket on illegally parked cars and generally keep order amongst the general populous. They also carry guns unlike (fortunately) English traffic wardens.
The Guardia Civil also patrol the street. This group was formed by the renowned General Franco, and the Guardia are a different animal altogether. They also carry guns.
Word got to the Marina bar from another bar in the Boulevard that an elderly ex Pat English couple were sat in a boulevard bar, enjoying a quiet drink and tapa, when a white van screeched to a halt outside the bar, 6 men with guns and machine guns leaped from the van and encircled the table opposite them demanding that the people lie down on the floor and put their hands behind their backs. One of the armed men flashed a card at the now traumatised elderlies to show he was a policeman. Apparently the three on the floor had earlier robbed a Benidorm bank, which unbeknown to them was being staked by the Guardia. The gang sped out of Benidorm in getaway mode, but fancied a cafe con leche and turned into La Cala calling at the first bar they saw. The Guardia followed them at a discreet distance and did the arrest. On the patio next to the table the police recovered four carried bags full of Euro notes. I don't know the nationality of the villains, but one or two here did imply Hibernian origin...
...Back to the street outside the bar, Avinida Marina Baixa to be precise. It is due to patient observation and 10 years of driving to and from Spain that my tourist friend Dave came to the conclusion that the Spanish went from the Donkey to the car too quickly, and that he is beginning to believe that an indicator on a Spanish-plated car is an optional extra.
A roundabout is like a game of Russian roulette in Spain, the oncoming driver may comply and go around it anti-clockwise if it is absolutely obvious that's what he must do, otherwise he could go clockwise if its the fastest way to the road he wants to go down. Now the Marina Baixa is a one way street from the Marina bar onwards. Up to the bar it is permissible for drivers who live in the apartments next door to drive the short distance to the roundabout. But any traffic from beyond that point must not drive in the direction of the roundabout. Motor cycles almost always ignore the rule, other drivers believe if they reverse, technically, they are not breaking the rule, and delivery vans find parking on the roundabout is the best solution for them. That is until the No 41 or No 12 buses into Benidorm arrive. This is when pandemonium breaks out. If all of these circumstances converge then it isn't long before the Policia Local arrive. And they take very little notice of excuses. If there is a rule the Policia do not deviate, now perhaps, the fact they are on a bonus linked to arrests and fines, could have a bearing on that.
So the day the roundabout was blocked by a van, and the motorbike driving the wrong way was caught by the policia and the drunk driver would not give way to the bus even when the policeman got his gun out, lingers easily in my mind. The drunk driver must have earned them the biggest bonus points, the driver refused point blank to budge, the bus driver had his hand fixed on the horn, the motor bike rider was off up the road with no chance of hot pursuit.
I was on mahou number 3 by the time it all subsided.
The solution happened in a flash, the policeman with the gun pointed it through the window whilst opening the door, policeman number 2 grabbed the driver spun him like a top and handcuffed him, policeman number 3 jumped in the car reversed it quickly and parked in a no waiting bay, policeman number 4 waived the bus on. Gridlock became unlocked, no doubt the policemen got bonus points the bike rider got away and we had an hours free entertainment second to none...
On a regular basis there is the Policia Local patrols by car and on foot. The Policia Local are one up from say an English traffic warden, they have responsibility to check bar licenses and vehicle details, slap a ticket on illegally parked cars and generally keep order amongst the general populous. They also carry guns unlike (fortunately) English traffic wardens.
The Guardia Civil also patrol the street. This group was formed by the renowned General Franco, and the Guardia are a different animal altogether. They also carry guns.
Word got to the Marina bar from another bar in the Boulevard that an elderly ex Pat English couple were sat in a boulevard bar, enjoying a quiet drink and tapa, when a white van screeched to a halt outside the bar, 6 men with guns and machine guns leaped from the van and encircled the table opposite them demanding that the people lie down on the floor and put their hands behind their backs. One of the armed men flashed a card at the now traumatised elderlies to show he was a policeman. Apparently the three on the floor had earlier robbed a Benidorm bank, which unbeknown to them was being staked by the Guardia. The gang sped out of Benidorm in getaway mode, but fancied a cafe con leche and turned into La Cala calling at the first bar they saw. The Guardia followed them at a discreet distance and did the arrest. On the patio next to the table the police recovered four carried bags full of Euro notes. I don't know the nationality of the villains, but one or two here did imply Hibernian origin...
...Back to the street outside the bar, Avinida Marina Baixa to be precise. It is due to patient observation and 10 years of driving to and from Spain that my tourist friend Dave came to the conclusion that the Spanish went from the Donkey to the car too quickly, and that he is beginning to believe that an indicator on a Spanish-plated car is an optional extra.
A roundabout is like a game of Russian roulette in Spain, the oncoming driver may comply and go around it anti-clockwise if it is absolutely obvious that's what he must do, otherwise he could go clockwise if its the fastest way to the road he wants to go down. Now the Marina Baixa is a one way street from the Marina bar onwards. Up to the bar it is permissible for drivers who live in the apartments next door to drive the short distance to the roundabout. But any traffic from beyond that point must not drive in the direction of the roundabout. Motor cycles almost always ignore the rule, other drivers believe if they reverse, technically, they are not breaking the rule, and delivery vans find parking on the roundabout is the best solution for them. That is until the No 41 or No 12 buses into Benidorm arrive. This is when pandemonium breaks out. If all of these circumstances converge then it isn't long before the Policia Local arrive. And they take very little notice of excuses. If there is a rule the Policia do not deviate, now perhaps, the fact they are on a bonus linked to arrests and fines, could have a bearing on that.
