The 12.00 from Cantoria

Cantoria. Sunrise. I had agreed to meet Becky from the television crew in the main square – or perhaps it’s the only square – in the small interior town for an early morning bit of filming. Me looking dashing in a (for once) ironed shirt, sitting at a bar-table and droning on convincingly about the damage that the Spanish are doing to their economy by threatening to knock down homes which have not only their town hall paperwork in order (one way or another) but happen to belong to Northern Europeans. Bad for business I say to the camera which winks back at me unbelievingly. All we want is the opportunity to leave England for good (it’s all right, they’ll edit that bit out) and go and live somewhere warm and peaceful. If the Spanish authorities are hell-bent on making sure that this particular corner of Europe is an unwise choice for retirees, then there’s always Cyprus.
Outside, Britons dressed in fluorescent traffic pyjamas are beginning to gather. They will help direct participants to today’s protest march.
Cantoria is a pretty quiet place. No beach, no hotels, no souvenir shops, no brothels, Macdonalds, gas stations or sky-scrapers. A few bars, Spain being Spain, a supermarket and, down at the foot of the pueblo (at 3,800 people, I don’t know whether it’s a town or a village), there’s a half-hearted marble-cutting factory running with apparently a staff of about two people. The tumbling down plant is located next to a railway station, closed these thirty years.
It was outside this industrial complex that the protesters were meeting. I arrived, trailed by the film crew and a few Spanish journalists, and called the town policeman to come and open a door and find a plug for the P/A system.
Turns out that a journalist I know who works for Ideal de Granada lives just in that square. He came out and grabbed me for a radio interview which went out on Radio Nacional de España.
Bruce Hobday had called the ‘peaceful protest’ and had been at the tender mercies of Becky and company the evening before. He is a local resident of Cantoria and lives in a house which may be demolished at any time. Like many Britons, he had moved there for the many attractions which a quiet and warm place in the sticks can provide (and I’m not kidding – there are many worse places than a peaceful sunny village in Southern Spain). Besides falling like an unnoticed pawn between the authorities of the provincial town halls and the regional government, Bruce and many others like him are keen to stay. ‘We’re not going back to England, come what may’ said one of his fellow protestors. ‘We’ll see it out’. Bruce himself would say in his speech later that morning in front of around 300 protestors that he hoped his next public speech would be to thank the Junta de Andalucía for resolving this issue satisfactorily.
More people arrived. Orange pyjamas from Cantoria and white sports shirts from Albox with AUAN on the chest (Abusos Urbanisticos del Almanzora - ¡No!). A chap I know from the telephone called Katwi introduced himself. Others drifted by in groups, saying ‘hello’ and swapping gossip. The anti-urban abuse AUAN people seemed to know what to do – they had held a protest in Albox a couple of years ago and had just last week been in a meeting with the supreme gauleiter himself, Luís Caparros, an Almerian whose job – apparently – is to lose this province as much foreign income as possible. Caparros is the provincial representative in urban affairs for the Seville based Junta de Andalucía. After announcing that some 5,000 homes in various urbanisations scattered throughout the hinterlands of the province are illegal, he is not a popular man amongst the British.

Whistles and away went the protestors led by the police Landrover. Hardly a Spaniard in sight. Up the hill went the group, waving their polite signs ‘Save Our Homes’ and ‘We’ve Done Nothing Wrong’ and so on. They swerved to the left, down the narrow high street, past the bar (and its competitor across the square) and down as far as the town hall where the protestors stopped and Bruce asked for a minute’s silence for those who could lose their house (and life’s savings!). A few local Spaniards looked on from their terraces. Crazy these British!

The minute was enough for the trailing TV crew, which caught up with the rest of us and followed Bruce into the mayor’s office, me bringing up the rear. Bruce wanted to hand over a petition for water and electricity for the stricken urbanisation, the surprised mayor wanted to put his cigarette out, the film crew wanted a statement and… just as a Mexican standoff was developing… my phone went.

It was the journalist from the Spanish radio I work at, COPE Mojácar. I passed the phone to the mayor, ‘it’s for you’ I said. Relieved perhaps to have someone Spanish to talk to, the mayor was soon gabbling happily over the phone (and, indeed, the radio). ‘There has been enough with the demolition of the house in Vera’ said the mayor to our radio listeners, to Bruce, me and the British cameras ‘and I send a message of tranquillity to the ingleses. This is doing lots of damage to my pueblo, to the Almanzora area, to Andalucía and to Spain’ Got that right, Jack, I thought. The mayor said that he would be in Seville later this month and would be seeking solutions to this ‘aberrant situation’. He was reaching for another cigarette as we traipsed out of his presence.
The protesters outside were ready for the final mile and we were soon congregated by the old train station again. The speeches began. Bruce Hobday spoke for the Cantoria residents. I spoke for Ciudadanos Europeos de Mojácar (our local foreigners-welcome political party).

Helen Prior followed me with her always well-prepared presentations. Helen and her husband Len retired to Spain four year ago. Their house in Vera (with all legal papers) was arbitrarily knocked down in January (see Spanish Shilling for January 2008). So far, it’s been the only demolition in the province, the 22 storey illegal hotel in Carboneras included. The final speech came from Bob Naya from the AUAN and his remarks were very well put. You can find a copy of his speech on the AUAN website http://www.almanzora-au.org/ but I’ll quote one small piece.
‘Spain has earned itself a well-deserved notoriety for urban planning abuse and corruption. The Almanzora Valley is not an isolated incident. In Andalucía alone there are issues of illegal homes in the Levante region, in Marbella, in the Axarquía (Nerja and so on), in Mijas and in Chiclana to name but a few. This is a crisis which requires a strong and swift solution from our regional government, the Junta de Andalucía’.
Later, over a final beer in the square, the TV crew told me that the show would be broadcast sometime in March which I found a bit of a let-down. Things can change a lot here in six months.
Sometimes.

Woman in the Dumpster

A friend from Valencia sends me these pictures. Seems that not everyone there can afford a house.
Turns out that it's a street lady who regularly checks out the action in 'los contenadores'. Poor thing probably sleeps under a bit of cardboard in one of those narrow rooms with an automatic bank teller. Bit ironic really. Or perhaps she sleeps on a bench or in some ruin or squat.
So tell me again about your new Audi. I wasn't really listening before...

Pepe Takes The Trufibar

Pepe (Carlos I and El Salmonete) has taken on The Trufibar, the large place on Mojácar beach (opp. the Lopez nuts and bolts shop) popular with the local residents. There was an opening bash last Thursday with live flamenco, dancers, bagpipes (thanks Jim) booze and eats. That's Julio with the pinchitos.

Perhaps I saw you there.

The Trufibar is a special place to go to (like a precious few other places here) because it's a bar for the residents. The tourists never seem to find it. There's a bar on the street with a few outside tables, a larger and smarter bar with tables for dining in the centre part and a large beach-bar terrace with sea-views and plenty of sand. Booze, eat or chill out! Pepe will have Flamenco evenings (he sings, too) and various other live acts, probably Fridays and Saturdays, he says. There's a cheap n' cheerful menu (most plates at 8 euros). Luisa also makes her famous tortillas.

Cantoria. Nice and Quiet. Usually.

Cantoria is a small town just six kilometres north from Albox on a rather nasty road which will one day be a motorway. There are some 3,500 residents there, including around six hundred Britons and one Dutchman. The town used to be known for its marble (there's a small factory at the end of the town by the now-defunct railway and station).
It was just a few days after the fiesta of San Cayetano, which, according to the blackened scars on the sides of the town's buildings, has a lot to do with fireworks. 'Well, no one got badly hurt this year', a local man called Manolo told me in the bar, adding with some satisfaction, 'sometimes people lose an eye or even get killed'.
I had come to Cantoria to be shown around by George and Bruce, two members of the Cantoria Residents' Association which has called for a demonstration - a peaceful one, says Bruce - for Thursday September 18th, kick off at 12.00 noon by the aforementioned railway station (decd.). The demo, followed by appropriate speeches from George, Bruce and others, has been called because, like many other places in Southern Spain, the town hall appears to have allowed 'illegal urbanisations' to be built, with the added threat that, in Cantoria, there are 23 homes which have demolition orders on them from the Junta de Andalucía.
George, Bruce and the other householders came to retire in Cantoria with their wives and the essential plan was, after many years of hard career work in the UK, to move to a quiet corner of Spain, put one's feet up and have a glass of tinto as the warm sun sets over the garden fence. The last thing that George, Bruce and so many other retired Northern Europeans expected was that they would have to spend money on lawyers to protect their 'small corners of enchantment'. They never imagined that they could lose their homes, their investments, their savings: almost everything.
The Priors, who gave their home in nearby Vera in January this year to the bulldozers, certainly lost everything. They've been squatting in their own garage since they lost their house and are paying a hundred euros a month for storage of their furniture, which they will continue to do, one supposes, until they receive compensation from either the Junta de Andalucía or their town hall (depending, of course, on who is telling the story) in anything from five to ten years time.
The threatened homeowners in Cantoria know the story of the Priors well enough, but they have had more time to organise (the Priors had just two hours).
The group have put out the bans for their demonstration. The provincial police chief has given his approval and several other British groups from other communities, where similar problems float uneasily under the scorching sun, have joined in. It's going to be a decent show, with well-behaved protestors and no inappropriate placards thank-you. From Albox, the AUAN (300 members) will be there. From the coast, the AULAN (100 members) plus the political group Ciudadanos Europeos. From other towns and areas, nascent associations and clubs will join the march. In Spain, you see - nobody's house is safe.
A march through a quiet high street is not going to have much effect, even when it's the foreigners doing it. However, the scandals of the illegal houses and urbanisations (picture of threatened homes in Cantoria below), the 'land-grabs', the, uhh, 'multiple-owned homes', the 'builders electricity' and the 'off plan homes (with artist's impression)' have all attracted the attention of the international press. Whether the local media shows up (the Spanish like to pretend that these things don't happen) - the foreign cameras and journalists will certainly be there.
One day, the Northern Europeans who come to live in Spain may have an agency that looks out for them: a champion. Until then, there's the media and the threat to the Spanish economy. Never forget (as I pointed out to Manolo), they build houses in Cyprus too.

