The Spanish SUPER Pill

Over the last few days I have been suffering from my first cold of the year... and yet it is not the first time the boif has told me to take a tablet- "tómate una pastilla"

... Any complaint I come out with; whether its that-time-of-the-month-pains, a headache, allergies, post-gym pains... ANYTHING... I get a chorus of responses telling me to take a tablet. No one even needs to say the name of the tablet as everyone knows exactly what they are referring to...

The Spanish SUPER Pill: Efferalgan (which I find really hard to say!)

In other words: Really really strong Paracetamol.
In England: it is recommended to take 2x200mg tablets.
In Spain: 1 soluble Efferalgan tablet has 1 WHOLE GRAM of paracetamol.

The Spaniards´ faith in the tablet is incredible- whichever doctor you see and whatever illness you are suffering from- Efferalgan is the best cure... I think if I went to the doctors tomorrow and told him I was actually going mental he would probably just tell me to take Efferalgan (-it would knock me out I suppose!)

Once, while we were on holiday in Spain when I was younger, my friend got a horrific sick bug and couldn´t eat anything without vomiting for at least a week. We took her to the doctors and they prescribed some tablets that they said to take every so many hours. When she got home she took the tablets to the English doctor so he knew what she had been taking and it was basically really strong pain killers (ie. Efferalgan)... for a sick bug...

...That´s even worse!!!- she was taking 3 times the recommended dose in England on a completely empty - and delicate- stomach!

One of those Sundays

Today was one of those Sundays when it is a bit rainy and miserable outside and there is nothing to do except go for a coffee!

However, driven slightly insane by the outlaws who had decided to stay the night last night (joy), the boif and I had two options: (1)get out of the house or (2)check-in to a mental institution. We opted for nº1 and decided to go for a walk along one of the beaches up the coast. We choose La Alcaidesa which is pretty packed with wealthy Brits and other holiday makers in the summer, but almost unpopulated during the winter and the perfect spot to go for a walk without having to get dressed up and put make-up on with the risk of being seen by others.

Although it was no spectacular British beach with bracing winds and incredible coastlines... which in my opinion you cannot beat... it was a lovely way of blowing away the cobwebs and avoiding insanity. I love wandering along beaches after a big storm and finding all sorts of bizarre things that have been washed up as a result.

Today we found:
1)A pair of old man´s slippers about 4 metres apart (didn´t find the old man though).
2)A popped dinghy that we are SURE must have been from drugs smugglers (the boif spent at least 5 minutes investigating).
3)Trillions of amazing shells.
4)Part of a car.
5)A take-away-style sachet of what looked like brown sauce that I stood on and popped all over the boifs trousers.
6)As an extra bonus we got to see a beautiful rainbow over the sea!

Mucho amor

{How to....} survive a REAL Spanish Tapas bar

It´s probably fair to say that the majority of us have at some point experienced Spanish Tapas British Style in the cosy settings of restaurants such as La Tasca where the waiters are adorably Spanish (or at least look Spanish), treat you like a Queen - or King, all the food is beautifully presented and the menu comes with a convenient translation.

Therefore, when were are thrown into the traumatic and confusing world of REAL, TRADITIONAL Tapas, in an ACTUAL Spanish bar we are left bamboozled at how we are supposed to act and what we are supposed to do!

Well after 2 years of living in Spain I have ALMOST got the hang of the Tapas Thing and here are my 10 handy hints at how to survive a REAL Spanish Tapas bar:

Choosing the restaurant/bar:
1) Firstly, when perusing the streets for your Traditional-Spanish-Tapas-Bar of choice... FORGET EVERYTHING that you would look for in a good restaurant in England.

2) The DIRTIER THE BETTER: OK this is not quite true, but generally the older and more run down they look the longer they have been there and the better they are. Tacky plastic coca-cola tables do not mean anything- the Spanish are just not good at aesthetics.

3) The more PAPER NAPKINS on the floor the better. The Spanish can get through a whole napkin holder in one meal- not good for the environment- but sign of a good restaurant.

Getting a table:
4) Once again FORGET all our British manners that we have had drummed into our head from a young age. In a Spanish Tapas bar its every man for himself... if you spot a free stool or space at the bar... GO FOR IT...doesn´t matter how many more people are sprinting across the bar for it... just avoid eye contact and focus on the desired object.

5) COLLECT: it is more than likely that you will be unable to get a whole table or the desired numbers of stools at the bar at one time... so you have to collect and stand your ground. As people leave grab their stool and push your way into their space until every member or your group has a stool and a space.

Ordering:
6) In order to get the waiter´s attention make every single gesture and noise that would be considered rude in England- clicking, whistling, sh-shing, waving- is all permitted; in fact it is necessary, otherwise you could end up going home with an empty stomach.

7) The beauty of Tapas is that you can just keep RE-ORDERing until you are full. Order a couple of dishes first, if you liked something order more, if you don´t like it, try something else. Normally a tapa is a very small portion and will cost around 1-2euros so don´t be afraid to try things.

