Hostilities?

For various reasons, we don't have a permanent internet connection in our flat here. As a result we have collected a list of cafes with wifi which we frequent, checking our email, reading news online and so on. Not very long after we moved into our current flat I asked at the nearest bar if they had wifi. The lady who ran the bar, a Filipina I think, looked at me blankly and then told me, "Ni sé lo que es" (I don't even know what it is). 

And every time we come to spend time here, I look out to see if there is anywhere nearer than the Failde cafe, a fifteen minute walk away, with wifi. All to no avail! Until this time! On Tuesday morning I spotted a sign in the window of the "Ni sé lo que es" bar, actually called Bar Caruso: HAY WIFI. 

So finally, on Saturday evening we went along. It was raining and we didn't fancy walking much further. A perfectly fine wifi connection. A rather dingy bar but the people are friendly enough. 

In the bar I read my friend Colin's blog. He has been noting down conversations he has overheard. Here's one for him: 

Man who walks into the bar: Hola. 

Woman nursing a large glass of white wine at the bar, at least her second: Hola señor ... señorito. 

She then went on at length about why she called him señorito: because of his age. (Somewhat tongue in cheek as he was well past middle age. And besides, señorito has rather bourgeois connotations.) Women, the wine lady explained, are called señora rather than señorita when they reach a certain age. So the same should apply to men. There were some raised eyebrows at this, so she appealed to the Filipina who runs the place. Should she be señora? She was, after all, beyond the age of mere girlhood. 

 Her reply was classic: Soy señorita. Y soy virgen. 

Now that is not a conversation you are likely to hear in a bar in the UK. 

Meanwhile, I think we might be in danger of starting a little controversy in our block of flats. Every floor has two heavy fire doors, one at each end of the lift area. These are regularly wedged open, especially on fine and sunny days. Perhaps this is in the belief that it keeps the building cool. Who knows? 

Anyway, every time we go out, Phil tuts, removes the wedge and carefully shuts the fire door. On an almost equally regular basis, we come back to find it wedged once more. I imagine a Spaniard who comes out and finds it closed, tuts and wedges it open. 

Are we initiating the Fire Door Wars? 

Of course, if this were England the doors would have a notice clearly stating that these are fire doors and should be kept closed. No such notice here, of course! 

Where will it end?