Living in Spain

The signs are subtle but unmistakable. A new and unfamiliar whine, an alarming rattle, a slight tremor in the steering, a certain looseness on the bends, doors that don’t close without kicking them hard on the outside, rain pouring in from the dashboard, bits of rusted metal falling off the chassis and pedestrians running for their lives as car parts hurl through the air when one brakes suddenly.
Well, maybe I’m exaggerating, but the 22-year-old car I’ve been driving in recent years lends itself to such imagery. In any case, these are the warning signs that any responsible motorist will heed, the message that your car is reaching the end of its useful life and needs changing. I recognised all the signs about a decade ago, but knew for sure that my car needed changing when it went into a fair imitation of a whirling dervish at ninety kilometres an hour on the motorway last week.
We were looking for the most basic car for the least amount of money, we told the salespeople, and with the exception the man from Chevrolet, their reaction was identical. They showed us the cheapest models in the same way that a greengrocer might point to the best value in carrots on offer that day. The lady in the Mercedes showrooms ignored us completely while we stood watching her talk on the phone, perhaps recognising in our demeanour, or judging from the heap of junk we arrived in, that we were simply not the type to be taken seriously in such upmarket surroundings.
Two days into our tour of the car showrooms and we began to understand why the auto industry is in serious trouble worldwide. They don’t make basic models anymore, and asking for them is the epitome of bad taste. As in the case of mobile phones and most other manufactured products these days, the aim is to create demand for the ultra-sophisticated by not making things simple. Try buying a spirit level or a coloured wooden train-set for a child and you’ll see what I mean.
The man from Tata showed us a monstrous old jeep, impeccable inside and out and basic enough to be well within our price-range. But we had to be practical about it, and the man from Chevrolet convinced us that his company makes the most practical car we could afford, so we decided to buy. We also decided to sleep on it overnight.
The dogs were waiting at the door to greet us.
“We’re getting a new car,” we told them. “A compact car we can afford, with all the fancy gear we never knew we needed, and it even has an onboard computer.”
They looked at us as if we had lost our marbles.
“And where do we dogs go?” they asked. “In the compact boot where we’ll suffocate half way down the avenue? What about the grandchildren and their surf boards? What about firewood for the wintertime? Have you lost your marbles?”
We thought again about being practical, and went back the next morning to buy the monstrous old jeep.

Filed under: General by Vivion O'Kelly