How a poor, befuddled Englishman has begun to build a new life in Spain.
The build-up to Christmas had begun! I'd never been anywhere else except the U.K. for the Yuletide season. This, then, was something completely new. Experiencing the festivities in a foreign land filled me with excitement, curiosity, and a little bit of trepidation. Why? Food, mostly! Traditional English celebrations had always included the old favourites, but things like mince-pies, plum puddings, crackers…now where would I get any of those from?
I understand, for the purist, that these things shouldn't matter! Embracing a different culture is really the only course to pursue, as I'm sure you'd agree…but the thought of sitting down on Christmas day without cranberry sauce – it was just too awful to contemplate!
Now, in the face of adversity, the Brit shows his true mettle. The Dunkirk spirit reveals itself; we brace ourselves and put our shoulder to the wheel. It was time for me to step forward into the fray! Well, all right, Churchillian I'm not, but I had to do something! Seeking out these 'necessities' became quite an exciting – and revealing – quest! In my eagerness to festoon the table with all kinds of goodies, I discovered a whole host of previously unknown stores that provided everything I needed. Yes, even crackers! This may all sound a little flat for those seasoned ex-pats who have long since sought out every available shop and market place there is, but to me this was a journey of discovery!
All I had to do was make the preparations for the big day!
A slight deviation for a moment or two. When we first came to Spain, we rented a very nice little property right in the middle of our village. That, to be fair, was always going to be stop-gap until something permanent was secured. I'd already begun the search. I've already spoken about my first tentative dip into the property waters in Spain, way back in May. At that time I'd gone along with a major estate agents and found something quite nice, but in need of some work. Stupidly, certainly naively, I'd put down the required 3000 Euro deposit. Now, I was assured, that this was returnable, that it could be used for the deposit on another property if, later on, a more suitable house was found. Of course, what wasn't made clear, was that this would only apply if another place was found through that company. Was this deliberate, or not? Well…perhaps I should have inquired further before handing over the cash. How many stories have we read, how much advice have we been given, and yet, in that first rush of excitement when a lovely little house is found, do we forget what's in our heads and blindly follow our hearts? It happened to me, and in the end the 3000 Euros was lost because, ultimately, the house chosen wasn't really suitable. Not a fortune, but a useful amount of money I'm sure you'll agree. And what did I gain for my payout? Nothing, except a painful lesson on what not to do when purchasing property in Spain!
It all unfurled, of course, when the local estate agent put me onto a little place that needed reforming. Now here's the difference. At no time did he want the deposit, not until everything was secured and the legalities investigated. This meant that we could view the property, think things through without pressure and, when we were ready, the offer could be put in. There is no price for honesty, and his honesty and level of care and consideration were beyond monetary concerns! So, a little two bed-roomed 'shed' was to be transformed into a very nice four bed-roomed place with massive roof terrace! I had no idea, at the time, how long it was all going to take; the anxiety, the frustrations, the despair…all in the normal run of things no matter where one is. House buying is a stressful process anywhere, but Spain…to say I aged is putting it lightly. But more of this in later instalments, because for now there is Christmas consider!
It was all systems go at school. The children were becoming very excited. Having spent all of school Christmases in the UK I had no idea what was going to happen here in Spain. Obviously, I knew about the Three Kings and its tradition and importance within the Spanish calendar, but I was also increasingly aware of how the commercialisation of Christmas was beginning to dominate everything! The poor Spanish people, unfortunately, have a 'double-wammy' – having to buy presents for two celebrations! It's difficult, as a parent, not to get carried away with the materialistic aspect of the festive season; pressure builds as wide-eyed children glue themselves to the television screen, drooling over the delights on display, never having to worry about cost; my dwindling Euros had to be spread across supplying food, drink and gifts. It was becoming a real problem. In my classroom, at least, I could keep the atmosphere simple – some paper decorations, made by the children themselves, and a little nativity scene conjured up out of some cardboard and Plasticene. I'd also got involved in the School Christmas production. The music teacher was working minor miracles in preparing the children – across almost the whole school (from ages seven through to eighteen!) – for two performances that were to be presented to the parents. The deadline was drawing closer and I threw myself into directing a little comedy sketch about the nativity. Not knowing much about Spanish sense of humour, I simply relied on my usual panoply of well-tried jokes and one-liners that would surely woo even the most linguistically challenged of people! Well, that was the hope at least!
Spanish audiences are interesting things, from a performer's point of view! Again, the British tradition is to sit respectfully, allowing the players to transport them into a mystical, sometimes mythical world of adventure, comedy, farce, tragedy…but not so the average Spaniard. Oh no. Gathering together to view their off-spring sweating through a gruelling performance of song, dance and music, their response is to talk. Constantly. Even when little Jonny – or Juan – would step forward, eyes fixed, teeth set in a maniacal grin, Mum would turn to her neighbour and talk…talk about anything – anything at all. Except about Johnny, or Juan. And the poor little fellow would take this on the chin, complete his rendition – barely audible above the din of chattering adults – and then return to the wings, breathing out enormous sighs of relief that the ordeal was at last over and he was still in one piece. Ages later, Mum would look around, emerging from her in-depth and oh-so-important conversation, and become suddenly panic-stricken that her child had vanished from sight. But she would soon recover, and return to her neighbour for another bout of chit-chat, whilst her little-one would begin its unnoticed rendition.
I watched all of this with growing despair. How would my little cast of players acquit themselves in the face of such over-bearing apathy? I knew from some of my colleagues that they had laboured long and hard to 'train' the parents to respond appropriately during performances, but obviously there were some in the audience who had yet to receive the training! However, when my lot went on, the silence at last descended and from that point on the show went on like a dream. Those first few performers must have caught the assembly off-guard, for now they showed their appreciation with applause, cheers and – yes, it must be said – laughter! All the children were sensational. It was a triumph and all those weeks of preparation and rehearsals had proven their worth. It was the perfect appetizer for the Christmas holiday and, as the days accelerated towards the moment when we would all embark on our holiday, a real buzz descended upon us. I love Christmas at school, and here was no different. It was magical and something to cherish. We even had a Christmas tree!
Yes, it was magical. Truly. The problem was…how to transport that sense of wonder to my home? Because there, things were far from wondrous and the lack of Christmas good cheer was beginning to tell!
Glen Stuart
