by Helen Macrae

My friends, winter is well and truly upon us. You might ask what prompted me to arrive at this groundbreaking and outrageous conclusion. Was it the drop in temperature and resulting scrabble in the back of the wardrobe for those long-forgotten mittens and scarf? The trees in the Retiro shrugging off their leaves and stretching out their branches like bony fingers clutching at the sky? Or perhaps the giveaway was when all that snow unexpectedly fell from the heavens on Friday and turned the city into a winter wonderland? No, it’s because the other day I spotted my first child clad in top-to-toe beige.   

I arrived in Madrid last January with my good friend H, and we were immediately struck by the amount of beige we saw on a daily basis. It was everywhere: on the streets, in our classes, on the Metro, in the bars. There were beige coats, beige trousers, beige handbags, beige hats, beige shoes…there were even beige dogs. We devised a mindless but rather entertaining game where the first person to spot something beige and shout “beige!” got a point, but we stopped when we realised the Spanish word is rather similar (errr… it’s “beige” in case you didn’t know already).

As the year marched on and winter turned into spring and then summer, the beige started to disappear. Until now I had thought it was because I was becoming assimilated into Spanish culture and had stopped noticing it. But it seems I was mistaken and there is, in fact, a direct correlation between the outside temperature and the percentage of people wearing beige. Perhaps someone should do a study on it and work out a formula or something. Of course, people do wear plenty of other colours and I know I shouldn’t generalise, but if you come to the city in winter I assure you you’ll notice the pervasiveness of this colour and its variants (cream = “summer beige”, gold = “weekend beige”). For some Madrileños, it seems that beige is not just a colour, it’s a way of life.

At this point I must put my hands up and admit that I haven’t embraced the beige yet. I don’t own anything beige-coloured as I don’t think it suits me, plus I actually find the word offensive: a good example of onomatopoeia where it sounds just as dull as the actual colour. But perhaps it’s just a matter if time. Maybe after a few years of living here I’ll know I’m properly Hispanified when I can eat pipas, make a drink last all night and skip down the street in winter dressed from head to toe in beige.

by Helen Macrae

I can’t remember exactly when it was they arrived. Perhaps it was the day I found one of them rooting around my kitchen cupboard looking for a bite to eat. Or maybe it was when I stumbled downstairs early one morning and walked in on one of his mates in the bathroom. Whenever it was, the visitors crept into our lives and our flat during the summer whilst we were distracted by long days in the sunshine and long nights on the terrazas, and now it looks like they’re here to stay. At first I tried ignoring them. Then I tried reasoning with them, suggesting they find somewhere else to stay for a bit. But when that didn’t work I decided I had no choice but to use a stronger method of persuasion, so I went out and bought some heavy-duty insecticide.

I. Hate. Cockroaches. The vendetta began when I was in Mexico and lived in a sprawling flat in the old part of town, which was riddled with nooks and crannies just perfect for hosting all manner of beasties. When we first moved in, I went on the rampage with a broom and tried to kill the colony of spiders living in my room, but the ceiling was too high and all I succeeded in doing was covering myself in dust whilst they retreated sniggering into the rafters. The ants came next, who proved surprisingly resistant despite a mountain of ant powder and the finest bug sprays money could buy. We even had an infestation of bizarre winged creatures who didn’t seem to do much apart from crawl into corners then die and shed their wings, which we then spent the next six months picking out of our clothes, hair, teeth, you name it. But these trifling matters all paled into insignificance when the cockroaches arrived.

Why do I find them so incredibly offensive? Perhaps it’s because the first cockroach I ever encountered had the cheek to lie on my balcony playing dead, then sprang to life when I kindly tried to remove him for his send-off to insect heaven. Cue hysteria and the swift ejection of said cockroach over the edge of the balcony, much to the disgust of the man on the pavement directly below. Or perhaps it was the time one decided to drop onto my back from the ceiling. Or the time I nearly trod on one in the shower. Or maybe it’s more to do with their appearance: those little antennae wiggling insolently at you, the way they scuttle off into dark corners when you turn on the light, the fact that you automatically associate them with dirt and disease. Or maybe it’s just because the little bastards are so damn hard to kill.

Whatever it is, I can’t stand them, and now our paths have crossed again here in Madrid. Ours is a relationship based on mutual hatred: although I despise the cretinous little dirtbags, I’m not scared of them and will happily slaughter them in a second, so they’re probably not all that keen on me either. My preferred method of assassination is the classic underfoot squish, although I’ve been told many a time that this simply spreads their eggs, and cleaning the gunk off your shoe isn’t the most pleasant way you could be spending your afternoon. Seriously though, what are you supposed to do – throw them out the window? The little buggers would just be straight back in again, peering out from under the fridge and laughing at me. At least, with winter approaching, the cold will force them to beat a retreat, meaning I’ll have won the battle temporarily, until next summer when they show their ugly faces again.

Our summer Vibe Box is by European Vibe’s own Helen Macrae.

She brings us her top ten songs to listen to while enjoying the summer/lazing by the pool.

These are the final four:

Toots and The Maytals – 54-46 Was My Number

Energy 52 – Cafe Del Mar ‘98 (Three ‘N One Remix)

Dizzee Rascal feat. Calvin Harris & Chrome – Dance Wiv Me

Groove Armada – Edge Hill

Our summer Vibe Box is by European Vibe’s own Helen Macrae.

She brings us her top ten songs to listen to while enjoying the summer/lazing by the pool.

These are the second three:

Manu Chao – Me Gustas Tu

Planet Funk – Chase The Sun (Club Mix)

Skee-Lo – I Wish

Our summer Vibe Box is by European Vibe’s own Helen Macrae.

She brings us her top ten songs to listen to while enjoying the summer/lazing by the pool.

