Running, jumping, climbing trees…

Madrid by Balakov

Two kisses. A hug, Welcome to Spain

I arrived in Madrid sometime in the afternoon of 17 November 2004. The date is easily remembered as it was the day of a drab Spanish victory over the English in the Bernabéu. I filtered through the passport control point where a stern-eyed man in a coffee coloured shirt glanced disinterestedly at me. Then I made my way out into the belly of Barajas Airport where my friend Beatriz was waiting. She was wearing enormous sunglasses and tapping a cigarette. Two kisses. A hug, Welcome to Spain.

What do I wish that I had known then? I was a 21 year old Englishman, gliding directionless through life with little conception of Spanish culture and no ability at all with the language. I had no more reason to go to Spain that I would have had to go to France, Germany, Italy or anywhere else. But as Spain has probably drawn you in, it drew me in too. It was the promise of a good, uncluttered life: the food, the parties, the climate, the passion and that seductive but entirely unreasonable attitude to almost everything which can only be termed ‘Latin’.

New arrivals should be very careful to dismiss stereotypes. Plenty of idiotic idealisms exist about Spain and here is the perfect place to refute some of them.

Firstly, not everyone in Spain is talkative (although even the quieter people do seem to enjoy an argument); only a very slender percentage will attend a bullfight more than once or twice in their lifetime; few people in the cities will ever find the necessary 25 minutes for a siesta, and finally – contrary to what we are told in childhood – the Spanish are very hardworking, although it is true that they are not always efficient.

The Spanish are far better humoured than people in the UK, who tend to be much more sarcastic and henpecked. Unlike British people, you will rarely find a Spaniard who is disinterested in what you have to tell them and you will hardly ever find someone who is short of advice or an opinion. In Spain there will always be someone to help you out when everything goes horribly wrong, yet, on the same score, they might not understand the craving that a northern European sometimes has to be left alone.

Especially in the cities, Spaniards take an inside out approach to their homes. From the outside they are drab, uninspiring concrete things, many of them covered with childish graffiti, but within the walls these apartments can be ornate, fashionable and expensive. Whatever the look, a Spaniard’s home is always spotless. I once read that the country uses more litres of bleach per head than any other country in the world.

By any measure, the Spanish are not a sentimental people. It is almost impossible to find an antique shop in Madrid and – as a rule – old things are generally thrown away instead of preserved.

A further characteristic, which perhaps they share with Italians, is that they drive their cars impatiently and at ridiculous speed from one point to another, only to get out of them and walk so slowly along the streets that you might think that they had suffered some sort of injury. Surely a more balanced approach to each of these activities would result in a much more comfortable existence for everybody.

These are some generalised impressions of Spain. It’s a kind, happy country that everyone should visit at least once in their lifetime and that some people are lucky enough to live in.

Like anywhere it could be maddening, but when I was angry I always remembered a snippet of wisdom passed down to me by a well-travelled friend. He said that at first you’ll love everything about a place; then you’ll grow to hate everything about it. At length you’ll realise that some things are good and some things are bad, and that’s when you know that you’ve settled.

So, here’s to the Spanish! The world is a much better place for them.

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image credit: balakov