What I have been up to

I just coudn't resist
having a go at this, having married into the Spanish culture at the age of 24.
Now at the ripe old age of 41 I often wonder whether that makes me an Anglo
Spanish hybrid.

Born and bred in the good
old Black Country, a product of Alumwell
comprehensive school, I first heard Spanish at O Level stage from my Scottish
Spanish Teacher??? I never thought for a minute that I would be living the life
I lead now and not in the least aware of the things that life would be showing
me. Here's my write up on what travel has meant to me.

As a Kid we were lucky,
Mom and Dad showed us a lot of the world. The Caribbean, The Med, North Africa - always on a package tour inside the safe
parameter of the Resorts fencing. Never really in touch with the people, the
place nor experimenting the lifestyle, but having a great time as a kid under
the sun and in and out of the pool. I remember once venturing out of the Sandy Lane resort
with Dad and Miriam the friendly Jamaican taxi driver, who took us to church one
Sunday. That was my first real contact with local people, singing and swaying
to gospel music in an old wooden church with a coconut tree growing through the
roof. Enjoyed every minute.

When finishing A Levels, I
came to Spain on a number of
exchange visits, to Almoradi in Alicante and
Torre Pacheco in Murcia.
In the mid '80's it was nothing like this at all. Torre Vieja was that little
fishing village and little else. No Ryan Air nor Aeroflot flights existed and
flights were far more expensive than they are now. This was the Wild West, but
the people I had the good fortune to meet were the most welcoming ever. It was
the people that made me want to come back time and time again.

After meeting a Spanish
girlfriend, who would become my wife in 1991, we lived in Cannock Staffs for a
year and half, but we found ourselves making the decision to marry and move
down to Murcia, Luci's home town. In 1991, I closed shop (a self employed
export agent) and we moved into a small town house in El Palmar Murcia. The darkest
part of urban Spain
you can imagine. I really felt like a misfit for the first few years, and it
did make me home sick. Remember, there was no messenger webcam nor cheap and
cheerful flight home for a weekend. I was emerged in a truly Spanish
family.

I learnt many things about
adaptation and fitting in. Language the first, and then working out what makes
people tick here. Food and a true med diet made me shed the kilos, tucking into
Lentil casseroles, Rice and Rabbit, Fresh fish and a series of culinary
delights which people here took for granted. Work too was hard to adapt to such
long days, with long Siesta times from 2 to 5 pm. I always thought that was a
setback. I started as Export Manager and still am today working in
international trade. I travel abroad 20 odd weeks of the year for work, and
always feel I'm coming home when I get that last flight to Alicante
or Murcia.
The saying goes that Home is where you Heart is, and I agree. Nevertheless, the
other side of the coin is that whenever I get that little bit claustrophobic in
Murcia,
I am lucky enough to be able to organize a business trip to places far afield.

Travel is fine, but for me
you need to know you have a return ticket to get the most out of it. I have
been lucky enough to visit places as far afield and of completely different
culture as you could imagine. Without exception they reinforce the idea I have
that this area of the world is where I want to be and the lifestyle I couldn’t
forsake. As an anecdote I recently filled in a travel questionnaire on
facebook, and learnt I had seen over 20% of the world in my first 41 years of
age, so I know what I am saying.

Obviously travel for work
reasons is nothing like travel for pleasure, as time for fun is very limited,
but there is a well know saying in Spanish that says “En todos los trabajos se
fuma” – something in English like, there’s time for a cigarette break in every
job. So I always try to fit in a visit to somewhere typical wherever I go and
get the most out of being there. Usually clients are hospitable and will do the
rounds and show you about, which gives you a great insight into local culture,
food and lifestyle. Here are a few of the things that stick in my mind, whether
unusual or simply “must do” things on my list…

Paris – la Fête de la Musique
(Summer solstice) Every year on 21st June. Paris, and all French cities, come to
life with a carnival atmosphere. Street parties and concerts, bars open well
into the early hours. It’s like one national end of school term party. I was
invited along to Cabaret in the Caverns of an old Café next to Notre Dame,
which surprised just how bohemian the atmosphere could be. Loved every minute
of it, despite the thick head the next morning.

London – A client showed me the old Tea
Parlour in the city, and rooftop restaurant and bar next door, with the most
magnificent views of the Thames and most of
the city. Places off route that only the locals get to use.

Berlin – both sides of the city – East and West and
the still evident difference between the two. The Reichstadt, the opera house –
just simply a city that impresses.

Prague – Bratislava
– Vienna – the
reminiscence of an empire. Budapest
– couldn’t eat out without a musician playing all night. Great if you enjoy
Goulash !