So the day the roundabout was blocked by a van, and the motorbike driving the wrong way was caught by the policia and the drunk driver would not give way to the bus even when the policeman got his gun out, lingers easily in my mind. The drunk driver must have earned them the biggest bonus points, the driver refused point blank to budge, the bus driver had his hand fixed on the horn, the motor bike rider was off up the road with no chance of hot pursuit.
I was on mahou number 3 by the time it all subsided.
The solution happened in a flash, the policeman with the gun pointed it through the window whilst opening the door, policeman number 2 grabbed the driver spun him like a top and handcuffed him, policeman number 3 jumped in the car reversed it quickly and parked in a no waiting bay, policeman number 4 waived the bus on. Gridlock became unlocked, no doubt the policemen got bonus points the bike rider got away and we had an hours free entertainment second to none...
Free on the table and one for the road
...Dogs are favoured highly in Spain. In fact I believe that in just a few generations their legs will have bred out, because the Spaniards buy the smallest dog possible and then carry them all over the place.
The Ex-Pat community also like their dogs and consequently we have all become a little more anti-social because we all walk round looking at the floor to avoid the dog mess. Dogs are also very welcome in most bars and the Marina is one such bar. My friends Jonathan and Duncan have a dog called Neska (I believe is a Basque word meaning girl). She is a cute dog and very excited when she meets you.
A custom in the Marina is to put peanuts and potato crisps on each table free of charge. Neska bounces from knee to knee around the table in a somewhat cupboardly love kind of way, she is really interested in the nuts and at the slightest chance she would go in for the steal, however, Jonathan and Duncan make sure she never actually reaches her goal. Not quite the same with other dogs. On one occasion one of the marina goers saw a dog sneak up and manage to lick the salt from the peanuts before the owner dragged it back from the table. They paid and left. But before this observer could tell Antonio (one of the owners) he had cleared the table moved the nuts to another table and were being consumed by an unsuspecting tourist. The observer thought it best not to spoil the tourists day.
Another custom in the Marina, which is subject to overall consumption of alcohol, is to give the customer "one for the road" on the house as it were. This varies from some horrible medicine tasting green stuff to a can/glass/bottle of what you have been drinking. for example my session resulted in me drinking 4 bottles of Mahou, I get a bill for the 4 bottles and a fifth bottle free of charge. Pete and Dave mentioned in an earlier blog, regularly drink Bacardi and Whiskey respectively with a shared can of coca cola lite. However on one particular occasion it was a very sunny day and crowds of people to people watch at. They decided to throw caution to the wind and ordered a jug of sangria. This sangria has red wine, gaseosa (unsweetened lemonade) lemon juice, grenadine, soberano brandy, and various ingredients of the house. chopped up fruit and ice complete the brew. The first one went down a treat, so they ordered a second, much to the dismay of Antonio. With only few drops of the loony juice left they ordered the bill. "Wan for de road" says Antonio. "si" said Dave and Pete. A few minutes later Antonio appeared with jug number three. Dave and Pete didn't emerge for 3 days...
The Ex-Pat community also like their dogs and consequently we have all become a little more anti-social because we all walk round looking at the floor to avoid the dog mess. Dogs are also very welcome in most bars and the Marina is one such bar. My friends Jonathan and Duncan have a dog called Neska (I believe is a Basque word meaning girl). She is a cute dog and very excited when she meets you.
A custom in the Marina is to put peanuts and potato crisps on each table free of charge. Neska bounces from knee to knee around the table in a somewhat cupboardly love kind of way, she is really interested in the nuts and at the slightest chance she would go in for the steal, however, Jonathan and Duncan make sure she never actually reaches her goal. Not quite the same with other dogs. On one occasion one of the marina goers saw a dog sneak up and manage to lick the salt from the peanuts before the owner dragged it back from the table. They paid and left. But before this observer could tell Antonio (one of the owners) he had cleared the table moved the nuts to another table and were being consumed by an unsuspecting tourist. The observer thought it best not to spoil the tourists day.
Another custom in the Marina, which is subject to overall consumption of alcohol, is to give the customer "one for the road" on the house as it were. This varies from some horrible medicine tasting green stuff to a can/glass/bottle of what you have been drinking. for example my session resulted in me drinking 4 bottles of Mahou, I get a bill for the 4 bottles and a fifth bottle free of charge. Pete and Dave mentioned in an earlier blog, regularly drink Bacardi and Whiskey respectively with a shared can of coca cola lite. However on one particular occasion it was a very sunny day and crowds of people to people watch at. They decided to throw caution to the wind and ordered a jug of sangria. This sangria has red wine, gaseosa (unsweetened lemonade) lemon juice, grenadine, soberano brandy, and various ingredients of the house. chopped up fruit and ice complete the brew. The first one went down a treat, so they ordered a second, much to the dismay of Antonio. With only few drops of the loony juice left they ordered the bill. "Wan for de road" says Antonio. "si" said Dave and Pete. A few minutes later Antonio appeared with jug number three. Dave and Pete didn't emerge for 3 days...
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