...The pedalos have gone from the beach so its officially the end of the Summer season. Over the past few weeks I have had dental problems and had to go to the Spanish dentist. Initially I had a cavity, left after a previous filling fell out, then I got another cavity on an upper front tooth and to really force me into action a gold cap fell off.
My wife has used a dentist around the corner called the "Dentalium" so off I went to see the dentist. She speaks perfect English so communication was easy. She told me I needed a canal root filling on my bottom left wisdom tooth (on my way to the dentist I bumped into Steve my friend and ex-prison Officer, and he enquired if they were going to put some wisdom teeth in, the cheeky blighter), a filling at the top and a general clean. The bill for this was going to be 271 Euros, so I said OK. Within seconds my mouth was beginning to freeze and she had the drill in my mouth working away. I thought I would have a stay of execution as it were until a further appointment, but this is private dentistry so no time like the present.
She drilled, filed, reamed and filled the tooth with a medicated temporary filling, then she stuck my gold cap back in and said: "We will complete everything at your next visit" I asked how much she wanted which was a bit immaterial because all I had on me was 70 euros and she took it all. leaving a 201 euro balance next time. The next time came around and she finished the wisdom tooth, finished the upper filling and then did the hygienist bit, where she found 2 more fillings so that was another 60 euros.
In the meantime me and Ange went to England for a week. We always enjoy looking up our friends back in the UK, but the week we were there was absolutely none stop. We arrived at Manchester airport at 12.30 am, I had hired a car over the net so went to pick it up. I am used to driving on the right hand side of the road, so for a brief while I had some intense concentrating to do until my mind snapped into UK mode.
On the following morning we got up early and went to see my dad who lives in a nursing home (he is 92 nearly) and spent an hour or so with him and he was in great spirits. Then we went to town Ange was meeting her friends, and in the evening we went to Deb's and Mike's for dinner. Day 1 was hectic but very nice. Day 2 Ange went to visit her mum in a rest home, and we met up with our friends Dave and Ali in the afternoon. Day 3 a Plumber should have come to our flat to fit a new gas boiler, but he cancelled until the following day, Ange went to the drop in centre for a blood test and in the evening we met up with our friends Joe and Julie in a pub. Day 4 I had to go to see the Cardiologist for a check-up, then go see my Dad again and in the evening we went to our friends Brian and Christine for dinner and were joined by Ian and Christine, our son and Brian and Christine's son, another excellent night. Day 5 Ange had an appointment at the hospital, then we went to see her mum again, Ange went and met her friend Glenys and in the evening we went to Tiggis restaurant in Bolton with Anne, Bill, Fi and Colin. Day 6 Ange went to meet ex-work colleagues, I went in town for a few errands and in the evening we met Jackie and Alan and Jackie's cousin and new partner at a great pub called the Wagon and Horses in Hawkshaw near Bolton. Day 7 we flew back to Spain. The week was very busy, but we had great weather, not as good in Spain apparently..
Back in Spain the rain had been teeming down, floods once again removed half the sand from the beach, but apart from a rainy arrival, the following day was nice and the following day Sunday was raining first thing, this was the day that Peter, Dave, Patrick, Neil, Trevor, Andrew, Laurence and Tony and Trevor's brother and his wife were going up to Las Palmeras restaurant at the embalso de Guadalest. So instead of sitting out under the arbor, they had to sit in the main dining room.
They still enjoyed it, I was meeting them after they came back, which turned out to be 11.30 pm for me because I had a previous appointment. When I arrived they were all having a singalong, much to the bemusement of their fellow international drinkers. To say they had imbibed a sufficiency of the falling over water would be an understatement. Dave was semi-recumbent in his seat, Trevor had that kind of glazed over look, Pete was uncharacteristically slurring his words, Neil had a fit of the giggles and Trevor's brother Brian was leading the communal singing.
I received an excellent reception from them and I was directed to a chair and Jesus delivered my first drink of the day a bottle of Mahou, with a strange smirk on his face, knowing that I was sober and my friends very drunk. There is only one thing to do on such an occasion and that is catch them up quickly, so I drank a few drinks quickly, to try and get into the same mood. It was too late they were way ahead of me there was an impromptu pub quiz, where questions were asked but even the quiz master didn't know the answer. Eventually everyone decided they had drank enough and the 8 gay men jumped to their feet to give each other a hug goodbye, whereas me and Brian stayed sat down acting all butch offering a manly handshake. But by now the lads had thrown caution to the wind they dragged me and Brian to our feet and said you are getting a hug too, I decided it would be churlish to refuse so there was I being hugged by 8 gay men with Jesus looking on shaking his head in disbelief...................I didn't realise how much I had missed Spain..........I rolled home at 0145......Oh and this morning I went and had 2 more fillings done..
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.
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
Monday, 8 September 2008
Road hogs and road rage
..Driving in Spain is a revelation if you are used to British roads. For example British drivers know all the codes of driving, even if a few don't always comply. In bars you hear people saying "I was driving towards the roundabout when this chap carved me up.." and the story-teller usually gets sympathy from his audience because everyone there has experienced something similar from time to time. Equally how many British drivers have been accused of 'rubber necking' at an accident? Many no doubt, but because it is seen as abnormal behaviour, people tell stories of how they were carved up or stuck behind a 70 year old driver doing 30 miles an hour on a reasonably straight country lane.
The former paragraph was a precursor to what I observe about driving in Spain. There are a few main rules. 1. A pedestrian crossing is merely a point of negotiation between the driver and pedestrian, if the pedestrian doesn't risk life and limb by placing at least a foot...or preferably launching into a walk across the crossing, then you can't expect a driver to stop. 2. Mind reading is a must for driver and pedestrian alike, it seems that indicators are an optional extra on a Spanish car or it's the usage which is optional in a Spanish driving test. 3. The pedestrian is always wrong. 4. You must slow down at any hazard albeit a broken down vehicle to see if the car is older or younger than yours in case you find yourself in a similar predicament, 5. Slow down to a crawl when you see an accident so that you can relate every gory detail when you get home. 6. Give way to no-one.
Also there is parking. Well I say parking, cars are very often parked in haste which often makes them appear abandoned. They park in taxi lanes, bus stops, motorbike bays, no parking lines, car park entries and emergency vehicle parking spaces.
The Policia Local, have specific responsibility for policing vehicle offences. They are not so considerate (yes considerate) as the UK traffic Wardens, who merely place a ticket on your windscreens and expect you to pay the fine and not to do it again. The Policia local walk along street be street identifying lawbreakers, they contact the Grua (literally means crane but we would refer to as a pick up truck.) The grua rubs his hands and comes down picking up car after car and taking them to the impound. This is often in one of the most inaccessible places outside of town and likely to cost 20 to 30 euros by taxi to get there. The Policia write out a ticket and stick it to the pavement where the car was, which is how the driver knows whats happened to his car when he returns. He then has to get a taxi to the impound, 30 euros, pay the grua for his time and storage say 100 euros or more, then he has to go to the bank and pay his fine 80 euros or more. Now when you think car parking for a few hours is never much more than 5 euros, so why do they do it in the first place....beats me!
