Dave Hall lives and works in Barcelona. You can read more of his great posts on his blog, and his guest blogging posts here on Notes from Spain. He is currently somewhat of an expert on life in a Spanish office:

After listening to the Notes in Spanish Advanced podcast about life in a Spanish office recently, I thought I’d write a little about my experience of some of the most striking differences from my viewpoint as a long term UK office worker now working in various Spanish offices over the past 18 months.

The biggest (and the most obvious) thing that I still struggle with at times is how to get my head around the well publicised relaxed attitude to timekeeping.

In my old UK company, we would routinely receive emails reminding us that 9 am was the start of the "working" day, and not the time you should be stubbing your fag out against the wall outside and thinking about dragging your lazy, no-good, workshy carcass into the building only to then go for an unfeasibly long pee, get a coffee and chat to your colleagues about last night’s television (OK, I’m paraphrasing). Something along the lines of "You should be at your workstation, ready to work at 9 am" was the usual message.

Lunch time was a fixed 45 minutes and the same rules applied then. In fact, this was so well drummed into us that, if you strolled back in 5 minutes late, your own dear colleagues (from outside your department) would look at you with scorn and pass comment either behind your back, or to your face in the form of a lame joke. The management had clearly done their job on us, as the staff were effectively policing each other in the form of an internalized company Gestapo!!! (Although, we’d of course swapped finger screws for finger pointing). A sad situation indeed.

Here in Spain, it’s very different. Last week, when I asked what the hours were in my new job, my boss kind of shrugged, expelled a lot of air, umm’d and arr’d , then finally said, "Well, come in about 9am ish, lunch is roughly 13.30 until whenever, and most people start leaving about 18.30, or earlier if it’s a Friday." (She then immediately asked if I wanted to go for a coffee with her). Ah well, that’s clear then, thanks!

So, not a bad situation, but totally useless for an anally retentive, logically minded Virgo like me who can only cope with life if there’s a "rule" of some kind to help avoid unnecessary confusion! I still find myself rushing back to work after lunch, only to find an empty office, and then chastising myself for being such a pillock. For someone who prides himself on having done a reasonably good job of fitting into Spanish life, this work timetable thing is an irritatingly persistent problem that I still need to shake off before my hair falls out or I start cultivating a stomach ulcer. Read the rest of this entry »

In today’s guest blogging post, Dave Hall, who can also be found blogging at pepino-bcn.blogspot.com, asks if there is life beyond Barcelona’s Parc Guell:

Everyone who comes to Barcelona should of course be sure to check out the many Gaudí­ designed buildings and parks that the city has to offer, with Parc Guell probably very high on their list, but how about all those other parks and gardens that don’t have the guaranteed draw that Gaudí­’s name brings? I decided to head away from the crowds today and take a closer look at a hidden gem of a garden that you might just recognise..!

El Laberinto de Horta is located on the mountain side of the city, set back just a little further than Parc Guell, and is a relatively small, but nonetheless stunning neo-classical park dating back to the 1700s. It used to be the home of Joan Antoni Desvalls who was the Marqués de Llúpia i d’Alfarrí s, but was acquired in 1971 by the local authorities and subsequently opened to the public. The centrepiece of the park is an immaculately manicured maze made up of cypress trees overlooked by a Romanesque style balustrade complete with classical statues and stone pergolas.

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Today’s guest blog post is from Theresa, who can usually be found blogging about life in Pamplona and beyond at her blog The Rain in Spain.

Mi Andalucí­a

We usually spend our summer holiday with my parents-in-law in La Antilla, which is a small beach town near Lepe, Huelva. Incidentally, Lepe is the place that most Spanish jokes are about; the Americans joke about the Polish and the English about the Irish, but Spaniards joke about Leperos. The funny thing is that the Leperos don’t seem to mind their own countrymen poking fun at them, they take it well, after all, it’s all in good fun. You can even find books of jokes about Lepe in the souvenir shops…just another example of "Spain is different”.

