Awake, for morning in the bowl of night has flung the stone that puts
the stars to flight.
And, lo, has caught the sultan’s turret in a noose of light!

Spanish life is not always likeable but it is compellingly loveable – Christopher Howse: ‘A Pilgrim \

Cosas de España

Courtesy, again, of Lenox Napier of Business Over Tapas:-

• From El País: ‘Support for democracy is declining among Spain’s young adults. Of Generation Z – now 18 to 26 – 26% believe that “in some circumstances” authoritarianism may be preferable to the democratic system. For Gen Z women, it was 18%. In the previous generation – the Millennials, now 27 to 42 – there’s a wider gap: 23% of men see an authoritarian regime as acceptable, compared to 13% of women.’
• To my surprise . . . Immigration is the number one concern for voters in Spain, a poll shows. According to the CIS, the topic has jumped unemployment to take the top spot. In June, just 11% of people surveyed named immigration as their biggest concern. In a poll in September, that figure has almost tripled to 31%’.

A major moan . . . Renfe: Despite the fact that I have real problems every single time I try to book tickets on line, I have a friend who says she never has difficulties doing this. Indeed, last night she checked on Pv city to Madrid and got details of available seats that I never got. At lower prices! I was left with the suspicion that Renfe’s computer knows I have a tarjeta dorada and so discriminates against me when tickets are in high demand, because I get a significant discount. But maybe that’s just too logical and they just have a crap system. I did an AI search today and got this – very unsurprising – response: The site’s status in Spain is notorious. Its reputation is notably poor, primarily due to frequent technical issues and frustrating experiences. Users say it is “unpredictable” and “full of glitches” that hinder ticket-purchasing. Complaints include error messages during transactions, difficulties with payment processing, and overall inefficiency in navigating the site. Tell me about it! I literally hate using the site. Anyway, I went to the station this morning and, lo and behold, there were 3 trains available on both of the relevant dates. Given that it’s not workable, wastes your time and causes you grief, I think we can truthfully say that Renfe’s web page is worse than useless.

Portugal

A state of emergency has been declared. More than100 ‘out-of =control’ forest fires are visible from space after destroying thousands of hectares. The forecasted rain has yet to arrive here in southern Galicia but I do hope it’s reached Portugal.

The UK

If you want to know how Britain was born ,via the 1707 Act of Union between the crowns of Scotland and England, this engaging podcast will tell you all you need to know. It’s available on other podcasts sites, of course. I use AntennaPod on my Android phone.

The EU

• I seem to recall that Ursula von der Leyen was ‘kicked upstairs’ after being a poor Defence Minister in Germany. Recently re-elected, she’s doing what bureaucrats always do – increasing her powers. Or, as Politico puts it here, going from queen to empress: After unveiling her new team, the European Commission president holds more influence than ever.
• This is a survey of wages per hour in EU countries. Click on the large map. Quite a range, from Bulgaria’s €8.10 an hour to Luxembourg’s 47.30. The average is 24.0 and Spain’s is well below this, at 18.20. It must be cheap to go on holiday to Bulgaria. I did that more than 30 years ago and it was certainly true then.

Net Zero

• When ideology ignores the market/reality/you and me . . .
• I heard from a friend last night that that model of social democracy, Sweden, is scrapping climate taxes on fuel and airline tickets, regressing on renewable energy goals and planning to build more nuclear reactors instead. I wondered if it were true but it seems that it is. More states will follow, I imagine.

Finally . .

MY YEAR IN THE SEYCHELLES

• Part 1: 12 September 2024: Why VSO?
• Part 2: 13 September 2024: The Leaving of Liverpool
• Part 3: 14 September 2024: An interlude: The Seychelles back then
• Part 4: 14 September: Departure, Nairobi and Arrival
• Part 5: 15 September: Arriving in Mombasa
• Part 6: 16 September: The YCWA in Mombasa
• Part 7: 17 September: The Flight to Mahé
• Part 8: 18 September: Our Reception
• Part 9: 19 September: Early days

Part 10: My VSO Colleagues and Some Early Adventures

There were actually five of us in the Seychelles, the vanguard of later do-gooders. Three of us were VSO ‘cadets’, meaning that we were pre-university and aged 18 or 19. And the other 2 were graduates in their early twenties, operating under the aegis of an organisation called something like International Voluntary Service. I’ll call is IVS anyway.

The three VSO cadets were me, Martin Carlisle and Jane Gunn. And the IVS duo were John K Edgely and Joanne Whalley.

Martin came from the Home Counties and his father was a banker. My abiding memory of him is the way he smoked in a rather louche way, pulling a strange, hood-lidded expression as he took long drags on a cigarette, tossing his head backwards slightly as he did so. About the only other thing I recall is that he left open on the desk a letter to his parents in which I happened to read that I was learning to drive and that I was terrible at it.

