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All done

That's it. My teaching is over until September - provided some of my "clients" want me back. The phone and ADSL connection here are cancelled and could go off at any minute, the flat is basically clean but for one last hoover around and a quick mop and my landlady has given me an extension till half past one tomorrow when she will come for the keys. So Life in La Unión is now, almost officially, dead. I won't be back here next academic term so there will be no more entries. Just Life in Culebrón alive then. La Unión has not been my favourite home but the flat has served its purpose and I will miss the nearby bars when I'm back in Culebrón for the summer. In fact I think I might just pop out for one last chilli burger and a couple of beers now before settling down to watch tonight's episode of El chiringuito de Pepe. I may as well make the most of not working this evening and having the bars at hand. Thanks for reading. Hasta pronto.
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Gangs in the streets

Generally there was a lot of jostling, no, let's be honest, shoving. There were pushchairs snapping at my heels. Then suddenly it all started to slacken off. Not a lot but there was space to move. Around me I heard food words. Lots of people seemed to be talking about migas. The word means crumbs. Migas are a common dish all over Spain but I think the Murcian ones are made with bread crumbs, garlic and lots of fatty meat and sausage rather than the sort made with just flour, water and garlic. Apparently the town is locally famous for its migas. It was nearly time to eat and whatever the tourist board people may tell you about Spanish events the real core of any celebration is eating and drinking.

Fifty three Spaniards and I were on a coach trip to Barranda from La Unión. Mari Carmen, the tour operator, addressed everyone she spoke to directly by first name including me. It was a little club. Microphone in hand Mari Carmen, explained about the Fiesta de las Cuadrillas

Started in 1979 the idea was to keep the local musical traditions alive. It was a modest event at first but it grew and grew and by 1999 it was declared to be of regional tourist interest. At the moment the organisers are pushing for national recognition. Normally the village has about 1,000 inhabitants but on the last Sunday of January there is an invasion of around 15,000 people who fill the streets to overflowing. There are folky bands every couple of hundred metres on a triangle of streets and a big market on the road into town. People are encouraged to join in with the musicians - usually by dancing but also by taking along instruments such as castanets and tambourines so that they can participate in the music making.

Explanation over the Mari Carmen asked if there were any questions. "Yes, where are we going to eat and what's on the menu?" shouted someone.

If only she'd known. There must have been around 400 diners in the huge and smoke stained restaurant. The waiters were harassed, rude and careless whilst the food was miserable and migas-less. I wasn't driving though so I drank a shed load of the cheap wine and thoroughly enjoyed myself.
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