The Rain in Spain

Whatever rain gods are looking after Valencia seem a tad forgetful.

It’s a highly fertile region of Spain. Throughout the province of Valencia – of which the city is the capital – there are groves of oranges, mandarins, olives, almonds and other fruit. Fields are full of artichokes or cabbages, potatoes or carrots. As Danielle points out to me, you more or less only have to plant something around here for it to grow and flourish.

That needs rain. But the rain hardly ever falls. Though when it does, you certainly know it.

When the rain falls around here, it really falls

The other evening was the first when we played badminton during a rainstorm. All around the hall stood buckets carefully positioned to catch the leaks from the roof. Even so, there were wet patches that we had to avoid.

“Why don’t they fix the roof?” Danielle asked our badminton club president.

“Because it doesn’t rain often enough,” he replied.

Makes sense. With rain so infrequent it’s easier, and cheaper, to put buckets out.

Those long periods of dry weather, with clear skies and warm temperatures, are wonderful. Sadly, though, we pay for them with periods of intense rain when the weather finally does break. They can be ferocious: back in September, there was flooding in many parts of the province, leading to some six deaths. It’s as though around here, it forgets to rain most of the time, and then compensates with long, intense downpours.

See what I mean about forgetful rain gods? Or perhaps not so much forgetful as easily distracted.

The Cafe de las Horas: 
where rain gods would go for Agua de Valencia

I imagine them getting together for a little light entertainment whenever they can. As local gods, knowing the area well, they probably make for the Café de las Horas for a particularly good Agua de Valencia (looks like orange juice but that's only one ingredient), or maybe they go in search of an especially well-prepared paella. Then they pass their time in well-lubricated pleasure until the provincial council sends someone to remind them of their duty.

Paella Valenciana, a great Valencian invention

I picture a deferential figure, probably a man, unostentatiously dressed, with a pen in his breast pocket and an official notepad. He approaches the rain gods in trepidation, worried at their response to his interruption but equally determined to carry out his difficult task.

“Err… excuse me, gentlemen… oh, and ladies,” because Valencia being a community of liberal outlook, a small but growing minority of its rain gods will be female, with gender equality an objective by 2050, “my apologies for disturbing you, but I wonder whether you’ve lost track of certain obligations?”

This would be the approach around the 15th of a month without rain. By the 25th, he would probably have been replaced by his boss, a man or possibly a woman (see above) of more redoubtable aspect, who takes an altogether sterner approach.

“OK, fun’s over, time to pull your fingers out. We need a month’s rainfall and we need it in the next five days. Get to it.”

In response to one or other of these local bureaucrats, one of the gods might say, “oh, hell, yes. It’s that time of the month again. We’ve got to provide these guys with some water.”

“But,” another might protest, “I’ve booked us a table for a paella on Saturday.”

“It’s Wednesday. If we pull out all the stops, I bet we can get enough rain out over the next three days to meet the quota, and still enjoy the meal on Saturday. What’s more, if the rain’s done by Friday evening, we’d have great weather for our lunch. We could eat outside.”

“Let’s do it!” cry the others, “one big push, everyone, and we’re done.”

They rush outside and see to it that our badminton courts are flooded.

The official from the council would be a Rain God Reminder. And his (or her) success in affecting weather conditions would be celebrated by all.

After all, it would be a great demonstration of the power of reminder over matter.