Spanish
life is not always likeable but it is compellingly loveable.
-
Christopher Howse: A
Pilgrim in Spain.
This post, dear reader, was penned early afternoon of Saturday 26th August, sitting opposite Cervantes' house in Alcala de Henares. For one reason and another, I neglected to post it once I'd found a wifi connection. So I've posted it early on the morning of the 27th, albeit with yesterday's date.
Well,
I've spent most of the morning in the comisaría
of the policia local
– which I eventually found in a street not recognised by Google -
reporting the inconvenient disappearance of my wallet between 21.10
last night and 7.30 this morning Presumably picked from my pocket at
Madrid airport when I was picking up a friend there last night.
It
was an experience, of course, replete with the need to talk to
several people, to provide every conceivable detail of myself and the
wallet, and to receive and sign several pieces of paper. One of
which details my 'rights as a victim'. But at least the policewoman
in the Denuncia
department was an an amiable anglophile and very chatty. So it wasn't
time completely wasted. And it was amusing to find that the police
have on file the names of my mother and (dead) father.
But
now I have find a way to get some cash when I am without ID which is
sufficient in Spain. My car documents with my name all over them are
not enough for, say, Western Union, to whom my UK bank is
perfectly willing to make an immediate transfer. That's the problem
when a country has an ID card system. No one is then prepared to take
the slightest risk of you being someone else – even when you pay a
motoring fine – and common sense is turfed out of the window.
I
had to resort to my UK bank because the bank I use in Spain doesn't
man (or woman) its customer service at the weekend. The machine told
me.
The
police, by the way, were not impressed to hear than my wallet
contains a residence card which expired in 2011. Not sure why I gave
them that detail.
And
that, dear reader, is as much as I feel like writing this morning. My
notes can wait for another day. But, meanwhile, a couple of apposite
fotos:-
P. S. I should add that my Madrid-resident daughter came through with the cash I needed and also gave me her bank card and PIN. I was honest enough to tell her I wasn't sure I'd have done the latter for her. But i might now . . .
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