Roundabouts are relatively new in Spain. Each roundabout in general having two lanes with each interlinking road having two lanes also. Now we know in the UK that if you are going to exit the roundabout at the first exit, you stay on the left (in Spain on the right). And if you are going straight ahead, you start in the outside lane moving to the inside lane when you have passed the first exit and so forth until you exit with your car.
Near La Cala there is a roundabout with quite a few exits. If you are driving from la Cala in the direction of Finestrat you approach the roundabout and have the following exit options. First exit for a Garage and small industrial estate, second exit will take you onwards to Finestrat, third exit will take you to La Marina shopping centre Mercadona and Lidl. The fourth exit will take you to Carrefour hypermarket, and the 5th exit means you have done a complete circuit and heading back to la Cala.
Just to complicate matters next to the road leading from La Cala is a slip road from the N332 road, this enters the roundabout only it is not an exit. So, each approaching road has two lanes of traffic, some cars indicating, most not, the ones on the left intend to exit right before the person to his right who is going to an exit further round the roundabout. The driver on the right is not sure where the driver on the left is going so he slows right down, by slowing down the driver on the slip road sees an opportunity and enters the roundabout making the car on the right break, the car on the left can't move right, because the car from the slip road has now blocked the exit, so the car on the left blows his horn at the car from the slip road, the car on the right blows his horn at both of them and the cars behind all of them blow their horns in frustration.
The roundabout is now getting congested, and all lanes are backing up. Eventually this mayhem attracts the attention of either the Guardia Civil or the Policia Local, who then come along with whistles in mouths and start to direct the traffic. They use the whistle and hand gestures to talk to the driver, so "you get over here" comes out has 'whistle, whistle whistle whistle whistle' and his finger points to where he wants the driver to go. Its remarkable, and who knows maybe a hang over from the Franco days, but they are incredibly obedient to the police.
After a short while the policia bring back some element of normality to the scene and they stay there until they think the traffic is running smoothly and then leave. But we all know they will be back in a couple of hours as patience snaps once more and mayhem resumes.
And my final observation is driving on the Auto pista (motorway). I am not saying the Spanish are particularly mean, but just as they are prepared as a group of 6 to sit in a restaurant with one cup of coffee, they equally dislike paying toll money. There are the B roads which are free and the toll roads which are reasonable considering car tax is about 50 euros a year on average.
The main road south is the EP7 and if you are picking people up from the airport this is the road usually used. I join it at Villajoyosa about 5 kilometers from home and the toll all the way to El Compello is 2 euros and 5 cents, so not too bad at all. Once you clear the toll, traffic joins from the N332 (these are the drivers who wish to avoid the toll). At this stage it is about 2 kilometers to the St Joan tunnel, which merely goes under the village of St Joan. Way in advance of the tunnel there are signs warning that the speed limit is 80 kms an hour and that speed is monitored by radar. I know this to be true because a couple of friends have received speeding tickets. I always slow down to 80 and as instructed put on my dipped headlights, failure to do so can also incur a fine. However, the amount of Spanish drivers who come up close behind you and flash their lights for you to move over is incredible. They are usually short men looking through the gap in the steering wheel of a large car, I always oblige and move...after all who am I to deprive the Spanish Police coffers of well-earned fine money.
As my friend Dave once observed as i gave him a lift to la Cala from the airport..."The trouble with the Spanish is they moved from the Donkey to the car too quickly..."
The former paragraph was a precursor to what I observe about driving in Spain. There are a few main rules. 1. A pedestrian crossing is merely a point of negotiation between the driver and pedestrian, if the pedestrian doesn't risk life and limb by placing at least a foot...or preferably launching into a walk across the crossing, then you can't expect a driver to stop. 2. Mind reading is a must for driver and pedestrian alike, it seems that indicators are an optional extra on a Spanish car or it's the usage which is optional in a Spanish driving test. 3. The pedestrian is always wrong. 4. You must slow down at any hazard albeit a broken down vehicle to see if the car is older or younger than yours in case you find yourself in a similar predicament, 5. Slow down to a crawl when you see an accident so that you can relate every gory detail when you get home. 6. Give way to no-one.
Also there is parking. Well I say parking, cars are very often parked in haste which often makes them appear abandoned. They park in taxi lanes, bus stops, motorbike bays, no parking lines, car park entries and emergency vehicle parking spaces.
The Policia Local, have specific responsibility for policing vehicle offences. They are not so considerate (yes considerate) as the UK traffic Wardens, who merely place a ticket on your windscreens and expect you to pay the fine and not to do it again. The Policia local walk along street be street identifying lawbreakers, they contact the Grua (literally means crane but we would refer to as a pick up truck.) The grua rubs his hands and comes down picking up car after car and taking them to the impound. This is often in one of the most inaccessible places outside of town and likely to cost 20 to 30 euros by taxi to get there. The Policia write out a ticket and stick it to the pavement where the car was, which is how the driver knows whats happened to his car when he returns. He then has to get a taxi to the impound, 30 euros, pay the grua for his time and storage say 100 euros or more, then he has to go to the bank and pay his fine 80 euros or more. Now when you think car parking for a few hours is never much more than 5 euros, so why do they do it in the first place....beats me!
Roundabouts are relatively new in Spain. Each roundabout in general having two lanes with each interlinking road having two lanes also. Now we know in the UK that if you are going to exit the roundabout at the first exit, you stay on the left (in Spain on the right). And if you are going straight ahead, you start in the outside lane moving to the inside lane when you have passed the first exit and so forth until you exit with your car.
Near La Cala there is a roundabout with quite a few exits. If you are driving from la Cala in the direction of Finestrat you approach the roundabout and have the following exit options. First exit for a Garage and small industrial estate, second exit will take you onwards to Finestrat, third exit will take you to La Marina shopping centre Mercadona and Lidl. The fourth exit will take you to Carrefour hypermarket, and the 5th exit means you have done a complete circuit and heading back to la Cala.
Just to complicate matters next to the road leading from La Cala is a slip road from the N332 road, this enters the roundabout only it is not an exit. So, each approaching road has two lanes of traffic, some cars indicating, most not, the ones on the left intend to exit right before the person to his right who is going to an exit further round the roundabout. The driver on the right is not sure where the driver on the left is going so he slows right down, by slowing down the driver on the slip road sees an opportunity and enters the roundabout making the car on the right break, the car on the left can't move right, because the car from the slip road has now blocked the exit, so the car on the left blows his horn at the car from the slip road, the car on the right blows his horn at both of them and the cars behind all of them blow their horns in frustration.
The roundabout is now getting congested, and all lanes are backing up. Eventually this mayhem attracts the attention of either the Guardia Civil or the Policia Local, who then come along with whistles in mouths and start to direct the traffic. They use the whistle and hand gestures to talk to the driver, so "you get over here" comes out has 'whistle, whistle whistle whistle whistle' and his finger points to where he wants the driver to go. Its remarkable, and who knows maybe a hang over from the Franco days, but they are incredibly obedient to the police.
After a short while the policia bring back some element of normality to the scene and they stay there until they think the traffic is running smoothly and then leave. But we all know they will be back in a couple of hours as patience snaps once more and mayhem resumes.
