Nobody Does It Better

Of the local town halls, only Alcúdia might be said to function adequately, notwithstanding the Can Ramis fiasco. One can probably add Muro, now that the PP-CDM have carved up the mayoral office and put an end to the slight inconvenience of a rival party having that office. In Pollensa, the administration stumbles from debt-ridden crisis to another, assaulted from all political sides for creating, for instance, “science fiction” in respect of its latest attempt to draw up a budget; at least the local police no longer deem it necessary to work to rule, which they did last year. Sa Pobla gives us near acts of fisticuffs in the open session, but nowhere does it better – or worse – than Santa Margalida. 

 

Santa Margalida town hall is the gift that has been giving and keeps on giving, though one might also say that it is the cup that regularly overflows. From the potty notion that Son Real might have been turned into a golf course (and unlike the Son Bosc finca in Muro, there were very strong reasons for it not to have been, such as the ancient burial sites) through the spats over contracts for works in Can Picafort and fiesta expenditure to the current lunacy surrounding cups for a football tournament. Yep, this is politics, local-style, in Can Pic and at the town hall some kilometres away. This is the town hall where the opposition groups have walked out of meetings – as happened with a dispute about invoices – and have even set up an alternative open session, protesting at a change to the time of the regular one. Over the past week, it emerged that there was a plan under which establishments currently operating on a commercial basis, such as restaurants, would no longer have been classified as being for commercial use. This was before it was admitted that there had been an error, one laid at the door of the previous administration and, naturally enough, batted back across the net and laid at the current one’s door.

 

Then we come to this football tournament. This was part of a fiesta for immigrants in Can Picafort. Five seven-a-side teams made up of players from South America took part in this tournament, itself all in the name of the process of social integration. When it came to the giving out of trophies, however, the mayoral delegate in Can Picafort vetoed the handing over of two trophies donated by the Unió Mallorquina party, one of the parties in opposition to the Partido Popular, of which the mayor is a member. 

 

Now this may all sound very petty, and it almost certainly is, but there’s a bit more to it. On the previous day, the UM published the latest issue of its local news-sheet. On the front cover of this were mocked-up 500 euro notes bearing an image of the mayor; this was a protest at the alleged squandering of public money. On the back cover was the reproduction of an invoice said to support this allegation. So, come the day of the tournament, the PP would appear to have sought its retaliation – by not delivering the trophies to players completely uninvolved in the argument.

 

“The Diario” styled this as part of the “never-ending row” between the ruling body and the opposition. One can probably style it differently. Kindergartens, asylums, breweries, there must be some analogy, the problem is trying to choose between them all.

 

And The Beata Goes On

The last great local fiesta of the summer is now underway in Santa Margalida. It is the one that always announces itself as the “most typical” of the fiestas and one, therefore, to which one supposes only a smattering of tourists dare venture. Santa Margalida occupies something of a never land, some eight kilometres inland from its resort of Can Picafort; it is somewhere to which people never go, except the worthies who want their photos taken at this most typical of fiestas. The fiesta, known as La Beata in honour of the saintly Catalina Thomás who resisted the temptation of the devil, does a good job of getting itself hidden from anyone other than hardcore Mallorcans. You should try reading this year’s publicity. Catalan with local idioms and with a font style that makes some letters rather questionable. Obscure it all is if you happen not to be Mallorcan. Maybe this is how they prefer it. The most typical and the most unintelligible. 

 

Previously I have explained how a local “girl” comes to receive modern-day beatification by being elected for the Beata gig. You have to have paid your dues in order to qualify for the final knockout rounds, i.e. taken on some of the supporting roles in past Beata events. The publicity features photos of the various Beata fellow travellers – 12 of them in all – from which, one imagines, next year’s Beata may come. Do you suppose they run a book?

