President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, who is visiting Spain for the first time since the nationalisation of Aerolíneas, was received by King Juan Carlos de Borbón and his wife Sofía in the Pardo Palace on Monday morning.

Following her appointment with the Spanish Royals she met with the mayor of Madrid, Alberto Ruiz Gallarón, who presented her with the keys of the city in the town hall. This afternoon she will hold a private meeting with President José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero.

The official visit comes six months after decision to nationalise formerly Spanish owned Aerolíneas. During an interview with the Spanish press Fernández defended the state take-over of Aerolíneas saying the airline was not functioning well as a private company.

The Argentine president continued by commending the excellent business relations between the two countries and referenced two Spanish companies with large investments in Argentina, Telefónica and Repsol.   

Apart from strengthening bilateral relations between Spain and Argentina, the president also intends to sign a deal securing the presence of Spanish business in Argentina as well as technological, scientific and political accords, and discuss both states’ responses to the financial crisis.

During the morning of the first day of Fernández’ visit in Madrid, the Spanish capital suffered an attack from Basque separatist group ETA. A car bomb exploded outside the head quarters of construction company Ferrovial Agromán.  

Fernández condemned the terrorist attack.

Illustration by Nick Mahshie

It was while sitting next to Juan on the flight to Madrid that I remembered why I liked Spain so much. There is nothing the Spanish like more than striking up conversations with randoms on public transport. I dropped my British guard, and we chatted away happily for the duration of the flight. I was about to take part in a conservation project high in the Segovian mountains. Juan was returning from a short break in London.

On arrival, he helped me with my luggage and kindly bought me a metro ticket for our tube ride to Madrid’s Atocha Station. It was on the tube that I got my first urge to use the toilet. By the time we arrived, I was desperate. Ever the gentleman, Juan asked a policeman where the nearest baño was, only to be told that since the Atocha bombings two weeks earlier, all station toilets had been closed. The nearest was apparently up and outside the station.

“I’ll never make it,” I whimpered.

“Go over there, but be quick,” Juan advised.

Not entirely happy with the idea, but not wanting to meet the conversation team with wet pants, I found a dark corner and let it rain.

Footsteps and then a firm grab of the shoulder brought things to an abrupt, untidy end. It was the same policeman who had just directed us upstairs. There was no way, with my rusty Spanish, that I would be able to talk my way out of this one. I looked around desperately for Juan, whose back I could just about make out as he tore off through the station. And he had my ticket.

With one hand on my shoulder, the other one radioing the office, the policeman led me off through the crowds. In the office, he asked me to explain to everyone what I had been caught doing.

“Pissing up the wall,” followed by “I’m not a hooligan,” I could just about manage.

The hooligan comment must have triggered something, for as he wrote down my details he said: “Sean O’Hare, that is a Scottish name, no?” Not wanting to correct him and tell him it was actually Irish, I just nodded and wondered whether I was looking at a fine and a slapped wrist, or maybe a night in the chokey.

“Which team do you support, Celtic or Rangers?” he asked me next.

In a Catholic country like Spain, there was only one answer to that question.

“Celtic,” I said.

“Off you go,” he replied, scrunching up his form.