Spain Trip - Part 3

Ain't Gettin' in No Glass Elevator, Fool.

Living in north England, I don't see too many buildings with more than three storeys. This is where my fear of heights may come from. As you can see, Benidorm has a lot of tall buildings, probably nowhere as tall as ones you might find in New York or Tokyo. But they're tall enough for this vertigo sufferer.

The boats in the harbour give a sense of perspective. Just looking up at the rooftops made me feel dizzy. Is it possible to get vertigo from gazing upwards? I think so, though this was the first time I'd experienced it.

The one advantage of talls buildings is that you get a good view, at least for the brief period you dare look out of the window. My hotel room certainly had a view, it had a view of lots of concrete. The water in the pool had the same appeal as an ice bath, thus, nobody ever went in it. Why bother when you can walk in the sea without the slightest chill. And the view is better.

Spain is a deeply religious country and there are beautiful looking little churches everywhere. This religious culture might go some way toward explaining why the Spanish are so hard-working. And they certainly are hard-working; they never once complain about anything during their extremely long working day and night. I couldn't help but think that both the Church of England and the RC Churches in England have not done much to accomodate the expanding population in England, and maybe this is why Christianity is failing here; the churhes don't have the capacity for the township. Well, that and there's a stuffiness associated with some churches. I'm sure that, even if God does exists, he wouldn't mind people turning up to Church in torn work jeans and paint spattered t-shirts.

In Inverted Commas #1

"Sell a man a fish, he eats for a day, teach a man how to fish, you ruin a wonderful business opportunity." - Karl Marx (allegedly) rewords a Chinese proverb to suit the capitalist thinker.

Spain - Part 2

We all know it's not unusual to go on holiday and have people trying to sell you genuine "Armani" sunglasses for the same price you can get a burger. Being offered counterfeit goods is part of the holiday experience; you make the choice: buy or don't buy. There are some things that you just can't resist, even though you know they're not genuine. Especially since the genuine thing in question doesn't even exist outside of an animated world.Turning down the opportunity to enter an animated cartoon world - after all, it was our first day - we decided to explore the town, without the aid of a map or a tourist information guide. There were certain clues which should have told us we were heading into the newer part of Benidorm rather than the historic part, the traditional buildings and culture. We missed those clues. Of course, they were easy to miss:

"Missing the clue"

One thing we were pleased about was the temperature, some twenty degrees celsius warmer than back home. One thing we weren't pleased about was how dangerous crossing the road could be. Especially after beer. It didn't matter if the little green man was lit or not. Those cars just won't stop. Fear of heights? Pah. Nothing. Crossing Avenida del Mediterráneo gave a whole new definition to fear.

Less frightening, but mildly annoying, were the bar promoters every ten yards or so in the street. They were mostly young British ex-pats who had moved to Spain, lured by the constant sun and the "good life." I don't envy these people. I admire them for their courage in taking up such a challenge. But I did tire quickly of being told it was a beer and a shot for one euro in this bar or that bar. It was pretty much the same price everywhere. Dirt cheap alcohol and a free pavement pizza later on. I didn't need anybody to give me a piece of paper to tell me. And besides, I wanted to go to authentic Spanish bars, drink Spanish beer, make an idiot out of myself trying to speak Spanish.

I was actually surprised by how many pubs/bars there are. In fact, I have never seen so many pubs in one place in all my life. Quite how they all stay in business is beyond me. Oh wait, it's not. They stay in business because of British beer monsters of all ages, who go there for two reasons: sun and cheap booze. Of course, our downfall as Brits is that continental lagers are much, much stronger than anything we brew in the UK. Proper head-fucking tackle. It leads to bad judgements...

You know, it does exist, it really is genuine. At almost four euros a bottle, I imagine it is genuine. It must be.

Spain - Part 1

East Midlands to Alicante

If you enjoy flying you will know someboy who doesn't. There are a lot of people in this world who really don't enjoy flying. I'm one of them.

Boats and ships are fine. I can take the ferry to the mainland anytime. No bother at all. But when it comes to flying I'll start getting twitchy and agitated a couple of weeks before. As much as my knowledge of physics and accident statistics tells me that flying really is the safest form of travel my mind just won't have it. So my brother dragged me on a plane because ferries take to long.

