Spanish views from a small town

I've abandoned my blog this month. This doesn't mean I haven't thought about things to write; I have some ideas in my head, and at least one in draft. Rather, I've been using my energy in other endeavors.  It's been a year of transition, really, which has affected me strangely, in a way I can't describe because I'm not sure yet of the effect. It's been my first full year trying to avoid salt (bwaa-ha-ha!), and of trying to walk every day (but not in the rain), of turning the half century mark (!), and of watching my daughter trying to find her way, post university (it's no country for young people).  I've been to some places this year. I've returned to Porto, my husband and I went to various different places within Galicia, including taking his mother to San Andrés de Teixido, where, according to the legend, if you don't go in life, you will go in death, reincarnated as anything, including a bug. Which is why you shouldn't kill an

I have mentioned, just about every year, that I have grown to hate Christmas. I don't hate its message, nor the warmth of waking up and knowing it's Christmas morning. What I hate is what it's become. This year, there's yet another reason for it.  Since Vigo began last year (or was it the year before?) going absolutely bonkers on its Christmas lights to attract tourists, other cities have emulated it. One city is Madrid. This year, with a right-wing government newly elected, one of its most important expenditures is Christmas lights, so it could out-rival Vigo. They've spent over three million euros. Reactions from people in the streets, and local politicians are the usual. "The lights symbolize the spirit of Christmas." "Let's hope we get more tourists, now." "They're so pretty!" "People will be happy and spend more money." Explain what the expenditure and those lights mean to the dozens of families applying for r

So, the elections are over and done with. And PSOE's Pedro Sánchez didn't get what he wanted when he forced them. I'm sure he was thinking that, since he had risen in April, and since he had been forceful about not bending to leftist Podemos to form a coalition government during the summer, he was going to get more seats in the Cortes . The best-laid plans tend to backfire. He got three seats less. Podemos got seven seats less. Centrist-leaning-to-the-far-right-or-left-according-to-expediency Ciudadanos lost over forty seats. The conservative PP went up, but the winner of the night was undoubtedly far-right-Franco-loving Vox.  They garnered fifty-two seats, up from twenty-four in the last election. They have become the third force in the Cortes , behind PSOE and PP. They now get a seat on different committees, and, more importantly, will be able to contest laws in the courts. Which is most assuredly what they will do. They will contest the Law of Historic Memory, and

There was a general debate the other night, between the candidates of the parties with the most representation in the Congreso. The leaders of the PSOE (Socialists), PP (conservatives), Ciudadanos (conservatives), UP (leftist), and Vox (ultra-right nationalists), faced off on stage. All spent more time talking about one or two things they thought would sway undecided voters. UP also spoke about policies they would implement in general, and Vox used the air time to extend their xenophobic, nationalist agenda. This last candidate spewed much rhetoric and few truths. Just about all the data he used to "prove" his points was false. Yet no one called him out on it. He went on and on about illegal immigrants and that: 1. They were the cause of just about all delinquency. 2. They were the perpetrators of almost all gang rapes. 3. They were the ones who battered their wives. 4. They were costing the state millions in healthcare.  He also condemned the semi-federal state we now ha

One would think that, in a working democracy, the most important consideration would be to get the citizens out to vote. After all, that is the basis of a democracy - participation by the electorate. Spain, however, is different. Over the past week or so, a campaign has been underway on Facebook, and in various cities, with an image of Pedro Sánchez (PSOE) in red, and next to him an image of Pablo Iglesias (Podemos) in purple. Underneath, in white, "No contéis conmigo" (Don't count on me), with a hashtag, "yonovoto" (Idon'tvote). The posters have gone up in neighborhoods that have traditionally voted for parties on the left. Apparently, there's a group out there that is fed up with the difficulties of agreement between the two leaders, that have led to yet another general election. But, no, it's not a grassroots movement. It's an underhanded campaign being led by followers of the conservative PP, to get leftist leaning voters to stay home.

