Five Places You’ll Wait in Line in Spain

I asked my First Certificate students to tell me their strengths and weaknesses during our last class. We were talking about how personality factors into the type of job you choose and your success in your profession.

My weakness? I am crazy impatient (an obvious reason to not teach babies). The problem with living in Spain, then, is the amount of waiting one has to do in order to be a productive human in society here. Even the simplest of tasks can take an enormously long time, and with the ongoing stream of budget cuts, there are less personnel in the office and more people free in the am to stand in line.

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 Extranjería

By far the biggest place you’ll waste your time in Spain is at the Foreigner’s Office. Getting a NIE is a three-step process, asking information requires parking it on an uncomfortable plastic bench for hours and arriving after 7am ensures that you’re likely to not receive a number. The hours (perhaps days) I’ve spent in the office – particularly when trying to determine my status in 2010 after losing the Ministry of Education grant – are immeasurable.

There are ways to make the whole experience a little bit better, but listening to people tell you their sob stories while you’re surrounded by one of Seville’s most enchanting plazas is just torturous. My advice is to arrive later in the morning, after all of the civil servants have had a chance to eat breakfast, bring extra photocopies of everything and to be polite, even when the funcionario sends you away for the third time in one morning. Being polite can go a long way to a civil servant who’s really just wishing you’d get out of her hair so she can chat with the guy at the desk next to hers.

Bank

Banker’s hours in Spain tend to be 8:15 – 14:15. This means, of course, if you’re a normal human being, that you can’t make it in to pay bills, make a deposit or complain that your card has been swallowed up again. What’s more, Saturdays and Sundays mean the place is chapá.

To avoid the line waiting, and banks for the most part, I’d sign up for either La Caixa, which offers great rates for students under 26 and a full-service ATM that allows you to do everything from deposit your check to top up your bonobus at any hour of the day. Likewise, ING Direct offers extended hours AND they’re open on Saturdays (you’ll just need a paycheck stub to open a cuenta nómina).

Post Office

Another place you’ll wait in line, thanks to budget cuts, is the post office. In Spain, your address assigns you to a certain correos office. Mine happens to be a 15-minute bike ride from my house, while there is one not 250 meters from my front door.

While I was home visiting Chicago, I won a book contest put on by Books4Spain. The book was sent to my house, but no one was home to receive it. A notice was left in my mailbox to pick it up at the correos office, so I found a bit of time to go immediately the first morning I was back in Seville, arriving just as the doors opened. I was the fifteenth person in line, but still waited 45 minutes for them to tell me my book was returned two months earlier. Word to the wise: if a letter or package is not picked up within 15 days, it goes back to the sender, though if it’s not a certified letter, you can send someone else in your name, so long as they carry a piece of paper giving them the power to do so, signed by you with your NIE number.

Frustrated, I got a tostada with ham and a big cup of coffee. Even at the crack of dawn, the place was still packed!

Government Buildings

Recently, I had to get a page of stickers with my IRS tax code on it. I walked into the Hacienda building at opening time on a Monday morning and was delighted to find only half a dozen seats full. I got a number and watched the screen. Only one person was in line in front of me, so I turned on my Kindle and began reading.

…and waited for nearly 45 minutes. When my number was finally called, the three women behind the desk were sitting, chattering away. I cleared my throat. Nothing. Being the cara dura I am, I finally asked for their assistance and a woman slowly rose and wordlessly took my passport. No more words were exchanged while I stood for an additional five minutes waiting for her to print my stickers. If only I could have used TurboTax Online, things would have been so much easier.

Let’s face it, I was cutting into her breakfast time. She had reason to be mad.

Be it Hacienda or even the Distrito office, allot way more time than you think necessary. And bring a book.

Supermarket on Saturday

Everyone is here, since they’re all closed on Sundays. Even I have thrown my hands up in an, “Ok, Spain! You win today!” gesture as I drop my potato chips and litronas of beer at the counter and walk out. I can wait if it’s important enough, but why wait for beer if I can walk across the street for a fresquita anyway?

Rules for Waiting in Line

People in Spain tend to ask the person in front of them to save their place in line. When I say their place in line, I also mean their place in line with their whole family, who will take turns standing their place.

Banks are utterly confusing if there’s a lot of chairs available. Whenever a new patron comes in, he or she will as for el último? and memorize that person’s face. It’s up to you to remember who you’re after and to be aware that people are ruthless when it comes to money matters.

There are VERY special rules for the abuelitas. They’ll come at you, all nice and calling you hija and corazón and mi arma, just one loaf of bread and some eggs in their frail little arms. Then, once you’ve given into the cuteness of little María de los Sietes Dolores, she’ll call over her granddaughter and the cart full of everything Dolores will need for the three weeks of winter she hibernates and cooks for her two dozen children and grandchildren. DO NOT, under any circumstances, give into an abuelita!