8) UNDERSTAND SIZES: a tapa is a small portion (as mentioned above) // a media ración is normally about 3 times bigger than a tapas portion //a ración is about the size of a main meal in an English restuarant. Be careful that you do not order a ración instead of a tapa because you could end up with a huge and very expensive portion of the weird Spanish ham!

9) DON´T JUST ORDER OFF THE MENU: If you are unsure about what the menu says, approach the bar where they have the majority of the Tapas on display, get the waiter´s attention (see above) and POINT at whatever takes your fancy. Also have a look around and see what other people are eating... if it looks good order it!

10) DRINK BEER or TINTO DE VERANO (red wine with lemonade- kind of like Sangria): Do not try and order a bottle of wine or some fancy drink because more likely than not you will be disappointed- with cold red wine, sherry instead of white wine or many other possibilities.

WARNING: The beer typically comes in a small glass- half full of foam- called a caña. If you want a pint (una pinta)- you have to ask for it.

REMINDER: Menu in Spanish is carta -- Menú means a set menu of 3 courses that they usually do at lunch time.

Finally........ RELAX: You may feel totally bizarre, stood up and fighting for your place at the bar, but if you don´t relax you are not going to enjoy it. Embrace the atmosphere and have a laugh with some locals!

Gibraltar; source of bitterness for the Spanish, ulmost unknown by the Brits

This fantastic sunrise over Gibraltar this morning inspired me to share my musings at the bitterness a small piece of rock that the majority of Brits are totally unaware of can provoke among the Spaniards.

Literally every time I am introduced to a new Spanish person and they realise I am English the first thing that they say, without fail is "Gibraltar is Spanish". Now, I have to admit that before moving to Cádiz to do my ERASMUS year I wasn´t really aware that we had a British colony living on a rock in the South of Spain but I soon became alerted to the fact by the relentless insistence that Gibraltar is Spanish. In fact the Spanish are soooo bitter about Gibraltar being British that there are hardly any signs indicating Gibraltar until you get so close you can see the rock. Furthermore all the signs from then onwards are splattered with paint and graffiti demonstrating the Spanish bitterness towards the Britishness of Gibraltar. It´s ironic really as everyday there are hoards of Spanish people queing up in their cars to cross the border, either to work and make the most of the exchange rate, or fill their cars up with petrol and stock up on cigarettes and alcohol, taking advantage of the extremely low prices.

I´m sure that those who have visited Gibraltar will agree that it is one of the most bizarre and intriguing places in the world. In order to get onto the Rock you have to present your passport 2 times (once to the Spanish police and once to the British police). You then have to cross the runway (yes the runway where planes land) either on foot or by car to get into the town. If a plane is about to land or take off, barriers come down and everyone has to wait as if they were waiting at a train crossing until the plane has passed. As you drive into the centre through the traffic logged streets you are struck by the huge number of English or British flags hung from the windows of the residents´ houses. If asked any Gibraltar resident would say they are British, in fact in 2002 99% of the 29,000 residents voted to remain part of Britain rather than come under joint sovereignty . And yet they speak a perplexing mix of English and Spanish, flipping from Spanish to English and back again in the same breath.

It is an odd sensation walking down a quintessentially British street with Pub signs offering Sunday Roast and the usual Marks & Spencer´s in the sweltering Spanish sun in the height of summer listening to the babble of Spanglish. The experience becomes even more bizarre once you climb the rock and meet the most famous residents- the monkeys. There is a lot of superstition surrounding these Barbary Macaques and it is said that if the monkeys ever leave, so will the British. In 1944 Winston Churchill was so concerned about the dwindling monkey population that he sent a message to the Colonial Secretary requesting that something be done about the situation.
I leave you with a photo of one of the famous monkeys on my head 2 years ago during my first visit to the Rock!

{Thursday Thoughts} Bullfighting

I have to admit that whenever I´m "zapping" through Spanish TV and I happen to fall upon a Bullfight it has this strange transfixing affect on me and I become glued to the captivating display of animal instinct vs male testosterone. The spell is normally broken as soon as I see blood and I have to change the channel, but I always find myself wondering *why* it is so engrossing and *what* it is that has made this bloody tradition survive centuries of cultural change?

Furthermore at a time when humanity has become so sensitive to the animal cause, as reflected in the banning of Fox Hunting in the UK and the almost complete wipe-out of the testing of cosmetic products on animals *why* does the world continue to allow the open practise of bullfighting?

Should this tradition be allowed to continue simply due to the fact that it is part of Spain´s rich cultural heritage OR should Spain recognise that the modern world is changing and there is no room for such bloody traditions in the 21st century?

"How to..." Understand Spanglish

I always find it highly amusing when the Spanish throw in a random English word that they probably don´t even realise is English and pronounce it as if it were a Spanish word! The outlaws are always doing this so I thought I´d share with you a few examples.

Firstly please imagine the scenario; the outlaws are in their late 40´s early 50´s, they have no idea how to turn on a computer, they have to give their mobile to the boif for him to save a number, they have no idea how to read/write a text message and they have an accent that is the Spanish equivalent of a Newcastle accent in England.

...Furthermore they have never had an English lesson in their lives and I think they don´t really realise that my native language is NOT Spanish... they just think I´m a bit simple.