Tits on Page Three

Removed by order of the Court

¿Qué pasa?

What on earth is happening to Spain? We've seen the cruel demolition of a British-owned house in Vera by the authorities back in January (the man who ordered the demolition, the 'delegado provincial' , since promoted, has just signed the go-ahead for the POTALA for the same area of eastern Almería – the Junta de Andalucía’s insane plan to build 35,000 homes in the boonies!). We've seen the institutionally approved land-grab - which despite European-wide criticism - continues to this day. We read of town-halls taking Europeans arbitrarily off the padrón (especially before elections). We 'residents' have had our 'tarjetas de residencia’ removed in favour of some meaningless and worthless piece of paper to be carried around together with our passport and a NIE identification (so much for the la union europea) and now those non-residents who have bank accounts here can discover that they have had them 'frozen' in a kind of grotesque 'cash-grab' to do with tax matters! How do you pay the utilities when your bank arbitrarily freezes your account? By the way, according to my bank, all you need to do if you live in foreign parts is toddle along to your nearest Spanish consulate every two years...
Don't they want us anymore...?
But now, as September swings round and the politicians and bureaucrats go back to work, things may be changing. From the European Court we hear that Spain is being sued for the flagrant and cynical land-grabbing in Valencia (a pisser this, as Madrid is PSOE and Valencia is its biggest PP thorn). Meanwhile from the European press the message remains loud and clear… don’t buy in Spain. While I don’t particularly share the British media’s view of Spain, or indeed its reasons for attacking this country where we have chosen to live, it is at least encouraging that the sometime mistreatment of the Northern Europeans who are, let’s be clear here, pumping money into Spain, is worth the occasional banging of a saucepan with a stick.
The politicians may be responding… perhaps even with some gesture towards the foreign community. Luís Caparros, he of the Vera demolition, now says (according to the Spanish press, this is) that he is willing to consider legalizing all illegal homes except those built in the nation’s ramblas (I have to say here – can you imagine some local mayor absently fingering his brown-paper envelope while watching as an urbanization takes shape in his town’s dry river-bed?). The provincial press also assures their readers that Caparros is in contact with ‘the foreigners’ and will meet with them/us. Hands up anyone who’s had a call from this man. But, of course, it’s only the beginning of the month and many things could still happen.
One thing that will happen, as the Britons living in Almería start to harden in their opposition to this general mistreatment, is more confrontation. We know of several truculent groups of property owners that are ready to ‘join battle’, such as the AUN and AULAN, but another group, the Cantoria Residents Association (there’s 23 ‘illegal’ homes in Cantoria with final demolition orders on them), has called for a peaceful demonstration. Join them in front of the old railway station in Cantoria (next town inland after Albox) at 12 noon on September 18th.
Well fine, you don’t live in Cantoria and your house isn’t under threat.
Are you sure about that?

Burn Baby, Burn

A festive scene taken during the Mojácar fiesta. The hideous building on fire is the 'Angelas' (was 'Sondras') a nick-nack shop now owned by the senator and ex-mayor Bartolome Flores (of Huerta Nueva fame in Los Gallardos). By dint of hard work, this socialist leader owns quite a lot of other real-estate locally. We do hope that when he comes to replace this treasure he finds an architect with a bit more vision than the previous one.

Summer's Almost Gone

Summer ends - or begins, depending on if you are a tourist or a resident - with the passing of August and the final convulsion of the Mojácar fiesta.

The fiesta itself is pretty bad, with 'jousting' for the dubious prize of a maiden's honour at the 'fuente' as the main event, together with a ferocious number of fireworks blasted off at all hours and a couple of second rate pop groups. All up in the village.

It seems that - when it comes to entertainment paid for by us residents - the sum total is splashed on those who live at 'la fuente' or those who live up at the top of the hill in the old and noble pueblo of Mojácar.

The proportion of those who live in this municipality but not in those two aforementioned areas, being around 90%.

Should we ask for some events to be held on the playa? Should there be a separate fiesta for the beach-residents? A kind of four day long bacchanalia with free paella and an overdressed pop group from Almería? How about a beauty contest open to all the girls who live in Mojácar, not just those whose grandparents still run the place with an iron fist and a friendly judge.

In fact, I think a 'Foreigners Day' could be a jolly occasion. Something like fifty per cent of Mojácar is British (!) and counting the rest of us put together our numbers must reach around 70% of non-locally born residents, it would be nice to open the place up a bit. Many towns on the Costa del Sol and the Costa Blanca have a 'Día de los Extranjeros' without any local person feeling slighted. These fiestas are fun events, with music, culture and competitions from all over the world. Not just for those few people who have become rich from the forasteros without giving much back in return.

August will soon be over, the visitors from Madrid and Valencia all safely back in their cities and as the last firework final fizzles into silence (round about 4.00am next Saturday night), we can consider that the summer has just begun.

'The Future is Mine', I'm pretty sure he said in his own language

I was reading some rubbish in the comments section of a Spanish webpage called Meneame (Stir Me Up) at http://meneame.net/ which collects stuff from the Internet of note to its editors and brings it to the attention of its readers, which apparently include a generous sprinkling of those small-minded nationalists and thin-skinned patriots who are eternally worried that Spain might lose face in some august journal printed elsewhere in the world.
And why not, every service and inclination is available on the Internet, from the Screwsden's pornography site Contactsonline dot es to Why I Hate the President dot nit. I mean net.
The particular rubbish alluded to started with an article about nationalisms and regional languages and quickly descended into what turds we, the Brits are. Drunk, useless, ignorant, monolingual and the rest of it. Well, the literally hundreds of comments on this fascinating topic were written – I have to say (contentiously) – by under-educated trolls and bored teenagers who need to get out more. I make no more apologies for them.
But Gibraltar came up. Anything to do with a discussion about the English always ends up with some pathetic attack against Gibraltar ('The English’ as they are known here rather than ‘The British’, since it is abundantly clear that the rest of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland are obviously all under the Jackboot of Westminster).
‘Gibraltar is a colony and should be Spanish’.
Sounds good to me. Let me walk you though what would happen.

1 Gibraltar becomes part of Spain. English is by necessity added to Spanish, Galego, Euskara, Valenciano, and Català as another official language of the Spanish State.
2 Gibraltar sues for independence from Spain, supported by the Basques, the Galicians, the Catalonians, the Mallorcans, (some of) the Valencians, the people from Cartagena in Murcia and the Olivencians. And, of course, by the British.
3 Gibraltar, currently a bi-lingual society, decides to remove castellano from its school curriculum.
4 Manuel Chaves, the Robert Mugabe of Europe, decides that Andalucía must become an independent state and he crowns himself emperor. The andaluces are forced to learn ninth century Arabic.
5 Those of us who wish to remain living in Spain will eventually be obliged to move to one of the only two areas which will never (ever) reject their true loyalty to the King and the orange and yellow flag. Ceuta and Melilla.

