Being a good sport.

On Sunday I got up and ran around the Castro Park as usual, stopping on the way back to take this photo of a piece of sculpture, street furniture some call it, which has appeared near the Castro at some point during the time since we used to live in Vigo. 

It is labelled simple “Vigo 2010” and each metal plate appears to be bear the name of a district of the city. I have been unable to confirm this as the thing is in the middle of the roundabout and getting close to it is a little dangerous. 

After that I played hunt the bread shop. My usual port of call, which sells excellent bread, is closed on a Sunday. I had found a reasonable substitute but I must have taken a wrong turning somewhere and could not find it again. So I ended up at the much inferior, in my opinion, shop at the end of Calle María Berdiales. Now, this shop is popular in the afternoons; there is always a queue, possibly for cakes, at that time of day. However, the bread seems to me to be too full of air. Mind you, perhaps holey / holy bread is appropriate for Sunday. 

On Saturday evening we had asked at the cafe Nuevo Derby if they might have the tennis on their television on the following day. We have no television set in the bijou residence and really fancied watching the Wimbledon final. It’s not every year that you get a “británico” in the final after all. OK, he’s Scottish, not English, but then, nobody is perfect. 

Anyway, we went down after lunch and they put the tennis on especially for us. Secretly I think the waiter preferred it to the canned music which was on before. Murray put up a brave fight to begin with but by the time rain stopped play for a while he was already struggling. At this point we watched the Tour de France for a while and were reassured to find that our boy Bradley Wiggins was in the yellow jersey once again. That’s two days on the run. Will this be his year? 

While Wimbledon was deciding what to do about putting the covers over the centre court, we went for a stroll in the sunshine. To give ourselves an objective, rather than just wandering around aimlessly, we went looking for a restaurant where I am supposed to be meeting a friend for lunch tomorrow. We found El Gallinero without too much trouble on Calle Concepción Arenal, just past the end of the alameda. Reports on the food after I’ve been there tomorrow. 

Then we went back to the cafe to watch Federer earn himself a cool £1.4 million by defeating Murray. There was quite a collection of famous names and faces in the crowd. David Cameron was there, looking determined, serious and prime ministerial. In the royal box the Middleton sisters looked on cheerfully. David Beckham was showing interest but Mrs Beckham was looking well groomed but immaculately bored. Ian Hislop was there, just being his usual twinkling self. Apparently Cliff Richard was there but I didn’t notice him and he didn’t stand up and sing when the rain started. There were lots of other faces the camera paused on significantly but I have no idea who they all were. 

Anyway, the match came to an end. Federer finally showed some emotion; he always looks super-cool and unflappable when he plays but he did seem pleased to win .... again. It’s his SEVENTH Wimbledon trophy!! Murray was tearful, thanked his supporters and talked about the emotional pressure. His mum was tearful too and his girlfriend. Federer’s little girls just waved at Daddy and at the camera. 

 I was impressed by the stamina of those who sat outside watching on the big screen, though the sunshine and the rain. They did sterling work standing up and waving whenever they realised they were on screen themselves. 

After the match we took advantage of the sunny evening and walked up to the top of the Castro. We didn’t stay there long, however, as some young men were “sod-casting”, playing their mobile phone or MP3 player music at top volume for all to share. So generous! This is not just a Spanish youth trait, though. I am just more used to it on a Greater Manchester bus than up at the top of the Castro.

Out on the streets.

Once again I was woken by rain in the small hours of the morning. It’s happened quite often in the last week. The patio that opens off the living room in the bijou residence is covered over with a sort of semi-transparent plastic roof. The sound of rain on there is what woke me in the night. At other times of the day we hear pigeons landing on it and then clattering about. 

By the time I went out to run around the Castro Park the rain had almost stopped but the grey clouds were still around. From then on the day kept on improving: a little bit of sun when I went out to buy milk from the supermarket and full sunshine by the time we sallied forth in the late afternoon the take a look at the book fair down in the alameda. 