Anyway, this year we’re picking up and heading north to visit France, Belgium and Holland. I’m sure the road will be filled with adventures and lots of interesting sights, but I will miss our typically Spanish vacation on the beach. I’ll miss the leisurely lunches, followed by coffee, canasta, and lazy conversations on the veranda. I can close my eyes and feel the warm air on my skin, and hear the flapping of the laundry hung out to bleach in the sun. The bright colors of the hibiscus and bougainvilleas that grow like weeds everywhere come into my mind; the days seem endless, filled with the promise of something special, even though nothing exciting occurs.

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Our guest blogger for today is Leftbanker, who blogs about living the good life in Valencia at www.leftbanker.com. Here is his entry, on an inescapable facet of Spanish life:

La Ciudad y Los Perros

I would be neglecting my duties in the chronicling of Spanish life if I didn’t write something about how much people here love their pooches. I happen to like dogs a lot so I don’t mind all of the negative aspects of sharing a dense urban environment with man’s best friends. Some of you may be asking, “Dogs have a down side?” I’m trying to keep this upbeat and positive so I’ll limit my answer to one word: sometimes.

I realize that “sometimes” is a little vague but it usually means early in the morning, when I’m sleeping, or at least I was sleeping, you yapping little dust mop, wherever you are. Lucky for you I’m too hung over to get out of bed and come looking for you. Lucky for you firearms are not as readily available as they are in my homeland. I try to return to my dream where I was hitting a very small dog with a very large board with a nail sticking out of it. Nice doggy, now hold still. While I’m fantasizing I may as well use the same length of board to hit the workmen below who begin drilling promptly at 7:30 a.m. and then go for morning beers at 7:55 and don’t get back until noon. Maybe when I’m finished hitting them (I suggest getting comfortable, this could take a while) they can build me a nice bookshelf out of my weapon.

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In today’s guest blogger post, Mark Krahling brings us a tale from the Camino de Santiago. Mark can usually be found blogging at pauseforpurpose.com, where, as the name suggests, he brings us excellent advice on how to slow down and appreciate life more!

We arrived at the hostel in Los Arcos in groups of two or three, registered at the desk, and prepared to spend the night before continuing the Camino de Santiago. The host, a Spaniard in his sixties, welcomed each pilgrim in Spanish with a smile, mixed with a few words of the traveler’s own language. He asked how our Camino was going and offered words of support and humor. On the desk sat a simple plate with several walnuts in their shells – the unspoken message was to help yourself, you are among friends here.

Later, several of us sat on the porch in front of the hostel and chatted.

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Today’s guest blogging entry is from Arpi Shively, who is usually to be found blogging on life in Andalusia at the excellent Andalucid. Her post touches on a subject dear to the hearts of all those who have started a new life in Spain:

Not many people know this: down a long tiled corridor deep in one of Madrid’s most imposing government buildings is a door marked MiRDA (Ministerio de Ruida) or in English, M.O.A.N. (Ministry of Ambient Noise). From within its flimsy confines come regulations governing the production of excessive aural stimulation so vital to a full cultural experience of Spain.

Not just there for fiestas or special occasions, MiRDA is involved in every aspect of everyday life. For example, in order for a motorbike, scooter or moped to pass its aural ITV, it must first sound like five million furious bees in a very small tiled bathroom. Then there are the regulations governing neighbourly chat and children’s outdoor play. These activities should be carried out simultaneously over as great a distance as possible.

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Richard Morely, who has written for us before on his experiences of victimising Spaniards at the Pueblo Ingles, takes the reigns today in our guest blogging series:

The heavy wooden door creaked like those of the castle in any Hammer Horror movie as I lent my weight against it. Beyond lay a narrow corridor redolent of damp and rotting wood. However, this was obviously going to be a temporary state of affairs as a single dim light bulb cast pale shadows across an obstacle course of builder’s ladders and piled high stacks of cement bags.