The following are some examples of their uses of Spanglish:

• The boifs mum regularly uses the word: "Krikis"

Now, I could NOT fathom out for the life of me what she was trying to say whenever she mentioned "Krikis" until one day the boif explained that she is trying to say "Krispies"... as in "Rice Krispies"... as in "cereal".

Translation= ¿Quieres Krikis? : Do you want a bowl of cereal?

She must have thought I was really rude when I answered no... and then went directly to the cupboard and poured myself a bowl!

• Another one that actually quite amazed me is the fact that she knows what "leggings" are. I assume this is because they don´t really have a name for leggings... being such a modern thing and all.. so they just have to use the English word!

HOWEVER... whenever I use the word "leggings" NOONE understands what I mean. I think you have to be Spanish using an English word for another Spanish person to understand you!

Handy hint: if you are going to risk throwing in an English word, make sure you say it with a Spanish accent; they may just understand you!

• Yesterday the outlaws came over for lunch and the Mother out-law brought the food already prepared to heat up in the microwave. She was saying that the microwave didn´t seem to heat very well, despite it being on "ig". So I went to investigate thinking maybe she had it on defrost or something...
  

Translation= "ig" actually meant "high".

• Another thing that always amuses me is that fact that the Spanish don´t have a word for "airbag" so they just use the same word and Spanify it by pronouncing it funny. The majority of them probably have no idea what "air" or "bag" is and they would not understand if someone said it in an English accent.

Public transport sanitary facilities

This weekend I delved into the dark world of public transport and the even more sullied realm of public sanitary facilities. The reason was a trip to Granada to visit one of my best friends. It was a 5 hour journey of not one, but two forms of transport, namely: bus and train.
For a person that will avoid public transport at all costs the 5 hours of close proximity to people whose hygienic standards are unknown to you and the prospect of being forced to use toilet facilities whose hygienic standards are also unknown but give a lot away by the smell was quite a horrific thought. However as it was the only possible way of getting to see an English speaking person I was prepared to man-up and face whatever Spanish public transport could throw at me.

Now, it´s not often I find many similarities between the homeland and España but I have to admit that Spanish and English public transport are actually very similar in a number of ways. To name but a few similarities; the amount of really weird people; the lateness; the feeling of dirtiness that engulfs you whenever you get on...

The main thing that I was dreading was the toilet facilities on board, in fact I did not dare using the toilet in the whole 5 hours. I´m sure abstaining from urinating for so long is not good for you... but I bet the bacterium that grows in the train toilets is probably more dangerous for your health! I think my fear of using train toilets derives from a very traumatic episode I experience at the young and influential age of 20:

I was on a train from Barcelona to Girona at rush hour and was absolutely desperate for the toilet so innocently thought that the best option would be to use the train toilets. After battling through the crowded carriage of bolshie Catalans I arrived at the toilet only to discover that it was completely soaking throughout; the floor was like a swimming pool and the walls and the toilet seat were dripping. Totally grossed out by the unidentifiable liquid but unable to hold on I entered precariously on tip-toe and adopted a squatting position that allowed me to remain on tip-toe while holding up my trousers so they would not drag in the liquid on the floor and began to urinate. Halfway through the process I suddenly panicked that I had not pressed the button to lock the electric sliding door and quickly reacted, hitting the button with one hand while maintaining my squatting position and my trousers with the other. Unfortunately... the door locked automatically so what I had actually done was UNLOCK the door. By the time I realised this it was too late and the person waiting outside had pressed the open button and the door had started to slide open... desperate to stop it I put all my weight against the electric force (while maintaining my squating position, naked bum in the air). For a few hopeless seconds I managed to stop the door opening further- although it has already opened far enough that the little girl who was stood at hers Mum´s right hand side was staring at me with an exceptionally confused face while I battled- naked bum still in the air- against the door. Eventually I realised that it was no use fighting, that the door was going to open and I might as well save what dignity I had left and try covering up as much as possible before the door opened completely and the mother saw what her traumatised daughter had been witnessing.

Moral of the story: the best option is to hold the urine in, NOT use the public toilets.

My fear of public transport was then intensified by an experience in Birmingham, England. For those of you that are familiar with the Birmingham train systems I was on the train back from New Street to Selly Oak with a friend after a day out shopping. Once again it was rush hour and the train was, as always, full of weird people. One such person was obviously intoxicated and was stood up by the door. All of a sudden, as the train stopped a stream of liquid ran down the carriage. In order to discover the source of the unidentified liquid I followed the stream up the carriage and my eyes stopped at the feet of said person. Yes... he had wee-ed himself and it spread all over the floor of the carriage and all over the unsuspecting passengers feet.

Having undergone such distressing experiences in the past I believe that my fear of public transport and the sanitary utilities onboard is only logical and you can therefore understand why I decided to hold on for 5 hours rather than risking anymore episodes.

On a different note, the scenery on the train up to Granada is incredible and I think I may have seen the smallest train station in the world (see photo). There was one person waiting to board at this station with their Mum to wave them off (who was still wearing her slippers!)