Flashback, January 2020, Reijer Staats
Russians!
With our move to Spain looming, our schedule was full of Christmas dinners: one at Francis' (Johan's sister), one at my mother's with my sister Meris, and one with our neighbours in The Hague. Santa Johan had also booked me a relaxation massage at Massage Point—at eleven o'clock on moving day morning. Seriously...? After one last emotional farewell, we set off for Spain.
After two days on the road, we arrived with our dogs, podenco Mèlo and dalmatian Joey, in our Spanish village of Pinos del Valle. Our temporary home, Casa Una Más, was decorated with flags and the cheerful greeting Bienvenidos.
On day three, we spotted an Audi A7 and a large Mercedes van—with Hertz rental stickers on the rear windows of both—navigating the narrow, winding street to the Airbnb next door and squeezing into the barely accessible parking spots. Out of the hired vehicles stepped two rather flashy families, dressed in vintage ski gear, the women sporting glossy, filler-enhanced lips. Watching the scene from our rooftop terrace, Johan and I exchanged looks and both muttered:
"Russians!"
Sure, if you want to ski, the Sierra Nevada lifts are just an hour's drive from Pinos del Valle. But coming here for a ski holiday...?
Litres of vodka and an oversized Weber barbecue were unloaded from the Mercedes. By nightfall, the small patio of the Airbnb—right next to our bedroom window—had become a party scene, with Russian disco music, smoking, drinking, shouting, and an impressive amount of meat roasting.
On New Year's Eve, after a quick WhatsApp exchange with the neighbours, we decided to gather outside our house. Our Spanish neighbour Josefina shook her head, complaining about the amount of meat on the Russians' barbecue:
"Mucha, mucha, mucha carne en la barbacoa. ¡Los Rusos aman la carne!"
With his dry British humour, our neighbour Robin pointed at our dalmatian Joey and added that Russians are also very fond of dogs. Josefina, shocked, covered her face with her hands:
"¿Los Rusos aman los PERROS en la barbacoa?"
Two days later, the Russians turned the volume back up. I decided it was time. Stepping outside in nothing but my boxer shorts, I asked them to keep it down.
It worked. Not a sound after that.