Maneuvering my bags I penetrated the gloomy passage until I reached the lift cage and pressed the button to call the antique cage. The mechanism groaned and made curious whining noises, but eventually reached me and the diamond lattice doors stuttered open and let me enter. With me inside the mechanism’s rattles sounded like the death knell of the industrial revolution, but manfully managed to hoist me to the third floor. There I encountered another door; this one stained dark with unpolished brass fittings. It opened and there stood a small, portly man with no hair and dressed in only trousers and a vest. A cigarette with an inch of ignored ash was stuck to his lower lip.

"Welcome Señor to the Hostel B.” This was Paco, a Cuban who ran, as far as I could find on the internet, the cheapest Hostal in Madrid.

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In today’s guest blogging post, Gabriella Opaz has an eye opening experience in Madrid. Gabriella is usually to be found blogging at the internet’s finest font of Iberian wine knowledge, Catavino.net. Over to Gabriella:

I am not sure whether I would categorize this experience as positive or negative regarding both Spain and its people, but considering it has rated as still one of my best stories living here, far be it for me to exclude from the many tales of Spain you are now receiving.

In 2005, when Ryan and I first moved to Madrid, I was still getting a handle on the Madrid metro system as I zoomed from one English class to the next, hoping and praying that I wouldn’t get lost and finding myself in the middle of nowhere. However, these things happen, and although I did find myself going too far south of Madrid on a unusually quiet teaching day, I stayed on the train in hopes of exploring new territory of the city. When I eventually did get bored and picked a random stop that look tantalizing, I walked up the stairs and noticed a park not one block away from the exit. Thinking that I was smarter than the average bear, I walked down to the entrance and read the sign “Botanical Garden”. Being that I am an enormous fan of anything green, I patted myself on the back thinking that I must have been the luckiest creature on the planet. “Who goes the wrong way on the Metro and randomly ends up in the perfect location?”

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In today’s guest blogging spot, Dave Hall writes in with another great taste of life in Barcelona Dave can also be found blogging at pepino-bcn.blogspot.com:

Has Barcelona been earmarked for a G8 summit? Are the Olympics back in town again? Or is it that the Queen is coming to make a white-glove fingertip dust inspection at any moment?

Well, maybe it’s none of these, but you could certainly be forgiven for thinking the mother of all events was on its way to Barcelona given the sheer scale of improvements and roadworks going on around the centre of the city (apparently concentrated on the Eixample districts). It seems that I can’t step outside my front door these days without being almost swallowed up into a monumental-sized cavern that’s suddenly appeared courtesy of the local authority planning department. For example, where I live is just 4 short blocks from La Rambla de Catalunya, but navigating a way through on the most direct street has become a real chore. And then when you get there, you’re faced with more of the same between La Diagonal and roughly until you get past Aragó.

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The latest post in our guest blogging series is from Rod, who writes at the excellent blog, Rod’s Spanish Stuff. Here he writes about his ‘Nightmare’ home in Andalusia:

Well, nightmare is probably a bit strong. This is more a cautionary tale, one about living in an old house in an Andalusian pueblo in winter.

A couple of years ago I took an eight month career break to go and study Spanish in Spain – I reckoned that if I was ever going to get fluent before I got too old to benefit from it, living in Spain was the only way! My plan was simple, I would move to Spain in October and study at a language school in one of the Andalusian hilltop ‘white towns’, so I could find my feet in Spain and build up enough confidence in my Spanish to be able to deal with big city life in Sevilla after the New Year.

Soon I had found a house to rent which could easily have featured in one of those British television programmes that have titles like ‘Dream Home in the Sun’. Indeed, according to local rumour, this house had done exactly that. The house was immaculately furnished and had a roof terrace with a view all the way down the coast to the mountains of Morocco. I could not believe my luck. I took out a three month lease, and settled down to a new daily ritual of attending classes in the morning, studying and writing in my new-found domestic paradise in the afternoon, and hitting the local tapas bars in the evening.

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