Mus, Yoga and Pretty Persuasion by Theo

Spanish lunches are quite a thing. Last weekend we were invited to lunch at Belen and Cesar's and made the mistake of having plans for that evening. Bad idea. This weekend we were more sensible, as when we were again invited to lunch at Belen and Cesar's (clearly Belen wanted a rematch at Parcheesi/Ludo), we cleared the schedule!!

We arrived at 2pm as instructed to find that Nataly and David had not only beaten us to it, but were also providing food - a delicious goat's cheese salad followed by cannelloni. Kind of unfair we thought, seeing as we had been ordered in the strictest terms NOT to bring any food. A slight double standard on the part of our hosts, but we graciously let this slide especially as our tongues started to melt with delight at the taste of Nataly's culinary arts. Mmmmmmm! A delicious meal and great company, Cesar bravely trying to insist everyone speak in English (apparently the others need practice, not that we noticed), though lots of Spanish was spoken too.

We hadn't however turned up completely empty handed. We had discovered the previous week that our hosts lacked a set of Spanish playing cards, which we remedied on this visit. Spanish cards have coins, clubs, swords and cups as suits and further differ from English cards by lacking the queen, the nine and the eight. However these cards are completely necessary for playing Mus, a popular card game in Spain, often practised by large groups of old men in bars and squares around town. We first came across it a year ago in Vaughan Town and totally failed to understand it - our complete lack of Spanish back then being a major barrier.

On this occasion Belen, the only one who knew how to play, was much more successful at teaching us despite constant interruptions, questions, protestations and disagreements among her students. It's a combination of poker and bridge, in that you play with a partner and you bet on the strength of your hand, though there are no trumps and the value of the cards changes depending on the stage of the game. Very complicated. Needless to say, the Belen/Katetheo team won.


The Mus lesson concluded, Kate proceeded to instruct Nataly on the finer points of the yoga sun salute (it was dark by now) and the afternoon was rounded off by a foray for films and popcorn followed by a showing of Pretty Persuasion on the large screen - who needs cinemas! It was a very good, blackly funny look at the bleakness of American private schools, teen jealousy and litigation. If you enjoyed Cruel Intentions, Heathers or Election then it's definitely worth renting. By the time we got home it was 11.30pm. Some lunch!

Equal Ops?

We're just around the corner from Calle Alcala, the longest street in Madrid and one of the main shopping areas, especially between Ciudad Lineal and El Carmen. Which happens to be our patch.

So, yesterday, after Spanish Class, lunch and a Siesta we headed out to do some shopping for Kate who is starting to need a new wardrobe - one that has room for her expanding belly and easy boob access. Sadly the latter isn't for me, though I'm sure I'll take advantage.

Late opening is the norm in Spain - in fact many if not most shops close between 2pm and 5pm - so us heading out at 5.30 was no problem. I'm not the best shopper in the world; I'm too impatient and when presented with a choice between two or more possibilities my response tends to be "buy both". Still in my role as supportive husband I was determined to be useful. Besides, I thought, at least I could pick up some plain t-shirts (my current ones all have holes) and socks (ditto) along the way.

Not so! One thing that I hadn't noticed before in Spain is that clothes shops are completely unisex. Even big chains like H & M, Bennetton and Lefties simply don't have a men's section. Sure they have a kids sections (because children clearer only going shopping with Mum - well way to encourage us Dads!) but nothing for the guys. No wonder we passed a few guys reading papers on benches while waiting for their other half to decide. So much for equal ops!

Yann Tiersen by Theo

One of the great things about our jobs is that we finish work at 9pm, whereas at my old job I finished at 10pm thus ruling out midweek musical fun. Even so, we still had to jump in a taxi to make it across town in time to catch Yann Tiersen at the Riveria, arriving too late for Matt Elliot's support slot. Never mind, as he was on stage playing with Yann anyway, along with two chums of ours from Bristol: Robin Allender and Dave Collingwood (formerly of Gravenhurst). It's a small world! Familiar as we are with seeing them play in front of 200 or 300 people (at most) it was a bit strange having them appear as blobs on the stage in front of a sold out crowd numbering well into the thousands as part of tour that has already taken in Beiruit, Athens and Barcelona.
Yann Tiersen is probably best known for his soundtrack to the hit film Amelie, but anyone turning up hoping to hear folksy, accordion led instrumentals would have been bitterly disappointed (especially as tickets were €22!) Instead their largely instrumental set was more post-rock than anything else, though pigeon-holing their sound really does it an injustice as there was way more to it than that. A solo violin piece from Yann was particularly captivating as well as some of the slow-build choral numbers involving the whole band on vocals. As the set consisted of unfamiliar tracks to us, we weren't quite as into it as some of the more enthusiastic members of the crowd but it was really enjoyable and never dull.

