SPAIN: The land that time forgot

Don't be mis-led by the title of this blog entry, the Iberian peninsula isn't still populated by dinosaurs and giant pterodactyls that crap on your car twenty seconds after you finish washing it, Spain is actually an incredibly progressive 21st century European nation. But, there is a but. It's also a country where, to a man or woman, the natives could live their entire lives without the use of a clock or wristwatch. Sure, they both exist but the former is only for decorating the kitchen wall and the latter solely to flaunt wealth. I'll explain.

Back in dear old Blightly, my five working days a week always featured tear-arsing to or from an office, the gymnasium, the bank in my lunch hour or my Mum's to quickly sluice a hot coffee and dash out again. In Spain I don't think anyone has ever done anything at anytime, ever, that involves using the words 'tear' and 'arsing' simultaneously, that I guess is half the reason most Brit's came here, the altogether slower pace of life. Maybe it's just me, but once in a while that slower pace of life thing - which I love, absolutely love I mean - kind of plays havoc with the old social life. As a relative newcomer to the land of sun and sangria, I've been here nearly five years, I guess I've a way to go before I lose my punctual British habits, especially when it comes to meeting a group of, (native), friends for a pre-arranged night out.

About a month ago we'd organised a meal with seven or eight other people, it was a Saturday night and the plan was to meet at nine pm at a small restaurant, close to the river, near our house. Thinking nothing of it, I'd dutifully shaved and showered, if memory serves I might even have ironed a shirt, and by about ten to nine I was ready for inspection and my usual enquiry "does my bum look big in these?" I saw the problem immediately. The girlyfriend was stood in front of the bathroom mirror with wet hair and a towel around her, from experience I knew the pair of us were at least forty minutes away from leaving the house. Eventually, I think it was still Saturday, we arrived at the rendezvous, and do you know what? We were only the second of four couples to arrive!

A similar thing happened last weekend, albeit with a smaller group and no restaurant table booked. Fifteen minutes before the scheduled start of our drinks and tapas kind of a night out, yours truly was loafing about on the sofa in my trollies and little else, face buried behind a book I couldn't put down, when guess who walked in looking pretty tasty? Yup, her! "Oh" was the best best I could feebly muster, before dashing off to polish a pair of shoes. This is the problem you see, if a rule book exists, I've never seen it and Spanish folk seem to know it off by heart anyway. I don't actually expect my hosts to be like the Swiss with their metronomic efficiency, or perish the thought, some of those charmless folk from the Fatherland, but it would be ever so useful if the locals in my world could be a wee bit better organised.

Back in August I had a job interview for which I arrived on the dot of four thirty suited and booted, and, finding the office I had to be at unattended, I waited outside in the street. Compelled to stand in what little shade was offered by a lamp post - it was still bloody hot - my prospective new boss eventually pitched up after about twenty odd minutes had passed. I could tell by his facial expression this was shaping up to be a bit of a lose-lose situation. Had I wandered along that late, he would have been mighty unimpressed, in the end I never got the job; probably because he was a tad pissed off at having to interrupt his siesta to rush back to work to see me.

That's the problem you see, Spain is so laid back time seems to mean very little to most folk. Spanish people automatically know when to take coffee, (mid to late morning), and when to have their main meal of the day, (late-ish evening). Not one single native has adequately explained to me when buenos días (good morning) ends and buenas tardes (good afternoon) begins. I do have my own theory though and I think it's something to with the sun. If ever I arrange to meet the girlyfriend, (Spanish, obviously), for breakfast, I always take breakfast before I leave the house, if not, I would have passed out from hunger long before she deigns to arrive. Heaven only knows how this amazing country of about 46 million people manages to run a railway network or operate it's airports.

The land that time forgot ? Nah, the land that forgot the time more like!!