Letters

There are several subjects that can always guarantee to generate letters (without which, by the way, you can’t seriously call your publication a ‘newspaper’ or a ‘magazine’). Bullfighting is probably the most obvious one. An article about the beauty or the passion of the corrida will inevitably attract correspondence from those who consider it a barbarity. And why not, perhaps they’re right. Even though Fernando the Bull is in fact rather less intelligent that Rupert the Rat (according to a veterinarian friend), it probably isn’t right to torture dumb animals. Personally, I don’t care much. The corrida has tradition, bravery and catharsis to counterbalance the touchy-feely arguments against it and is, at any rate, a better way to pass the time than watching football (Queue… letters…).
Another ‘red rag to the bull’, or easy provocation to the readers, is to write about minority languages. Catalan, Welsh, Galician and whatever it is that they speak on the Scilly Isles. Apparently, it’s not that the nationalists want their people to learn whatever obscure tongue was preferred by the natives in the ninth century; it’s that they want them to use it exclusively, with the rather obvious problems for the next generations carefully buried under a rock.
Peter Gooch, one of the writers at The New Entertainer, ‘does’ politics. He and I agreed from the beginning to ‘go over the top’ so as to generate remarks in the street along the lines of ‘I do like that Peter Gooch’s articles, he’s very sound!’ and letters of condemnation or approbation from the public. In politics, you can always displease half the people all the time.
Now and again, people come up to me and comment about the newspaper, usually when I'm reading somebody else's. Well, I say, why don’t you write me a letter?
There is, of course, one section of society who doesn’t read letters in the English-language press, and this is the Spanish authorities. Don’t feel that a quick letter from ‘Disgusted of Arboleas’ about the municipal pig-farm is going to make any difference. You have to take the next step. Write a petition… Demonstrate!
Letters of course show that there is a relation with the readers, a feedback. In my opinion, the letter writer should have the last word. An article has said its piece: bullfights, says Ric, are fun. The letter back begs to differ, perhaps. So fine, allow the public their say. Mrs Ed take notice.
There’s a magazine I know that, while set in Spain, deals pretty exclusively with articles about nail extensions and highlights in your hair. The editor claims to want letters. Sorry, can’t type with these nails…
Another local mag has two editors with a regular editorial along the lines of:
‘Cor ain’t it hot. Well, this is another great issue with a great article from Ben about cooking spinach on page nine and a super new competition for the kids on page fifteen. Till next time, have a smashing read. Yours, Bertha and Robin.’
They don’t get any letters either.
People don’t write much? How about the forums. There are a clutch of them in our area with endless subjects tossed here and there by literally thousands of members. It’s taking letter-writing to a brand-new age.

Divided They Fall

We were talking about how a community can divide against itself when under threat. Sticking together is not always the answer, it seems, with some residents taking the opinion that ‘something must be done’ while others go with the ‘don’t rock the boat’ approach. Sometimes, but of course not always, members of the second group are themselves part of the initial problem – perhaps they work for the builders or promoters. Perhaps they feel ‘we should respect our Spanish hosts to our own detriment’ or perhaps they are just foolish. Take Albox as an example. There, massive illegal urbanizations exist under threat of demolition. The homes were built on non-urban land with the complicity of previous town halls and sold to Northern Europeans. The regional authority could – but probably won’t – knock those houses down, as they did in the singular case of the Priors in Vera (January this year) and even refuse to pay any meaningful compensation. There is a continued sense of worry locally which is far from the anticipated delights of peaceful retirement that had been cherished by the thousands of home-owners.
An association called the AUAN which exists to defend the rights of property owners is based in Albox and has had some success in, at least, publicizing the situation, and has even had a visit from some Euro MPs from Brussels on a fact-finding tour.
However, the opponents to this group have a blog-site called The Albox Blog at http://alboxblog.com/ which provides the most remarkable (if completely unfounded) attacks on the AUAN and its leader Bob Preston. The blog, claiming to be ‘distilling all the juicy gossip’, rarely veers from its criticism against the AUAN’s leader. A quote from today: ‘…although we note from the AUAN website that the AUAN ‘is open to both UK nationals and Spanish alike’ precluding one would assume Irish and other nationalities. We thought we had seen an end to this sort of racialism and bigotry. Sadly, ‘No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs’, would still appear an acceptable adage within the lower strata of the ex-Pat community’.
The ‘comments’ from the Irish readers that follow this remarkable bit of idiocy beggar belief.
Today I was at a meeting to do with an urbanization in Los Gallardos. The problems there are apparently containable. Smells, sewage overflow, dirt, lack of care and broken promises – all easily fixable by the town hall if it was sufficiently pushed towards doing something. Perhaps the residents there can join together, or perhaps they can’t (or won’t). It was certainly clear that without a unified voice nothing much will change on their urbanization. The Spanish authorities know that there is strength in numbers.

English as She is Wrote

I've written before about how the Spanish would rather get it wrong, or check with somebody's cousin's son (who once spent a week-end in Cornwall), or use 'Babelfish', anything... rather than ask some Briton if they've got the translation, sense or spelling right. Most of us would be willing to help as long as it's not more than a paragraph or two; and there's a million Britons living in Spain (many of whom can read and write), plus a good half million Americans, Irish, Australians and other native English speakers, plus a good ten million trippers from Anglophone countries during the summer thrash, so don't tell me it's very hard to find someone to help, as often as not, for the price of a beer.
This venerable sign has been hanging in thousands of Almería's businesses for at least thirty years (there's an older version in our office, with the previous six digits telephone number). It comes from the Almería tourist and services department. You are meant to display it by law so you can hand out your 'complaining sheets' as necessary.
You see, what happens is, when foreigners read something purportedly in their language, with contextual and spelling mistakes, they often react by not taking you seriously. They think 'yes, they want our money, but, y'know, they don't really give a rat's arse for us...'.
Now, I'm sure that the tourist and services department doesn't want us to think that. Do they.

Bédar (revisited)

It's got a bit smart up there, a bit chi-chi. Here's a picture of the town hall square. The old bar on the left, Paco's, has been closed for years and no longer exists. His dad used to speak a bit of English, I think he'd been working in Baltimore in the forties. To the right, the man on the ladder is putting up a sign (or fixing a light) over the old panadería which had a pressed metal souvenir from America inside as decoration - with Bobby and JFK and Martin Luther King.
Notice how the street has been improved.
But the main change in this picture is of course the ayuntamiento itself. It now occupies all the square to the left (with glass doors, already) and, yes, you are right: that is a digital illuminated sign which informs those that can read of forthcoming attractions.
Bédar, incidentally, is second in Spain in towns over 1000 inhabitants with foreigners, according to some article I read (and forgot) recently.

What You Have is What You’re Worth

I’ve been in Madrid for the past couple of weeks and I returned to the coast a few days ago by car. Vrrm vrrm. Madrid is a good place, but rather expensive. I had the good fortune to catch a summer ‘flu shortly after arriving there and so I was able to save a bundle on drinks, shopping and dinners in company with my daughter, who appreciates the fancy places when it comes to being taken out by her dad.
Actually, a similar thing happened to me a couple of years back when I flew to America.
Madrid, New York, San Francisco, bed, New York, Madrid and home.
With the credit card in almost perfect shape.
Lying abed in Madrid, and trying to keep up with the terrible financial news which is worrying most of Spain (banks and politicians not included), I heard the words of the president of the Banco de Santander (and a load of other banks – Central, Hispano, Abbey Nat and so on) regarding the current situation. The president of the Santander, by the way, rejoices in the name of Emilio Botín. Botín in my dictionary translates as ‘swag’ or booty’. Like a pirate.
Perhaps his wife calls him ‘my old booty’…
Anyway this financier was saying that the crisis is like a child’s summer cold. It won’t last for long or do any lasting damage. That said, he then turned to his shareholders and told them that this year the group expected to make around ten billion euros.
In banking, you see, every year is a ‘good year’.
Of course, banks don’t ‘make money’; what they do is they take it out of everybody else’s pockets. They ‘take’ money. Botín also means ‘spoils of war’…
So pleased were the folk from the Banco de Santander on considering their good fortune, they rushed out the same day and bought the Alliance and Leicester.
All good things come to an end and one morning I woke up to discover that my daughter had hidden the thermometer, possibly because she had just heard from a friend about a fancy new restaurant that had just opened in a particularly posh bit of Madrid.
Feeling woozy, I got dressed and staggered out into the street in search of a hole-in-the-wall. The nearest one, as luck would have it, belonged to the same Banco de Santander. I put in my card… secret number… amount… and, bugger me, the machine wanted a commission of almost six euros, a thousand pesetas, for my modest wallop. Bastards!
Which explains how the Banco de Santander, Central, Hispano and the rest of it can go around picking up extra banks every few months.
You know, the word 'bank' or ‘banco’ comes from the bench - ‘banco’ in Italian - where the moneylenders used to sit outside the churches to catch anyone who wanted to take his daughter out to dinner or buy himself a new cow. These were the ‘lombards’ that charged you a few points of interest on your loan.
I know an English girl who was given a cheque for sixty euros by her mother a month ago. She put it in the local caja de ahorros who said that it would take six weeks to clear. You know, we are in the 21st century and we do have communication by computer with London. Some shit is sitting on sixty euros for six weeks and making - ooh - maybe anything up to five céntimos off of it. Meanwhile, the same caja de ahorros charges me a ‘maintenance fee’ for the pleasure of holding my money, which it probably spends on the geegees.
Banks famously only lend money to people who already have it or, as is said, ‘they’ll only lend you an umbrella when the rain stops’. But, rain or shine, banks make their money. The last time we were in crisis, back in 1992, I was three million pesetas overdrawn. That was when I ran a big newspaper here (later to be ripped off by those fucks from the Euro Weekly). To cheer me up, the bank downstairs cranked up the interest to a massive 27% - which, I think you will agree - ain’t bad work if you can get it.
I have to say that I don’t like usury, greed, avarice… or banks.
So… anyway… could you lend me some cash?