Despite the best efforts of the ruthlessly efficient security guards who were trying to herd everyone out as quickly as possibly we managed to get Dave's attention and Robin came out to rustle us back stage. They'd had a hell of a day, with their bus breaking down in Barcelona and having to catch last minute flights, but it was great to see them both. We spent an hour or so backstage, managed a few rusty French phrases, bewitched them with Kate's bump before we all piled in taxis to head our separate ways. The next day they were due to head off to Santiago and then back to France, whistle-stop visits seeing the insides of hotels, service stations and gig venues. It used to be my life. While I had a little twinge of nostalgia last night, I don't miss it!

Modern Parents by Kate

Anyone remember the Modern Parents cartoon strip in Viz? Unwilling children who only wanted to be left in peace in front of their TVs and Playstations being dragged to all sorts of dreary eco-friendly right-on hippy activities by earnestly enthusiastic middle-class mums and dads? That's the kind of parent I aim to be. Theo's with me on that one, too. He even goes one step further, refusing to countenance any sort of TV in the house, but I'm not quite that far down the road.

So, intending to start as I mean to go on, I have been researching the availability of washable nappies and baby-carrying slings in Spain. The results of my research was a string of internet complaints about the impossibility of finding such things here and a solitary web-site which imports a few of these products, set up by two ex-pat English mums, who had come across the same problem. Not very encouraging.

I was seriously considering opening a shop in Madrid myself to fill the gap and paying the postage & packaging to get a stock of re-usable nappies, when we spotted a flyer on the wall of our midwife's office. It said Dos Manitas (Two Little Hands) and listed panales lavables among its products. That sounded promising. Then we looked more closely and realised the address was a street we walked along every time we went to or from the Metro station at Pueblo Nuevo. We must have passed it fifty times and never once sussed out what it was. Probably because it's opposite a confectioner's shop with mouthwatering window displays that invariably and understandably distract my attention whenever we're in that area.

Anyway, we went inside to discover the shop stocks seven or eight different makes of washable nappy and a bewildering array of slings in all shapes, sizes and colours. They even had fold-away carrycots made from recycled cardboard and half a dozen second-hand cradles and car-seats. Just the job! Unless I can find big savings on the web, I think I'm going to become a regular customer.

I have so far resisted the temptation of buying anything for the baby, largely for superstitious reasons (Christmas is my preferred date to start laying in supplies) but my expanding belly means I need to acquire a few things for myself. Luckily, the current fashion is for loose-fitting tops, gathered under the bust and designed to flow over the belly, which is perfect for pregnancy and saves me paying the inflated prices for anything officially labeled as Maternity Wear.

The other thing that was becoming urgently required was a maternity bra. I can barely cover my nipples with most of my bras now and the slightly larger underwired ones are just plain uncomfortable. So I went to a lingerie shop and tried on an unassuming white polycotton number, silently bidding farewell to sexiness and hello to stern practicality. But maternity bras cunningly turn into peep-hole numbers, thanks to their built-in suitability for easy nursing and there's an undeniably erotic aspect to that, which Theo was quick to appreciate. Time will tell if my breasts' conversion into udders will change all that. Dairy products aren't usually classed as aphrodisiacs, in my experience.

Uno, Dos, Tres... empujad!!

A combination of a lack of half-decent Spanish and lack of tennis balls meant I approached my first pre-natal class with a certain amount of trepidation. I wasn't sure why the tennis balls were necessary, but Maite had instructed me to turn up wearing pantalones (trousers) and with two of the balls. I had successfully found my last remaining pair of trousers that I could get over my expanded derriere, but had failed with the tennis balls, owing to lack of time and the Spanish shop opening hours (10 am mostly - or at least those tiendas selling pelotas de tenis...). So, there I was in my pink pantalones, sans tennis balls and smiling in what I hoped was an ingraciating way at the arriving members of Cuidad Lineal's local Bump Club (Club de Bomba) with their impressive range of bulging tummies.