Have any more to add, Spain dwellers? Where do the rest of you expats wait in line in your respective countries?

Sampling Barajas20 Tapas Bar: between Gastro and Traditional

My friend Mickey and I have a lot more in common than our birthday. We most often come together when food and wine are involved.

I’ve tried to feign foodie forever, but the truth is that I don’t know parsley from persimmon. I gave up the act, but what I haven’t given up going out for a night of tapeo, washed down with one of Spain’s many DOs. Mickey happens to know a bit more about wine than I do, which makes going for a meal with her a treat.

The New York Times recently wrote that Seville is undergoing a sort of renaissance where Soho-like pockets are popping up all over the city, a barrio with boutiques, gastrobars and mismatched furniture on the corner. Mickey lives right in the thick of it, so when we decided to meet for tapas on Thursday night, she rattled off a list of three places that had popped up while we were away for the summer.

We settled on Barajas20, a halfway point between traditional bars and a gastrobar. The old hallmarks are on the list – croquetas, pavia de merluza, espinacas – but done with a bit more flair. I had a feeling I was going to like Mickey’s find.

Spilling light out onto Calle Conde de Barajas, just a few steps from Plaza San Lorenzo, the bar resembles a college dorm cafeteria at first glance – naked walls, colorful plastic furniture, young clientele. Mickey and I took the lone table on the street and were immediately attended. Two glasses of Ribera, per usual.

Mickey ordered salmon steak with guacamole and mushroom risotto. I asked for the risotto and pig cheek ravioli, wanting to compare it with other bars of similar caliber. For our palates, the star dish was most definitely the salmon, as the rice was a bit undercooked and the ravioli was nothing stellar. Note to self: Best not to try a gastrobar on a Sunday, when ingredients are likely not as their freshest.

Rather than sharing another tapa, we chose to have another glass of wine. A couple and their slick greyhound had dragged a table out onto the terrace and ordered a glass of white: Las Tetas de la Sacristiana. As it turned out, Edu was a wine distributor and a fixture at his neighborhood bar, along with other big names in hostelería. Las Tetas was his star brand, made from tempranillo, cabernet and merlot grapes. Light yet robust, it was a perfect addendum to a meal.

The head chef came to ask about our dinner and drinks. Mickey ld off with the fact that I was a blogger and often write about food and culture, offering him up a business card. One of the original partners of the group, he and some friends had built the place from the ground-up, staying strictly middle-ground – not too pijito and not too gritty. Their plans are to make it a bit more local by adding a rotating art gallery, changing the menus according to the season and wine tastings. He explained that they tend to have a steady house red and white while rotating in and out different D.O.’s – denominación de origen.

With a click of his fingers, we had a limoncello in front of us.

I’d be willing to give Barajas20 another try on a weeknight. While the food didn’t impress, the service and attention certainly did. And, if you end up leaving hungry, you’re just steps away from one of Seville’s best-known tapas bars (with reason), Eslava.

Been to Barajas20? What did you order? Know of any other great eateries in Seville? Want me to come along and eat? Seville is appealing to UNESCO to add yet another award to the city as the World Capital of the Tapa, so stay tuned for more gluttony from the Hispalense!

 

Seville Snapshot: Playa Las Negras, Almería

The sun in Seville is deceiving in the month of October. The crisp Autumn days I remember from growing up in the Midwest mean nothing here, as the blustery weather is an afterthought and never really arrives to Seville until Winter begins in late November. While mornings can be cool, the midday sun blazes like it would on a summer beach day.

My friend Jacqui and I have a lot in common, choosing Spain after we graduated from Midwestern universities. We like being outdoors and having a beer midday. We like beaches. I begged her to send me this picture from Almería, a small corner of Andalcuía I’ve never been to.

This photo was taken at the beach in Las Negras, Almería. It is a quaint, charming and peaceful town of less than 400 residents right in the middle of Almería’s Natural Park Cabo de Gata. The town got its name from the founders, a group of widows from a nearby community who had los their sailor husbands in a mysterious shipwreck. It’s a great place to stay on a trip to Almería due to its proximity  to several of the region’s best beaches and natural park.

Jacqui Davis has been living in Spain for nearly six years now, where she is a program Director for a study abroad company. She LOVES travel and languages, running, outdoor activities and her boyfriend and especially trips that include all of the above.

If you’d like to contribute your photos from Spain and Seville, please send me an email at sunshineandsiestas @ gmail.com with your name, short description of the photo, and any bio or links directing you back to your own blog, Facebook page or twitter. There’s plenty more pictures of the gorgeous Seville on Sunshine and Siesta’s new Facebook page!