Super-Turre: Architectural Charms of Almería

Turre may not be the most beautiful town in Almería - actually, come to think of it, it's probably one of the least attractive of the lot - but, even so, the old supermarket lets the place down a bit. The 'new' wing, on the left of the building, was finished about eight years ago and the supermarket expanded into the newly available space, selling its wares apparently from the moment they put a lock on the door.
But, in my opinion, the building still needs a teeny bit of work on it to bring it up to the standard of the rest of the Avenida de Andalucía.
Has the town hall ever asked the Super-Turre people to just fling a bit of plaster and paint on the exterior to give the building a final flourish? Apparently, yes. Repeatedly.
One story I heard was that a previous ayuntamiento had objected to the bit of roof terrace that sticks up above the skyline and that the ensuing disagreement was with the pesky local lawyers.
Which would neatly explain the eight years and counting.
Meanwhile, civic pride not counting for much in our local communities, the scruffy Super-Turre megastore continues to provide us with everything from yoghurt to Butano to gin to trousers. All, of course, in the best possible taste.

Lost Luggage

The parking lot by the office is far too small. There’s nothing new about that in Spain, where the nation’s last architect died in 1922, run over by a tram in Barcelona.
Where I work, there are around ninety shops and offices, plus a supermarket and some cafés, and there is parking for about sixty cars. So, it’s usually full. Crammed and double-parked. Emergency lights (which can last for hours), people taking up two parking lanes, cars parked so close that you need a shoe-horn to get into the rear-door to clamber over the seats and dog-basket to get to the controls, impatient honking, trucks unloading, all the fun of owning a car in a country where the parking lot still hasn’t been invented.
Word has it that the main post office is moving here from the other end of the beach in a few months time so soon there will be even more cars, double parked, excuse me, yes, I shan’t be a moment.
How can Mojácar be so badly planned? We have seventeen kilometers of playa, served by one narrow road and enough parking spaces for about a quarter of the cars which are endlessly circulating during the summer months.
I get to the Commercial Centre quite early – incredibly early by local standards – and cruise around the block until I find a space. Lock the car, tum ti tum, and meander off to see who’s in the café, and on, away to the office on the third floor. If the lift is working, all well and good. If not, I must trail up the stairs to arrive panting outside the door of Nº 90 where I fiddle with the keys, let myself in, make a joke about the heat or the tourists, and get on with my day.
When I come downstairs a few hours later, I find that I can’t find my car. It’s not that I’ve forgotten where I parked it; it’s that I never remembered.
If I go to Granada, there’s no way I’m going to forget where I left the car; but leaving it somewhere in those small and badly designed spaces that surround the commercial centre where I work, twice a day, where half the spots are actually double-yellow line no-parkee spaces, not that anyone takes any notice, Spain being Spain, I am obliged to wander around the outside of the entire building, ugly thing that it is, twice a day in search of my car.
At least I remember what kind of car it is – an old and very scratched one. There’s not much point in having any other kind with these narrow parking places which are laughingly designed by Spain’s master (ahem) architects.
So, I patiently look for the stupid car. Perhaps Einstein would have had a similar problem with his neutrons.
But things are getting worse. I’ve been by myself the last couple of weeks with the family away for various reasons. Home alone. Living like an old bohemian.
Today, it took twenty minutes to find my underwear.

El Cid and other Chiringuitos

Mojácar is famous for its chiringuitos - its beach bars. The playa has been scattered with them since the first ones opened in the early seventies, with places like the 'Kon Tiki' (operated for a while by our most famous resident - Gordon Goody, the Glasgow Train robber), the 'Aku Aku', the 'Patio' (Fuck-a-duck Ric who came here to work on the desalination plant being built by the apologetic American government after the Palomares incident in 1966), 'Tito's', and Lloyd and Tish's 'El Cid'.
The Cid is thirty years old this month so celebrations are underway, including a golf tournament pictured above with Lloyd giving Tish what might be a bottle of something. How on earth they could spend thirty years behind the same bar is a mystery...
The beachbars in Mojácar are anarchic. Many are on private land and the others all seem to manage somehow to get around the rules of the government 'costas' agency. Good for them.
In other parts of the Spanish Med, beach-bars have to be taken down in the winter (to make room?) and are usually made to one design and put out to tender to anyone who wants them (as long as they are related to the mayor). These soviet joints of stainless steel, clapboard, bad flamenco and waiters in white shirts and black bow ties have yet to make their appearance in Mojácar, but, my friends, plans are afoot.
So, raise a glass to Lloyd and Tish, who are known to many thousands of happy visitors and contented residents, on this their thirtieth anniversary. They are part of the charm and magic of Mojácar.

What You Say

Language is power. If you can communicate with someone you are in a far better situation than if you can’t. Both socially and commercially. That’s why we need to speak Spanish and, by the same token, why local businessmen, town halls and official organisations need to speak English.
Many Spanish owned businesses now use bi-lingual staff and, the fact is, there are plenty of young people who, despite being British, have lived here since their earliest years and are comfortably bi-lingual. In the town halls, you will find English-speakers only in the tourist departments – as if tourists, who, during their five day visit, spending 200 euros on the choo choo train or whatever other vulgarity is available, are somehow more useful to the community that the foreign residents.
A doctor I know who works at the hospital in Huercal Overa says that up to 20% of the patients there are English speakers. Some of the doctors studied in the United States and are fluent in English, but none of the staff can speak a word. Why should they?
Because it makes things a lot easier.
In Spain at large, the problems of ‘language’ are currently upsetting the purists from two different directions. Firstly, as Spanish nouns generally end in either ‘a’ or ‘o’, being ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine’ (remember your Latin), certain people of a liberal disposition feel in some cases slighted. A woman minister (ministress?) has upset the Real Academia Española by describing herself as a ‘miembra’ rather than a ‘miembro’ of the government. One member (thankfully, masculine) of the Royal Academy says ‘If it’s not an error, it’s a stupidity. The minister is a champion of shallowness regarding the subject of sex and gender’.
In Spanish, a ‘masculine’ word doesn’t connote masculinity. It’s just a word. The masculine form is also the fall-back when there’s a group of articles or people of both sexes. You say ‘vosotros’ rather than ‘vosotros y vosotras’. Except for leftist politicians and fringe groups. Some people now use the arroba sign to cover themselves – such as in compañer@s. ¡Idiotas! (sorry, ‘idiotos’ doesn’t exist in castellano).
But a far more serious problem for purists, patriots, pragmatists and conservatives is the limits to which the nationalists in parts of the north and east of the country are prepared to go to crank up the ‘bilingüismo oficial’ which is now an accepted ‘coñazo’ (pain in the arse) in Catalonia, the Balearics, and to a lesser extent in Valencia, the Basque Country and Galicia. Nowadays, for purely political ends, Catalonian children must take practically all their classes in catalán and they will grow up to speak Spanish (if they are lucky) as about as well as I do. Very useful when they want to leave the confines of their community.
In Mallorca recently, a nutter – sorry, a ‘senior nationalist politician’ – accused Air Berlin, which flies in more tourists to the islands than they can count, of disrespecting their amusing local patois by only using German and Spanish on their flights. His thrust was that the company is run by Nazis and he calls the service ‘Air Goebbels’.
The Germans are not amused.
Of course, every Catalán, Basque, Gallego and Ibicenco speaks Spanish (at least, this generation does) so the whole language question is at best, artful. Returning to the Almerían coast, most of the English (the word is ‘ingleses’ in Spanish, which is accepted to mean something nearer ‘northern Europeans’) don't unfortunately speak any Spanish, so there is evidently a certain commercial, social and political case for bilingualism.

Bite De Dust

I recently wrote a piece about knocking down a billboard and, today, found this picture on the web.