Finally, finally, Spain is not an exception among European countries. Finally, finally, her dictator is no longer interred in a national monument created for his adoration.  Last Thursday, Franco was finally taken out of the mausoleum he built outside Madrid, the Valle de los Caídos . This being Spain, and gossip being king of just about every television channel, it was plastered on every television screen. Even an online newspaper, of which I have an app, was sending out minute by minute notifications. "En directo..." The only ones allowed to be present were the crew carrying out the exhumation, the Minister of Justice, and part of the Franco family, now grandchildren. The press was only allowed to film outside. Absolutely no filming, not even by the family, was allowed at the exhumation nor at the final burial. So, news coverage was ample that day, showing every moment, every hiccup, every "Viva Franco" uttered, every outstretched hand upraised, every pre-co

Back in 2017, on October 1st, the Catalans held what the Spanish government termed an illegal referendum to decide whether or not to declare independence. While true validity could not be determined, because the police went from polling station to polling station to confiscate ballot boxes, and there was no electoral supervision, it was estimated that about ninety percent of the votes were for independence. Independent opinion polls say that the population is evenly divided, half for independence, half for continuing the status quo.  In the days and weeks leading up to the referendum, people gathered in the streets. The leaders, mindful of consequences, always and continuously asked the public to avoid violence and to demonstrate peacefully. There were a few spates of reactions that might be termed violent, and some government officials from Madrid found themselves fearing the mob, though nothing happened to them. When everything was over, independence declared and then independence

Once upon a time there were thirteen young women, ranging in age from 18 to 29, incarcerated among 4000 other women in a prison designed to hold just over 400. Most of them were dressmakers, one was a pianist, others were simple housewives, and another a secretary. The thread that held them together was that they all belonged to the Juventudes Socialistas Unificadas, an organization that combined youth movements of both the Communist and Socialist parties. Except one, the pianist, and the eldest, who merely had a friend who was a militant.  They had all been arrested for belonging to that group right after the Spanish Civil War ended, in April, 1939. Between April and June they were arrested and sent to Las Ventas prison in Madrid, along with many others, whose names were mostly arrived at through torture of known militants, and through the services of an infiltrated police officer.  Their names were: Carmen Barredo Aguado, 20 years. Martina Barrosa García, 24 years. Blanca Bri

October has come, and with it, classes have begun again. Not that it's been easy, scheduling everyone who wanted at least an hour. Every year it seems that a child's after school schedule resembles that of a CEO of an international corporation. 4 o'clock: swimming classes 5 o'clock: art classes 6 o'clock: tae kwondo 7 o'clock: football practice 8 o'clock: theater classes 9 o'clock: roller skating I could continue, but I'll stop. Apart from these, there's rowing, ballet, tennis, other support classes (math, etc.), dancing, computer classes, etc. Children nowadays have no time to get bored. I don't even know how they have time to do homework and eat supper, let alone play.  Was I remiss with my daughter? She only went to one after school activity at a time. She went to an art class once a week in the first years. In later primary school years, she went to roller skating classes. Then, in high school, she went to math support classes.

Living in Galicia, we tend to think it's the greenest area of Spain. But the rest of northern Spain is green, as well. It's even greener in other areas because eucalyptus trees are not as exploited as they are here. So, you'll see firs, chestnuts, oaks, and many other deciduous trees.  So, Cantabria is green . It was our vacation this year, five years after our last one. Luck had it that I chose one of the most peaceful and beautiful spots as our base, Vega de Pas. It's called that because of the Pas river that runs through it, but it should be called Paz, instead, for peace .  The first day or two there were still plenty of visitors, but then the fifteenth of the month passed, and suddenly, most of them were gone. The first couple of nights we had the choice of four or five restaurants. After that, the choice whittled down to two and then one. Even the bars of the other restaurants closed, at least earlier in the evening. Few cars passed through. Few enough that a

Democracy isn't what it used to be. Once upon a time, about forty years ago, what people decided in the voting booths was pretty much what came about politically. Yes, even then there were interferences from special interests, and politicians who said one thing and then listened to their cronies and friends instead of the people who voted for them. But they were the exceptions, not the majority. Once upon a time, the intent of democracy was to enfranchise as many people as possible, so that ALL the people would be represented in government. Everyone was supposed to have a say, everyone was supposed to be able to participate in public affairs. That idea originated in Western countries, and was transported to many others. In some countries, things got twisted and "everybody" came to mean only a certain elite, but, in general, the idea travelled well.  Now, the idea is dying or dead. The most obvious and sad example is what is happening in the United States. Politician

