Awake, for morning in the bowl of night has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight

And, lo, the hunter of the east 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 in Spain’.

Cosas de España/Galiza

Sad to say, we have terrible fires in the ‘cooler’ North too.

The estimable Lenox Napier writes on ‘critters’ here.

So, it’s not just me . . . As the anti-tourism movement grows, no one appears to be safe from ridicule – not even Spaniards themselves. Disgruntled locals in Galicia and northern Spain have coined an ‘unflattering’ nickname to describe the hordes of Madrileños who flock to embrace the temperate weather on the nation’s northern coastline in order to escape the sweltering sky-high temperatures in the capital and increasingly overcrowded holiday destinations elsewhere. [BTW . . I’m not sure that all Castellano speakers would understand that Rúa pechada means ‘Road closed’ . . . Or that agas means ‘except’].

The annual costs of owning property in Spain.

Never was a music event more aptly named than the one which took place last night and the night before alongside the river that runs around Pv city – Big Sound. Except Vast Sound would have been even better. Or Deafening Sound even more so. So bad was it last night that, after midnight, I not only inserted earplugs to the max but also moved to a bedroom on the other side of the house. At 1am, the persistently heavy bass was still pounding from the stage over 2 km away. It’s not very surprising that, after last year’s inaugural event, friends living near it went away for the weekend. More surprising was to bump into a close Galician friend who immediately commented on the ‘madness’ of last night and said there’ll be legal action (una demanda) taken by residents against the town council tomorrow morning. [See below for the difference between a denuncia and a demanda].

The World Cup

There will be even more screaming than previously next door tonight . . .

Meanwhile, an article from today’s El País:-

The Ball Remains Unstained: Juan Gabriel Vásquez

I don’t know what will happen tonight, when the World Cup final ends, but I do know that something has been broken this year in the spirit of the tournament, and we have the right to ask ourselves how it happened. I’m not talking about football, as anyone will understand: there has been plenty of that, and very good football, and tonight two extraordinary teams will play, teams whose history explains why football fans continue to watch World Cup matches despite the filth that may surround them. But I’ve been thinking, inevitably, about what Maradona said on the day of his final retirement. It was November 10, 2001; seven years had passed since he was expelled from his last World Cup for using banned substances, and there, in La Bombonera, Boca Juniors’ stadium, he spoke before thousands of fans who didn’t see him as a footballer, but as a minor deity who had marked the last 15 years of Argentine life. With his arms crossed, as if embracing himself in pure sadness, Maradona acknowledged his mistakes. And then he added: “Just because someone makes a mistake doesn’t mean football should pay the price. I made a mistake and I paid. But the game itself remains untainted.”

Over the past few years, we have witnessed the relentless efforts of FIFA’s leadership, in collusion with the most deplorable leaders of the 21st century, to tarnish it beyond recognition. We already knew that Donald Trump, like a reverse Midas, turns everything he touches to shit; Gianni Infantino, for his part, has spent several years dedicated to his own alchemy: transforming football into a crude commodity, susceptible to being exploited or squeezed dry, and above all, capable of whitewashing the bullies and authoritarians of the world. Yes, he has done so diligently and repeatedly; but he has sunk lower than ever in recent years, during the preparation and execution of this World Cup, which was organized by three countries but revolved from the very beginning around one. And the spectacle has been lamentable.

Let’s take it one step at a time. Several months have passed, but I still feel secondhand embarrassment remembering the ridiculous award Infantino invented to curry favor (so to speak) with the President of the United States: to appease that fragile ego, that narcissistic wound in human form that is Trump. “FIFA Peace Prize: Football Unites the World,” was the brazenly named artificial trophy, or so said the laughable announcement FIFA made on the day of the draw. Football unites the world, give me a break. That’s the phrase Infantino chose to reward the Western leader who has most vehemently divided people, championed xenophobes, and encouraged violence among his own citizens, not to mention the methodical sabotage he has carried out against all the institutions of multilateralism—the United Nations, the OAS, the Paris Agreement—whose aim is to pretend that the world isn’t a jungle where only the strongest survive.

By the time of that grotesque ceremony, Trump had already humiliated Zelensky in the Oval Office (while denying support to the attacked country or subjecting it to blackmail) and had said he would turn the Gaza Strip into a resort (while condoning the extermination carried out by the genocidal regime of Netanyahu and his cronies). He had not yet attacked Venezuela to impose his puppet government, nor had he launched his optional war against Iran, nor had he publicly threatened to destroy the structures of civil life in that country: that is, to commit what all the world’s conventions consider war crimes. His gang-like words (but those of a gang member armed with nuclear missiles) were inscribed from the very first moment in the universal annals of infamy: “Tuesday will be power plant day, bridge day, all in one package for Iran. There will be nothing like it!!! Open the fucking strait, you damn bastards, or you will live in Hell.” (My translation is approximate. Where Trump wrote “crazy bastards,” I’m torn between “damn bastards,” with its inevitable Tarantino-esque feel, or “fucking lunatics.” Both capture the spirit of the original well, I think.)

