Shopping Fiasco #527: the Power Drill

For 17 years this drill was a valued member of the team. It didn't deserve to die.

​When I explained to the hospital emergency staff that my American visitor had a piece of his hearing aid stuck in his ear, the three white-coated professionals erupted into gales of laughter.  And so did my friend, saying, “Hey, it’s not funny,” as he chuckled along with them.
 
And this is what I love about the Spanish medical system — in fact, about the entire Spanish culture. Being a professional doesn’t seem to require the same kind of emotional distance that’s customary in the US. In fact, people talk to each other all the time in situations that astonish me. Last Saturday, when Rich and I were in the Metro waiting for a train, a woman plopped down beside us and said, "¿Qué tal la lluvia de ayer?" (“How about that rain yesterday?”)
 
As we chatted about the downpour, I tried to imagine someone in the New York subway or a San Francisco BART station making eye contact, let alone conversation. Clearly a wildly different social etiquette prevails in Seville Metro.

Seville Metro

But then, the Metro is a funky little transit system running just 11 miles; it feels remarkably safe — unless you suffer from bathophobia (the fear of depths). Apparently the engineers kept running into more layers of ancient ruins and had to burrow deeper and deeper underground. As I stepped off the fourth long escalator, I said to Rich, “I’m not sure, but I think I can actually feel the earth’s molten core beneath my feet.”
 
Our journey into the Metro underworld was prompted by the death of the battery on Rich’s power drill. As Rich learned during an exhaustive, city-wide search, battery design has advanced considerably over the past 17 years, and the one he needed no longer exists. He was forced to lay his faithful drill to rest and start thinking about a replacement.

To cheer him up, I suggested we head out to Leroy Merlin, the giant, French-owned home improvement store in the nearby suburb of Tomares. We’d make a day of it, buying a drill then going for a pleasant browse around the adjacent poligano, four square blocks of discount houses selling furnishings ranging from practical to whimsical. To make it blog-worthy, we’d lunch at a workers’ café we liked. A lovely outing all around.
 
And then, hours before departure, I discovered what Leroy Merlin has been up to in Russia.
 
Leroy Merlin reacted to the invasion of Ukraine by doubling down on its loyalty to Moscow. It cut loose its Ukraine branch, agreed to donate money and supplies to Putin’s war effort, and committed to helping the government conscript Leroy Merlin employees to serve in the Russian army. In July, Leroy Merlin (along with Unilever and Proctor & Gamble, who did likewise) was named "an international sponsor of war" by the Ukrainian government — admittedly not an objective third party, but still.

Mad Magazine spoof poster

​“Rich, I have bad news about Leroy Merlin,” I said. The price of a drill was obviously not going to tip the balance of geopolitical power, but we felt uncomfortable swelling the coffers of a war sponsor even by that minuscule amount. Knowing Rich had always regarded the megastore as something of a temple, I added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
 
On the plus side, I’d learned something extraordinary about Tomares: it’s the richest town in Andalucía. “Let’s go anyway,” I suggested. “Obviously we’ll avoid the megastore-that-shall-not-be-named, but we can visit the poligano and then walk up the hill to see what the main town is like.”
 
After the short Metro ride, we strolled to the poligano, enjoyed a coffee in the workers’ café, and visited the shops, which had lost none of their zany, treasure-hunt feel. I was only sorry we didn’t need an antique bed, bicycle-shaped table, or plastic meerkat.

Leaving the poligano for the town proper, the first thing we saw was the Casino Admiral, home to 100 slot machines, electronic bingo, American roulette, and shows featuring Spanish comedians and Queen tribute bands. We didn’t stop.
 
I soon began noticing small children running around in costumes. Then we walked smack into the tail end of a parade, and I realized Tomares was celebrating Carnival. This is the age-old “farewell to meat” party that marks the beginning of fasting during Lent, the 40-day run-up to Easter. The idea of Carnival is to overindulge while you still can, and it was clear from the overflowing taverns that the townspeople were really prepared to put their backs into it.

​The sunny day began to darken, the wind picked up, and a sudden rainsquall sent us dashing into the nearest shelter, which happened to be Bar Tipitin’s enclosed terrace. The owner kindly shoved some reserved tables closer together to create a small space for us, tucking our table cozily next to a heater. Explaining there was no printed menu, he began a serious discussion about the various meats he was grilling on the barbecue a few yards away. The smell was heaven.
 
“Pluma,” Rich said decisively. That means feather, although it’s anything but light; this cut comes from the back of the pig’s neck and is famous for its rich fat and superb flavor. Soon our host returned with a platter displaying a large slab of raw pork for our inspection. Before I could say, “Do you have anything smaller?” Rich said, “Sí, perfecto.”
 
Forty years together, twenty of them in Spain, and I’d never seen Rich order pluma or a piece of meat that massive. It was nice to know he could still surprise me.

​The pluma was magnificent, sizzling hot, perfectly cooked, and dusted with just the right amount of coarse salt. After I’d cut off the small corner that was my preferred portion, Rich proceeded to eat the entire rest of the piece, surprising me again. The man may not own a functioning power drill, but he does possess, as the Spanish put it, “una buena boca,” literally a good mouth, meaning a splendid appetite.
 
He wasn’t alone. Everyone was tucking into platters of grilled meat with similar gusto, and I marveled yet again about cultural differences. Having grown up in what’s now Silicon Valley, I associate affluence with slim, gym-toned bodies clothed in upscale fashions. This being an agricultural area, folks tended to enjoy robust figures, weather-beaten faces, and a merciful lack of trendiness. Most looked like they could bench-press a tractor and would enjoy a good laugh if someone had to have a hearing aid surgically removed from an orifice.
 
It was a wonderful day, even if we didn’t come home with a power drill. I’ve since learned that Leroy Merlin has yielded to public pressure and sold off 99.993% of its Russian business to a firm from the United Arab Emirates. A step in the right direction but a bit late to keep us as customers. And so the quest for a new power drill continues. I’ll keep you posted on our progress.
​

The Metro takes just 13 minutes from Seville's Puerta Jerez station to the San Juan Bajo station; the poligano is a ten-minute walk from there. Cost is about $4 round trip per person.

Read About Our Time in Ukraine
We visited before the war and fell in love with the zany humor and remarkable grit of the Ukrainian people. Learn more

An underground bar in Lviv, Ukraine

OUT TO LUNCH
This story is part of my ongoing series "Out to Lunch." Each week I write about visiting offbeat places in the city and province of Seville, often by train, seeking cultural curiosities and great eats. (Learn more.)​ 

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