 

Today it seems as though everyone is out on the streets. Once again, the same as a few weeks ago, the local shops had set up stalls on the streets selling their usual ware as well as a little bit extra. Who does buy knitted and crocheted rabbits and dogs? I wonder! It was rather like having the primary school summer fête come out onto the streets of Vigo. 

At Puerta del Sol a stage had been set up. As we approached we could already hear the wail of the gaita so we had an idea of what was going on. A group of rather severe looking folk dancers were performing on stage, severe at first glance anyway because they were all dressed in black and white. Once they started to dance though they seemed to enjoy themselves. The Morris dancers who perform at home in Saddleworth are much more colourful. However, they are also more sexist as they are strictly Morris MEN while the Gallego dancers are clearly a mixed bunch. 

 

We were also treated to the sight of the local madman putting on a performance of his own in front of the stage. He seemed to be having a good time.

There was also a craft fair going on there, probably the same one I saw in Sanxenxo. Certainly the huge boots had made their way to Vigo. 

Down in the Alameda we found that the book fair didn’t open until six but we managed to occupy ourselves, getting a little exercise into the bargain. Eventually the stalls opened and we took a look. As we have found before, the Vigo book fair is really just all the book shops of the city setting up a stall to try to sell some more books. I had somehow imagined that there might be visiting publishers selling stuff but this was not the case. I wonder how much they pay to have a stall there and if they sell enough extra books to make it worth their while. Lots of people were wandering up and down and looking but I am not sure that many were buying. 

 

There were lots of books in Gallego, possibly more than in other years but I have no statistics to back that up. It was odd the see children’s books like Maurice Sendak’s “Where the Wild Things Are” in a Gallego version. 

Another stall displayed ancient religious tomes (but not the “Códice”) all beautifully illustrated, and probably equally ancient books about plants and herbal remedies. 

So we have visited the festival of local colour once again. Rather more sedate than the bull running which is going on in Pamplona where the Sanfermines are in full swing. I never did find out who San Fermín was and why bulls are run in his honour. 

Tomorrow we need to find a cafe with a TV set showing the Wimbledon final as we would like to see whether Murray can actually pull off a victory. It would be nice to keep the Wimbledon trophy at home for once.

A clean sweep.

Earlier this year, in my Italian class in Manchester, we read an article about the mayor of Naples; at least I think it was Naples. Whichever place he was the mayor of, this fellow was introducing a whole lot of urban rules and regulations. One of these made it an offence to shake your tablecloth from your balcony onto the street below or, as is more likely, onto the balcony of the flat below yours. 

I mention this because of having to sweep one of the patios of the bijou residence more often than I would like. When we moved in, the place had apparently been cleaned but the patio off the bedroom was rather messy, including in one corner a tangle of fairly long human hair. It looked as though someone had brushed her hair, pulled the hair from the brush and then thrown it out of the window. We swept it up and threw it away. 

On our return from Sanxenxo, another clump of hair was there. Not good, but we swept it up again. Yesterday, after the night’s rainfall, yet another clump had appeared. I am beginning to fear we may have a bald upstairs neighbour. It’s definitely not Rapunzel as the hair is not golden blonde. This time there is also one of those thin plastic gloves, the kind hairdressers use. So maybe our bald neighbour runs a home hairdressing business. 

Whatever the truth of the matter, it’s not terribly nice. At least we have not acquired any odd socks or miscellaneous items of underwear dropped off the washing lines from higher flats. I remember having to go and reclaim items we dropped from our washing into the “patio de luces” in one of the flats we lived in. It can be quite embarrassing. Such are the trials of flat-dwelling! 

Talking about trials and misdemeanours, cartoons about the “Códice” continue to appear in the free paper. This one has a TV announcement that the Higgs Boson particle has been found by Geneva scientists which then goes on to say that policemen found it hours earlier in a garage belonging to a Santiago electrician. Like the Great Hadron Collider, this story seems to run and sun. 

A certain Comisario Serafin Castro in Madrid caused something of a stir by describing the accused as being a man of closed, dark, Galician nature, with some rather odd habits who kept his money hidden under the floor boards, LIKE ALL GALICIANS!!! Well, by all accounts the social media were all a-twittter with that remark. And, with a name like Castro, the good comisario must be Galician himself. I suppose it’s all right to insult your own kind. 

