Customs old and new

AOG, Madrid

A few days ago I went to a wedding in the Basque country. One of my partner’s cousins was getting married. It was held in the town of Markina, halfway between Durango and San Sebastian.

It was great.

I was enthralled by the family spirit of the whole thing.

I was lucky enough to witness some old customs, and some new ones, as well as the first lashes of culture clash.

It is traditional in the Basque Country for a dance of honor called “Aurresku” to be performed just outside the church once the bride and groom have been married.

In this dance, the male dancer does a step whereby his leg is outstretched and kicked upwards all the way to his face. Amazing. No Ballets Russes here.

This was the traditional part.

The new custom, it would appear, would be the letting out of fireworks as the newlyweds walk past their guests and into the car.

Everyone remarked on it and asked (and by everyone I mean everyone) if the bride was from Valencia.

You see, aside from Paella, Valencia is known for its fallas and its fireworks. If you think the Chinese have cornered the market on loud firework displays, you’ve never been to Valencia.

So there it was, 2 customs, one old, one new, both surprising since, these days, it is less and less common to see weddings where the Aurresku is performed. But there were still new customs to be seen.

We were treated afterwards to a delicious wedding banquet in a lovely restored traditional basque homestead located in the mountains. Think Swiss Alps with log cabins, but add a couple of stories, make them bigger, and use stone, not wood.

It was white fenced throughout and everyone said it was very atypical to see white fencing. Personally, I thought I was in Virginia!

At our table were sat my partner’s brother and his wife, as well as his sister, and their cousins and wives. It was amazing to hear all the childhood pranks these people got into. It was great. I liked how they were telling stories 15, 20, even 30 years old. How they spoke of their joint childhood, their common stories, adventures, and the times they got in trouble too.

How they referred to each other's parents as "Auntie this" and "Uncle that".

I loved being witness to all that.

On of them was taking about his own daughters; he was worried about how they would try to outsmart him and how he was powerless to stop them. Well, much like his own parents I suppose.

Was this not the eternal family wheel upon which all humanity is thrust into? Childhood, youth, adulthood, patterns which repeat themselves albeit with new actors.

I kept thinking how lucky they all were by being able to grow up with family members their age, and that they are still in touch with each other. What a wonderful thing.

The bride and groom were surrounded by their loved ones and we didn't get much of a chance to talk to them.

For me it was also a great opportunity to get to know better some of my partner's family, and to learn how everyone is related. My family being so small, it was great to be able to do this.

Customs anew...

It is worth noting two of the banquet’s waitresses. One of them, in her early 20s or younger, blonde, blue eyed, prim, proper, white-gloved throughout, very professional, and, genetically designed not to laugh at anyone’s jokes.

She would come over with food, tell us what it was. Wait for us to grab a portion. Then split. If a joke was uttered, she either ignored it, or raised above it. We were actually embarrassed to make any jokes when she came round. She was not mean or anything, just trying to be professional I suppose.


The other waitress was definitely my favourite.

In her early to mid 40s, or younger perhaps, blonde, hazel eyed, tanned, muscular, prim, proper, white-gloved throughout, very professional, and, genetically designed to be a different gender once upon a time.

Some people mentioned that she was a body builder who used a lot of steroids, and that that was why she was so muscular and had such a masculine gait to her.

My partner and I differed. She was lovely. Which is why I was convinced that she might have started life with different gonads at one point in her existence.

She walked in heels like a football player would, and her hair was reminiscent of Ivana Trump. Her fake nails were the size of spoons. Yes, she could have tackle d anyone if she had wanted to. But it was all very dignified.

My partner and I loved the fact that the place which held the wedding banquet had the good taste to hire her. A new custom.

The old and the new. Just another day in Spain.

Starting to settle....

AOG, Madrid

Yesterday I was in the north of Spain: San Sebastian. I'd gone over to a Saturday wedding in Bilbao with my other half and we had a free day to tour the Basque country. I have to say, it is the first wedding I attend where, out of 26 tables, 3 of them had two pairs of Marquises, one stand alone Marchioness, and a couple of Viscounts. You have to love Europe for things like that.