AULAN

The first meeting on the fledgling association AULAN was held on Friday 6th June at the Hotel Continental with about fifty people present. I chaired the meeting and in my opening remarks contrasted the Prior’s home in Vera with the Hotel Algarrobico in Carboneras and chided them for not having built a 22 storey home in their quiet backwater as, perhaps, the Junta de Andalucía wouldn’t have ordered it to be pulled down.
Three people spoke of their experiences with property in Spain and their mixed results. The first was Richard Kaleta whose home in Turre was under threat from the route of the AVE high-speed train. His house had received all permissions from the Turre town hall even though they knew the route of the tracks. After support from Gerardo Vásquez (a British lawyer based locally) and enthusiastic coverage in the British press, the Kaletas and six other families won a last minute reprieve and the route has now been modified.
The second speaker was John Bowling who is suffering from the threat of ‘land grab’ in El Pinar, Bédar, together with a clutch of British residents there. The third speaker was Manuel Esteban who was able to resolve his land problems in Mojácar after the regional edition of El Mundo ran a four-part report on the situation.
Gerardo Vásquez spoke of the need for an association to cover our area, to complement the AUAN in Albox and other areas with urban problems caused by the authorities. The new association to be called the Abusos Urbanisticos del Levante Almeriense – No!. The AULAN.
Those that wish to join the association can contact either Gerardo or myself.

Civilization III

When things go bad – rather than face the crisis, I like to settle down for an agreeable moment in front of the computer; to conquer the world.
It’s a game which takes several months to play. You start with a tiny pueblo and a chap with a pickaxe and you slowly go out exploring, meeting (raping and conquering) the neighbours. It’s called Civilization III (Number II is a bit infra dig and Number IV is a bit too busy to be enjoyable).

I've sometimes tried other computer games. I have to say that I don't like any of them. It has to be Sid Meier's CIV III.
So now my secret is out. Things go wrong in the office; I’ll come home and put another civilization to the sword. Yes, I know: pathetic.
Unfortunately, the CD has been working too hard recently and no longer loads. You might say that it has ‘risen up’ against its master.
So, as I tear out my hair in clumps, I wonder – does anyone out there have a copy?

Mojácar's Old Lags: The 1970s

They were the first billboards for Mojácar. One was a construction company, another advertised the Tío Edy (a small German hotel run by an ex Luftwaffe pilot) and two more promoted Mojácar’s first knick-knack shop, an establishment down to the rear of the pueblo called ‘Jean-Pierre’.
The souvenir shop was owned by Felippe Paccini, an ugly Corsican who had arrived in town in 1970 claiming that ‘he had been thrown out of many places during his life, but he wasn’t going to be pushed out of Mojácar’.
Actually, I’ve just heard that he was wheeled out last week. RIP you French bastard!

My dad, myself and another Mojácar resident called Tony Hawker had decided late one night in the spring of 1971 to remove these billboards in a daring terrorist action. Not having any useful connections with the IRA, we used saws. The four signs fell, one after another, around four in the morning following on from a rather heavy night in the Bar Sartén. One sign was in front of a house on the playa and as it fell, we saw a surprised – and we hoped – rather pleased looking man peering out at his improved view.
We knew the cops pretty well: the Guardia would come by to visit our house once a month on their mopeds to get our signature to prove their patrol schedule and to try a whisky or two. Relations were most friendly and it was a very chastened corporal who told us, three months after the event, that we were to report to the Vera calabozo, the clink. The two other advertisers had ‘let us off’, but the Frenchman wanted his pint of blood.
My mum packed a suitcase and we went to collect Tony who lived somewhere in the pueblo. We arrived around five that afternoon in Vera only to be told that ‘the beds hadn’t been made yet’ and to go and get a drink. The lock-up was in the downstairs of the Vera town hall, looking into the church square. Our cell was ample, with an en-suite thunderbox. One wall was decorated with a large mural of Jesus going about his business clearly chalked by a previous inmate. There was evidently time to kill.
Our suitcase had been searched by another apologetic policeman and the vodka confiscated. We were left with a radio, a few books and some lavatory paper. Tony, a thin man in his forties, had some ‘Bustaid’ slimming pills which, it was claimed on the street, would get you high.
My mother visited constantly, bringing my dad vodka in a Casera bottle (well, it fooled the jailers). Otherwise, supplies had to come through the window of the next-door cell, inhabited by a young villain, and passed through into our quarters in exchange for a small coin or a cup of good cheer.
The judge saw us on the third day. Our excuses fell on deaf ears. ‘¿Cuantos años tienes?’ he asked Tony, who was dressed in a rather scruffy leather suit. ‘How long are you?’ translated the interpreter. ‘About this long’, said Tony, holding his hands a generous distance apart.
He was returned to ‘solitary’ where he complained bitterly through the walls of his jail-mates, ‘a bucket of shit and two thousand flies’. My dad and I were returned to our own quarters and released on bail two days later. Tony was let out on bail the following day.
Franco had an amnesty about that time for evil-doers and we were released from the threat of a three month stay in a proper jail. Well done the Caudillo!
I was seventeen at the time – making me one of the youngest old lags in the business.
The following year, the same Frenchman had another run-in with a foreigner. Paccini lived upstairs from Til, a Swiss sailor who owned a restaurant in the village (‘the customer is always right… except at Tillies’). A misunderstanding arose as to who owned Til’s roof-terrace and after Til had tossed Paccini’s bricks, cement and bathroom fittings into the street, Til found himself in our old cell in Vera. The window had been covered by chicken wire and the young felon had departed so Til was unable to get any refreshment during his stay.
Next to visit the Vera clink was Eddie, a film type who had been denounced for some form or other of wickedness. He arrived at the calabozo in his Rolls Royce, leaving it wedged in the narrow street outside. Within an hour, the gaoler had allowed him his freedom, if he would only agree to move his car.
Cheap Pete was a small and very American character who bought and sold antique carpets ‘by the yard’. There’s a street named after him in the pueblo (‘Calle de Pedro Barato’). He married Josephine and inherited a step-son, a large red-headed bruiser who took a violent dislike to Pete. The subsequent fight was so noisy and bloody that the local police felt honour-bound to put the two of them in the Cooler for three days. With the calabozo near to capacity, they placed them in the same cell. For one reason or another, Pete lost a lot of weight during his captivity.
Fritz was an American artist. He was known for his loud ‘haw haw haw’ laugh, his beard and his bottomless capacity for booze and illicit substances. For some reason – the accusation was ‘gamberrísmo’ – he was locked up in the brand-new Mojácar cell, a small room that gave onto the street. By the evening of his first (and last) day, he had managed to decorate his new abode with several paintings, a radio, a carpet and a pot-plant.
By 1980, the cops had appeared to have given up on the foreigners.
I’d call it a long-term truce.

Equity Release

From the Costa del Sol Action Group:
'...of especial concern are the Equity Release schemes which have been peddled on the Coast in recent years and have mostly been a disaster for those who have participated. The Action Group has discovered that a number of them have involved criminality. Bearing in mind the average age of the participants of the ER schemes is well over 70 many of the schemes have amounted to abuse of the elderly and robbing the aged of their life savings. The CDSAG is trying its hardest to assist such people. There was one case of a person starving to death and not knowing which way to turn. There has even been the fear of suicide where an elderly victim was too ashamed to tell their partner. The CDSAG stresses that victims should feel no shame at having been caught out by these slick conmen. The perpetrators of these schemes are in many instances highly skilled and seemingly very professional and trustworthy businessmen. Such con artists can take the best of us for our money. Imagine the creative genius and convincing manner it took to sell the Eifel Tower, never mind release the cash tied up in your property!
The CDSAG has found that up-front charges of up to 20% have been imposed in some cases (the norm being around 8/9%) with annual 'management' fees on top of this - with the released cash being invested in disasterous funds in emerging markets (these dodgy bonds paid higher commissions to the financial advisors.) All this has meant that the remaining 80% - 90% of the released capital could never make enough to support the borrowings of the 100%, and provide the promised income. They were in the main commission-driven schemes offered by unqualified, unregistered, heartless, smooth talking, cowboy salesmen'.

Changing a Bulb

The wiring is a bit wonky in our house, no doubt thanks to the age of our establishment. The sockets come in two different sizes, necessitating an array of ‘ladrones’ and gizmos to put the right plug in the right hole. Some of the sockets have burnt out over the years, or their fuses are of the type that no longer exists. Spain, when it comes to bricolaje, is enthusiastic about ‘progress’. We persevere.
Long bits of wire with multiple plugs snake under the carpets to keep the gadgets going. It’s a system.
The light bulbs though, are a menace. First of all, they don’t last 1,000 hours as it says on the box. In fact, some of them go ‘floop’ just as you are screwing them in, standing inevitably on a wobbly chair. Once, I went clean through the seat of an antique chair while reaching up to change a light. You should stand on the edges apparently.
But the real problem here is the light sockets, the fundas. These are made either from a thin plastic that soon cracks or from a sturdy plastic which cooks and cracks. The cable behind obligingly rots when it gets a chance. Half the time, changing a bulb (while standing on that wobbly chair, the spare bulb in your pocket) means having to change the whole fixture – in the dark, with a screwdriver which has a crooked blade.
That’ll be when the phone rings.