And my final observation is driving on the Auto pista (motorway). I am not saying the Spanish are particularly mean, but just as they are prepared as a group of 6 to sit in a restaurant with one cup of coffee, they equally dislike paying toll money. There are the B roads which are free and the toll roads which are reasonable considering car tax is about 50 euros a year on average.
The main road south is the EP7 and if you are picking people up from the airport this is the road usually used. I join it at Villajoyosa about 5 kilometers from home and the toll all the way to El Compello is 2 euros and 5 cents, so not too bad at all. Once you clear the toll, traffic joins from the N332 (these are the drivers who wish to avoid the toll). At this stage it is about 2 kilometers to the St Joan tunnel, which merely goes under the village of St Joan. Way in advance of the tunnel there are signs warning that the speed limit is 80 kms an hour and that speed is monitored by radar. I know this to be true because a couple of friends have received speeding tickets. I always slow down to 80 and as instructed put on my dipped headlights, failure to do so can also incur a fine. However, the amount of Spanish drivers who come up close behind you and flash their lights for you to move over is incredible. They are usually short men looking through the gap in the steering wheel of a large car, I always oblige and move...after all who am I to deprive the Spanish Police coffers of well-earned fine money.
As my friend Dave once observed as i gave him a lift to la Cala from the airport..."The trouble with the Spanish is they moved from the Donkey to the car too quickly..."
Saturday, 6 September 2008
Lazy days of summer
...Its been a busy month hence not many blogs. We have had many visitors including my son Ian and his mate Gavin. They returned to the UK yesterday and me and his mother are still feeling a bit down about it. But as we are taking a short trip to the UK soon to sort a certain problem out, we will see him again soon.
The grim reaper (Roy) and his wife Jennifer are back in town, so we have alerted the emergency services, we expect an increase in accidents for a least a month, in fact Roy, if you remember, was the guy who swallowed some citronella, thinking it was cough medicine and ended up at the hospital. Upon his return here, by bus from the airport I hasten to add (Yorkshire folk like to be careful with money) he found some medicinal phials to do something with, but he forgot what he had to use them for and how. So he decided to open one (yes I know I asked why too...but we are talking about Roy here and he is just too curious I suppose). At the top of the phial there is an indent in the glass which suggests if you twist it, it will make a clean break and allow the fluid inside to drain out. So he pinched the glass with fore finger and thumb, twisted and consequently took a major chunk of skin out of his finger. A little bit of self first aid only just stopped Roy from a second trip to the Marina baixa hospital. So as this was day 2 of his holidays I am expecting quite a bit of material before Roy returns to Blighty.
Ian and Gavin were here for 12 days, I picked them up from the airport and they arrived planted their suitcases in the bedroom and then proceeded to act like locusts, eating and drinking everything that fell in their path. As they emerged on to the balcony Ange said as a precaution, be careful not to bounce up and down on the sun loungers as the sun has made them a little brittle and they are likely to crack. Gavin replied as sharp as a knife "Dam and I was just saying to Ian that lets get on the balcony soon so we can bounce up and down on those sun loungers". I just knew it was going to one of those weeks.
At the same time, Pete's sister was here with husband Phil, daughter Katey and friend Emily. The first thing we arranged was a beach party. The Police are not keen on people drinking on the beach, so one has to be a little careful and ensure and beer or wine isn't being openly consumed. So we all had cool boxes and we took a collapsible table. We were joined by Patrick and Neil, and the evening was excellent and we all perhaps had one over the 8, but a good start to the 12 or so days everyone would be here.
On the last evening the boys were here we went into the Old Town and had a Chinese meal. We all had the menu of the day, which was spring rolls for the 2 lads, hot and sour soup for me and a Chinese salad for Ange, main course, Ian had spicy beef, Gavin had chicken, Ange and i had hot and spicy pork, we all had rice, we each had half a bottle of house white wine. and for desert Ange and I had creme caramel, Gavin had ice cream, and Ian a coffee. Total bill 23Euros for the lot of us. You can't beat that.
We left the Chinese and moved on to Tiaras. Tiaras is owned by Steve and Wilf. Steve also works for one of the holiday companies and a meeting and greeting rep. Tiaras is a very small cabaret bar, run by two gay lads but not aimed specifically at a gay market. Wilf does a drag show, but they also have guest artists, and on this particular night Andrea was doing her Cher and Madonna tribute. But Wilf put his frock on and stood at the door touting for passing custom. He had a way with words...."Oh there are a couple coming up here now I will lure them in...." and as they passed "....well we don't need your type in here anyway.." all in the best possible taste of course...
Benidorm is, at the moment light on English tourists and just about to lose the Spanish tourists as the last few spend this last weekend before school starts again, grabbing the last opportunity for some sun. So the bars are quiet, and it does effect the mood of the barmen who spend more time doing nothing which in turn makes their day seem longer. But each day in the late afternoon, Pedro the waiter at the Marina bar, arrives in the Marina 'car' which you can hear way in advance...blue smoke puffing out of the exhaust, and an odd screeching noise as if the fan belt is slipping. He parks the car on the ramp to the next door apartments' car park, and the rest of the waiters come and help him decant the contents. Bottles, carton, packages, and boxes emerge and all disappear into the bar. Pedro then gets back in the car and you can follow the plume of burning oil all the way to the general car park.
Jesus meanwhile has been eating his afternoon meal at the bar, Antonio and Salvador holding the fort whilst he dines. Eventually Jesus emerges replete, with tray, scowl and utters those immortal words "bloody Spaneesh.........they spend nothing"...
The grim reaper (Roy) and his wife Jennifer are back in town, so we have alerted the emergency services, we expect an increase in accidents for a least a month, in fact Roy, if you remember, was the guy who swallowed some citronella, thinking it was cough medicine and ended up at the hospital. Upon his return here, by bus from the airport I hasten to add (Yorkshire folk like to be careful with money) he found some medicinal phials to do something with, but he forgot what he had to use them for and how. So he decided to open one (yes I know I asked why too...but we are talking about Roy here and he is just too curious I suppose). At the top of the phial there is an indent in the glass which suggests if you twist it, it will make a clean break and allow the fluid inside to drain out. So he pinched the glass with fore finger and thumb, twisted and consequently took a major chunk of skin out of his finger. A little bit of self first aid only just stopped Roy from a second trip to the Marina baixa hospital. So as this was day 2 of his holidays I am expecting quite a bit of material before Roy returns to Blighty.
Ian and Gavin were here for 12 days, I picked them up from the airport and they arrived planted their suitcases in the bedroom and then proceeded to act like locusts, eating and drinking everything that fell in their path. As they emerged on to the balcony Ange said as a precaution, be careful not to bounce up and down on the sun loungers as the sun has made them a little brittle and they are likely to crack. Gavin replied as sharp as a knife "Dam and I was just saying to Ian that lets get on the balcony soon so we can bounce up and down on those sun loungers". I just knew it was going to one of those weeks.
At the same time, Pete's sister was here with husband Phil, daughter Katey and friend Emily. The first thing we arranged was a beach party. The Police are not keen on people drinking on the beach, so one has to be a little careful and ensure and beer or wine isn't being openly consumed. So we all had cool boxes and we took a collapsible table. We were joined by Patrick and Neil, and the evening was excellent and we all perhaps had one over the 8, but a good start to the 12 or so days everyone would be here.