But none of the above could have prepared us for what happened during the World Cup. As anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock this past month knows, the United States’ star striker, Folarin Balogun, received a red card in his team’s match against Bosnia-Herzegovina; Trump, who until then had mysteriously remained on the sidelines of the tournament, intervened in true Corleone style: he picked up the phone, called the FIFA president, and demanded that the player’s suspension be lifted. Infantino obeyed, of course, as standing up to someone powerful is not in his nature, much less defending the integrity of a sport he so vehemently claims to champion. He defended the integrity of a sport he so vehemently defended with empty words through his actions. Then Trump boasted about the call on camera; and his response to a reporter was as much Padrino-like satisfaction as it was blatant cynicism, with a touch of cowardly insinuation (since he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to smear someone). “I understand sports very well,” he said. “And that wasn’t a foul. It wasn’t even an infraction. And the referee, who’s a bit of a shady character, if you look at his past… If you want, I can give you proof of that past…” Then, to prove he understands sports very well: “It’s one thing to sanction someone for a game. But how can you sanction them for a game that hasn’t even been played yet? It’s very unfair.”

The suspension was lifted for Balogun, and the striker was able to play against Belgium. But football, stubborn football, has its corrective mechanisms, or perhaps its organism has its own defenses: the situation provoked by the scheming Trump thrust the poor players into the middle of an uncomfortable debate, so heavy and poisonous that they forgot how to play. Against Belgium, the United States was a team without soul or concentration, as if their minds were elsewhere, and they left the World Cup amidst the most acute case of schadenfreude seen in recent memory.

I want to believe what Maradona said is true. Tonight, one of the captains will receive the trophy he hopefully deserved, and he will do so in the presence of two indecent individuals whose mafia-like behavior has left an indelible stain on the history of the World Cup: but the ball remains untainted. I’m sure more than one player would prefer not to have the burdensome obligation of shaking their hands, and I must say I pity them all: I’ve spoken with world champions and I know how many emotions and memories (those of past failures, those of successes with their misunderstandings, those of the living who accompany them to witness the moment, those of the dead who cannot witness it) will fill them, as they would anyone in a similar situation, and it’s a shame that the moment is less pure because of the presence of those nefarious figures, Infantino and Trump. But they too will pass, and football will remain.

ME: En passant. there are several analyses on the net which plausibly show that Argentina got beneficial treatment throughout the competition compared with the other 3 semi-finalists but I will leave you to find them. if interested.

The United States of Trump America

Trump Can’t Get No Respect. His biggest lie wasn’t about elections.

Why Loser Trump Melted Down In Front of Me: He cannot accept reality.

It’s a truism that (US)Americans like things to be bigger. So, in place of a mad English king they have a home-grown mad emperor. Well done, cousins.

Spanish

• Ir por partes: To go one step at a time
• Es un decir: So to speak
• Dar contentillo: To appease

English

Common words and phrases you’re probably getting wrong.

Did you know?

10 tips on how to keep cool during the imminent heat wave.

Finally . . .

The difference between a demanda (compliante) and a denuncia (lawsuit) in Spain

The key difference lies in the legal sphere: a demanda falls under criminal law, while adenuncia falls under civil law (and also labor and administrative litigation)

Demanda; This brings to the attention of the police, Civil Guard, or a judge facts that could constitute a crime so that they can be investigated. It is filed with the police authority or the investigating court (criminal). It can be verbal or written. It does not require a lawyer or court agent, because the complainant does not acquire the status of a party in the proceedings; they act as a mere witness who reports the facts.

Denuncia: This is a written document in which you ask the judge to take action: to collect a debt, grant a divorce, claim an inheritance, or have a dismissal declared unfair. In other words, “lawsuit” comes from “to demand” = to request. It is filed with a civil court (court of first instance), a labor court, or an administrative court, depending on the matter. It requires standing (being the creditor, owner, injured party, etc.) and usually a lawyer and a court agent when the amount in dispute warrants it. Its purpose is to redress damages (usually financial), not to impose a prison sentence.

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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.

If you´re thinking of moving to Spain, this link should be useful to you. And this, on the annual costs of owning property here.