Rules and regulations.

Weeks ago, before we went off to Pontevedra for Phil to play in a chess tournament, two of the four lifts in our block of flats were out of action. That had been going on for about two weeks when we set off. When Phil went back, while I went to the UK, they had been repaired. Within a week one of them was out of service once again. Sorry, Otis, the lift company, this is not good enough! If I have to go up to the seventh floor on foot, I won’t be pleased. 

In the lift that works a new notice has appeared. The comunidad committee has been busy again. This time they are telling us that it is strictly forbidden to throw stuff out of the windows. I have often thought this was an antisocial habit so I’m all in favour of such a ruling. Apparently someone had a plant pot catch fire on their balcony when a cigarette end landed in it. I imagine the pot plant must have been pretty dry for that to happen but even so, it must have been rather frightening. 

The language of the notice was impressive. We were told it was “terminantemente prohibido” to throw things, especially cigarette ends, out of windows. It means “totally forbidden” but somehow it sounds very final. I wonder what sanctions will be imposed if anyone disobeys the new rule. Forbidden to use the pool? Forbidden to open windows? 

 In general the Spanish are very good at formal language. I love the notices in shops and restaurants which begin “Se ruega a los señores clientes ....” – “Our esteemed customers are requested to ...”. 

Down in Vigo, it seems as though the Americans may be taking over. There’s an ice cream parlour cum burger bar called “Mel’s” on Rosalía de Castro, announcing that it sells “burgers, fries and shakes”. No wonder Spaniards find it relatively easy to learn English, well, American, vocabulary. And then on Friday I spotted in the A Laxe shopping centre, just near the MediaMarkt, a shop called “Alimentos Americanos de Importación”. Imported American foodstuffs include, inevitably, Hershey Bars, as well as lots of other sweets, umpteen kinds of ketchup and masses of gluten free products. Are Americans in Galicia really so concerned about eating American stuff? 

Finally, luggage. 

We usually travel hand-luggage only, which limits us to 10 kilos each. Consequently we always have a few moments of stress, weighing cases and deciding what can go in pockets and so on. Well, I’ve just been reading a novel called “A Sport and a Pastime” by a writer called James Salter. It’s set in the early sixties. At one point our hero is setting off back to the United States, after a love affair in France. 

Here is a passage that struck me: 

 “We weigh his bags in the station. Twenty two kilos. We multiply it out, he’s a few pounds overweight. When he arrives at the airport he can take some things out and put them in his pockets.” 

There you go, they had fridges before we did, fitted kitchens before we did and even strategies for dealing with overweight luggage before we did!