How to Get a Carné Jóven Andaluz

Ah, youth. The period of your life where everything is confusing, the future is uncertain and where you rely – perhaps more heavily than necessary – on others to stay afloat. Even as a 27-year-old living in another country, I still feel like I’m in this not-quite-an-adult limbo (like the Britney Spears song).

But don’t worry, guiri friends. The government has got your back on this one!

With the unemployment rate in Spain climbing as fast as our taxes, the Andalusian government became the first autonomy to amplify the carné jóven, a sort of discount card that can be redeemed at places all around Andalucía and Spain. Valid until the day you turn 31, shops, beauty parlors and even hotels will give you discounts by simply presenting the card and a photo ID. It’s similar to the ISIC card and can save you oodles on all types of services.

What you’ll need

  • Your NIE and one photocopy (in its absence, your passport and proof of residency in Andalucía)
  • Form Anexo 1 (available here)
  • Proof of being Andalusian or proof of residence in the Andalusian community (usually your NIE will suffice, if not, a housing contract or bill will do)
  • 6€

Where to go

The Institutos Andaluces de Jóvenes, as well as some local banks and any offices of información juvenil in your village, are authorized to process your paperwork and give you the rights to own a card. But, as with many things in Spain, you’ll have to turn in your paperwork and THEN go to a bank with form Modelo 46, wait in another line and pay a fee, called a tasa, of 6€. Cards can be processed in the same day if turned in before 10a.m., or sent to your residence.

Similarly, there’s an online portal.

Dirección Provincial del I.A.J.
C/General Tamayo, 23
04001-Almería
Tlf: 950 00 66 00
Fax: 950 00 66 20
E-mail:informacion.al.iaj@juntadeandalucia.es
Dirección Provincial del I.A.J.
Alameda Apodaca, 20
11003-Cádiz
Tlf: 956 00 75 00
Fax: 956 00 75 20
E-mail:informacion.ca.iaj@juntadeandalucia.es
Dirección Provincial del I.A.J.
C/ Adarve, 2
14002-Córdoba
Tlf: 957 35 22 40
Fax: 957 35 22 41
E-mail:informacion.co.iaj@juntadeandalucia.es
Dirección Provincial del I.A.J.
C/ Ancha de Santo Domingo, 1
18009-Granada
Tlf: 958 02 58 50
Fax: 958 02 58 70
E-mail:informacion.gr.iaj@juntadeandalucia.es
Dirección Provincial del I.A.J.
C/Rico, 26
21001-Huelva
Tlf: 959 01 19 50
Fax: 959 01 19 51
E-mail:informacion.hu.iaj@juntadeandalucia.es
Dirección Provincial del I.A.J.
C/Arquitecto Berges, 34 – A
23007-Jaén
Tlf: 953 00 19 50
Fax: 953 00 19 70
E-mail:informacion.ja.iaj@juntadeandalucia.es
Dirección Provincial del I.A.J.
C/ Carretería, 7
29008-Málaga
Tlf: 951 04 09 19
Fax: 951 04 09 20
E-mail:informacion.ma.iaj@juntadeandalucia.es
Dirección Provincial del I.A.J.
C/O´Donnell, 22
41001-Sevilla
Tlf: 955 03 63 50
Fax: 955 03 63 60
E-mail:informacion.se.iaj@juntadeandalucia.es

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Where it’s valid

Good news – if you’re under 27, you get a 20 – 25% discount on train tickets for the AVE and media distancia trains. Bad news: I turned 27 two months ago and no longer receive these amazing deals. Still, the card is valid all around Andalucía and in many other regions of Spain at youth hostels and hotels (10 – 15% off full price), private doctors and opticians (up to 20%), along with gyms, cafés and courses. A full list can be found clicking clicking here.

The Carné Jóven is also valid in 40 European countries if you’re 26 or under, much like an ISIC card.

If you’ve used a carné, tell me where! My main purpose for getting the card was for Renfe discounts, but I now don’t know where to make my 6€ count!

Uncovering the Romania Diaries

Every so often, I feel the need to open up my three big boxes of old lesson plans, phone bills and the millions of photocopies I’ve made of my college degree to clean it out. The new academy job gave me good reason to dive in and see what I had by way of something-more-advanced-than-colors-and-numbers worksheets.

Stashed between adverbs of frequency and a few documents from the Spanish Treasury, I found 12 hand-written pages from the long rides in the ancient Dacia the six of us took in Romania. While Bryan drove and Matt read aloud from Dracula, we crisscrossed the lonely highways of the country that produced my childhood idol, Nadia.

I jumped on the Romania trip after it had been planned and dubbed “Gypsies v. Vampires.” Living in Spain, the impression we often get of Romanians is that they’re undocumented, dangerous and jail-bound. In fact, when I presented my American passport at Barajas for a 2 a.m. flight, the customs agent scoffed and asked, “Why are you spending Holy Week in Romania?”

