Adiós, Sanxenxo! Hasta el año próximo.

On Saturday, picking up chocolate in the supermarket (the chess player takes a little in his pencil case so that he can have an energy boost if necessary) I found myself stuck behind an elderly lady at the checkout. This very smartly dressed old dear had bought a couple of things coming to a total of €8.26 and proceeded to hand over a €500 note. As the till rang up “Cambio €491.74, the cashier didn’t blink an eyelid but did say quietly to her colleague, “¡Mírame esto! (Take a look at this!)” In the end, the old dear had to wait for her change but the cashier managed to serve me in the meantime. I made sure that I paid over the exact small amount of money I owed them. 

I had been given to understand that most €500 notes are passed around by drug barons. If that is the case, drug barons in Galicia look like respectable (but rich) little old ladies. Maybe she is the mother or grandmother or maiden aunt of drug barons and doesn’t know where the money comes from. Whatever the truth, of the matter, it was quite something to see such a large denomination note in a small Froiz supermarket. 

The chocolate seems to have worked its magic, aided by the cups of coffee delivered by this blogger, for the chess player managed to win the veteran’s prize for the third year running. The prize money will only go a very small way towards paying the hotel bill but it’s the pride thing that counts. We have standards to maintain, after all. 

 

While the chess player was slaving away over the chessboard, I was taking a last stroll around Sanxenxo. The Madama de Silgar was busy showing her solidarity with the Spanish football team, playing against Italy in the final of the European Championship this evening. I wonder who went out into the water to give her the flags to wave. The beach was once more full of sunbathers and the inevitable walkers-up-and-down-the-tide-line. 

 

In the more shady streets behind the church a little craft market had been set up with leather goods and hand-woven baskets on sale, no doubt for silly prices. You could buy huge loaves of dense wholemeal bread, good for you but heavy going in my experience, but you could wash it down with cups of some local brew at the stall next door. And, of course, there were huge empanadas - Galician Pie as it was translated for me by a waiter in our hotel - a regional delicacy which I feel is somewhat over-rated, the consistency of the pastry casing being generally reminiscent of cardboard, in our experience. 

 

All of this was accompanied by the inevitable gaita band, in this case a rather scruffy one. They had clearly not dressed up for the occasion. 

At one stall, a much more traditionally, but quite conservatively, dressed artisan was making bead trimming, a task that requires considerable patience. Like lace-making, it is done across a cushion with a paper pattern for the craftsman to follow. He told us that the one he was working on is just one of hundreds of traditional patterns. Many more have been lost, he lamented, because when old Gallego traditional outfits were rescued from old store rooms and chests, while it was possible to restore much of the fabric, the beadwork had faded or broken off or was simply carelessly thrown away. There still seem to be plenty of patterns left, however, and there is a demand for them; he told us that he had been commissioned to make about 36 metres of it. 

Anyway, having mooched around the delights of Sanxenxo for one last time, I got back to the hotel in time to see the end of the chess tournament. The chess player was presented with his prize at the closing ceremony, we said goodbye to our chess friends and set off for the bus station. 

Now we are in Pontevedra now for a couple of days! We watched the big match last night. It was hard to know which team to support. I have friends who support both teams. But in the end Spain pulled off the victory: 4-o!! Fireworks on all the hillsides around here. So that’s the football over for the time being. 

 Ah well, never mind. The Tour de France has just begun and I can now give my attention to the progress of one Bradley Wiggins from the Isle of Man, tipped as the first likely British winner of the Tour. We shall see.