 

Buried within the schedule of the fiesta’s seemingly interminable sports contests, the obligatory DJs and pipers and whistlers, and of course Beata and the demons is something called a “glosada”. It is, I confess, something new to me and therefore took a bit of hunting to try and make sense of what it actually is. Help was at hand from our trusty youtube. On there are some examples of “glosadors”. And who they, you ask? They are, it would appear, sort of open-mike folk singers, unaccompanied, who stand on a stage, three or four of them, and take turns to sing (I use the word loosely) when not taking on board whatever it is in the paper cups in front of them. It is the most God awful caterwauling. If you must, try this for size – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zizsgc9_dJA. If you decide to go to La Beata, you might want to give the evening of 2 September a miss: gloss over the glosada, so to speak. Or you may decide that it is the highlight of the whole fiesta week, assuming that you find bad to be good. On the principle that the vast majority of those who take to a karaoke mike are no good, then one might argue that this is similar (just without the music and in an impenetrable language). Except some of the “glosadors” are meant to be vaguely good. I’ve got news for them …

 

Info on the Beata is, as always, on the WHAT’S ON BLOG – http://www.wotzupnorth.blogspot.com, and for the original publicity, go to the town hall’s website – http://www.ajsantamargalida.net.

 

 

Control freaks

And of course it carries on. The price is not right debate. The editor of “The Bulletin” had been on hols. One found the lack of a comment in the leader about the prices rather conspicuous by its absence until two days ago. While yet more letters were saying much the same as all the other ones that had gone before, we were – yet again – told that something had to be done in the form of price control. There are times when I have the desire to hurl myself at high speed head first against a very solid wall. Can someone please tell me – how do you exert price controls on the likes of bar or restaurant menus? Perhaps “The Bulletin” knows but isn’t saying. It would certainly be beneficial were it to say as we might then be a little wiser as to how price controls, even if they were a good idea, might actually be implemented. And what this might mean in terms of bars and restaurants’ supply costs and their profit and loss accounts and in terms of how it all might be policed, and and and …

Childhood Dreams – Part 2

One day the dreams of those raised in Pollensa, the next of those from Santa Margalida. Joan Mas and Dragut duly elected to charge around Pollensa with some vigour like a Blue Remembered Hills grown-up small boys’ re-enactment, Sunday was the turn of the election for a rather more sedate role – Beata. One Antònia Frontera Pont has secured the highlight of her still short life – the current-day Beata of what we are constantly reminded is one of the most typical of Mallorcan fiestas that climaxes on the 6th of September with the Beata procession. The election of Beata is not a sort-of Miss Santa Margalida parade of the local totty; there is far more to it than good teeth and wishing for world peace. The aspirant, and there were 22 to choose from, has to demonstrate sound religious credentials for seeing off the rest of the field. Senyoreta Antònia has taken part in Beata in one form or another for several years. A minimum of five years participation is a pre-requisite for candidature. This, and having reached the age of 18, which she has. 

 

According to the report from “The Diario”, she could not contain her emotion when the mayor read out her name. It is the dream of everyone in the town, she said, though whether she went on to thank her parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins, dog was not reported. Probably though; well, some of them. But highlight of her life it will be and will remain so, as Beatas are chosen but once only. Rather like being chosen as a Wisden Cricketer of the Year, the accolade is bestowed on just one occasion. Nevertheless, it probably looks good on the CV. What prospective employer could turn down a Beata? And Antònia is training to be a teacher. In years to come, girls of schools in Santa Margalida will be inspired by the presence of a one-time Beata, which is actually a rather charming thought. “Miss, miss, tell us about when you were Beata.” Yes, it is a charming notion.

 

And being charming and traditional, one thinks what is there to compare with such an election in decadent, irreligious Britain. Very little. In fact, nothing. The odd May Queen perhaps. Do they still have them? Not much of a gig if they do. In Britain, it would be necessary to invent something. Jade Goody Day or some such horror. Text voting for one of 22 candidates lounging around on sofas under the scrutiny of cameras in a make-believe house. Who’s the gobbiest of them all? It’s you-who. This year’s Jade. 

 

No, being picked as the Beata is all rather lovely, partly because it is such a tradition and an important one not only in Santa Margalida but also on the island as a whole. It’s why such an election gets reported. You might think it was pretty insignificant, but it isn’t. It matters. And it couldn’t be further from something as contemporarily commercialised and profane as a Jade Goody. The only thing is, I wonder what some of the other 21 made of it. Now, there wouldn’t be any catty remarks being muttered, would there? Perhaps not, but were there to be then they would doubtless be catty remarks made by the odd Cati, as every other female is called Cati.