We started with exercises to help with breathing and labour positions. I managed the first pair activity by copying the other women and wih a little gentle encouragement from my partner. Maite then solved the problem of my patchy understanding of the lingo by firmly indicating to me to move to a spot on the mat beside her and saying "Tu, aqui!" She then proceeded to demonstrate the rest of the exercises by picking up my various limbs and manoeuvring them into the required positions, which was a very sensible way of handling the situation, all things considered.

The tennis balls, it turned out, were for a massage technique that involved rolling them firmly up and down each other's backs - and luckily, I could borrow my partner's sports equipment for the job, so that was okay. She was a quiet but friendly Muslim woman (Syrian, possibly?) who wore her head-scarf throughout the class and did a pretty decent job of easing some of the tensions out of my back.

After the exercises, which culminated in a lesson in pushing, Maite gave us a lecture about what to expect directly after the birth of our forthcoming babies. This may seem a little advanced given that it was my first class, but I had joined the group half way through the sessions - I would have to do the first few classes after Christmas. If, however, I had waited until then to do the whole course, it was a fair bet that Fosbella would have emerged before I had completed it. Doing the second half followed by the first half was the next best thing.

Anyway, despite the rapid Spanish, I managed to get the gist of most of the advice surrounding health, healing, breast-feeding, contraception and other post partum matters. I also learned some new vocabulary related to the female anatomy, including pechos (breasts) and suelo pelvico (pelvic floor). I also realised that the frequent mentions of la "ba-heenah" was actually the Spanish pronunciation of "vagina" and that cicatriz meant scar and cicatrizarse is the verb meaning to heal. It's probably just as well partners weren't allowed to the class, the discussion wasn't for those of a squeamish nature (ie, men).

After that, we were instructed in the finer art of foot massage, which we were assured would be excellent to practise on our offspring to help them relax and sleep better and which would be excellent for our partners to practise on ourselves for the same reason. Then, while gentle ambient music played, we lolled about massaging each other's feet while Maite continued her lecture about the days following the birth (nappies, layette and other practical requirements our new-borns would be needing).

After the class ended I had a few brief conversations with some of the other women - a Paraguayan embarazada whose emphatic reply, when I asked if this was her first child was, "Si, y la ultima" ("and the last"); a Spanish woman with whom I compared gestation times and genders and a friendly Italian who chatted to me in English while I replied in Spanish, which had the satisfactory result of both of us practising our non-native languages and gave me a considerable boost in understanding her words as well as she could clearly understand mine. One thing's certain, I'm part of a highly international group of ex-patriots and although my command of Spanish is probably at the bottom of the class, it's comforting to know I'm not the only foreigner plotting my uncertain course through the Madrileno pre-natal set-up. Ex-pats of the world unite, all power to the embarazadas inmigrantes!

La Matrona by Kate

I must admit, I was a bit apprehensive about meeting a Spanish midwife for the first time, having heard and read mixed reports about them. The rest of the medical profession I've encountered since lowering myself into uncertain waters of the pre-natal system in Madrid have tended to be brisk, brusque and professional and not exactly brimming over with what you might describe as bedside manner.

So Maite was a pleasant surprise. Brisk and professional, yes. And undeniably, a tad brusque at times (she castigated Theo and me for not being better at speaking and understanding Spanish by now - everyone else we meet has been highly complementary on our emerging linguistic abilities). But - and it's an important but - she has a sense of humour. Plus she wasn't afraid to speak a bit of English to us, which was very endearing as we floundered about trying to find the right words to ask for information on the hitherto more obscure aspects of giving birth in Madrid.

Best of all, she made it clear she was very much in favour of natural, active birth - she told me sternly it would require a lot of preparation and isn't for the faint-hearted, but seemed satisfied when I assured her I was already doing the yoga and relaxation practice to get ready. When we asked about ante natal classes (called pre-natal classes here) she shrugged and said she wasn't sure how useful I would find them as she would be speaking Spanish very quickly and I probably wouldn't understand anything. But she seemed willing to let me give them a try, although Theo was disappointed to learn that most of the classes aren't open to husbands and partners.

