Spanish views from a small town

In Spain, to construct a house, you have to buy the necessary land, pay for the appropriate municipal and regional licenses and present blueprints to all and sundry for approbation. It takes time and money and patience. Sometimes, even after going through all the trouble and expense, some homeowners have to end up in the street because their homes are declared illegal for minimal reasons. The law is the law, and their house comes down. Of course, if you're trying to build a mega-hotel on the beach, it's different. Mayors will go out of their way to help you get all the necessary permits and licenses. Banks will loan you money with practically no interest to buy the necessary land and build as big as you want. You will have no problem whatsoever in this democratic country where private enterprise is encouraged. However, if you try to build your mega-hotel on protected land, be careful. Though there might be powerful people helping you, if the environmental protection groups ...

There is something common to both Spanish and American roads and streets. Potholes. Back in Boston they're caused by the continuous freezing and thawing of water on the blacktop and the weight of passing traffic. After winter they blossom like daffodils. Here they're caused by the continuous rain. This month it is now being helped by frosty nights. And they become perpetual. There are potholes and then there are potholes. There are the cracks in the blacktop that make your car wobble as you cruise over them. Those are little embryos, simple bumps in the road that are almost unnoticeable. Then there are regular holes that are simple, that you notice with a slight bump. Unless you find them on the highway. Simple holes there become a driver's nightmare. There you are, cruising with the rest of the cars, keeping to the right-hand lane. Of course, you're not keeping to the speed limit because you have a good car and the day is fine and dandy. All of a sudden you hear ...

Despite being a nominally Catholic country, Spain has never had much of a hang-up with sex. Not in the north, at any rate. Up here we’ve always been more natural with the subject. Which is why most brothels are on busy roads and are well visible. Something will always give it away. It will either be the neon lights, a sign with a busty, silhouetted woman, or the word “Club” in garish lights at the top of the roof. Believe me, it won’t mean a book club.  Last Sunday night, an elderly, single man left one of those clubs on foot. He, apart from enjoying the company of a lady, had drunk a few of the high-priced drinks such places tend to sell, and was a little the worse for wear. So much so that he set off in the wrong direction. When he realized it, he had walked over two kilometers, and it was very late and dark. The night was cold and it was drizzling. So he left the road and looked for a barn to shelter in. He found a little porch on the side of a shed. There he sat on the...

Today, for the first time in over a week, the only clouds are thin, high streaks in the vivid blue sky that show no threat. The air is clear and you can almost think your eyesight has grown sharp, considering how far into the distance you can see everything clearly. However, we are in February and that sharpness has a price - cold. Finally winter has arrived, just in time for it to leave. Places in northern Spain that usually get their first snowfall in December got it in February this year. Ski resorts finally have snow to sell, instead of just fresh mountain air. Kids who live in mountainous areas finally have a snow day as snowplows do their work. Drivers dust off their skills at adjusting tire chains to cross mountain passes. The weather has turned seasonable after a fall-cum-spring that had everything flowering early. But that's it, seasonable. Temperatures here on the Galician coast have fallen to around freezing at night and rise into the upper forties during the sun-ble...