Anyway the electrician has come clean, admitted his crime and not doubt will be duly sentenced. 

Visitors to Santiago won’t be able to see the “códice” because they are reviewing security measures. And supposedly everyone will want to see it, even if they didn’t even know it existed before. 

Another little known Santiago de Compostela-related thing is the “Camino Inglés” of the pilgrims’ way. It appears they are trying to promote this route from Ferrol to Santiago as a means of boosting tourism in the area. Most pilgrims follow the French route. Maybe this is because the English just aren’t great pilgrims these days!

Daylight robbery!

Yesterday I made some comments about the bonus received by the Spanish football team. Let them keep their money. There are bigger fish in the sea. A certain Mr Diamond, until recently a highly respected Barclays Bank employee, is apparently arguing that there is nothing at all wrong with his receiving a pay-off of £22 million. Compared to that, €300,000 is peanuts. 

In the free paper here, the big story is of theft of a different, more ecclesiastical nature. Everyone is very happy because they have recovered the “Códice Calixtino”, a 12th century religious tome stolen from Santiago de Compostela cathedral a year ago. (Maybe it’s rather like solving the Da Vinci Code.) What’s more they have also arrested someone and charged him with the crime. 

An electrician who had worked for, or at least in, the cathedral for years and years lost his job and then stole the ancient book, possibly as an act of revenge. He had been suspected for some time but the police operation had to be very delicate as they were afraid he might damage or even destroy the book if they moved in too quickly. Eventually they found it in a garage owned by the felon, along with a range of other items also stolen from the cathedral and a large amount of money, probably from the sale of other such items. So, if it was revenge, it was a very organised and profit-worthy revenge. 

There is, of course, the possibility that he is also a bit of a religious maniac. Apparently this gentleman has a longstanding habit of going to mass in the cathedral at 7.30 every morning. Now, this not in itself a sign of madness but maybe in this day and age just a bit obsessive. And then, in recent months he has continued to attend the service on a daily basis but has not taken communion. Hmmm! Guilty conscience? Something he has not confessed to? 

His neighbours report that he is a very polite gentleman who always holds the door open for ladies and greets everyone very nicely. It’s funny what nice people criminals can be. 

Others who know him, however, say that he is a more than a little obsessive and that when he was chair of the council of their block of flats he was very bossy and wanted to control everything totally. 

Recently some have noticed that he has been “triste e consternado”. Maybe he had been reading the “Códice” and had reached the appendix that says that anyone who steals the book may be punished by excommunication. Given his commitment to going to church every day, this possible punishment might worry him. 

On the other hand, he could be seen as having done the church a favour. Somebody tweeted that the thief had given the “códice” more publicity in twelve months than the church had managed in eight centuries. It certainly should have alerted them to security issues. According to one report around 80% of the cultural heritage of Galicia is in the hands of the church and very little of it is secure or even properly insured. Time to act on it, I think. 

Another happy tweeter remarked: “So, they’ve arrested an electrician. Now they just need to arrest the electric light company who have been robbing me every month.” 

It’s not just the tweeters and twitterers who have been making wry comments about the solving of this crime. In this cartoon from the free paper, the gentleman on the left is calling the local police to tell them he thinks he has found the “Códice”. On hearing this, Mrs Thief rebukes her husband: “See? I told you that coming to the beach without an E-book would attract attention!” 

Into each life, a little rain must fall.

The umbrella sellers were out in force on the shiny, wet streets of Vigo this morning. Carpe diem! Well, their version of it. When it rains, they appear as if by magic. They probably sell more brollies than they do wooden giraffes or leather wrist bands or pirate CDs. At least people have a reason to buy an umbrella. 

Yes, the rain returned in the night, just when we’d adapted to blue skies and sunshine every day. I was woken several times by the unmistakable sound of rain in the patio. By the time I got up and ran round the Castro park it had eased off. This did not prevent me from getting wet, however. Despite the torrential downpour in the hours of darkness, the sprinkler system was at work on the already wet grass of the Castro gardens. Such good water conservation!! I am astounded. Is there not someone in charge who can just turn the main tap to “off” when inches of water have fallen overnight? You would think so! 

