I was once asked to make a list of ‘things I didn’t like about
Spain’. It would be easy enough to make one about the things I do like,
and it would run to many pages, but the things I don’t? Hum. Well, there
the bureaucracy which drives us all, Spaniards and foreigners alike, up
the wall. Las cosas de palacio, van despacio, say the Spanish
sententiously, as if by giving the creaking bureaucratic system an
excuse, wrapped up in a popular saying, it all makes sense. In the past
two years, for example, no one has managed to get Spanish nationality
because the twenty-five thousand people whose job it is to sort out the
paperwork have instead taken a disturbingly long lunch-break.
People sometimes have to live rather poorly – a house with no water
or electric for example – for a number of years because of some elusive
bit of paper trapped in the bottom of a drawer belonging to a public
official who has been off work with a runny nose for thirty-six months,
but absolutely should be back any day now.
I try and live with the system, since I love it here. My Spanish
wife knows nothing of HP Sauce and shepherd’s pie, and she has never had
a Yorkshire pudding or even a mushy pea. I am nevertheless proud of her
as she sips her afternoon cup of English tea with milk and one sugar
(my only remaining British weakness).
But, we were talking about Spanish wrongs – like corruption. How
they get away with it defeats me. The country is positively leaping with
crooked bankers, politicians and manufacturers of ladies hosiery. They
stash millions in off-shore financial paradises, pay no tax, and – most
remarkable of all – are highly esteemed by large swathes of the
population. OK, in my personal experience, I’ve had more trouble from
thieving Brits that crooked Spaniards (lawyers maybe – there’s always
hungry lawyers here), but over the years, I’ve found that owning nothing
helps keep them away, along with plenty of garlic.
So, the list. We’ve done bureaucracy and corruption, there’s also littering.
How can a proud nation like the Spanish merrily toss as much
garbage into the countryside as is humanly possible? The beaches, the
roadside, the streets and the public buildings are caked in debris.
Everywhere is thick with plastic, flattened beer cans, bottles,
graffiti, cardboard and rubble. I take my trash home with me, or at the
very least, leave it on the back seat of the car for a few years, but
our friends and neighbours? They scatter it everywhere across this great
country with gleeful abandon.
Noise, I suppose. This country is deafening. Happily, with the
passage of the years, I have become quite deaf, so am immune to the
cacophony of the world’s second loudest population (after the Japanese
whose houses, for Heaven’s sake, have paper walls).
Lastly (and believe me, I’ve been thinking about this list for
years), I would say, parking. There’s never enough, as though the
designers feel they can squeeze more money out of shops and buildings if
there are as few parking spots as possible. Then the few spaces that
are there will as likely as not have a caravan of dustbins clogging them
up.
As if there was a serious litter problem here!
So, many people (at least in my local village) will park two abreast – en paralelo
– with their warning lights on. ‘I’m sorry, I really am, but I just
needed to stop the car for a moment as I zip into the bank, buy a
lottery ticket and have a very quick coffee with my lawyer’. You can
always get past. Yesterday, I had to drive at least fifty metres along
the pavement, because the road was completely blocked by two
double-parked cars. Luckily for us all, they both had their warning
lights on.
But what are a few minor niggles, when compared to the endless wonders of this great country we have chosen to call home?