These are the first three:

 Terrorvision – Tequila

Cassius – The Sound of Violence (Club Mix)

The Beach Boys – I Get Around

by Helen Macrae

Summer is most definitely, sweatily, meltingly here, and no doubt you’re trying to make the most of the hot weather. Here’s another handy hint to save you money, so you can spend your funds on more important summer essentials like ice lollies, cold beer and deoderant.

Get your parents over

Well, you’ve been in debt to the Bank of Mum & Dad since you were born so you might as well borrow a little bit more now. Invite them over to Madrid for a relaxing holiday, and while they’re out seeing the sites they can pay for you too. And treat you to dinner afterwards at one of those fancy-looking restaurants you’ve never been able to afford. And then maybe a few expensive cocktails after that.

Some of you might feel bad sponging off the wonderful beings who brought you into this world, but really, you can’t ignore those fantastic interest rates and indefinite repayment periods. Plus they get to see their beloved son/daughter and you get to see the city for free. Everyone’s a winner!   

by Helen Macrae

This week’s fun money-saving activity involves a visit to one of Spain’s most important institutions.

El Corte Inglés

There are literally hundreds of these horribly confusing department stores dotted around Madrid, so just take your pick of which one you fancy getting lost in for an afternoon. On the plus side, their size means you can find pretty much anything and everything you might need in there, just be sure you go to the right store in the first place (unlike yours truly who went up a whole eight floors looking for a pair of speakers, only be told that the electronic goods were in the shop next door. Obviously).

Since you’re broke and shoplifting is naughty, you’ll have to content yourself with freebie activities, such as trying on all the make-up, testing out the perfumes and stuffing yourself with any free food samples. If you want a challenge, try and crack a smile from one of the po-faced shop assistants. If you want a bigger challenge, try and find the way out afterwards.

Ok kids, this week it’s time to get a bit daft in our quest to save money!

Bus, Bin, Pigeon

Incredibly silly but strangely compelling game patented by myself and my good friend Laura, inspired by the beautiful cityscape of Birmingham but ideal for playing in any city in the world. The rules are simple: when you see a bus, shout “bus!”, when you see a bin, shout “bin!”…and you can probably guess what you have to shout when you see a pigeon. Of course, you can adapt the game to suit your local flora and fauna, for example in Lavapies “tramp, poo, fight”.

The first person to spot the object gets a point, winner is the person with most points (told you it was simple). Bonus points for combining all three things, such as a pigeon driving a bus into a bin. Whilst this scenario is quite unlikely, I did actually see two tramps throwing horse manure at each other a few days ago in my barrio. Score!  

by Helen Macrae

Greetings penny-pinchers! Here are this week’s tips to keep you in the black…

Hunt down the wealthy

Perhaps for masochists only. When you’re broker than broke, what could be more fun than mingling with the rich and famous to remind yourself of all the money you don’t have and things you’ll never be able to afford. Take a stroll round the affluent barrios of Salamanca, Retiro and Opera and you can almost smell the money wafting off the residents. Get followed round the designer boutiques by suspicious shop assistants, laugh at all the pijos with their Lacoste shirts and slicked-back hair, and try not to trip over any small yappy rat-dogs kitted out in diamante-encrusted collars and fluffy coats.

Become a kept man/woman

Everyone knows that there’s nothing more fun than enjoying yourself when someone else is paying. Use your time in Salamanca productively by staking out the pijo hotspots and practising your Spanish chat-up lines and, sooner or later, a wealthy boy/girlfriend will be yours! Once you’ve bagged yourself a filthy rich other half then your work is done, so just sit back, relax and proceed to rinse them for every penny they’ve got. Happy hunting!

by Helen Macrae

As city, Madrid has got it all. With theatres and tapas, bars and bullfighting, shopping and sunshine, it’s cosmopolitan, frenetic, bold, brash and…smelly.

When I first touched down in Spain I was overwhelmed by the host of aromas to hit my nose (starting with that all-too familiar smell of smoke mere seconds after I had walked into arrivals), but after a while I became accustomed to it all as I busied myself with daily life, trotting around the city teaching executives useful words like chav, monkfish and Tesco clubcard. It took a visit from my parents and their non-initiated noses to remind me that Madrid has an amazing array of aromas, some of them nice and some of them nasty, but all combining to create that unique “Esencia de Madrid”.

My sensory journey begins each morning at Metro Sol, when I change from Line 3 to Line 1 and my nostrils are hit with the delicious smell of freshly-baked waffles coming from the cafe in the station. Luckily I’m always in too much of a rush to stop and buy any, otherwise I’d currently be the size of a small country. Unfortunately though, even this divine smell is sometimes not enough to mask the stink of drains which seems to permanently hang in the air round Sol. Other unpleasant odours I experience on the Metro to work are B.O., bad breath and, my personal favourite, the smell of someone sweating out alcohol they drank the night before. Yuk.

More agreeable aromas you might encounter as you journey round Madrid include cut grass when the gardeners have been out in force in one of the city’s numerous parks, along with the delightful scent of flowers as you walk by the Botanical Gardens next to the Retiro. The smell of cigarette smoke is pretty much unavoidable anywhere you go, as is that of frying food, both of which may or may not to be your taste. As you wander round Lavapies you’re hit with the pungent smell of curry, laced with a whiff of hash and perhaps a dash of urine. Walk round the more well-heeled barrios of the city such as Salamanca, Retiro and Opera, and you can smell money.

But my favourite smell in Madrid is one that it’s difficult to put my finger on, and which at times can be quite elusive. As my mate H puts it, it’s that smell you sometimes catch a waft of on a summer’s evening, just as dusk is drawing in, a smell full of promise and anticipation of the night’s adventures. The smell of fun!

Madrid Metro – Smells delightful?