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I was in Spain when Francisco Franco died. This is
not an admission of guilt, I did not kill him. 'El Caudillo'
died of natural causes 20 November 1975, aged eighty-two.
I was on holidays with my parents and being aged three the
significance of the event escaped me. For Spain, however,
the despot of thirty-five years was dead and his successor
Juan Carlos de Borbón y Borbón was about
to bring democracy to the country. At last, the magic of Spain
was to be unlocked.
Last year Spain attracted fifty-one million visitors. It
is well known for its beaches, sun, sangria and its eclectic
nightlife, all of which are amazing, but there is much, much
more. Spain is one of the most ancient countries in Europe.
In fact some of the oldest human remains in Europe have been
found here. Modern day Spaniards are descendants of multiple
invaders from ancient Europe, Africa and the Middle East.
These ancient visitors left behind some of their architecture
and art, and a little of their cultures and traditions became
absorbed and assimilated by the local inhabitants.
When I came to Spain in February I based myself in Salamanca
in the autonomy of Castilla y León in the centre-west
of Spain. Salamanca became my home through the spring, summer
and autumn last year and this is where I met some of the most
generous, intelligent, funny and good-hearted people I have
ever known. My love of Spain began here. This is also where
I noticed a few of the Spanish idiosyncrasies.
It is true, the Spanish converse in volumes that in other
countries are reserved for the hard of hearing. Running in
the street is the height of bad manners (unless celebrating
the fiesta of St.Fermin in Pamploma and are being chased
by several 500kg bulls). In Salamanca, 'ladies of the night'
work daylight hours and garbage collectors and street cleaners
come out in force after two in the morning. There are over
three thousand tapas bars in Salamanca - how do you spot a
good one? By the number of crumpled paper napkins and cigarette
butts on the floor, of course. The better the food, the more
people, the more napkins and stubs. Sunday is the day for
dressing up, meeting with friends and family and strolling
up and down the main street showing off your finery and catching
up on the week's gossip. The Spanish love to chat and gossip.
Waiting in a queue in my local supermarket one day the little
old lady behind started chatting. She spoke very fast. I told
her I was Irish and that I was having difficulty understanding
her. To which she nodded, smiled encouragingly, pointed at
her shopping and then at her wallet, spoke faster and louder.
I had no idea what she was saying.
Finally with relief I reached the cash register and it dawned
on me that she had been saying that she didn't have any money.
Unsure of what to do I looked back and saw her nodding and
smiling and pointing at her shopping and then at her wallet
and afraid she was going to shout something unintelligible
again I blurted out to the shop assistant that I would like
to pay for my shopping and the shopping of the lady behind
me. Silence descended. The gossiping stopped. The other queuers
collectively leant in to hear and see better. The shop assistant,
after conferring with the, now, barely audible little old
lady, explained to me and to the other ten customers that
there was no need for me to pay for the senora's shopping.
The senora had just been wondering if I would help her carry
her shopping home and had jokingly offered to pay me. Humiliated
I whispered an apology, paid and left but not before I heard
the little old lady say in her loud voice 'Los Irelandes están
todos locos - es el Guinness!' (The Irish are all lunatics
- it's the Guinness!)
Sara Woods studies at don Quijote in Salamanca.
For more information about don Quijote, visit Don
Quijote
Text © Sara Woods, all rights reserved
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