Flashback, january 2020, Reijer Staats
Russians!
With our move to Spain ahead of us, our schedule was packed with 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 in the morning on moving day. Seriously...? After one final 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 window of both—maneuvering through the narrow, winding street to the Airbnb next door and sliding into the barely accessible parking spots. Out of the rented vehicles emerged two not-so-classy families, dressed in vintage ski outfits, and the women with glossy lips with fillers. Watching the scene unfold from our rooftop terrace, Johan and I exchanged glances and both muttered:
“Russians!”
Sure, if you want to go skiing, the lifts of the Sierra Nevada are just an hour’s drive from Pinos del Valle. But coming here for a ski holiday...?
Liters of vodka and an XXL Weber barbecue were hauled out of the Mercedes. By nightfall, the small patio of the Airbnb—directly next to our bedroom window—turned into 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 direct neighbours, we decided to gather in front of 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 humor, our neighbor Robin pointed at our dalmatian Joey and added that Russians are also very fond of dogs. Josefina in shock, hands over her face:
"¿Los Rusos aman los PERROS en la barbacoa?"
Two days later, the Russians cranked the volume back up. I figured it was time. Stepping outside in nothing but my boxer shorts, I asked them to keep it down.
It worked. Not a peep after that.