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The Insider's Guide to Malcocinado, Spain
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Malcocinado
Alfonsito was diminutive and rather homely. But at age 16, he got a girlfriend. Her name was Hilda, she was half-German. Her father, like many in the town and in the south of Spain, had gone to Germany in the sixties: the Germans needed workers and the Spanish government gave people incentives to go. The father came back in the seventies with a big German wife. As described to me, their daughter Hilda had "mucho pecho como su madre y mucho bigote como su padre". Anyway, she and Alfonsito became a couple. There was a lot of heavy petting, but Hilda was not ready for sex. Alfonsito had been taught in catechism class that if he masturbated, the saint Luis Gonzaga would cry for him. Consequently, Alfonsito was building up quite a lot of sexual tension, with no means of release. A pain began in his testicles. His testicles began swelling, and eventually one of them exploded. He was taken to the nearby hospital and treated.
Over the years, my wife and her parents have told me great tales about large personalities from a small town in Extremadura (for anonymity, let's call it Malcocinado). I feel like these tales ought to be written down, though I know my written word can in no ways match their spoken word.
[to be continued] My visits: A little history: As with most towns, Malcocinado suffered its share of bloodshed in the Civil War. Afterwards, with the rest of the world preoccupied by World War II, Spain suffered through the "post-guerra". Extremadura and Andalucia lost more lives from starvation in the post-guerra than during the Civil War. Great numbers migrated north to Catalunya and beyond, to Germany. Malcocinado was left with half its pre-war population. My father-in-law's mother raised her 4 children in the same house as her sister and her 3 children. Both were without husbands, the former having been shot by the communists for being too wealthy, the latter had been a leader on the communist side. He fled to Mexico, but his wife chose to stay. So there lived "las dos bandas" in the same house. Sixty years later, although Malcocinado is not on the beach or in the mountains, its population goes from 2000 to 4000 in summer, as everybody who moved to the city returns to their small town for vacations. Consequently, the yearly festivals in Malcocinado and surrounding towns are all celebrated in the summer.
The priest of Malcocinado, Don Victor (pronounced in Extremeño as "Don Vito") was brought in years ago from a town nearby to be the priest of the Barroque Church that sits on the hill. Don Vito, a big man with a healthy body (I would say "healthy" is the first word that comes to mind when describing someone from Canalito) and a red face of someone who quite enjoys his wine.
In 1986, the socialists (PSOE) swept into power with their charismatic leader, Felipe Gonzalez. In time, power corrupts and the PSOE of Gonzalez was definitely no exception. One scandal followed another. The last scandal I remember was the case of Luis Roldan. This man apparently rose from nowhere to become head of the Ministry of the Interior by threatening to expose other politician's scandals. After photos came out showing him in his underwear surrounded by prostitutes, it came to light that Roldan had been systematically stealing loads of money from the government. He was allowed to escape before his arrest. A document then surfaced showing he was hiding in Laos. The Laotian government showed the document to be false, and a few years later, he was found still in Spain and arrested. Back to Malcocinado: 1986, a friendly 23-year old with a high school education presented himself as the socialist candidate for mayor of the town. Pepin won, and he remains mayor to this day. In Extremadura and Andalucia, the PSOE have never lost power. The main reason is that they instituted a system most of the people in the towns are officially on the dole. The employers agree to sign papers saying that Couple X and Y work two months a year picking olives (though one actually works full-time for the employer and the other not at all). The other 10 months, they then receive 400 euros per month. And there you have it, everyone in the town is happy, and the socialists keep getting reelected. Pepin himself signs many of these papers saying that many folks around town work part-time for the City Hall. Everyone is happy, except the wealthy regions like Catalunya whose taxes pay for the dole. Catalunya is pushing for laws to keep their finances separate from the rest of the country. Recently, Pepin and his brother bought a farm worth 1,000,000 euros. Hmm, not at all bad for a mayor's salary in a town with 3000 people. 2009 update: Pepin has been finally censured and kicked out of office by the other parties. No jail term, though. Thanks for the memories, Pepin.
For the annual town festival, Pepin long ago chose his brother to book the entertainment. In the beginning, his brother found bands from neighboring towns, but as the years went on, he brought bigger league bands. Soon he was booking the bands for all the neighboring towns' festivals too. Rubbing shoulders with musical groups turned Pepin's brother into a stylish dude himself. He now favors upturned collars and sunglasses.
