Wow! (or Guauu as it’s written here). It being December, our little family, having moved on the 1st of January 2016, has now lived in Comunidad Valenciana (Peñiscola, Castellon to be more precise) long enough to have seen the place in every calendar month that exists! Not a full 365 days yet. However, barring a pretty post-worthy event, safe to say that the year milestone is now achievable. So, what’s my overall conclusion?….The Spanish, as a people, are plain batshit bonkers! That said, bonkers, when you’re in the mood for bonkers or it’s the right kind of bonkers, has been well received by the three of us this year. Our bonkers son has been particularly taken by the place and it’s people. But then, if you take away school then he pretty much lives in a holiday camp and who cares how bonkers a holiday camp gets?!

What is the justification for my affectionate but at the same time somewhat critical “batshit bonkers” summary then?…

If you ask me, more often than not, upon meeting someone new or dealing with the public, the people in the U.K employ a default polite and socially measured approach. Here in Spain, I’ve encountered many more people walking around that I would describe as informal and more ‘take me as you find me’. Daily, I seem to encounter caricature-like behaviour that is hilarious, heartwarming, inspiring or infuriating depending on the context. One memorable example, in our first week here was when the three of us had locked ourselves out of the house. It was a Sunday, but then every January day in Peñiscola is like a Sunday, and we called someone who advertised as an ’emergency locksmith’. I wasn’t party to the conversation as Vanesa was the one who called, but from the negotiation of his attendance down from next week, to today to some time before dinner time, to an actual time with numbers involved, I could tell that he was of the informal persuasion and fit my sweeping generalisation of everyone Spanish. When he arrived, the standard 30 minutes later than agreed, it was like watching BBC 3 on a Sunday evening. Pure experimental-type comedy.

Firstly, he pulled up in his Castellon-plated SEAT ‘something or other’ van. He seemed to spring open the door a full minute before his next move. He poured himself out. In doing so he also dislodged a collection of objects that rolled about the floor directly outside his emergency vehicle. An empty plastic bottle, a file of papers, a half-empty bottle, an item of clothing and oddly, a whistle! A green, pea containing whistle that he recovered from the floor and thrust at our two year old son, without having yet looked any of us in the face. At the moment of doing so he said “toma” (or “take it”) and that was as formal as this guy got. Then followed the usual start of a conversation in Valenciano, the local variant of Catalan that we don’t speak, before he realised and switched to Spanish. He set about the task of opening our door, as our son set about the task of blowing what was hopefully a new, clean whistle, for the first time in his life. Progress in both cases was limited. Lincoln struggled to get more than a whimper out of the whistle and the locksmith went through his full compliment of tools, returning to the van on at least three occasions, with the door remaining stubborn. Then followed what was about 15 mins of us explaining to Lincoln how to blow the whistle harder and the odd “still not budging, eh?” to the locksmith. Eventually the locksmith stopped swearing under his breath to start offering advice to the would be whistle-blower. “Sopla más fuerte” (blow harder), “Respira profundamente” (take a deep breath) etc, all with his back to us as he continued with the task of the door. We carried on like this until …. “ASI ES!” or “That’s it!” exclaimed the builder’s bum from our front door stoop. You’ve got it?! I ventured, only for him to reply in a ‘you’re the worst kind of parent tone’, “No! Your son has just learned how to blow a whistle!”. The door needed a few more expletives and took a while longer but we were left with an open door, a whistle-blowing son and an insight into what kind of comedic behaviour we could expect from the locals. They haven’t let us down since either.