Shortly after I’d finished the above masterpiece, the Spanish government decided to change things, lightbulbwise (perhaps it was simply pure coincidence, although I think they’ve been checking my blog).
In three years time, the old incandescent bulb will be phased out, in exchange for those new, expensive to buy and cheap to run bulbs. If Spain tossed its 350 million light bulbs in favour of these new-fangled ones, why the country would save 3% on its energy bill and households would see their electric (which just went up by 10%) go down again.
I looked. They cost about ten euros a pop (actually, perhaps ‘pop’ isn’t the best word here, as, one would not be too happy if the light didn’t do its duty and last for ever).

Property Meeting in Mojácar

Levante Almeriense: AULAN
Covering the municipalities of: Mojacar, Carboneras, Garrucha, Los
Gallardos, Cuevas, Bédar, Huercal Overa, Pulpi, Antas.
12 AM 6TH JUNE 2008.
HOTEL CONTINENTAL, MOJACAR PLAYA
AGENDA:
(1) Discussion of the aims of the Association.
(2) Talk on planning and real estate problems.
(3) Consideration of steering committee.
(4) Consideration of membership fee.
(5) Next steps.
(6) Other matters arising.
CHAIR: Lenox Napier.
In attendance representatives of: Abusos Urbanisticos Almanzora No, Asociacion
de Vecinos del Pinar de Bédar, Levante Sostenible, Ciudadanos Europeos de
Mojacar.
Anyone interested in joining who has not already done so, please call Mary on 661
742 102 to confirm attendance.

The Wasp

I receive by email a daily average of two copies of articles from the British media that are critical of Spain, its housing problems, the Vera demolition, illegal homes, bankruptcies and the like. Poor Spain – the country we have come to love is now the target for the vilest accusations from Fleet Street and Broadcasting House! Reports of threats of demolition, special payouts for illegal homes, fraud, calls to the European Court of Human Rights… it sounds like Morocco in 1958 when the lunatic king decided to nationalise all the foreign land. The British media love a good story and this one has it all – all those rich bastards going to live the Life of Riley and losing their savings while we are stuck in an increasingly horrible Grate Britain.
After all, one house was knocked down this January in Vera by a maniac who should by all rights be in prison or at the very least fired from his job in the Junta de Andalucía for incompetence. But they haven’t fired him - not for his arrogance or his immorality and certainly not for costing Spain a staggeringly huge amount of both money and jobs. Indeed, they haven’t even fired him for going after ‘opposition’ town halls like Cuevas, Zurgena and Vera while ignoring places like Arboleas, Huercal Overa, Albox and Carboneras (all PSOE towns).
And the Brits don’t think local politics are interesting…
The Spanish aren’t very keen on being criticised by the foreign media. They don’t like these daily stories, ITV’s ‘Holidays in Hell’ and the rest of them, that are continuously beating the same drum. So, they circle the wagons and ignore them. The Spanish press will admit that there are too many empty houses already – although most of these were built around the cities as apartments for working families – but they don’t want to report on the problems facing the coastal towns or those concerns experienced by the Northern European émigrés that are so lovingly followed by The Times and Telegraph. And, as long as a few breasts make an appearance in the story, count on The Sun and the News of the World for joining in with some of their trademark sensitive reporting.
Locally, there is bemusement among my Spanish friends. Why have they turned on us? Well, you’ve got mayors, councillors, builders and architects all facing court sentences, I tell them, for fraud. Companies with a capital of just 3,000 euros change and switch to avoid bankruptcies but, if sued, only have those three thousand euros and, traditionally, a penniless president who resides in a nut-hatch. Politicians who can patiently wait until long after they are out of office before having to defend themselves in court or who rely on ‘compañeros’ in the system to get them off the hook. If it wasn’t for the lack of judicial expedience, some of these characters might even have gone to jail by now. In fact, the Minister of Justice defending that the nation’s judicial system was ‘not in chaos or collapse’ admitted that it would take a while to straighten things out. But, we can’t blame the town halls entirely. In the recent years as the money came in, they enlarged their legions of public employees (it’s good for votes) who get a guaranteed sinecure for life, and started on various projects such as museums, sports stadiums, multi-storey car-parks and all things nice. They are now stuck with continuing with these projects. At the same time, the traditional power of a mayor to decide what’s good for his pueblo (i.e. to give out building licences) has now been passed to higher authorities, sometimes with little understanding and sympathy over local issues.
There’s a story of a wasp that flew in through the window of a speeding car and stings the driver. The car flips and crashes into a bus. Twenty dead. One little wasp is responsible for a major accident. So, too, one demolition in Vera has started the cry from the foreign press (well done, most of our local freebies, for staying staunchly silent on this issue!).
Of course the problem of Spain’s building industry is much larger than one pointless demolition, although one has to wonder at the poor question of timing.

This article appears as an editorial in The New Entertainer and as a feature in The Olive Press (Granada)

Rugby at Desert Springs

The Cabras Rugby Club from Carboneras

On a slightly wet Saturday, what could be better than a nice game of rugby? The sun came through the clouds as the two teams pounded onto the grass and battle began. The teams were our local Cabra Rugby Club based in Carboneras and the heavier and larger looking chaps from the Universidad Complutense de Madrid. The game was fun, with good scores (that nobody seemed to know much about), a few fights and a cut head. I had the good fortune to meet a retired trainer who could explain the finer points.

During the second half, perhaps inspired by a herd of goats being led past by a dusty looking old shephard and a couple of dogs, the Cabras rose to even greater efforts and by the final whistle (and a few sums performed by the referee), it emerged that the local boys had won the day with 30 - 26.

Afterwards, the two teams posed for a photo, before breaking into song (for some reason - an interesting new version of 'Singing in the Rain') and organising a Full Monty, which your photographer was either a split second to early or late to capture.

For information on joining the rugby club, call Juan Pedro on 664 052 793.

Property Rights and Wrongs

There was a meeting last Saturday in the Best Hotel on Mojácar Playa regarding the problems of property in Spain - from demolitions to expropriations, 'illegal properties', third party mortgages, dodgy salesmen, 'builders' electric', 'land grab', buildings in flood plains and so on. Charles Svoboda from the AUN gave the main talk, with Bob Preston (Albox) from the AUAN (see his speech on http://www.almanzora-au.org/), Helen Prior - whose home in Vera was knocked down in January (she is living in a caravan with her husband Len, without water, electricity or much hope of compensation) - Angel Medina from the Ciudadanos Europeos de Mojácar (see the website for photos at http://ciudadanoseuropeosdemojacar.blogspot.com/) and me doing the introductions. Around 400 people came along to the meeting.

One thing that came out of it - I shall write more about the event later - was the announcement of a new local association to be called Abusos Urbanisticos del Levante Almeriense - No.

Left to Right: Angel Medina, Charles Svoboda, Bob Preston and Helen Prior, speaking.

For the moment - here's the press release:

