Not a phoney atmosphere

The young woman on stage was beaming from ear to ear, belting out a Spanish classic. I knew it was a Spanish classic because everyone in the assembled crowd was singing along with considerable gusto, as well as clapping their hands in all the appropriate places. The trouble was, in all of my thirty-odd years in Spain, I'd never heard this song before, which was awkward as I was the only person present not heartily joining in. Every time I felt expectant eyes falling upon me, I'd raise my plastic cup of beer to my lips and take a swig in the hope of allaying the growing suspicion that I hadn't the faintest idea what was going on. This meant I was quite squiffy by the end of the interminable fifth chorus, let me tell you.

It's summer fair season once again and, across the land, Spanish cities, towns and villages are alive with local food, culture, music and customs. There are many heartwarming aspects to these affairs, not least the intergenerational ease that pervades. Grandparents proudly parade their grandchildren amid the throng, teaching them all the right dance moves and singalong refrains (see, I've got an excuse). Young parents cradle babies who, from birth, seem to have developed a mind-boggling capacity to sleep through any cacophony in full swing all around them. Perhaps most impressively of all, teenagers can be seen laughing, smiling and participating fully, with little hint of self-consciousness.

Whenever I find myself at a Spanish village fair, I'm filled with an overall sense of bonhomie that wouldn't necessarily be the first sensation you'd feel on a Friday night in Middlesbrough. That's not to say there aren't occasional kinks in the positive vibes. Apparently, last year a group of out-of-town lads made the mistake of misbehaving towards some of the local girls and were swiftly and unceremoniously bounced out of Dodge by a few of the more sturdy young chaps from around here. Rumour has it that the only action taken by the four policemen on duty was to look on approvingly.

Two things stood out for me this year. First, the quality of the cuisine on offer. Dish after dish was being fired out from a makeshift open-air kitchen that looked like it'd been cobbled together by an eleven-year-old in a metalwork lesson, and yet the fayre on offer looked simply first class. I only had a hamburger, but all around me families were tucking into feasts fit for kings, flashing thumbs-up signs to anyone who cared to notice. Chefs' hats off to all concerned.

The most striking thing of all about the proceedings, however, wasn't so much what was on offer, but rather what wasn't. In the couple of hours I was there, I saw only one person - and, to be fair, it was a teenage girl (mitigating circumstances) - using a mobile phone. Isn't that just simultaneously anachronistic and brilliant? Hell, at times there were more than a few revellers to be seen just staring into space like people did in the olden days. Otherwise, it was simply a question of everyone making their own fun, greeting neighbours, family and friends, and shootin' the breeze just for the buzz of it.

I didn't have my phone on me, and I suspect I was far from being the only one. Although, to tell the truth, it might have come in handy to look up the words to that song they were all singing.

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