On the last evening the boys were here we went into the Old Town and had a Chinese meal. We all had the menu of the day, which was spring rolls for the 2 lads, hot and sour soup for me and a Chinese salad for Ange, main course, Ian had spicy beef, Gavin had chicken, Ange and i had hot and spicy pork, we all had rice, we each had half a bottle of house white wine. and for desert Ange and I had creme caramel, Gavin had ice cream, and Ian a coffee. Total bill 23Euros for the lot of us. You can't beat that.
We left the Chinese and moved on to Tiaras. Tiaras is owned by Steve and Wilf. Steve also works for one of the holiday companies and a meeting and greeting rep. Tiaras is a very small cabaret bar, run by two gay lads but not aimed specifically at a gay market. Wilf does a drag show, but they also have guest artists, and on this particular night Andrea was doing her Cher and Madonna tribute. But Wilf put his frock on and stood at the door touting for passing custom. He had a way with words...."Oh there are a couple coming up here now I will lure them in...." and as they passed "....well we don't need your type in here anyway.." all in the best possible taste of course...
Benidorm is, at the moment light on English tourists and just about to lose the Spanish tourists as the last few spend this last weekend before school starts again, grabbing the last opportunity for some sun. So the bars are quiet, and it does effect the mood of the barmen who spend more time doing nothing which in turn makes their day seem longer. But each day in the late afternoon, Pedro the waiter at the Marina bar, arrives in the Marina 'car' which you can hear way in advance...blue smoke puffing out of the exhaust, and an odd screeching noise as if the fan belt is slipping. He parks the car on the ramp to the next door apartments' car park, and the rest of the waiters come and help him decant the contents. Bottles, carton, packages, and boxes emerge and all disappear into the bar. Pedro then gets back in the car and you can follow the plume of burning oil all the way to the general car park.
Jesus meanwhile has been eating his afternoon meal at the bar, Antonio and Salvador holding the fort whilst he dines. Eventually Jesus emerges replete, with tray, scowl and utters those immortal words "bloody Spaneesh.........they spend nothing"...
Friday, 8 August 2008
Socialising and preparing for the autumn season
...We met Laurence and Tony yesterday afternoon for drinks in the Marina. We thought Jonathan, Joanne, Donna and Joseph may join us but i forgot Jonathan was working later. After a few drink Laurence said, come up to our place we will have a drink and then walk down to the Chinese restaurant. So we did. We have never seen their villa but heard so much about it.
Its in a town calle la Nucia, which is just outside of benidorm. when we arrived we could see it was a lovely home, very Spanish and very private. As we walked in there was an entrance hall, with a general bathroom to the right, the hall opened into a very big lounge which has 3 settees and the centre piece is a grand piano, which Laurence plays like a professional. They gave us a tour, we went into the garden where their pool has a patio surrounding it with sunbeds. And yes we saw the shed...and as of now it is no longer going to be called the shed because it is a wonderful extension to their patio. It is built of concrete with tiles adorning the walls and floor, there is a built in barbecue, once finished it will be a remarkable addition to the villa especially in winter.
We had out drinks whilst Laurence tickled the ivories, then we went down to la Nucia, to the Chinese which was exceptionally good. All in all we had a brilliant night out thanks to our hosts Laurence and Tony. We now owe them a return date which will be when they return from the UK, and we will have them round to ours for a meal.
I was sat in the marina bar earlier, and this little known phenomenon appeared, its apparently called a rain cloud. It meant I had to cover my drink with my palm so it wasn't watered down, so unusual in August, but our temperatures have been in the 40s C which is very hot hopefully the rain with de-humidify.
Jack who frequents the Marina bar will be half-way through is sojourn back in England, and by now he will be texting John about how he wishes he was back in Spain, but when he gets here he moans about it being hot. But the middle to the end of September is when the long-term stayers arrive. They tend to get a 6 months lease on an apartment from September to march. The full time ex-pats are quite happy they come and go because when they come back they receive gossip and they can give gossip.
In September Roy (the grim reaper) and his wife Jennifer will be back for a month. So I will start to alert the emergency services at the end of August that he is here and they can double the number of Ambulances on stand-by. I have sent him a few emails telling him the news from the bay so he won't have a lot of catching up to do. The first thing he will want to know is if Amancio's building is being demolished yet, and I can tell him the plan is for it to come down after the summer season. This building has been illegal for 25 years and only part built a good gust of wind would blow it over anyway.
Then we will have 'Eric' Pollard. I still don't know his real name everyone calls him Eric, but anyway he plays the keyboard in the marina in the autumn and winter. Its a bit like community singing for the elderly. You can imagine them all sat in the London underground in World War 2 singing these songs to keep their spirits up. As the sangria flows and the time for their Horlicks approaches they tend to launch into dancing the jitterbug, or Charleston or some such thing. If this was the New town you would be inclined to call them lager louts but as the average age is 75, then perhaps they are the Geriatric drunkards. This is when the Marina bar splits into two communities the more mature inside singing dancing and drinking, and the less mature (although a moot point) outside sat under the calor gas heaters but at least being able to chat.
The place also begins to feel less Spanish and more cosmopolitan, there are many permanent ex-pats here than native Spaniards during the winter, the trend reverses in summer due to the Spanish holiday makers. But as my mate says I am glad its no longer the holiday season after all this is our country......
Its in a town calle la Nucia, which is just outside of benidorm. when we arrived we could see it was a lovely home, very Spanish and very private. As we walked in there was an entrance hall, with a general bathroom to the right, the hall opened into a very big lounge which has 3 settees and the centre piece is a grand piano, which Laurence plays like a professional. They gave us a tour, we went into the garden where their pool has a patio surrounding it with sunbeds. And yes we saw the shed...and as of now it is no longer going to be called the shed because it is a wonderful extension to their patio. It is built of concrete with tiles adorning the walls and floor, there is a built in barbecue, once finished it will be a remarkable addition to the villa especially in winter.
We had out drinks whilst Laurence tickled the ivories, then we went down to la Nucia, to the Chinese which was exceptionally good. All in all we had a brilliant night out thanks to our hosts Laurence and Tony. We now owe them a return date which will be when they return from the UK, and we will have them round to ours for a meal.
I was sat in the marina bar earlier, and this little known phenomenon appeared, its apparently called a rain cloud. It meant I had to cover my drink with my palm so it wasn't watered down, so unusual in August, but our temperatures have been in the 40s C which is very hot hopefully the rain with de-humidify.
Jack who frequents the Marina bar will be half-way through is sojourn back in England, and by now he will be texting John about how he wishes he was back in Spain, but when he gets here he moans about it being hot. But the middle to the end of September is when the long-term stayers arrive. They tend to get a 6 months lease on an apartment from September to march. The full time ex-pats are quite happy they come and go because when they come back they receive gossip and they can give gossip.
In September Roy (the grim reaper) and his wife Jennifer will be back for a month. So I will start to alert the emergency services at the end of August that he is here and they can double the number of Ambulances on stand-by. I have sent him a few emails telling him the news from the bay so he won't have a lot of catching up to do. The first thing he will want to know is if Amancio's building is being demolished yet, and I can tell him the plan is for it to come down after the summer season. This building has been illegal for 25 years and only part built a good gust of wind would blow it over anyway.