One of the most extravagant
trips was Japan, Tokyo and Osaka, Bullet
train, electronic wonderland, night in the Karaoke and clubbing till early
hours in what is for me one of most exhilarating places I’ve been to – Ropongi
district in Tokyo.
My workmate had been there for some time and was friends of a Japanese TV and
Radio celebrity. Needless to say it was a surreal evening out with autographs
left right and centre. Then there was the obligatory visit to the Otsen - Thermal baths which is whole culture I had
never seen before. Fish Market at 3
in the morning to see how they auction off expensive
Tuna and millions of varieties of fish and shellfish to the restaurants. Only
regret was the seaweed and urchin breakfast swilled down with sushi and green
tea at 6 in
the morning. Just couldn’t face it.

Our client runs a top class
restaurant chain and we were invited to their Disney Land Restaurant for their
yearly company dinner, speech and firework display included. That was out of
this world. Freshly flown in ingredients from all over the world served up with
a TV celeb chef. Hobnobbing with people from Australia,
the US, Europe
and Lord knows where else. And there was me, a black country man, giving all
these people a first class demonstration of how they should be cutting a Pata
Negra Jamón wafer thin, which if left to the Maitre, he’d have chopped up the
leg of ham rind and fat on into inedible chunks. I just couldn’t help taking
the knife of him and cutting it myself. Yet again, the Spanish influence was
coming out.

One thing that struck me as
civilized was the underground system. Thousands of commuters crossing from one
place to the next, and no one bumped into you crossed your path once. Nothing
like Alicante
airport where we fight over a baggage trolley with a wobbly wheel. Maybe I’m
not made for such a civilized world.

Where next?
Moscow – Talk
about Nouveau Riche. No more got to the airport we were ripped off by the head
of customs at 3 in
the morning. In order to take our laptops and exhibition equipment in, we were
asked to put them all on the weighing scales then told we had to pay 500 USD
import taxes. After a long discussion and 100USD tucked in a passport, we were
allowed through. That really set the tone for the rest of week. Still there is
an attraction in the Red Square, especial the
night we saw ant riot police break up a rowdy concert in front of us. I did not
know whether to run or just watch. Got off with no trouble in the end.

The
domestic flight from Moscow to St Petersburg with Aeroflot was an experience
I’d rather not repeat. I could see the tarmac through the hole in the torn
carpet, and then had to wait for an hour while they defrosted the flaps on the
wings with steam spray hoses. I just wanted to get off, but sat and grinned.

I’m always
glad to get home. After a week or 10 days, I’m ready to come home and hand out
all the typical souvenirs I get - whether Madrusca dolls from Moscow or MP3 players from Tolyo, or a simple
stick of Blackpool Rock. The office is dotted with useless things like a Korean
Face Mask, or a Romania
traditional folk dress. Some of the souvenirs can be a little tacky. In some
cultures they still appreciate the plastic bull and flamenco dancer from Spain, or a
Mexican straw hat. But we have moved on since then and hand out the corporate
wine set or desk top penholder.

There a few
occasions where I have felt intimidated or scared. Just a few come to mind. The
first in Saudi Arabia and
second in Romania, the other
in Cairo.

Imagine, a
shared taxi for a 3 hour drive across the desert in Saudi Arabia. 7 people in the taxi,
me with my suit and briefcase, a woman (I think) in a burka behind me like the
grim reaper, an off duty Lebanese police man, a Pakistani driver and a couple
of locals. All quiet for the first few miles, but conversation obviously picked
up and we then shared water, fruit and chocolate bars and got quite familiar.
Great I thought. These people aren’t at all like they say on CNN. Then came the
question, “Why don’t you become Muslim? If you were Muslim, even if you went
back home, you would be like our brother in a common faith. There would be no
more war between faiths”. I thought then asked, “hang on, if that was the case,
why did Iraq invade Kuwait – they
were both Muslim states?” The silence that fell after that rather imprudent
comment seemed to last for ages. I had images of me being left behind up to my
ears in sand and trampled and spat on by wild camels. The Pakistani driver broke the ice by saying,
“that was different John, that was different!”. I was glad to reach the safe
haven of the Hilton Hotel, and finally realized that the Arab world did not go
into such “deep thinking” conversation. There is little sense of debate.

Romania was scary for a different reason. A
client put me on the “Express” train from Brasov
back to Bucharest.
A 4 hour journey that became 7 hours with stops and delays, again holes in the
floor and a rackety old wooden box carriage that had seen better “centuries”.
As the train pulled out of Brasov,
darkness started to fall. As we crept slowly along the track, the moon pierced
though winter woodland, and reflected on the occasional graves and crosses. It
was then that the guy in the same compartment asked my in his Pigeon English if
I had ever been to Transilvania before. My heart sank as the trained went into
a tunnel, but no lighting came on. This was like Agatha Christie style. Despite
the delay, my travel companion turned out to be a civil servant called Ion from
Bucharest and
not a vampire, but I had my doubts at the time.