Of course, no one introduced the Aristocrats to anyone else and I, 1- made little effort to be introduced and, 2- had little chance to do so anyhow. What I liked best about the whole wedding shindig was being a little more accepted by my other half's friends. A small bond is in the making between them and I. They appear to like me, and I like them back with no appearances. I just do.

And yesterday, instead of staying in rainy, gray and drizzly Bilbao, we droved to rainy, gray and drizzly San Sebastian. Truly, it is a beautiful city. Although renowned in Spain for its culinary excellence, I have to say we were not very lucky with food. It was at best, palatable. I am not a food snob, but I have to say that nothing of note was served to us yesterday. I also saw the new Auditorium & Congress Hall, the Kursaal.

It is a beautiful glass monstrosity by my least favorite Spanish Architect, Rafael Moneo, which lights-up-at-night and has been plonked right in front of an immaculate XIX century boulevard facing the sea, ensuring that the residents who until then had enjoyed a sea view, no longer do so. I am surprised that no one thought of building it further down the sea walk where it meets the mountains and there are no buildings in front. It looks very out of place, and the scale, for a city of punctilious dimensions, makes it look like a baby doll looks like when placed next to a Barbie doll: humongous.



I had been to San Sebastian last (and first) in 1990. I spent an afternoon there with my mother. She told me about her childhood trips and the female bear she used to visit at the local zoo whenever my grandparents took her there. I have yet to see this zoo.

When I got back to Madrid last night, we spoke on the phone. She wanted to know the names of the bride and groom to see if she knew their parents. Somehow her connections to Bilbao tied me a little bit to that place. When I told her we had gone to the Hotel Londres on the beachfront to have a coffee and watch the Wimbledon final she mentioned she remembered it too. She gave me the hotel's full name, which I thought was funny since I too discovered its name once inside. Hotel Londres y de Inglaterra. London and of England Hotel, aka Hotel Londres, full stop. Perhaps the "Inglaterra" is seen as pretentious these days. I don't know, but the Inglaterra bit is not seen anywhere on the hotel's façade.

I have just read a post from a blog I read from time to time. The blog's author, Chris Cope, is American and lives in Wales. And he wants to become a writer.

In fact, he is a writer. I don't know what he has written, aside from a few columns of his I have read online. But he certainly appears to be more of a writer than I. For example...I have yet to acquire a column of my own.

But I do write. Occasionally, weekly, but not yet daily. Here in Madrid, last March, I placed an ad looking for writing buddies. I found three. They are great.

One of them is a teacher. Our writing sessions star and end as discussion sessions and little or no writing is done, but we do set the world right every afternoon. However, once in a while, we do manage to do a few pages. He and I have entered a writing contest for the Spanish Railways Foundation: RENFE. Not to win, just to enter.

The other one, a guy from Chile, is writing a novel set in an office. We meet and discuss the chapters he brings. We have written together maybe once. We also tend to chat a lot of the time.

My third writing buddy is the youngest of the three. From day one, we have always written. We have good writing days and bad writing days. But we write. We give each other praise and comment, and if something is not too good, we also mention it.

I wrote to my sister in Oxford the other day telling her my latest plans and life events as they have occurred. She wrote back:

"It's so so good that you are getting out there doing the things you enjoy like writing and acting. You must enjoy every day of your life and not waste it. It's also good that you are gaining a larger circle of friends. It sounds like you are starting to settle in and make a life in Madrid."

And I was very taken aback by her words: starting to settle. I guess I must be settling in. I just hadn't realized it yet.

This week and last week, I have been cramming for a Spanish television exam. About 18 000 people are applying for 200 jobs. No don't be shocked, this is quite normal in Spain. 1 job= 3 000 applicants. I have had to cancel my acting classes and the writing sessions. Creativity zero.

Except for the blog.

Once the exam is over, I'll start writing again. There is this small Mexican drama developing in my head since March. I have not given it much thought lately, though it grows and grows. In fact, what grows the most is the anxiety of not writing it. Surely a good sign?