Then we will have 'Eric' Pollard. I still don't know his real name everyone calls him Eric, but anyway he plays the keyboard in the marina in the autumn and winter. Its a bit like community singing for the elderly. You can imagine them all sat in the London underground in World War 2 singing these songs to keep their spirits up. As the sangria flows and the time for their Horlicks approaches they tend to launch into dancing the jitterbug, or Charleston or some such thing. If this was the New town you would be inclined to call them lager louts but as the average age is 75, then perhaps they are the Geriatric drunkards. This is when the Marina bar splits into two communities the more mature inside singing dancing and drinking, and the less mature (although a moot point) outside sat under the calor gas heaters but at least being able to chat.
The place also begins to feel less Spanish and more cosmopolitan, there are many permanent ex-pats here than native Spaniards during the winter, the trend reverses in summer due to the Spanish holiday makers. But as my mate says I am glad its no longer the holiday season after all this is our country......
Thursday, 7 August 2008
Rubbish, rubbish removal and rubbish pastimes
...Every night we get our dustbins emptied. Every morning the roads are swept and watered down to remove the dust and sand. We have recycling of bottles and glass, cardboard and paper goods, aluminium cans and plastic containers, they too are emptied every night. The removal of rubbish is known here as the basura. Every year each household has to pay for this and it is roughly between 70 to 180 euros a year. If a bin lid is open to any extent no problem, if the rubbish at the recycling bins cascades onto the floor no problem. So what the hell is happening in England with rubbish disposal and on my apartment there I pay £800 a year.
Anyway, the dust cart comes round from about 0200 every morning, I know because I hear every single stop, because the breaks squeal. On the basura truck there is an Englishman and he runs ahead of the truck getting the obscure dustbins in advance of the truck. At the side of the Marina bar there is a ramp to the car park and it is also where they keep the bin. This ramp is not ordinary it is about 50 yards long and raises so steeply that cars have to take a run at it. The English basura man climbs the ramp every night, we have witnessed this from the Marina bar. He bounds up like a spring lamb, but the coming back is more like a le Mans 24 hour car race, as it drags him down the hill there are sparks coming from his shoes as he tries to slow down, and he makes it just about 5 minutes ahead of the dustcart...
In the morning we wake to the noise of motorised street cleaners which rinse and scrub the road, there are men in overalls hosing all the cement and tarmac surface and men and women with dustbin on wheels brush the street by hand. On the beach there are tractors combing the sand back flat ready for the throng of sun worshippers who will later cover every grain of sand.
But in amongst this are the scavengers, no not seagulls, but people with metal detectors. One even wears a wet suit and wades into the sea up to his waist. I am no Marine scientist, but the med is not very tidal especially so far from Gibraltar, so unless someone has been daft enough to go swimming with coins in their pocket of with jewelry on, I should think he will have slim pickings.
One day I saw one chap with his metal detector marching along the sand and they wave it from side to side like a manic mine sweeper. He was doing well until he got close to a couple lying on towels, the male of the two jumped up when he saw him and was shouting at the metal detector man, who in turn was shouting back, suddenly the sunbather started to run at metal detector man, who spun round and legged it as fast as his equipment would let him, and the lady sun bather started after the man, he was very much like a Bennie Hill sequence. The metal detector man was lucky that the sun bather got fed up because he was making ground on him, needless to say his mine sweeping for the day was over, and those poor people who lost money, bracelets, watches and other such items had some solace in knowing at least he wouldn't get something for nothing today, come to think of it, I bet the two sunbathers have lost something to take that aggressive approach.
The other 'odd' behaviour is exercise. And there are three distinct ones here, speed walking, running and physical exercise in groups.
The speed walker has these ridiculous speed walking sticks which if you are watching from afar you think you are watching a four legged stick insect with long front legs, if you really want to know ridiculous then its the 70+ year old with them just about walking at 2 miles an hour. Just as a note, my wife and I were once on a ship in the Panama canal and we were going down the locks, 99% of the people on board were in awe of this magnificent feat of engineering, but we kept hearing a clip clop clip clop noise and when we could be bothered to look it was a speed walker with sticks walking time and again around the deck not even noticing we were in one of the modern wonders of the world, for that she paid at least £2,000, I think that's why I find the exercise quite moronic.
Running is an admirable way of exercising, but we live in temperatures of 35 to 45 on average in Summer. There are perfectly good Gymnasia's in Spain and air conditioned with walking machines. It is always going to be hot just walking, the authorities tell anyone over 60 to stay in doors or in the shade and wear white not black otherwise they could get heat exhaustion, and the runners still continue. You know where they have been they are like snails, they leave a trail only of water.
The most ridiculous are the group exercisers, someone comes along with a ghetto blaster sets it up on the beach and the fit size zero, (you know the ones Shell and Julie if you are reading this, they are the ones who look good coming out of the sea) stands at the front giving it what for and shouting in Spanish "uno, dos, tres, quatro........uno mass.....uno, dos,...." In front of them stand a varying age group of Spaniards, British people, some Germans perhaps, most of them out of time, out of shape and have just put their cigarettes out, some flapping arms like demented penguins most of them lobster colour and perspiring and all of them clearly out on day release from some type of care home.
Sitting in the shade with a cool Mahou in my hand watching all these displays of madness makes me sweat and think I'll settle for the 5 fruit and veges a day and run the risk of an obesity driven demise. The really funny thing is at the end of the group exercise they break into applause for the size zero stick insect who didn't need any exercise in the first place...
Anyway, the dust cart comes round from about 0200 every morning, I know because I hear every single stop, because the breaks squeal. On the basura truck there is an Englishman and he runs ahead of the truck getting the obscure dustbins in advance of the truck. At the side of the Marina bar there is a ramp to the car park and it is also where they keep the bin. This ramp is not ordinary it is about 50 yards long and raises so steeply that cars have to take a run at it. The English basura man climbs the ramp every night, we have witnessed this from the Marina bar. He bounds up like a spring lamb, but the coming back is more like a le Mans 24 hour car race, as it drags him down the hill there are sparks coming from his shoes as he tries to slow down, and he makes it just about 5 minutes ahead of the dustcart...
In the morning we wake to the noise of motorised street cleaners which rinse and scrub the road, there are men in overalls hosing all the cement and tarmac surface and men and women with dustbin on wheels brush the street by hand. On the beach there are tractors combing the sand back flat ready for the throng of sun worshippers who will later cover every grain of sand.
But in amongst this are the scavengers, no not seagulls, but people with metal detectors. One even wears a wet suit and wades into the sea up to his waist. I am no Marine scientist, but the med is not very tidal especially so far from Gibraltar, so unless someone has been daft enough to go swimming with coins in their pocket of with jewelry on, I should think he will have slim pickings.