The other thing she told us, which was also reassuring, was that Hospital La Paz - our assigned hospital - has a policy of minimal medical intervention during the birth process and suggested that all being well, I should be able to try my hand at doing it naturally without major unwanted interference from the obstetrics team. A far cry from the days when Giles Tremlett's wife gave birth in the same hospital, as recounted in his excellent book, Ghosts of Spain. That book was responsible for grave doubts on my part about the business of having a child in a Spanish public hospital. Still, assuming that Maite is right, we'll go ahead and take the La Paz option, keeping fingers crossed that all will be as she says it should.

Au Natural by Kate

I blame Beans' lovely mum primarily, although my sister and my friend Natascha also have to accept their fair share too. I probably would have accepted every drug offered to me during labour and would have been content to lay on my back with my legs in the air to give birth. That's all changed now.

When Beans' mum heard I was pregnant she presented me with a much-thumbed copy of Sheila Kitzinger's The Experience Of Childbirth, apologised for the dated quality of some of its advice but said it had been invaluable in helping her have three children naturally and enjoyably.
"My mother looked at me while we waited in Bournemouth Nursing Home and said pityingly 'she really doesn't know what she's going to go through', but do you know? I was so relaxed! And it was wonderful! I think my mother was quite disappointed," she said.

When I asked my sister for advice on the best way to have babies (let's face it, she's had four, all at home, all without trauma and using nothing stronger as pain-relief than a warm bath and a paracetamol) she promptly said, "Janet Balaskas," and hunted through her book-shelves for New Active Birth, which she failed to find. When I asked Natascha (two children) the question, she gave me the same answer, so I figured this was well-worth following up. My mother kindly bought me Janet's book for a birthday present and I read it avidly.

As a result of Sheila and Janet's influence, I'm now very keen to try and have the baby sans pethidine, epidurals and all the rest and ideally while remaining in a generally upright position, if possible. So I've been doing loads of undignified yoga positions, practising relaxation techniques and rehearsing breathing methods for contractions and earnestly trying to discover if Spanish delivery suites will be open to this hippie earth-mother stuff or if I will have to consider forking out two thousand or so euros for a specialist private clinic just for the privilege of having a baby without being forced into unhelpful and painful positions or subjected to all sorts of unnecessary medical procedures. Of course, if things get complicated or there's any genuine danger to me or my child, I'd let them do anything they wanted to ensure we both got out of the experience in one piece. But I like the idea of getting through the birth process using only my own efforts, if possible. Having said that, I may wimp out and scream for analgesics, despite all the Taylor positions and Sun Salutes I've done. But I'd like to have a go. And I think there's an element of sisterly competition there too. After all, if Becky can do it...

Português próxima

I've just finished reading Night Train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier, which I really enjoyed. Essentially a story of a teacher of ancient languages voyage of self-discovery triggered by a chance meeting with an unnamed Portuguese woman it was very enjoyable and thought provoking, putting me in mind of Sophie's World (though without the massive plot twist). The book is littered with quotations and phrases in Portuguese, which I was very pleasantly surprised to find I mostly understood - most of the nouns are similar to their Spanish counterparts, while the verbs and articles follow the same rules as other Romance languages. Pronunciation is the major difference. Anyway, I think I'll make a start learning Portuguese next. When I've finally mastered Spanish of course. So 2020 then.

Actually I'm feeling more and more confident about Spanish. I still litter my conversation with mistakes, but I'm generally understood and I usually understand. As we've been negotiating our unborn child's process through Madrid's health service we've both been called upon to engage with Spanish with a greater frequency than before, while hanging out with some of my former students (who have a lower level of English than our Pueblo Ingles friends) has meant we socialise more and more in the language. We've also been going along to free lessons at International House again - really these are training classes for new Spanish teachers, but the need guinea pigs, so we get them free. We've made some good friends among some of the regular attendees, although why there aren't more people taking advantage of them I don't know; often there's been just 3 of us in a class. Still, it means we get loads of attention.