Then in Cairo, the client picking
me up at the airport didn’t show, and a total stranger turned up with my name
on an A4 sheet. There was me loaded down with baggage (no trolleys to fight
over) and my passport between my gritted teeth. The guy grabs my passport and
walks off disappearing into the crowd. He apparently went off to get my visa
done, but didn’t tell me so I panicked. All seemed clear after a while when he
came back and rushed me and my bags into a minibus, alone and locked the door,
then got in the driver seat and two other armed blokes got in the front with
him. I remember seeing the police officer as we raced out of the airport pick
up point and thinking this is the last chance to get help, but no, too late.

They told
me they were taking me to my hotel, but in the meantime I phoned my wife to
say, if I didn’t phone in 30 mins from the hotel, phone the embassy. They took
me to the wrong hotel, but much obliged to get out of the minibus, I didn’t
protest. Just simply got another hotel
taxi to the Sheraton, then phoned home again to give the all
clear. When the second taxi driver asked me if I wanted to see the pyramids for
a special price of 60€ at 2 in
the morning I simply passed. I wanted my safe haven again.

Hang on!
Wasn’t this all about Spain?

The truth
is, I’ve worked and lived many a year in Spain and it’s thanks to my work I
have been able to travel so often. Still I have done my miles worth of driving
around Spain and Portugal
and have accumulated a fair number of stories in doing so.

The drive
from Murcia to Lisbon meant I got my fair share of stop offs in
Andalucía, enjoying every step of the way in the most remote villages of Seville, Cordoba and Granada. There’s
no better breakfast for me than a hot Café con leche y una media tostada con
aceite. (Work that one out for
youselves) but it does go down well. Then in Granada, where every beer is accompanied by
its Tapa. (tapa de primera, segunda tercera etc etc). Huelva, right down on the Atlantic coast, is
my father in laws home town, and we went once to a wedding there. The fish and
seafood was amazing and for me had one of the most unspoilt beached I’ve ever
seen.

One of my
fondest memories is of the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona. Having 3 military brother in laws,
I was invited to come up to Barcelona
whilst they were working with security for the Olympic Committee. It goes
without saying we had more tickets to events than there was time to see. We
went everywhere we wanted and no one bothered to question who we were and where
we were going.

In the
Olympic village we played 10 pin bowling with the UK team of lady synchronised
swimmers (and lost) then had lunch in the official athletes canteen, we were in
the VIP lounge sharing volauvents with Queen Sofia and la Infanta Elena,
while Bruniguer collected his gold medal. 3 whole days, jam packed with stories
to tell, that are hard to believe. By day 3 we had such a jaw ache from so much
laughter we were shattered. Each day we kept seeing this same lady time and
time again with her sony camcorder, and she seemed so familiar. We coincided at
all the events. In the end we had to ask her on the last day if she was from Murcia. Turned
out to be Connie Selecka from the Hotel TV series. What fools.

Barcelona is great, but for me, Madrid
takes the biscuit for choice. Had the chance to go with family last year, and
do some sight seeing. We had lunch just off the Plaza mayor in a restaurant
that is over 500 years old, took in a visit to the barbers for a shave and hair
cut. Something you don’t see these days and Dad loved it.

There are
still plenty of things I want to see around Spain, and one that sticks out is
the Camino de Santiago. There are hundreds of different routes which all lead
to Santiago de Compostela along the Costa da Morte. One of these years I will
do it.

My
favourite hobby is running, and I often sign up with a group of friends to do
half marathons at town all dotted along the Costa Blanca. The favourite is
Santa Pola in January, where the atmosphere is exceptional. Everyone is out
egging you on. You can’t let them down.

Having lots
of Spanish friends, especially runners, they all take the lead in organising a
run somewhere they know well from their childhood. So a couple of years ago I
took the chance to get them all (wives too) over to the UK for a long
weekend and include a fun run. The people at the Cannock Chase running club
were great and organised a 10
mile race across Cannock
chase with lunch in the pub in Penkridge. Mom and Dad got a minibus and hotel
organised and we had another 3 days of laughter from beginning to end.

I could go
on for ever – but I will leave this here now. In my mind, home is where your
people are, and my people are a little spread out so I get the best of both
worlds. I imagine that happens to a lot of Ex Pats like me who are making a new
life for themselves here in Spain.

John Hickin