ANTI PLANNING-ABUSE MEETING IN MOJACAR
On the 3rd May last, a meeting was held at the Best Hotel in Marina de la Torre, Mojácar, Almeria at which almost 400 people attended.
The meeting was chaired by Lenox Napier of the political party Ciudadanos Europeos de Mojácar and was organised with their assistance to discuss the planning problems arising in the area. The head of this political group and Councillor of Mojácar, Mr Angel Medina, spoke and stated that Spain should be kept as a favoured destination for foreign investments and was a good place in which to live, despite the problems which had arisen and which should be remedied.
With respect to the problems, Mr Medina mentioned a number of measures which should be taken, including: the establishment of a legal protocol (a set of regulated steps) for conveyancing; estate agents to be registered, supervised and insured; that the publicity and public consultation for plans be made obligatory and this be implemented as soon as possible; that the land registry should be relied upon to show the real-estate and planning situation on a particular property; that the catastro should be tied in with the land registry as soon as possible; that a commission should be set up to consider the current planning problems and to make recommendations, of which the administration and associations should be a party; and that there be independent agencies to oversee the protection of the environment and human rights.
Mr & Mrs Prior were invited and spoke. Readers will recall the demolition of their house – before the very eyes of this unfortunate couple, which has had great repercussion with the media outside Spain. They explained that, at the moment, no compensation for them was in sight. Bob Preston, President of Abusos Urbanisticos Almanzora No, an association trying to fight against perceived planning abuse in the Almanzora Valley in Almeria where thousands of homes are under threat also spoke and complained that, despite various indications from the various administrations, few concrete steps had been taken to legalise the homes involved.
During the speeches Mr Svoboda, of Abusos Urbanisticos No in Valencia, who has been fighting against planning abuse for many years, and whose association has thousands of members, urged people to group together to fight for their common interests to prevent planning abuses. Mention was made of a new association which was being set up to cover the Levante Almeriense (the western coastal part of Almeria) which would be linked to Mr Svoboda´s association and would work together with other similar associations, and eventually form part of a national federation of like-minded Associations.
This new, fledgling association is to be called the AULAN (“Abusos Urbanísticos Levante Almeriense No”). Members to be of this association have indicated that the association is to be independent of political parties, though they are grateful for the support the political party Ciudadanos Europeos appears to be currently giving to the aims of the new association.
It has been stated that the purpose of the association can be summed up in one phrase: to strive for the protection of human rights within the ambit of the real-estate and planning fields, preventing abuses.
It has also been stated that the association will seek to inform its members of planning changes – a bit like an early warning system so that its members will know what changes are afoot and are not surprised with the bulldozer turning up on their doorstep.
In addition, it is considered that by people grouping together they can press the administration for solutions to current and possible future problems.
Apart from this, concrete steps have already been discussed at political level and with other associations to seek to remedy the problems which have arisen and the members to be are pleased that these ideas appear to have some support.
It is thought that situations like that experienced by Mr & Mrs Prior must not be allowed to happen again, and full backing is expressed for Mr & Mrs Prior by the members to be of the association.
Concern is expressed that the plight of Mr & Mrs Prior has had a wide coverage outside Spain – one of the main reasons the British are reluctant to invest in Spain, due to the perceived lack of legal security - but that the Spanish media at a national level has failed to inform on what has transpired.
A meeting is to be held shortly to formally set up the association, elect members etc. In addition, at this meeting a talk will be given on the planning issues relating to this area.
Both English and Spanish living in this part of Almeria are welcome to join. The time and place is to be advised.

New Real Estate Rules

The following has been creating something of a stir in the Real Estate world in Andalucía:

The Junta de Andalucía has recently been fining real estate professionals in Andalucía for non-compliance with the decreto218/2005 which states that every agent must have a DIA or a Ficha Informativa readily available relating to every property they market, amongst other things. We have been hearing from very worried agents about this but to date there has been very little information readily available about how to comply with this law. I would therefore like to make you aware of a new organization that has been set up to help with this situation. They are trying to raise awareness, offer support and assistance with regard to this situation, as well as offering related products. They have researched the decree, made it more decipherable, abbreviated it and explained it. They supply vendors with property information packs so they can go to agents and promote their properties in a legally correct fashion.They also provide property management software to agents, complete with the necessary forms, notices, window cards etc., to make sure their business isfully compliant with this law. Their website is http://www.boja218.com/ We thought your readers would find this information useful. We would also like to raise awareness about the law in the very least, as many agencies in the region are blissfully unaware that they are at risk of being fined, or that they are in fact breaking the law. We would all like to see an improvement the Andalucían property market, and this decree could be the answer. If every agent abided by it, the whole industry would be hugely improved. If you would like further information about this organisation, please feel free to contact me, or email them directly on http://www.theentertaineronline.com/webmail/src/compose.php?send_to=info%40boja218.com .
Keren.
FAB Asesores S.L. Apartado de Correos 91, La Cala de Mijas, 29649 Mijas Costa, Malaga Tel: 952 587 673, Fax: +34 952 494 580 http://www.fabasesores.com/

Charles Svoboda of AUN http://www.abusos-no.org/ says:
Viewed positively this means the Junta is cracking down on some of the fly by night agents and it will be interesting to see if other regions folllow suit. I don't know of such rules under "Decretos" in other regions of Spain. This will be another reason for some of the smaller - one hopes the shadier - estate agents to shut down - or perhaps they will try to make deals and clear off quickly before they face "legal" action. The "Boja" advice, software and services need to be checked out by those who could suffer from all this new angle. The website is not that helpful as I read it, alas. More of a teaser than a source of free advice.

An estate agent called Tina says: We have some 600 properties for sale on our books and historically if someone is interested in purchasing we have always paid for the nota simple (property search). This costs around 10.46 depending on the property, whether it has a mortgage, is commercial etc. Decreto 218 now wants us to hold in our offices an up to date nota simple not more than three months old for every property we market. The cost and administration of this is, in our case, going to cost a very minimum of 6,300 odd euros per three months. Most agents, like ourselves, are not busy at present and certainly not making enough money to pay out this kind of money on a three monthly basis. However, I note that there are still cowboys swanning around in their 4 x 4s, not paying tax, social security or legally registered offering houses for sale over bars and in restaurants. They have already done deals with the owners of houses to pay them X before taking a potential purchaser to view. They are operating on the premise of "doing a deal direct with the owner" and can do so quite legitimately because an owner does not have to provide a potential purchaser with the paperwork that an agent does.

A Short Trip to Foreign Parts

There’s nothing like a few days away from home. Last week I went to Henley-on-Thames, an excruciatingly English town located midway between Oxford and London with three Spanish friends.
It was quite wonderful. Forget all the stuff I’ve written over the years about never going anywhere near Britain which has changed irreconcilably over the past thirty years. I was completely wrong. Henley was perfect.
It’s too early for regattas and tourists and all the hurly-burly. At the moment, with surprisingly benevolent weather thrown in for good measure and a dearth of noisy tourists (present company excepted), Henley is at its finest.
We stayed at a boarding house. I’ve read about these institutions in Dickens but rather thought that they had died out. Not in Henley. Ours was comfortable rooms, a one-table dining-room where we joined the three or four other guests, a Russian lady who kept everything ship-shape, and a latch key.
Henley is rather smaller than I expected and it was easy enough to find our way about – from the station to the Henley College (eighteen hundred A-level kids in a splendid looking school), from the River Thames to the town hall and from the cinema to the pubs. Actually, we went straight to the pubs.
How much does it cost in England these days? That’s the beauty of a three-day trip: I have no idea. You simply shovel over a wad of English pounds and come away with two pints and two double whiskies, ice no water. ‘Spanish, are you?’ and ‘It’s a nice day today’ being the main conversation. You can’t smoke in British pubs and the outside garden shed has to be at least fifty per cent open to the elements. No one seemed to mind much. Of course, at £6.80 for 16 cigarettes out of the fag machine, smoking is not quite what it was either. The pubs are quiet, the carpeting and decoration, together with the low tones of the English in conversation, take care of that. There are a few TV screens in the Henley public houses, but the sound is turned off. One place we found, kept by an 84 year old lady and two sausage dogs, had a clutch of agreeably drunk male customers. ‘Isn’t it dangerous?’ I asked. ‘Goodness, no’ she said ‘that’ll be nine pounds forty’.
One evening late, we sat on a bench by the river and enjoyed the view, an occasional splash from the sleeping ducks, the starry sky and the magnificent Henley Bridge.
The next day, we went to visit the mayor. It seemed like a good idea to broach the subject of an entente cordial between Henley and Mojácar. He received us in his office, on the second floor of an imposing looking public building. We took photos, exchanged a couple of compliments and then the mayor showed us around the upper storey, including the assembly hall walled with portraits of past incumbents. Nice chap. ‘Are you Conservative?’ I wanted to know. ‘Independent’, he answered with a grin. ‘We’re independent as well’, said Angel, my Spanish mate.
Henley has a Teddy-Bear shop. That’s all it sells – teddy bears of every size and inclination. Teddies, despite being named after Roosevelt or someone, are intrinsically English. There was Rupert Bear, Pooh, Paddington and a furry host of ursine characters lining all the shelves. ‘I watch the faces of everyone who comes in here’, said the lady, ‘they just light up with pleasure’. She was quite right about that. I asked her about St George’s Day – who’s saint’s day it happened to be that day. ‘No one seems to celebrate it’ she answered wistfully. It seems a shame.
I asked a few more people about the English saint’s day. Everyone agreed that nothing was ever done – but, all things considered, something most definitely should be.
The English have trouble in defining their Englishness – unlike the Scots or the Welsh – or even the British. It seems that no one can quite describe what being English is all about.
I would recommend a trip to Henley in the springtime. That’s English. Which is odd really, because the place is full of Poles.