Canalito got married, but a few years later his wife found him with another man, or men. The alcalde caught wind of the goings on in Canalito's house too, and passed on the news to the authorities. This were the hardest years of the Franco era. The puticlubs disappeared, and all sexual deviates were funneled to Barcelona and from there on to France or Germany. On Franco's death, Canalito returned from Germany to settle in Sevilla. The years of the destape (the "uncovering" -- sexual censorship ended with a bang) had begun. Canalito opened a few cabarets in Spain with great results. Years later he returned to Malcocinado and built a big house on the hill. His next step was to buy a virgen -- that is, a statue of the Virgin Mary -- and a garage to store her in. One, La Virgen de la Humildad, was available in town. During his years in Sevilla, he had been in charge of decorating the paso of the virgen that his brotherhood carried through Sevilla during Semana Santa. In Sevilla, a gay man is traditionally in charge of the crew that decorates the paso. Canalito was almost ready for Semana Santa in Malcocinado. Now he just needed a band to play the Semana Santa music, and a crew of costaleros to carry the paso. Costalero is a job requiring expertise, and in Malcocinado there were none. So he hired the band and the costaleros from Sevilla and brought them in two busloads from Sevilla, and voila -- the greatest procession Malcocinado had known. Canalito proudly carried on this tradition quite a few years before it's time was up. Canalito is still alive, but La Virgen de la Humildad is back in Don Vito's church.
Summer 2006: We have Pura's sister's children too, so serious child entertainment is necessary. The town pool is full, so I take them there many days until itchy nights leads me to discover the pool lawn is full of noseeums. Rafael, my father-in-law disputes this. It's hard to get a complaint about the town past him. Near the pool is the grain storage building, the Franco monument that still stands in virtually every town in Spain. Next to this building, the town is filling in. They put a light at the corner, though coming to the pool, it's red for so long, you start wondering whether it's broken. Once you make the decision to go anyway, it turns green. I took the kids to the library the other day. The annoying chunky kid who kept wanting to play with our kids is there in line for the library to open. (noon - 3pm during August, while the main librarian is on vacation). At 12:15 the library opens, and the kids in line rush in to grab a computer and chat or play games. My 4 find the Teo, Asterix, Tintin, and Lucky Luke collections. I discover there's internet available here! Rafael always wants to take the kids to La Vina, the cortijo surrounded by olive trees. We cross the creek -- this year, there are no turtles there. Rafael says someone must have grabbed them all to sell them at the pet market in Sevilla. Fortunately, he's kept a few of them for years at the house. They've had children, so maybe he'll take some back when they're grown. At La Vina, three men are podando, trimming the olive trees. Rafael lives for the land. He would be in heaven if all his children and grandchildren moved to live in the cortijo, and took over care of the farm. He shows me how perfectly he keeps the ground under the trees, how his neighbor's ground is rutted, with weeds growing. Ten years ago, I didn't understand Rafael very well. His Extremeno accent takes some deciphering. Now I understand everything he says, but he still repeats in a loud voice most of what he says to me, assuming that I still don't understand him. Years ago he gave me a book of poems by an author famous in Extremadura. The poems are written in Castuo, the Extremeno dialect. I, uh, don't remember where the book is. Some Castuo expressions that Rafael likes to use: voy a la quedar: I'm going to bed.
As soon as we arrive in Malcocinado, Rafael discusses going to La Viña, the cortijo he's been steadily turning into his palace. The next morning we set off in his 40-year-old blue Land Rover past the cemetery, past the long-abandoned mine (Malcocinado's original reason for being) -- Rafael always shouts "bache" (pothole) about now -- past the creek where lately someone has been stealing the turtles (Rafael figures they end up in the pet market in Sevilla). We continue on through a plot of pines and eucalyptus, past the boulders nicknamed Las Tres Marias, past the pig farm -- hold your nose (Pura says it's these farmers who are dirty, not the pigs). At this point, Pura and her mother usually get out and walk the rest of the way. We enter a dirt road with Rafael's cousin's olive trees on the right, Rafael's olive trees on the right. Rafael ask me how he keeps his trees, I say "perfect", he says "vaya" in mock surprise that I've noticed. We pass the circle of tall pines (the kind that give pine nuts). We drive to the gate, and the dogs go wild. The gate serves as a bit of deterrance to hunters and gamberros. Rafael shows me the latest changes: two more morriones on the roof, new coats of paint on the see-saw and swingset, new plants planted between the still-young palms. Rafael lights a fire in the fireplace, and starts the pump to load the tank which waters all the fruit trees he planted four years ago, for which the birds are very grateful -- they only leave us the almonds and membrillos. Rafael also had the kid's #2 house painted. All these things are done by his full-time employee, Lorenzo, in his free time. After two hours in the yard, I decided to try to jog back to town. Halfway there, the Malcocinado church bells break into my marathoner daydream, then a loudspeaker announces the coming activities for Semana Santa. Ah, the traditions of a unicultural community. That evening, a procession passes in front of our door, with Lorenzo as bandleader -- he teaches trumpet to the town youth.
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Don Vito