Anyway, there it was; I was up and running as usual, with a stop at the bread shop on the way back. I’ve not been there for a week and a half but la panadera still remembered that I want “una barra artesana”. She’s clearly a good shopkeeper. Maybe she’s done her NVQ in customer service. So I bought a little “pan de nueces” as well, the very tasty walnut bread that she sells. We had a good breakfast and the grey clouds appeared to be moving away. 

By the time I went out to the library to return some books and renew others, the rain was back. It was not at all cold but a steady drizzle was falling. I had to be sure to visit the library today. Forget about fines for overdue books; the rottweiler librarian will ban you from borrowing books for a week if you fail to meet the deadline. It is a system that seems to work here. Or maybe not. I don’t have any statistics for numbers of late returnees but none of my friends find it strange. There’s even a special letterbox where you can post books for returning if the library happens to be closed. And in the summertime that might well happen, as the library closes at 2.30 on its summer timetable. Just when you might want to visit more often, they reduce the opening hours. Logical? 

I notice that the victorious Spanish football team members have each received a bonus of €300,000. That should be a good incentive to carry on being invincible. The opinion has been expressed that they should give it to charity. After all, they do all earn good money playing football and really are very fortunate to be able to make a living doing what they enjoy. There have been stories going around that Iniesta was donating his bonus to the fund for the victims of the Valencia forest fires. He has denied that rumour, saying that it’s not so, that he has no idea who put that into circulation and that it’s up to each footballer to make up his own mind about what he is going to do with his bonus. That should increase his popularity no end. 

Meanwhile, we wait to see how Ferrer, the remaining Spanish hope for Wimbledon, gets on against our very own Andy Murray or “Moo – rr – eye” as the Spanish commentators call him. That’s if rain doesn’t stop play. 

Let’s hope the sun comes back tomorrow!

Back to the Bijou Residence once more.

 On the day following Spain’s footballing victory I came across this cartoon in a Pontevedra newspaper. The Roman chappy is doing that “I came, I saw, I ...” thing when a Spaniard taps him on the shoulder and interrupts his train of thought. “Now,” says the Roman chappy, “what was the third one?” A little mean, but quite good fun. 

 We have stayed a couple of nights with our friend Colin in Poio, rather envying the view from his window overlooking Pontevedra. There was quite a houseful with us, another friend of Colin’s from the North West of England and a couple of globe-trotting Australians who have been house-sitting for Colin while he was home in the UK for a while.

We all went down into town (i.e. Pontevedra, where the sun was still shining) last night to sample an excellent selection of mostly seafood tapas: squid, prawns in garlic, zamburiñas – some kind of scallops – as well as tortilla, croquetas and pimientos de Padrón. All very good, especially with a nice bottle (or two) of chilled white wine to wash it down. 

Just next to the restaurant where we ate was a place called “Dr Livingstone, Supongo”, decorated to look as though the famous explorer could walk in at any time. Despite a huge model rhinoceros and some belief that it is in the style of an English pub, it still manages to look very Spanish. 

Today we said farewell to Colin with yet another excursion to a seafood place for lunch. In fact, over the last ten days we seem to have consumed a huge amount of food. Ah well, we can start to cut down ... tomorrow, though, after we have visited the Nuevo Derby this evening, down in Vigo centre, to use their Wifi and get some free snacks . 

Back in the bijou residence, it’s a good job I managed to work out how to make the washing machine complete its spin cycle, as there is a mountain of washing to get through. 

The sun has obviously shone in Vigo as well during our absence, so I was pleased to discover that Rosemary and Basil, the herbs who live on the kitchen window ledge, have not only survived but thrived while we were away. I left them in a plastic box full of water but I was unsure how well they would get along, as we were leaving them for about ten days. But there they are, bright and perky. 

 To think that I was once told that basil cannot be grown in Vigo as it’s too far north!!!!(Honest!)

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.