There was a fiesta in Lantero last weekend. It ran from Friday to Monday night. This year we knew what to expect. I imagine most Brits would say something along the lines of 'ooh a proper Spanish fiesta, how exciting' if we mentioned that the village halfway up our mountain hosted it's own annual knees-up. We, however, know better. Fiestas around here, if you live in our house and want a decent night's kip, are noisy, irritating and intrusive.
Now before any of you proclaim me a party-pooper, or an aguafiestas as they say around here, I feel I must point out that the musical mainstay of the fiestas in this particular part of the world is the techno disco. Imagine lying in bed at five am listening to the steady pum, pum, pum of the turned-up-all-the-way base punctuated by the evil DJ's ramblings. It's not pleasant. There was a new addition to the Monday night finale too that really took the biscuit, (somebody with dreams of grandeur had obviously been studying Olympic Games closing ceremonies), and that was a stream of fireworks at six in the morning, just to make sure that anybody who hadn't been woken up by the six hours of vile music would, with a start, be made aware of the end of the fiesta by numerous resounding BANGS.
We did give the fiesta a go the first year we were here, and the results were fairly disastrous. At discovering that a warm 25cl bottle of beer was priced at €1.50 we opted for the cheap red wine at €2 a bottle (which should've been warning enough in itself). Duncan arrived at half time and by 2 am, with plenty of Scots encouragement, Matt, with a little help from me, had gotten through three bottles. This was followed by a rum and coke (we're talking Spanish measures here, of course) that Duncan had insisted on purchasing for him, despite the best efforts of Susana and myself to explain that more alcohol really wasn't needed. We arrived home at 4 am after I'd taken two hours to drag Matt up the hill (" keep your knees straight, that's it. Now, one foot after the other. No, no, no, knees straight!") whereupon he promptly threw up and then passed out in bed. After that we decided it was best not to go again.
Anyway, after the four nights of fiesta in Lantero we had two nights break before the four day, four night El Entrego fiesta got going. It started yesterday and I managed to get to sleep before the heavy music started. Despite my cunning plan of an early night, I was awoken at 4.30am by Matt coming back from the trip to the loo. The conversation went something like this:
A sleepy me: Wah, uh, what's happening?
Matt: I couldn't sleep, the music's too loud.
me: What music?
PAUSE
me: Oh.
And then I was kept awake until 6am until the music stopped.
For tonight I have been even more cunning - this is our bedroom window:
I knew that old foam matress would come in handy one day.
Now before any of you proclaim me a party-pooper, or an aguafiestas as they say around here, I feel I must point out that the musical mainstay of the fiestas in this particular part of the world is the techno disco. Imagine lying in bed at five am listening to the steady pum, pum, pum of the turned-up-all-the-way base punctuated by the evil DJ's ramblings. It's not pleasant. There was a new addition to the Monday night finale too that really took the biscuit, (somebody with dreams of grandeur had obviously been studying Olympic Games closing ceremonies), and that was a stream of fireworks at six in the morning, just to make sure that anybody who hadn't been woken up by the six hours of vile music would, with a start, be made aware of the end of the fiesta by numerous resounding BANGS.
We did give the fiesta a go the first year we were here, and the results were fairly disastrous. At discovering that a warm 25cl bottle of beer was priced at €1.50 we opted for the cheap red wine at €2 a bottle (which should've been warning enough in itself). Duncan arrived at half time and by 2 am, with plenty of Scots encouragement, Matt, with a little help from me, had gotten through three bottles. This was followed by a rum and coke (we're talking Spanish measures here, of course) that Duncan had insisted on purchasing for him, despite the best efforts of Susana and myself to explain that more alcohol really wasn't needed. We arrived home at 4 am after I'd taken two hours to drag Matt up the hill (" keep your knees straight, that's it. Now, one foot after the other. No, no, no, knees straight!") whereupon he promptly threw up and then passed out in bed. After that we decided it was best not to go again.
Anyway, after the four nights of fiesta in Lantero we had two nights break before the four day, four night El Entrego fiesta got going. It started yesterday and I managed to get to sleep before the heavy music started. Despite my cunning plan of an early night, I was awoken at 4.30am by Matt coming back from the trip to the loo. The conversation went something like this:
A sleepy me: Wah, uh, what's happening?
Matt: I couldn't sleep, the music's too loud.
me: What music?
PAUSE
me: Oh.
And then I was kept awake until 6am until the music stopped.
For tonight I have been even more cunning - this is our bedroom window:
I knew that old foam matress would come in handy one day.
10 comments:
Raelha, are you anywhere near the Covadonga National Park?
Ahh, the good ole 'tape-the-old-foam-mattress-to-the-window' trick.
Fortunately our village is too small for its own fiesta but the main Pueblo up the road has one.
Last year we had an early start the next day so did not go.
This year Mr. C and his pals didnt set out till gone ten so I went to bed instead and it seems I should not have done.
The fiesta is a competition between all the bodegas and casas to give away the most food and drink. All the locals are in traditional dress and Mr. C didn't mention techno disco - so I am definately going next year.
Maalie, I take it you mean the Picos? We're just over an hour away. However, the Redes Park a short trip up the valley from us is part of the same Cantabrian mountain range - we prefer it as there are much fewer tourists and it's just as beautiful (and it's also just as full of birds).
Madame C, Now that sounds like my type of fiesta. Maybe I should come and take notes & photos so the locals round here can see how it's done.
Oh well, if you can't beat them join them! Getting paralitic at least ensures a nights sleep. Have you thought of ear plugs? Or perhaps stage your own fiesta at the same time and send Pavarotti through amplyfiers set at 'high'.
Just read your comments on Tortoiseshell's blog. My mother was terrified of butterflies and moths, although towards the end of her life she came to terms with butterflies. We had an agreement with each other. I would catch the moths and put them outside if she would catch the spiders and put them out for me! Worked very well when we were together, but eventually I had to learn to catch those hairy eight legged little bastards myself and take them out.
There are so many butterfiles here I'm havng to learnt to cope. It's either that or become a jibbering wreck. I will now actually concede that some of them are quite pretty. Moths I still can't deal with, and some of them here are huge. Matt always causes a fuss if I ask him to take a moth out for me, which I think it pretty unfair seeing as I deal with the lizards, mice, voles and birds. We share the spiders, although we're normally quite willing to let them stay in the house, as long as there not too big.
Ugh, did I say the fioesta was four nights long? It was five. As a special last-night celebration they turned the music up so it managed to beat our foam matress and they played until 8am. It's best not to talk to me at the moment - I am not a happy bunny, just a sleepy, grumpy one.
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