One day I saw one chap with his metal detector marching along the sand and they wave it from side to side like a manic mine sweeper. He was doing well until he got close to a couple lying on towels, the male of the two jumped up when he saw him and was shouting at the metal detector man, who in turn was shouting back, suddenly the sunbather started to run at metal detector man, who spun round and legged it as fast as his equipment would let him, and the lady sun bather started after the man, he was very much like a Bennie Hill sequence. The metal detector man was lucky that the sun bather got fed up because he was making ground on him, needless to say his mine sweeping for the day was over, and those poor people who lost money, bracelets, watches and other such items had some solace in knowing at least he wouldn't get something for nothing today, come to think of it, I bet the two sunbathers have lost something to take that aggressive approach.
The other 'odd' behaviour is exercise. And there are three distinct ones here, speed walking, running and physical exercise in groups.
The speed walker has these ridiculous speed walking sticks which if you are watching from afar you think you are watching a four legged stick insect with long front legs, if you really want to know ridiculous then its the 70+ year old with them just about walking at 2 miles an hour. Just as a note, my wife and I were once on a ship in the Panama canal and we were going down the locks, 99% of the people on board were in awe of this magnificent feat of engineering, but we kept hearing a clip clop clip clop noise and when we could be bothered to look it was a speed walker with sticks walking time and again around the deck not even noticing we were in one of the modern wonders of the world, for that she paid at least £2,000, I think that's why I find the exercise quite moronic.
Running is an admirable way of exercising, but we live in temperatures of 35 to 45 on average in Summer. There are perfectly good Gymnasia's in Spain and air conditioned with walking machines. It is always going to be hot just walking, the authorities tell anyone over 60 to stay in doors or in the shade and wear white not black otherwise they could get heat exhaustion, and the runners still continue. You know where they have been they are like snails, they leave a trail only of water.
The most ridiculous are the group exercisers, someone comes along with a ghetto blaster sets it up on the beach and the fit size zero, (you know the ones Shell and Julie if you are reading this, they are the ones who look good coming out of the sea) stands at the front giving it what for and shouting in Spanish "uno, dos, tres, quatro........uno mass.....uno, dos,...." In front of them stand a varying age group of Spaniards, British people, some Germans perhaps, most of them out of time, out of shape and have just put their cigarettes out, some flapping arms like demented penguins most of them lobster colour and perspiring and all of them clearly out on day release from some type of care home.
Sitting in the shade with a cool Mahou in my hand watching all these displays of madness makes me sweat and think I'll settle for the 5 fruit and veges a day and run the risk of an obesity driven demise. The really funny thing is at the end of the group exercise they break into applause for the size zero stick insect who didn't need any exercise in the first place...
Airports humidity and sleep deprevation
...Having had to take someone to the airport at 0345 on Wednesday morning, I haven't been drinking for a couple of days. Hence the comment from one of my blog groupies on the previous blog. But it was quite right, when I went into the marina and asked for a diet coke, there was a look of incredulity about Pedro. But later today we are meeting up with Laurence and Tony as they are off to the UK for a few weeks tomorrow.
Now as you know a lot of the source material for these blogs comes from that very bar and I mentioned before that now it is summer, they can place a number of seats on the other side of the road from 4 pm due to the road being closed to traffic. Later there is a street market on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. The other day I was sat drinking a mahou and two Policia local officers went by with a clip board and pen counting tables. So I asked Antonio what they were doing, he told me: "dey are counting tables for tax, I pay at end of summer". Which reminded me of a number of rules and regulations applied and enforced by them.
One day two street buskers arrived and started to play tunes, one had a guitar and the other an accordion. It is illegal to play on the street without a proper licence, and you can't get a proper licence for busking, so anyone singing at a bar and then going round with a hat etc. is breaking the law. The enforcement is usually having their instruments confiscated. So as these buskers were playing, una paloma blanca, and Spanish eyes, I could see two Policia coming towards the bar, at the last minute they did too and cut short the last tune and 'ran' round with the hat before they got their collar felt by el plod. The guitarist was off like a rocket, the accordion player went around the corner out of sight, then gently strolled back minus accordion. The Policia by this time were on the corner facing the beach clearly looking for 2 people with musical instruments. Then the accordionist came past again this time pulling a shopping trolley clearly to put the instrument in when he retrieved it, the type old ladies have in the UK on wheels with a canvass bag. He again went round the corner and came back strolling past the bar whispering in a loud voice "I be back tomorrow".... I did hope not.
Just as in England, Spain has hygiene rules and they send out council officials to ensure the rules are applied. The other day I was walking up to the shop to help my wife lift a heavy book shelf, when I met another of the shop assistants, Julie. She said: "Have you seen them"? I replied: "What". She said: "Are you going up to the shop"? "yes" I said. "I'll let it be a surprise" and off she went. When I got in Ange had her 'I am not impressed' face on. "Look at these" she said and proceeded to produce several overalls or tabbards I believe they call them, from under the counter. "We have been asked to pick the one we like". I thought well that's a good idea a bit of employee consultation get the best design and then get enough in for the staff. In fact I voiced my approval to Ange who nearly chewed my head off. "No, we have to choose one of them. Its going over your head isn't it Bob"? She then showed me one at a time."there is this lovely green number, with stains down the front and a label has been ripped off, there is this white one with a pocket and a rip sewn up, Oh, there is this one with 'Swissair' on the front. Julie has picked hers I have picked mine Sally and Rita have to yet," She was not happy. It seems the hygiene people had been in and tore a strip off nearly every procedure in the shop, one of which being the lack of tabbards for staff. So the owner always on the lookout for a bargain, managed to acquire a number of said tabbards. Anyway as I was not likely to see any mood shift in a positive direction, I made my excuses and left. last night I went in at about 6 pm and she was there wearing it....she had the white one with orange piping, the pocket and sewn up tear. Call me a coward but I thought I would not refer to it at all.
Back at the bar yesterday afternoon I managed to get a couple of beers and Jesus (pronounced eezoos) was in a strangely good humour. Normally he is Mr annoying and Mr Angry rolled into one. I said "Jesu tu es mucho tranqillo"(you are very calm) he just smiled and went to a table with four people who seemed to be German. He was chatting and off he went with an order came back with the order and gave them menus. Now the marina bar is not cordon bleu quisine, its more transport cafe than restaurant, but it has a varied selection. You can get burgers, chips, sepia a la plancha, calamaris, pork, bacon, etc and they do various baguettes with hot or cold fillings. The Germans placed their order and he returned with it. As he passed me he said "mucho tranqillo huh, not weeth bloody them" I am not too sure how they managed it, but in an instant they transformed Jesus back into his former irritable self.
It gets very hot in August and we are all suffering with the humidity, Its practically impossible to stay cool in the evening and throughout the night. Even if you have air conditioning it can be expensive to keep it on. On top of that, the other night when I was going to take my friends niece to the airport at 0345 I had to go to bed earlier than normal, so I estimated that if I went to bed at say 9 pm and got up at 2, and then went back to bed for a couple of hours at 5 in the morning I should be OK. Jonathan's sister had arrived on holiday with her son Joseph, so they were off for a Chinese and then going to heroes, they invited us but as I had this appointment I declined but said to Ange she may as well join them at heroes. Which is what she did. I went to bed. Boy is my timing perfect? Apart from the heat and the humidity, it was still light when I got in bed and i could hear all the kids in the pool, "mama", "Papa" followed by the odd scream and that gurgling sound they make when they have swallowed half the pool (why do they do that). As their noise abated, there was a rumble a kind of base noise...I had forgotten, they had set up a screen on the beach and were going to show a feature film, this is only yards from my apartment. This went on until 11.15 pm.
