Don't Fry For Me, Argentina

You wouldn't want to be an Argentinian at the moment, unless you were in Argentina. When I asked a good Argentinian, restaurant-owning friend of mine what he thought of the señora del hierro in Buenos Aires, his response was to the point - "puta". The hierro lady is a tramp. She's going to make life difficult for Argentinians in Mallorca and in Spain.

There is a not unnatural smugness among the Brits in indulging in a touch of schadenfreude. All those Mallorcans and Spaniards going around proclaiming the rights of the Malvinas and condemning the imperialism of a former iron lady now find, as an Argentinian boot is placed firmly up the jacksy of Spanish interests, that the British may have had a point.

But with any conflict, and even when there isn't a conflict, come the xenophobia and the irrational. During the Falklands crisis, I was in Amsterdam. There were demonstrations against the British. What had the Falklands to do with the normally sensible Dutch? Nothing, but irrationality can consume even the most level-headed of people. Britain, nasty imperial power; Argentina, poor underdog being doormatted under the weight of handbag tonnage. Or something like this.

So it is, or is likely to be, that the Mallorcan Argentinians, of whom there are many, will find themselves copping for some xenophobia over and above that which they normally cop. Mallorcans, Spaniards don't all much care for the Argentinians. Indeed, they don't much care for most South Americans; they're idle and loud. Pot, kettle, black.

President Fernández, President Kirchner (whichever you prefer) has of course learnt the lessons of history, and learnt them well from the iron handbagger. Bit of local, domestic difficulty - and she has it in the form of austerity, among other things - and some sabre-rattling can work wonders in the opinion polls. Some Falklandising has been followed up by the nationalisation of Repsol's stake in YPF.

Talk about kicking a country when it's down. Fernández de Kirchner would doubtless have been taking a keen interest in Spain's implosion. The time to strike was right. All publicity might be considered good publicity, but at present Spain is in desperate need of a Max Clifford of international relations. With quite staggeringly poor timing, the royals have become the elephant in the room where a hunt in Botswana was concerned (for which the King is now apologising) and literally have managed to shoot themselves in the foot, thanks to the boy Felipe and the gun he shouldn't have been handling.

Spain's foreign minister has taken a metaphorical leaf out of the royal literal book and suggested that it is in fact Argentina that has shot itself in the foot. All these feet being shot and no one's going to have a leg to stand on, which includes he who grows greyer by the day, Mr. Grey, Prime Minister Rajoy, who is actually proving to be as useless as it was suspected he would be (apart from all those in his party who hadn't purged him years ago). Faced with the YPF nationalisation, what will Rajoy do? Arrange for the armada to gather in Cadiz? If so, best he leaves it until after the 29th of April, the date on which Drake sank the armada in 1587. Given the way things are going, though, a Spanish fleet heading off across the Atlantic would probably manage to capsize off the Canaries.

Frantic efforts to bail out the naval rowing-boat are matched only by the frantic efforts to find a way of preventing a need for Europe to come with a large wedge of financial bail out. It's as well that Europe is around when you most need a friend. It's coming to Rajoy's aid and telling the Argentinian president to stop behaving like an Argentinian.

Still, with all Spanish pride sinking faster than its armada might, there is always football to keep the spirits up, though quite what Lionel Messi makes of his president, who knows. Presumably, he won't, on scoring a goal, be lifting his shirt to reveal a t-shirt with "Repsol out" scrawled on it. He probably thinks much the same as my restaurant-owning friend, if he thinks at all, that is.

And back at the local Argentinian restaurants, they'll be hurriedly pulling down the Argentinian grill signs and hastily erecting ones saying typical Mallorcan cuisine, while insisting that workers boycott the nearest Repsol petrol station. When the steak gets near the plancha, they'll be denying everything by singing "don't fry for me, Argentina". Do you suppose Madonna's being lined up to play Kirchner?


Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.