This was a reference to the practice I was getting in a very old Austin A35 which had been given to us pending the arrival of three 50cc mopeds. And the arrival of which from the UK was long overdue. The interesting thing about this car was that some sort of gears synchromesh arrangement had been fitted to it. And this was operated by a button on top of the gear stick. This, I think, took the place of the clutch pedal and you had to depress it when changing gear. Astonishingly, it was actually a brown bakelite bell which one associates with old house or hotels. And the button in the middle was white. Anyway, I guess I was finding it difficult to operate this on the narrow, twisting roads of the island. And it would hardly be surprising if Martin had been terrified.

Jane Gunn was a jolly girl who had been sent to teach at the girl’s grammar school, just down the road from the boys’ school where I was. She was terribly enamoured of her boyfriend, Peter, to whom she used to write a daily letter. I have few memories of her as I spent much less time with her as I did with Martin. Sadly, the one strong memory is of her awaking each morning with a huge fart and then moving to the toilet to let go several more. As I’ve mentioned, the walls in the bathrooms of our adjacent rooms didn’t reach the ceilings. Making it even easier for us to hear her morning orchestral manoeuvres than down in the main room.

Martin worked as a clerk in Paddy Taylors Education Department, where he was bored rigid. I have a recollection that he later wangled a transfer to the marginally more interesting Public Works Department but I may be confused on this. But why he drew the short straw of this position while I got to go and work enjoyably as a teacher, I have no idea.

Not long after we had arrived in the islands, Martin and I were invited to a formal cocktail party at Government House. If you look up Seychelles on Wikipedia, you can see there a picture of this place, looking exactly as it did back then. Anyway, I recall being astonished at the sort of people attending this, feeling they’d been brought of a cupboard in which they were usually kept. Because of their brown and wrinkled skin, I Christened them ‘parchment people’.

Soon after this, the Governor and his wife came to a formal dinner at our hotel, which I suspect was in our honour. Whether it was or wasn’t, Martin and I were seated at the same table as these dignitaries. His title was, I believe, the Earl of Oxford and Asquith and he was possibly the grandson of the previous British Prime Minister. There was a great deal of food and even more drink and Martin and I got very drunk.

Normally this probably wouldn’t have been much of a problem but, late in the proceedings, we took to arguing loudly about who should follow what we thought protocol and ask the Lady Governor to dance. My opinion was that she was too tall and Martin’s was that she was too ugly. In the event, Martin had the decency to accept the responsibility and took the good lady onto the dance floor. I doubt that there was much conversation but I do recall the owner of the hotel, Jerry Legrand, being rather upset at us the following day.

Another abiding memory I have of is a visit we made together to the island of Praslin. The theory was that we would be hosted by a priest who knew of our coming but, again, this is not how things turned out. The priest had never heard of us and had no accommodation to offer. We were eventually offered as beds the floor or the desks of the local school. As if this wasn’t enough, there was some sort of festival taking place and this ensured that we got very little sleep that first night. And from there things simply went downhill. We must have had little money as we spent the next several days surviving mostly on the bananas which hung from the trees. I’ve since learned there are 57 varieties of this fruit growing in the Seychelles and I suspect we tried most of them. I wasn’t too surprised when I developed a white rash on my back.

The only good memory of this trip I have is of the pair of us dancing with old crones in some hut or other, as a local group played some local tune. I say ‘dancing’ but it was really a question of shuffling around the floor, accompanied by hooting and laughter from the locals.

Then there was the time we went to a party at the house of one of the Americans who worked at the satellite tracking station. As I recall, we’d been invited by the occupants of a passing car as we were walking along the road. As it wasn’t very far from the hotel, we thought we’d give it a go. As we walked through the front door, someone handed us a bottle of Jack Daniels bourbon whiskey. Whereupon we walked straight out of the back door and back to the hotel beach. Where, of course, we became very drunk again.

I have a strong memory of then paddling or even swimming out to one of the little boats moored off the beach and then lying on my back and marvellous at all the stars spinning in the clear sky. Apparently we later moved into the hotel proper to gatecrash a party Jerry Legrand was throwing there, where – unsurprisingly – we disgraced ourselves again. But I have absolutely no memory of this.

My thanks to those readers who take the trouble to Like my posts, either after reading on line or in my FB group Thoughts from Galicia.

The Usual Links . . .

• You can get my posts by email as soon as they’re published. With the added bonus that they’ll contain the typos I’ll discover later. I believe there’s a box for this at the bottom of each post. If you do this but don’t read the posts, I will delete your subscription. So perhaps don’t bother if you have other reasons for subscribing . . .
• For new readers: If you’ve landed here looking for info on Galicia or Pontevedra, try here. If you’re passing through Pontevedra on the Camino, you’ll find a guide to the city there.
• For those thinking of moving to Spain:– This is an extremely comprehensive and accurate guide to the challenge, written by a Brit who lives in both the North and the South and who’s very involved in helping Camino walkers. And this is something on the so-called Beckham Rule, which is beneficial – tax-wise – for folk who want to work here. Finally, some advice on getting a mortgage. And this article ‘debunks claims re wealth and residency taxes’. Probably only relevant if you’re a HNWI. In which case, you’ll surely know what that stands for.