Casas Ilegales

Me parece muy mal momento para hablar de “casas ilegales” en Zurgena y demás pueblos del interior de Almería donde residen - sobre todo - jubilados ingleses. No lo digo porque se trate de los ingleses, que han comprado casas donde jubilarse en nuestra bonita y soleada provincia, sino porque son precisamente los del norte de Europa los que suelen comprar en estas urbanizaciones que se construyen en el interior de Almería sin más. Los españoles están sufriendo mucho con el tema de la vivienda, entre el alza de los precios, el subida del tipo de interés de las hipotecas, el estado de la economía europea y el consecuente incremento de los despidos en casi todos los sectores. Los apartamentos en las grandes ciudades están sobrevalorados en un veinte por ciento y, mientras que los vendedores no empiecen a bajar sus precios, los compradores van a esperar.
Los mismos españoles, si compran “una segunda casa”, suelen hacerlo en la costa. Su idea es venir para ocuparlas durante un par de semanas en el verano y un par de días en la Semana Santa. Una casa así está considerada como una inversión.
Para los ingleses es algo diferente. Su nueva casa en Almería es, sin duda, una inversión, el fruto de sus ahorros o de la venta de su vivienda en Inglaterra, pero es, al contrario que para los españoles, su casa principal. La mayoría de los ingleses (alemanes, noruegos, holandeses, irlandeses y etc.) están aquí para pasar su jubilación. No piden gran cosa de España: un poco de sol, paz y tranquilidad y en cambio, traen muchas divisas que contribuyen a paliar la cada vez más débil economía nacional.
Debería de ser considerado como un chollo para España. Dinero que entra a cambio de que nada sale: mucho mejor que la exportación de productos o bienes al extranjero.
Es también interesante para las arcas públicas de los municipios. Las licencias y permisos ayudan a mantener bajos los impuestos locales, porque no hay que olvidar que alguien tiene que pagar las facturas de cada mes. También, evidentemente, genera puestos de trabajo.
Pero luego se despierta la política. A nivel local los de la oposición dicen “pero no conocen o respetan nuestras costumbres”, mientras que el coro de la política regional reclama que “vamos a vengarnos de estos pueblos que no son de nuestro partido”, como pueden pensar tanto el alcalde de Vera como el de Zurgena, ambos del Partido Andalucista.
Este acoso político no sería, quizás, tan importante si no fuese por el hecho de que el tema ha salido fuera de los municipios afectados. A pesar del ayuno de información en España (La Razón ha sido el único periódico nacional en tocar el tema de las consecuencias), el tema del derribo (inmoral, si no ilegal) de una casa en Vera y las secuelas han llegado al mundo entero. La televisión británica, tanto BBC como ITV, la Bloomburg, la tele alemana, la noruega, la prensa de toda Europa y hasta la americana y australiana ha comentado este tema, y tres meses después, siguen comentándolo. En los dos primeros días de la semana pasada, por ejemplo, me llamaron la ITV, la BBC, y hasta una radio americana interesados por este asunto.
La justicia nacional no se mueve muy rápido, como todos sabemos. Los Prior, jubilados, viejos, viven ahora en una caravana donde posiblemente vivirán el resto de sus días. ¿Cuánto tiempo tendrán que esperar antes de recibir alguna compensación? Varios años evidentemente.
Luego, tenemos casos de expropiación, compra forzosa, el escandaloso “land grab” (urbanización forzosa), hipotecas a terceros, permisos de construcción ilegales, fraudes, sobre-valorizaciones, leyes de urbanismo contradictorias, viviendas sin terminar, faltas de “licencia de primer ocupación”, estafas y otros temas del estilo. Todo esto contado con detalles en la prensa extranjera. Es evidente que el comprador extranjero, cartera de billetes en su mano, lo piensa más de dos veces antes de venir a comprar una casa.
Por si no fuese suficiente, ahora es más difícil empadronarnos que antes. Antes de subir al ayuntamiento para inscribirnos, nosotros los “europeos” tenemos que registrarnos en el “Registro Central de Extranjeros” en la capital de provincia donde, después de varios días de cola, nos dan un papel que ni siquiera nos vale como “tarjeta de identificación” ya que la “tarjeta de residencia del régimen comunitario” ha sido suprimida. Los ayuntamientos también sufren esta situación por tener aún más habitantes que nunca que no figurarán (ni piensan hacerlo) en el padrón municipal. ¡Chapeau!
Con la situación económica actual, lo último que se debería imaginar aquí es intentar asustar a los posibles compradores del Norte de Europa.
No todos podremos comer conejo.

¡No Quejas!

In Algorfa - an obscure village south of Torrevieja on the Costa Blanca - a British home owner has made a few too many complaints about his builder and this has been the builder's revenge.
See the full story at http://www.algorfa.co.uk/PreviousNewsletters/Algorfa-news20.html#Algorfa435

Crisis? What Crisis!

The ‘building crisis’ is affecting Spain. From a country that apparently built more houses in the past few years than Britain, France and Germany combined, Spain has moved to a country that is in a deep and probably extended crisis. All this in just a few months. The reasons given – if the Spanish authorities even admit to the deep problems which are so much in evidence – are all to do with exterior forces. The sub-prime rate; cheap mortgages in America; the high value of the Euro against the Pound; the war in Iraq, the price of petrol and so on.
But, the fact is, Spain just built too many houses. If I might distinguish ‘proper’ houses from ‘holiday homes’, I would say that the average (overpriced) apartment in, for example Madrid, is now almost impossible to sell and many property agencies are now closing their doors. Prices need to fall, according to economists, by around 20%, but it’s always easier to hold on… just a bit… longer.
With mortgages drying up, foreclosures, debts falling due, massive layoffs in the workplace (a forecast of as much as a million more to join the ‘unemployed’) and the cost of living in Spain rising by over 4% annually, many householders are feeling the pinch. To be obliged to take a bath of twenty percent on a major investment like a home – even if a buyer could be found – is a depressing situation to be in.
Meanwhile, many of the largest construction companies in Spain are either going spectacularly bust, or they are busy building urbanisations and tower blocks in places like Morocco and Brazil.
Then we come to the problem of the costas.
Spain has never seemed to recognise the large amount of money which is pumped into the country by the foreign residents: particularly los europeos. There are something over a million northern Europeans living in Spain, many if not most living on pensions from abroad. These settlers have bought a house, bought a car, furniture, white goods and so on. They buy food, clothing and a few gins and tonics all on money continually being brought in from their own country. Most banks in Mojácar, where I live, will admit that around 75% of all of their clients are from Northern Europe. One study suggests that just the British residing in Spain bring in to the country six billion euros a year.
In exchange for some sun and a little peace and quiet.
But, things are far from peaceful and quiet. Not only has a British-owned house in Vera been very publicly demolished – like a bolt of lightening from Seville – but now it appears that some of the British who bought their homes in good faith, with no thought of their life’s savings being in any way under threat, are now living with the very real concern of being reduced to living in a tent. There won’t be any compensation if this happens as most companies here are registered with a capital of just 3,000 euros. The government won’t pay out in some spectacular gesture of kindness and any claim under law is treated here practically with derision.
Which is why the Northern Europeans need some representation in Spain – an almost impossible ambition. There are, it is true, a couple of foreign councillors here and there: Almería has two, one in Zurgena and the other in Mojácar. They at least are keenly aware of the concerns of the foreign householders. There is a local political party, ‘Ciudadanos Europeos’, which seeks to look after the interests of this powerless yet wealthy group and there is the ‘Abusos Urbanistos – No’ based in Valencia, with a local group in Albox – which is doing sterling work in defending the europeos and reporting property concerns to the European Parliament.
Spain, heedless of the monies coming in from London and Berlin, is now apparently determined to kill the golden goose. We are now faced with even more obligations to get onto our town hall registries than even the immigrants from the Third World. We no longer have ‘residence cards’ but must carry a wallet of paperwork for identification. Wasn’t ‘Europa’ about union, protection and ease?
The number of people coming out from Northern Europe is drying up anyway, but now they are concerned with not losing (what’s left of) their money. They’ve seen the reports of the British and German television and read the papers in Norway and Belgium. They know and they worry about 'illegal' homes, demolitions, expropriations, 'land grab', scams, fraud and other property questions. Perhaps they’d be better off living in Cyprus!
Recently, the mayor of Torre Pacheco in Murcia was arrested for granting illegal licences. Another mayor in Huelva is now behind bars. Practically the entire Marbella town hall has now ‘done time’. Locally, the mayor and several other professionals in Zurgena spent a few days in jail last week and are now under investigation. Other towns, including some controlled (or should that read ‘protected’?) by the PSOE are similarly full of illegal homes: Carboneras, Albox, Huercal Overa and Arboleas…
Recourse under law? There are currently over 1.5 million court cases in the system. In Andalucía the courts are so broken down that a leading judge has said it could take years to fix, but ‘only if we adopted a more efficient and European system of justice’. Fat chance! On top of that, Spain is just coming out of a sixty day strike for the funcionarios de justicia – the secretaries and gofers in the justice system. Add at least another year onto your court case.