With some alcohol inside me, I found myself travelling at around 500 miles an hour, 31,ooo feet in the air. THIRTY ONE FUCKING THOUSAND FEET IN THE AIR. People say there's no sensation of height when flying and I agree. But my mind still knows that I am 31,000 feet in the air and that this is not normal. I think my facial expression reflected that, even after beer.

When we touched down in Alicante I was elated. We were on the ground. There is no passport control or customs to pass through, we just headed straight out of the airport and went for the bus. I was glad, as I all nervous flyers are, to be on Terra Firma and heading for the safer transport of a bus.

Like all mainland western European countries, there doesn't seem to be much in the way of a highway code in Spain, and most of the cars that passed our slow bus were covered in dents and scrapes, even the brand new ones, cars weaved in and out of the lanes, narrowly missing each other and our bus.

Some of the landscape almost made me feel like I was in a Sergio Leone western. If it weren't for the modern fencing, I could have believed it. And there are too many mountains for a vertigo victim. I was hoping the bus wouldn't go on any roads which ran alongside sheer drops. Time for more beer. This wasn't so much a holiday as a test on my adrenaline glands.
An hour after landing we arrived at our destination. It made a change to be staying in a hotel instead of some dodgy hostel where thefts are a daily hazard. I was, of course, delighted to know that we were staying five floors up and had to get there in a glass lift (elevator). Still, it could have been worse, we could have been on the sixth floor. Soon it was time to sample the night life.

The Wonder Years

Watching repeats of The Wonder Years lit that spark of nostalgia. The trouble with sparks is that they can start fire. And what was a pretty picture burns away to reveal the truth.

I like The Wonder Years for the same reason I like the film Dazed and Confused: it tells the truth.

And what is the truth about school days? Is it that most of us catch ourselves saying that we wish we could go back, and that this momentary desire is based on one tiny spark of nostalgia, one tiny event, we shared with someone?

When we think about events surrounding that one glorious moment we shared with someone, those before, and those after, we get a better scale of things. And really, while school wasn't that bad, it wasn't great either.

Looking back the entire education system, at least in this country, was absurd.

Let's take detention for instance; the single most useless form of punishment known to man. The first time you get detention, you're dreading it. But then, once you experience it, you realise that detention is easier than regular classes. In fact, it's a breeze. You don't want to be there, the teacher doesn't want to be there, and you're given something boring to do. And teacher knows you won't complete the task. Just as he wont finish marking homework. No, he'll read the sports section of his newspaper instead. And you, you'll spend most of the time looking out of the window, thinking "this isn't so bad." Definitely easier than getting the cane.

There's the morning assemblies. At the lower school site we had to stand in assemblies and would often take bets on who would pass out first when the heating was cranked up full. Some teacher would stand at the front, reading some passage from the bible, and then go on about morals and values, probably while wishing he hadn't bet the next month's mortgage on the 3:15 at Newmarket and wondering if he might get to fuck that sexy new German teacher who was fresh out of university and had tits the size of watermelons.

You'd see the metalwork teacher, who was always telling you about health and safety, and that you must wear your goggles, playing around with the carburettor on his car during lunch break, whilst he has a lighted cigarette dangling from his lips. Petrol and lit cigarettes: great combination. What a fine example, teacher.

Some break times, the Geography teacher might confiscate the cigarettes of some kids at the back of the bike sheds. Later on that afternoon, in class, she'd make eye contact with Mark, just as she lit one of the cigarettes she'd taken from him. She'd puff away at it at the front of the class, all the time, watching him, smirking.

And then there were the bullies. The bullies didn't need a reason to beat you up. You'd ask them, "Why me?" And the reply was often just a simple, "Because we want to." They don't realise that one day we all grow up. And that in most cases the bullied do far better than the bullies. Most bullies turn out to be actual cowards in later life. The whole business is sad. For both parties.

So were they The Wonder Years? Sure, they were. At least, I look back and wonder how I got through them. Most of us survived.