I gestured to his flipping of my pages, looking for a blank spot to affix the stamp. “Because I’ve been just about everywhere else.”

Arriving at 7.am. and disembarking, I was completely turned around, faced with a language with strange characters, barely anyone fluent in English and no Romanian currency. I found a bus willing to take euros and got off right in the center, on the street below Ceausescu’s Palace of Parliament – the stamp of Communist grey and menacing to me. Gypsies slept under fountains and women in headscarves sold flowers in front of St. Katherine’s Church.

As soon as we’d picked up the rental car and driven out of the city (a 90-minute odyssey in itself), the industrial Communist machine we’d expected became green fields that gave way to mountains, in which was nestled Sinai Palace.

As we settled into life in the car, we hit some of the major cities in Transylvania – Brasov, Sighisoara, Bran. After spending a few days exploring fortified churches and hilltop castles, we set off for Maramures, the region that borders Ukraine and retains much of the character it’s had for the last 200 years.

My notes become suddenly optimistic, more reflective and the handwriting haggard as I struggled to write down all of what I saw. The observations of our arrival follow.

WEDS

Up early. Loaded up on snacks and left (Sibiu) and its concrete jungle out towards the mountains to Cluy, where we had kebab lunch. Immediately greeted by green hills, streams, fewer cars, Roma, people in kerchiefs and on bikes. Peasant land.

Tunes: 90s Europop CDs bought at a gas station and Nate’s iPod.

cows, sheep, puppies and CRUXIFXES

Sacal the most rural: potholes, buggies, few cars. Women dress in black sweaters and skirts with kerchiefs, aprons and ankle booties.

Arrived to George’s house, 4 doors down from new and old churches. Met by Victor, family dachshund. […] dinner prompt at 7 p.m.: water, plum and apple brandy, meatballs, horseradish from garden, stuffed eggs, salad, beets, veal with potatoes and mushrooms, walnut bread.

Walked at dusk to cemetery. Group of school kids sat singing with back-clad monk. Women still out attending the deceased, many of whom died young, chattering and chirping. Mass began shortly after, but we stayed to watch the stars turn on.

Big George goodnight and to sleep.

THURS

8am bfast – bread with cheese and meat, pearish apple juice, crepes with honey and jam. Attended to us as if kings.

Hiked through Botiza, past the stream, wooden houses, wells. Evident the way of life here has remained. Many elderly, few young.

Monastery of Botiza – wooden gate with fish, rope motif. Up hill, a complex of wooden buildings and small graveyard. Mass happening so church closed, I stood on a wooden bench to peer inside saw gold inlaid chandelier crowned with Jesus and 12 apostles.

Overlooked lush valley.

George told us to follow power lines to PI, so we hiked up and over  hill. At crest we were stopped by peasants on a cart. Communicating in our native languages, we told them we were American and heading to IP. They pointed and sent us off.

Had to pass thru cemetery to get to wooden church with w/ wolf’s tooth roof. Said to be one of the most interesting with “fiery depictions of hell” (LP), but it was locked. Walked back and hopped into car to drive to Sapanta on Ukranian Border to Merry cemetary.

Have you ever been to Romania? What were your impressions?

Seville Snapshots: Plaza de España

My first visit to Plaza de España was on my day of arrival to Seville after studying in Valladolid. I sat on the tiled bench of the province and wrote my observations of the city that I would later reside in and call home. Those reflections are lost in a mountain of possessions in Chicago, but the city left enough of an impression on me to call me back two years later.

I took my grandma to Plaza de España on our first day in Seville, fresh off the plane. The day was sweltering for mid September, and we mostly hung to the colonnades and in the mist of the enormous fountain in the middle of the half-moon  square crowning the María Luisa Park. I used to argue it was the most beautiful building in the city.

But five years later as a semi-jaded expat, it’s hard to see this beautiful neo-mudejár palace as anything but a place where the government has wasted far too many hours of my life. Hidden beneath the brick and marble are government offices, including police headquarters, military outposts and the dreaded Oficina de Extranjeros – the foreigner’s office.

Rolling out of bed to get my Número de Identificación de Extranjeros meant rolling out of bed at 5:30 a.m., just as day was breaking. I waited for a number until 8am, then wasn’t seen until 11a.m. Doing anything within that slack little office means rethinking your willingness to stay in Spain, but there are ways to make the experience more pleasant. The best one? Walking out into the sunshine after being in a windowless office for hours and seeing the south tower reflected in the moat of a place witness to the Iberoamerican Fair, several marches and demonstrations, and even the filming of The Dictator.

Thanks to my pal, Jeremy Bassetti, for the gorgeous photo! Follow him at:

Photo © A Painter of Modern Life (http://apainterofmodernlife.wordpress.com).

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