I thought now I get a chance to sleep, when all of a sudden, yes you guessed it someone dropped the marble on the tiled floor, and then those above decided they didn't like where the furniture was and it was too heavy to lift so they slid it all over the room. And not only the Senora of the house but I am convinced that the Senor too were wearing high heel shoes, so much was the clatter that it sounded like the horses hooves in Ben Hur the classic chariot race film. And somewhere in the block a baby had decided to throw a screaming paddy. Then my alarm went off. And Ange wasn't home yet.
So! I thought sod it I will get a shower, couldn't have anything to drink except soft drinks or tea, so I had tea and then coke hoping the caffeine would keep me alert for the 90 min round trip drive.
I logged on line to try and find a chat room with someone in I knew, but alas I was on the wrong shift. Even my nocturnal mate Julie was pushing out the z's. Then Ange arrived home proclaiming what a lovely night she had, and that she had only been on shandy too. (Not to mention the half bottle of wine she had before she went out.) At 0340 I went to pick Roslyn up and take her to the airport, and I arrived home at 5 am ish. My first job was to have a glass of bells whiskey by way of a de-stresser. Once drank I went to bed and maybe got 2 hours of sleep. So the moral of this tale is, if your friend asks you to take someone to the airport in the early hours of the morning, tell them to sod off...
Now as you know a lot of the source material for these blogs comes from that very bar and I mentioned before that now it is summer, they can place a number of seats on the other side of the road from 4 pm due to the road being closed to traffic. Later there is a street market on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. The other day I was sat drinking a mahou and two Policia local officers went by with a clip board and pen counting tables. So I asked Antonio what they were doing, he told me: "dey are counting tables for tax, I pay at end of summer". Which reminded me of a number of rules and regulations applied and enforced by them.
One day two street buskers arrived and started to play tunes, one had a guitar and the other an accordion. It is illegal to play on the street without a proper licence, and you can't get a proper licence for busking, so anyone singing at a bar and then going round with a hat etc. is breaking the law. The enforcement is usually having their instruments confiscated. So as these buskers were playing, una paloma blanca, and Spanish eyes, I could see two Policia coming towards the bar, at the last minute they did too and cut short the last tune and 'ran' round with the hat before they got their collar felt by el plod. The guitarist was off like a rocket, the accordion player went around the corner out of sight, then gently strolled back minus accordion. The Policia by this time were on the corner facing the beach clearly looking for 2 people with musical instruments. Then the accordionist came past again this time pulling a shopping trolley clearly to put the instrument in when he retrieved it, the type old ladies have in the UK on wheels with a canvass bag. He again went round the corner and came back strolling past the bar whispering in a loud voice "I be back tomorrow".... I did hope not.
Just as in England, Spain has hygiene rules and they send out council officials to ensure the rules are applied. The other day I was walking up to the shop to help my wife lift a heavy book shelf, when I met another of the shop assistants, Julie. She said: "Have you seen them"? I replied: "What". She said: "Are you going up to the shop"? "yes" I said. "I'll let it be a surprise" and off she went. When I got in Ange had her 'I am not impressed' face on. "Look at these" she said and proceeded to produce several overalls or tabbards I believe they call them, from under the counter. "We have been asked to pick the one we like". I thought well that's a good idea a bit of employee consultation get the best design and then get enough in for the staff. In fact I voiced my approval to Ange who nearly chewed my head off. "No, we have to choose one of them. Its going over your head isn't it Bob"? She then showed me one at a time."there is this lovely green number, with stains down the front and a label has been ripped off, there is this white one with a pocket and a rip sewn up, Oh, there is this one with 'Swissair' on the front. Julie has picked hers I have picked mine Sally and Rita have to yet," She was not happy. It seems the hygiene people had been in and tore a strip off nearly every procedure in the shop, one of which being the lack of tabbards for staff. So the owner always on the lookout for a bargain, managed to acquire a number of said tabbards. Anyway as I was not likely to see any mood shift in a positive direction, I made my excuses and left. last night I went in at about 6 pm and she was there wearing it....she had the white one with orange piping, the pocket and sewn up tear. Call me a coward but I thought I would not refer to it at all.
Back at the bar yesterday afternoon I managed to get a couple of beers and Jesus (pronounced eezoos) was in a strangely good humour. Normally he is Mr annoying and Mr Angry rolled into one. I said "Jesu tu es mucho tranqillo"(you are very calm) he just smiled and went to a table with four people who seemed to be German. He was chatting and off he went with an order came back with the order and gave them menus. Now the marina bar is not cordon bleu quisine, its more transport cafe than restaurant, but it has a varied selection. You can get burgers, chips, sepia a la plancha, calamaris, pork, bacon, etc and they do various baguettes with hot or cold fillings. The Germans placed their order and he returned with it. As he passed me he said "mucho tranqillo huh, not weeth bloody them" I am not too sure how they managed it, but in an instant they transformed Jesus back into his former irritable self.
It gets very hot in August and we are all suffering with the humidity, Its practically impossible to stay cool in the evening and throughout the night. Even if you have air conditioning it can be expensive to keep it on. On top of that, the other night when I was going to take my friends niece to the airport at 0345 I had to go to bed earlier than normal, so I estimated that if I went to bed at say 9 pm and got up at 2, and then went back to bed for a couple of hours at 5 in the morning I should be OK. Jonathan's sister had arrived on holiday with her son Joseph, so they were off for a Chinese and then going to heroes, they invited us but as I had this appointment I declined but said to Ange she may as well join them at heroes. Which is what she did. I went to bed. Boy is my timing perfect? Apart from the heat and the humidity, it was still light when I got in bed and i could hear all the kids in the pool, "mama", "Papa" followed by the odd scream and that gurgling sound they make when they have swallowed half the pool (why do they do that). As their noise abated, there was a rumble a kind of base noise...I had forgotten, they had set up a screen on the beach and were going to show a feature film, this is only yards from my apartment. This went on until 11.15 pm.
I thought now I get a chance to sleep, when all of a sudden, yes you guessed it someone dropped the marble on the tiled floor, and then those above decided they didn't like where the furniture was and it was too heavy to lift so they slid it all over the room. And not only the Senora of the house but I am convinced that the Senor too were wearing high heel shoes, so much was the clatter that it sounded like the horses hooves in Ben Hur the classic chariot race film. And somewhere in the block a baby had decided to throw a screaming paddy. Then my alarm went off. And Ange wasn't home yet.
So! I thought sod it I will get a shower, couldn't have anything to drink except soft drinks or tea, so I had tea and then coke hoping the caffeine would keep me alert for the 90 min round trip drive.
I logged on line to try and find a chat room with someone in I knew, but alas I was on the wrong shift. Even my nocturnal mate Julie was pushing out the z's. Then Ange arrived home proclaiming what a lovely night she had, and that she had only been on shandy too. (Not to mention the half bottle of wine she had before she went out.) At 0340 I went to pick Roslyn up and take her to the airport, and I arrived home at 5 am ish. My first job was to have a glass of bells whiskey by way of a de-stresser. Once drank I went to bed and maybe got 2 hours of sleep. So the moral of this tale is, if your friend asks you to take someone to the airport in the early hours of the morning, tell them to sod off...
