Too authentic, perhaps.

October 31, 2009

My testosterone-releasing adventure during the day has become this evening's testing irritation, due to an overdose of sun. I am blond and light-skinned, and now I felt basically crap. And here's a lesson to learn: befriend the owner of the restaurant who has the prime real estate on the village square one evening and you'll find yourself skulking past him the next as you cross the same square in search of a different ambiance and menu choice. And fail, because after you sneak guiltily into the other restaurant he appears smiling and sits you down - he owns both places. He is Antonio, and is quite a handsome devil (as you can see from the photograph in my previous posting).

As an aside, I note how wonderful it is to have a partner who speaks Spanish. So when I am grumpy in restaurants I can keep up running arguments that put me on an even playing field with stroppy waiters: "Tell him that's the last time..." "Tell him I know my oyster mushrooms and there's no way that they were ...." "Tell him if he thinks we're going to sit near the smokers ..." etc. etc.

This time there is not an ex-pat in sight, and we are, at my choosing, in is a full-on, in-your-face authentic bar/restaurant in a village in Spain, La Bodega - no concessions to namby-pamby EU or national regulations about alcohol, smoking and children. In this restaurant kids of eight or so were sitting at the bar drinking coke alongside their adult relatives who set a none-too-wonderful example by smoking and drinking next to them. I felt my goody-two shoes heckles rising to the bait. I found the meal rather greasy and the fish too battered, but after an initial huffing and grumping I settled down, adjusted a bit and started to notice how young and old seem to find a common ground in these places - more mutual respect and a lot less binge-drinking, (actually none) compared to the UK. I was also surprised earlier to see kids just hanging around playing games with skipping ropes or clapping hands together in rhythmic routines, late at night. I can't remember when I last noticed kids playing together outdoors this way. It almost seemed quaint. There was even a kid of about two playing alone, happily filling the cracks in a pavement with sand in a street just off the square, but no adults in obvious sight. Yet you knew he was ok, that he was within some hidden orbit of care. People seemed quite at ease with the loud kids and barking dogs, and we didn't hear or see anyone tutting or complaining. The barking dog I would personally have appreciated seeing relocated to a distant part of Spain, far from earshot, so piercing were its yelps.

Later that evening we were approached by kids in Halloween outfits, saying "Happy Halloween" and "truc or trato" - a funny and, I believe, meaningless transliteration of "trick or treat". A few just wished us " Happy Halloween'.



Wanting to get a much better photo of the kids in Spain celebrating Halloween in their own way, we wandered the back streets hoping to be scared by kids in Scream masks but were disappointed. However, we discovered how beautiful the church of San Fransisco looks at night, illuminated so that it shines white against the black of the sky.

More adjusted to the way of life now, and slowly recovering from the effects of too much sun, I managed to stop moaning about smoke and greasy food and sit in the hotel bar, sipping strong coffee and browsing the internet from my Blackberry. Juan is the ever-friendly, super hard-working bar man, and just one more reason I'm happy to be in this hotel in this town.



We decide to stay yet another night.

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