The
Rough Guide is rather dismissive of Palencia. Or at least my
2004 edition is. The one where I get a mention in the
acknowledgements. As I recall, it doesn't even name any hotels, which
contributed to my failure to
find one for 30 minutes. This may seem harsh on the part of the
Rough Guide but, as there was no sign of a Turismo in
Palencia, you could argue the city is dismissive of itself.
I
get to see quite a few towers and fortresses in my travels around
Spain. And my impression is there isn't one of them that wasn't used
by Franco and his gang as a prison for Republican captives, many of
whom were taken from them to be killed in bloody reprisals after the
end of the war. Incidentally, perhaps Franco's most staggering piece
of bloodthirsty double-think was to treat anyone who fought against
him as a traitor to (“Catholic”) Spain, rather than as a defender
of the legitimate government against which the Nationalist forces
were rebelling. History, they say, is written by the victors. So,
thank God for revisionist historians.
Another
bit of Spanglish, I think – Runrún: Hum, humming; Rumour
Which
reminds me . . . “The Lavender Hill Mob” became El Quinteto de
la Muerte in Spanish. No, I don't understand why the title had to
be changed either. It's not as if El Quinteto de la Muerte
means more than La Banda de Lavender Hill. Or not to me,
anyway.
The
final report on the 5 hotels I stayed at is:
- Accepted my out of date ID – 5
- Mucked up my name – 5
- Asked me to sign a chit, even though my credit card has a chip – 5
- Photocopied my ID – 2
- Asked me to enter my PIN - 0
I
think I see a pattern emerging here.
Which
reminds me . . . when you go in a café/bar and the only three papers
there are being hogged by a guy and his wife (who isn't even reading
but doing the puzzles), then you're tempted to conclude that the
reputation of the Spanish for being inconsiderate of others is well
and truly deserved. And your blood simmers a tad.
Nice
cartoon in La Vanguardia (I think) – One observer saying to
the other “It would be good if for once the number of prostitutes
fined was less than the number of pimps arrested.”
Referring
to Sunday's astonishing performance by the European Ryder golf
team, a leader in El País said the comeback “was a question
of something never seen on a golf course before – Cojones." The irony is that, if you use the standard English translation of
'Balls', it doesn't work as, of course, there have always been balls
on a golf course. So . . . knackers?
In
the last few months – in a wave of spending unprecedented in my
life – I've bought a digital TV recorder, an oven, a hob, a
fridge/freezer, a set of bathroom scales and, most recently of
course, a car. Each of these – even the bloody scales - came with a
detailed guide on how to operate it. Inevitably, the most daunting is
that for the car, if only because it weighs a kilo, or 2.2lbs. I've
got as far a chucking away all the non-English pages in the guides
but really must knuckle down to reading the residues. It would have
been helpful during my just-finished 3,800km trek if I'd read the
car manual. Or even brought it with me. As it was, I had to spend a
good deal of time experimenting with the buttons on the steering
wheel before cracking how the cruise control worked. Then there was
the radio/CD player.
Finally
. . . I'm guessing Arthur Alexander is a name unknown to most of you.
And, indeed, to most of the world. He was, though, a favourite singer
of The Beatles, who played some of his R&B songs in their stage
performances. And, indeed, recorded one or two of them as well –
Anna and You Better Move on. Alexander is the only
songwriter whose songs have been covered by The Beatles, The Rolling
Stones and Bob Dylan. But he never achieved the recognition his own singing or for his tunes deserved. Possibly because he was an
uninspired stage performer. Anyway, why not sample a few tracks on A
Night Train to Nashville, via Spotify or Grooveshark?
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