Monday, 4 August 2008
Tourists galore but where is the money
...Since spending some time on the beach with Shell and Julie (and occasionally Shawn) my wife Angela has encouraged me to do the same with her. We went last Thursday for a few hours taking a picnic, and it was decided we would do the same on Sunday.
We got up early, spent the mandatory half hour applying the high factor sunscreen (August sun is very hot) cozzies donned and cool box filled we set off about 11.00am.
There weren't many on the beach, Just us and the rest of Spain! What I should have remembered was that this weekend is the beginning of the Spanish big summer break. Most of the city dwellers take all of August off work and many head for the coast.
There were two beds and a parasol placed ideally for us so we took them and paid the 12 euros hire charge to the attendant. The next phase is similar to watching a dog settle down for the night, we both position sunbeds, raise and lower the back, place a towel to lie on, take off all extraneous clothing, then at last we were lying in the position we wanted, which was me in the sun and Ange in the shade. Then I realised I was thirsty and the cold box is out of reach oh well enjoying yourself isn't always easy.
As it was 1100 am people were still arriving and the gap between us and our neighbouring sunbeds seemed to become a thoroughfare. And people who brought their own beds and chairs plus parasols, were settling in close proximity to us. So we seemed to be encroached on all sides until the ultimate negative when Ange said. "They are going to bloody walk over my bed in a bit that one just clonked me with his bag". Things seems to top out at around 1.00 pm.
A significant time for the Spanish is 2.00 pm or siesta time. If you watch them closely from 1.30 onwards you can detect, no, sense, their unease...they start to rustle like nervous steers in in a herd being corralled by the cowboys....what is happening is they can sense it is nearing meal time, and if they don't move at a certain time the world could possibly end.
At about 1.45 there was a distinct change in the direction of the pedestrians, instead of walking to the sea, they were walking in land. The talking volume increased, no doubt there were debates on which restaurant to go to what they wanted to eat etc. All around the beach people were tying up bags weighing down towels and securing parasols to the sand by twisting the stem down a touch more.
At 1.55, the cowboys had clearly started to drive the cattle train, there were Spaniards coming from all directions and by about 2.10 you might never have known they were there except for the little clumps of chairs, beds and parasols where they once were.
We could then eventually relax, me with a book Ange taking 40 winks and in between both of us sipping Tinto de Verano (red wine and un-sugared lemonade) and Mahou a Spanish lager. We decided also to have our sandwiches which would be our lunch.
Back to some serious sunbathing, and as usual in the afternoon the wind stared to blow, which tends to create tiny whirlwinds where the sand is curled up into the air. Also the less that secure parasols started to do a Mary Poppins without Mary in control. Across the top end of the beach is a line of awnings which people can put their beds under for complete shade. A family were sat in one eating their lunch when one of the parasols went into their table cascading drinks paella and anything else there. When the owner caught up with it, there was a minor altercation but everyone parted smiling.
By this time I had started to have my fill of sun and the invisible string which tends to pull me in the direction of the Marina bar was tugging a little. I agreed with Ange that I would go home with the bulk of the bags and bits and pieces and she would follow later.
Freshly showered and changed I sat at the Marina bar watching the beach re-fill after siesta, Antonio brought me two mahou's because sunbathing makes me thirsty and he said to me "eets bery bad, no-one comes thees yeer." I looked at the beach and said: "but there are thousands on that beach." he dipped his head and answered "yes but day are Spaneesh......and they no spend dinero...we need Briteesh.....Dutch....French...eet ees dees crisis no-one in your country has any money" I was tempted to say that it was Spain that controlled quite a number of UK airports which put up taxes for flights, but I bit my lip........
We got up early, spent the mandatory half hour applying the high factor sunscreen (August sun is very hot) cozzies donned and cool box filled we set off about 11.00am.
There weren't many on the beach, Just us and the rest of Spain! What I should have remembered was that this weekend is the beginning of the Spanish big summer break. Most of the city dwellers take all of August off work and many head for the coast.
There were two beds and a parasol placed ideally for us so we took them and paid the 12 euros hire charge to the attendant. The next phase is similar to watching a dog settle down for the night, we both position sunbeds, raise and lower the back, place a towel to lie on, take off all extraneous clothing, then at last we were lying in the position we wanted, which was me in the sun and Ange in the shade. Then I realised I was thirsty and the cold box is out of reach oh well enjoying yourself isn't always easy.
As it was 1100 am people were still arriving and the gap between us and our neighbouring sunbeds seemed to become a thoroughfare. And people who brought their own beds and chairs plus parasols, were settling in close proximity to us. So we seemed to be encroached on all sides until the ultimate negative when Ange said. "They are going to bloody walk over my bed in a bit that one just clonked me with his bag". Things seems to top out at around 1.00 pm.
A significant time for the Spanish is 2.00 pm or siesta time. If you watch them closely from 1.30 onwards you can detect, no, sense, their unease...they start to rustle like nervous steers in in a herd being corralled by the cowboys....what is happening is they can sense it is nearing meal time, and if they don't move at a certain time the world could possibly end.
At about 1.45 there was a distinct change in the direction of the pedestrians, instead of walking to the sea, they were walking in land. The talking volume increased, no doubt there were debates on which restaurant to go to what they wanted to eat etc. All around the beach people were tying up bags weighing down towels and securing parasols to the sand by twisting the stem down a touch more.
At 1.55, the cowboys had clearly started to drive the cattle train, there were Spaniards coming from all directions and by about 2.10 you might never have known they were there except for the little clumps of chairs, beds and parasols where they once were.
We could then eventually relax, me with a book Ange taking 40 winks and in between both of us sipping Tinto de Verano (red wine and un-sugared lemonade) and Mahou a Spanish lager. We decided also to have our sandwiches which would be our lunch.
Back to some serious sunbathing, and as usual in the afternoon the wind stared to blow, which tends to create tiny whirlwinds where the sand is curled up into the air. Also the less that secure parasols started to do a Mary Poppins without Mary in control. Across the top end of the beach is a line of awnings which people can put their beds under for complete shade. A family were sat in one eating their lunch when one of the parasols went into their table cascading drinks paella and anything else there. When the owner caught up with it, there was a minor altercation but everyone parted smiling.
By this time I had started to have my fill of sun and the invisible string which tends to pull me in the direction of the Marina bar was tugging a little. I agreed with Ange that I would go home with the bulk of the bags and bits and pieces and she would follow later.
Freshly showered and changed I sat at the Marina bar watching the beach re-fill after siesta, Antonio brought me two mahou's because sunbathing makes me thirsty and he said to me "eets bery bad, no-one comes thees yeer." I looked at the beach and said: "but there are thousands on that beach." he dipped his head and answered "yes but day are Spaneesh......and they no spend dinero...we need Briteesh.....Dutch....French...eet ees dees crisis no-one in your country has any money" I was tempted to say that it was Spain that controlled quite a number of UK airports which put up taxes for flights, but I bit my lip........
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