Last month was like a month of spring plunked down in summer. Rain would show up out of nowhere, and temperatures, while not very low, were not as nice as they should have been. While other parts of Spain and Europe were sweltering in above-average temperatures, ours, in our little corner, were below-average. As a consequence, festivals were either rained upon or cancelled and re-scheduled. One of the events re-scheduled to yesterday, was a night walk in the woods up a hill. It was called the Andaina Santa Compaña, and was designed to be a fun walk to the top of the hill called the Castro Barbudo, along with a few scares straight out of folklore and Halloween. My daughter convinced me to sign up and go along with her and some cousins of ours. It was eight kilometers, and that wasn't so difficult for me to walk, though it seemed much more because of the terrain, all the people, and the three hours it took. We began at eleven, and when we arrived back it was two in the morning. I

I won't look at my breakfast blueberries the same way again. My daughter worked two weeks at a blueberry plantation to pick up some extra money. She wanted a temporary job where she had to use her hands. She would have preferred picking grapes, but the transportation logistics (again) have made it impossible so far. This job came along, with someone who would drive her every day, so she took it. There, she spent some time in the blueberry rows, but most of her time was spent in the selection shed. She came away with several things. That she would prefer working in the sun, even in the heat; that she doesn't want to select another blueberry; and the friendships she made.  There were people there from Spain, Morocco, Romania, and Senegal, at the least. Seven languages or more were spoken or known by the different people. Habits, customs, religions, were all different, so were work habits. There were different types of people, from religious Muslims who sometimes listened to

This weekend is the meeting of the G7 in Biarritz, France. A useless meeting, really, because few within this club are actually in agreement with anybody else, nor do they represent the majority of global population nor global markets. Yet, talks will be held concerning trade, human rights, what to do with Iran and China, and global warming.  In other words, the hypocrisy that is the principle affliction of the wealthy world will be aired these days. Beginning with global warming, the meeting is as hot as the air created by the words that will talk about it.  Seven heads of state from seven different countries, some on opposite sides of the globe, will fly to France on their private planes, all consuming enormous quantities of fossil fuel. Yet, those heads of state will offer their agreements on the fact that we should use more renewable fuels and curtail emissions. This is the twenty-first century. We have things called video conference calls. Just as at the meeting they have stru

I'm tired. I'm so tired. I'm tired of the same news of how we are killing each other because of the difference of our skin. I'm tired of hearing how desperate people crossing the Mediterranean are being told to drown in it instead of being accepted by countries who have plenty to share. I'm tired of how stupid mobs follow stupid people spouting inane stupidities. I'm so tired of heads of state ignoring the wants and needs of their citizens and listening only to the wants and needs of those who line their pockets. I'm tired of seeing wildfires that devour everything green and some people's lives and homes. I'm so, so tired of wondering what kind of world awaits our daughter when she is our age. I'm tired. I'm tired of the same routine, day in and day out. I'm tired of sitting in my study. I'm tired of washing the dishes and the clothes. I'm tired of the demands of my beloved pets. I'm tired of always cleaning the same thi

After having disabled the camera, the man dressed as a prison guard reached the special cell, having made sure no one had taken a second look at him. He took out his keys and carefully, silently, opened the cell door. Inside, the prisoner was asleep, stretched out on the mattress, arms over his head. Carefully pulling the door behind him, the man advanced, a thin wire held out in his gloved hands. He stood behind the pillow, reached down with the wire, quickly wrapped it around the prisoner's throat, and yanked.  The prisoner made one strong, convulsive move as he opened his eyes and his mouth, clawed clumsily at the guard, and then fell back and was still. Without losing a second, the guard prepared the scene. He took out a rope from under his shirt, tied it in a noose around the dead man's neck, and dragged him from the bed. He spread the man in position on the floor. Then he tied the other end of the rope around the projection he had chosen and made sure the man fell fowar