Last week, we were in Spain: first time ever for Chris, first time for me in about forty years. I’m not going to do a fully-fledged coherent article on the topic, but here’s a set of notes on various elements of the trip.

Previously…

We landed in Madrid: my only time there had been on my first InterRail trip to Europe which I think was around 1984. I don’t remember too much about it. Having never lived anywhere except the North of Scotland, it was my first experience of serious heat, with temperatures in the nineties. [laughs hysterically in Arizonan] So I wasn’t too peeved that the showers in the youth hostel only had cold water. I do recall, when heading for the night train to Barcelona, I went to the wrong train station. With 20 minutes to get across town, I had to take a cab, and say the four little words every Spanish taxi driver dreams of hearing: “Lo más rápido posible.” It’s still the nearest I have come to becoming part of the Fast + Furious franchise.

Because of the four decades which have passed since my last time there – to the Costa del Sol, I think around 1987 – It’s therefore difficult to tell if Spain has changed or not. I definitely have. Back then, I was happy to stay in a hostel bunk-bed, head out at 9 am and spend all day exploring, returning late at night, after taking public transport everywhere. Now? Chris demands her own bathroom; there’s roughly a 50/50 split between touristing and napping; and if God meant us to take public transport, why did he invent taxis? Though we did go from Madrid down to Alicante on the Spanish TGV, which was a nice throwback to my days of InterRail.

Tinto de Verano

If there was one big discovery on the trip, it was the above drink. Nobody except tourists consumes sangria. As we discovered on our first night, in a little local hole in the wall, the insanely good OCIO Street Food & Bar. It is simpler than sangria, just being red wine and carbonated soda – something like 7-Up or Sprite – typically in a 50/50 ratio. It’s delicious., super refreshing, and I was necking it down the entire trip. You can buy bottles of it, ready-mixed, in the supermarkets: 1.5 litres cost €1.75, only about a quid fifty – hardly any more than bottled water. Admittedly, you need to use somewhat decent red wine. Some of the ready-mixed stuff is… rough. But if it hadn’t been for the TSA and that silly “4.5 oz” thing. I’d have brought it back by the barrel-load.

Tapas

Spain’s national food, I guess, though paella might have something to say about that. Outside of Spain, it can sometimes end up being not much more than “overpriced starters”. But we discovered the trick is, there’s safety in numbers. The more of you there are, the better tapas works, because you’ll get a good variety of items. Get half a dozen people, and it’s a lot of fun. Though the tinto de verano might have helped. When there’s just two of you, it starts to feel… well, a little Communist, as you’d expect from a dish invented by the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War. Okay, I made that up. But the philosophy of tapas is basically, “ALL MUST BE SHARED! YOU OWN NOTHING! EVERYTHING IS COLLECTIVE PROPERTY!” Sometimes, I just want my own damn main course, without risking a fork-led raid from enemy forces across the table. Yeah, guess I’m a food fascist.

Football

It’s now tradition to get a local sports team shirt on holiday, something dating back to a 1998 trip to Montreal. Alicante’s main team is Hércules, now playing in the third tier of the Spanish leagues – they were in La Liga as recently as 2011. While looking to find their team shop, we realized they had a home game the next night, and decided on the spur of the moment to go. Tickets weren’t hard to come by, since they play in a rather large stadium for their current status. The Estadio José Rico Pérez was used in the 1982 World Cup (it hosted the 3rd/4th place game), and holds almost 25,000 people. I found some YouTube videos with a fan complaining bitterly about the park being a real hole, but from what I saw, it’s not so bad. I’ve been to Dodger Stadium, put it that way. Not sure what the statue of a naked lady on a horse which greeted us on entry was about. But it was a nice touch. Um, as it were…

It was my first experience of fully professional football in the 21st century, and was an enjoyable time. I was kinda worried riots would be breaking out, but there didn’t seem to be any away fans at all. Their city being 375 miles away was a factor, as was the 7:15 pm Friday night start, which was a bone of contention for home fans too. The loudest and most enthusiastic group had a banner which read “No to football during the week.” We also noticed most of their banners were upside down: can only presume some kind of fan superstition was involved. I did learn a number of colourful new Spanish words, in particular after the referee turned down demands for a home penalty. Though I’m not sure when I’m going to be able to use, “I shit in your whore mother’s mouth!” in everyday conversation. Alicante lost 1-0.

Flamenco

Yeah, an evening of Hispanic warbling and castanets. Would anyone be upset if kept checking my phone for the baseball score? However, to my utter shock, it was damn awesome. [Admittedly, the tinto de verano might have helped…] As forms of dance go, flamenco is pretty hardcore, to the point Chris wondered if it had some kind of military or war-inspired background. It doesn’t, being a hodge-podge of influences, mostly Romany, but also Andalusian, Moor and even Jewish. But the result is impressively aggressive, highly stompy, and surprisingly loud – despite the lack of castanets. The show had a guitarist, singer, and three dancers – two female, one male.

We were slightly distracted by the latter’s similarity to Lazlo, from What We Do in the Shadows. I wondered if his notable trouser bulge – of great interest to the giggling bachelorette party in the far right corner – was a sock. But in general, this was very impressive. The passion and emotion flooded through from the performances, with the costumes becoming an integral part of the routines. It was almost close to martial arts forms, in terms of precise motions, but there was an additional layer of sensuality which was captivating. If marginally creepy at the end, when one of the performers brought out her prepubescent daughter for an encore routine. Still, beat the hell out of the last dance show I went to: the endless nightmare which was daughter Emily’s recital, when she was 11.

Random

• Why is there so much graffiti in Spain? In some areas, it felt like every flat surface was covered in swirly lettering.
• Spanish supermarkets charge more for cold stuff. A six-pack of Coke costs more if it has been in the fridge. Which makes sense, I guess, but seems damn weird.
• It’s a late-night society. A number of places close in the afternoon, and won’t open up again until eight o’clock or so. Good job we had that afternoon nap then.
• Local desserts kinda suck. We had something called Death By Chocolate, which should really have been called Lightly Grazed by Chocolate. But the gelato was consistently good, if Italian.
• Also teh sux0r: the casino in Alicante. I’ve never had to pay to get into a casino before – as if the house edge wasn’t enough. Only €3 – still, it’s the principle, dammit.
• All told though, it was a very pleasant week, that left us with a lot of fond memories. Hopefully it won’t be another forty years before I’m back. Because if it is, it’ll probably be as a corpse!