It was a cold, dark and windy Friday evening and annoyingly I had a meeting to go to. Annoying because it was Friday and the kids' bedtime and because meetings here in Spain are always about 5 times as long as they need to. I was going to meet my catalan partner for conversation practice. I didn't really see why we just couldn't sort it out by email. And even more annoying as I should just have said that I wasn't going to go.
We ate dinner early and Carlton took the babies up for bath. I was running late what with slow eaters and children sitting on the toilet for ages (such is my life!) The car was parked a few minutes walk away. My husband had parked it there on Saturday so as to avoid it being towed away for Sunday market. I rushed along, my cheeks feeling the cold fresh air, glad of my thick feather stuffed coat.
They're obviously doing some building work I thought. There had been a high old wall surround a piece of land which you could see if you peeked between the cracks in a wooden door further along the street. It was a beautiful wall, high and topped with bottle green tiles. Always made me think of the secret garden and I wondered what mysteries lay behind it. All you could see through the cracks were bits of green plants. It was good that it was being developed. Spain has suffered a lot in 'la crisis' and there are so many unfinished building plots standing around, forlorn and forgotten. This must be a sign of times beginning to turn.
Anyhow, where was the car? The high wall had been broken down, revealing a rather unromantic bit of scrubland. There were bits of plastic tape with the name of the building company on it. There were no cars on that side of the road. I searched the other side. It wasn't there.
Oh pants! (It was probably a stronger word that sprang to mind.) I bet it's been towed away to make room for the building works. I was indignant! So spanish! Couldn't they have given us a bit more warning? Carlton wouldn't have parked there if there'd been a notice. And now we'd have to pay several hundred euros to retrieve it, a price that was no doubt going up every minute it sat at the police station. And they'd probably find out that I haven't yet changed our driving licenses and we'd get fined for that too. So cross!
I ran back home, got the keys to other car and rushed into the meeting, much later than I had intended, to find that my partner couldn't make it as they were at work. Oh seriously. How does this country function at all? I politely sat through 20 minutes of the 'history of conversation exchanges' before sneaking away to help put the kids to bed.
Being only 7 in the evening, it was still office hours so Carlton schlepped down to the 'local police' station. (There are 4 different types of police here in Catalunya but that's a topic for another blog. For now suffice it to say the 'local police' do traffic and the 'mossos' do criminals/cars begin stolen.) I got on with the washing up. Half an hour later he returned. Hmm, suspiciously quick.
"Well?" I asked. "How much did it cost to get it back?"
"It's not there. They haven't got it. They told me to have a look round the local streets and if it's not there, go to the mossos and report it as stolen."
Oh! I wondered if someone else could tow it away. Surely the police would have to give them permission and then they'd know about it right? I tried calling the building company but it was closed until Monday.
The next morning I headed back to the local police station with a very excited 5 year old to explain about how it had been parked next to a very wall which was no longer there. As you have to keep all your current paperwork in the car, I didn't have it and didn't actually know the number plate (which might explain why the gentlemen hadn't been able to work out what had happened to it.) The police lady who was now manning the desk, managed to find out what the number plate. She came back, saying something rather quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't understand you." " The rather tall wall fell on your car." (a rough translation.) Oh! (again).
Now, as far as I understand, the electricity company who own the land wanted to remove the wall. So, instead of moving the cars away and taking the wall down carefully, they swung a ball and chain at it and it collapsed all over 3 cars. (I can just see the workers peering over the top of the cabin and swearing in catalan.) Well, that's what I understood but I might be wrong. She told me where it was (basically at the car graveyard), took my phone number and told me that the electricity company will call me on Monday (or at a later date, this being Spain.)
That afternoon we went off in search of car. We found the scrap yard, but being 4 in the afternoon, it was closed. (Everything closes for a long lunch break here and reopens at 5.) Luckily, just at that moment, the tow truck happened to arrive. "We're looking for our car," we explained. "It's like this, there was this high wall and now it's no longer there…" "Is it a peugeot?" he asked. "Er, yes."
He let us go in to take a look at our rather squashed car. It was quite sad. I know it's only a car and we were even thinking of selling it as we don't use it much. But it is a bit like part of the family. Or was.
Now, I wonder when the electricity company will get in touch??
Feeding Toddlers.
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