đ„ Spain Is Burning
Plus: Correos suspends shipments to the U.S., Belén Esteban returns, and a crazy clandestine zoo bust.
Madrid | Issue #114
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Itâs getting hot in here
đ§âđ Spain is having the biggest fire season ever. Letâs fight about it
Even if youâve been 100%-brain-dead-on-vacation since late June, youâve probably heard: Spain is on fire. Like, literally. Forests and scrublands have been going up in flames while youâve been sipping tinto de verano at the beach. True, âonlyâ 0.8% of the country has burned to a crispâbut thatâs more than 400,000 hectares which, trust us, is a LOT. The smell of smoke in Galicia and on the Castilla y LeĂłn meseta is now basically part of the local terroir. Spain right now? Call it Naturaldisasterstan.
Those statistic things. The EFFIS (European Forest Fire Information System) counts 19 of the 50 largest fires of the past decade occurring in Spain in just the last two weeks. It also estimates that so far this year over 408,000 hectares have been burnt in Spain, putting it well on the way to beating the three record years it set in the 1990s.
Where itâs worst. Galicia and Castilla y LeĂłn account for three-quarters of all burned Spain this year, with LeĂłn (15% scorched) and Ourense (7%) leading the misery parade. Fires in Larouco (Galicia) and Uña de Quintana (Zamora) are now the largest ever recorded in Spain since EFFIS started perimeter tracking in 2016, only rivaled by the 2022 infernos in Zamoraâs Sierra de la Culebra.
The Euro picture. Spain alone makes up 40% of all EU land burned in 2025. Add Portugalâwhere 240,000 hectares went up in smoke in just two weeks this Augustâand the Iberian peninsula accounts for two-thirds of Europeâs scorched earth. The continent has already lost more than a million hectares to flames this year, topping the previous record set in 2017, and definitely more than when you accidentally dumped a bottle of Roundup on your parentsâ yard đ€Š.
Wildfire meets dumpster fire. It took a while for Spainâs politicians (just like you) to notice that half the country was on fire â mostly because August is sacred vacation time. But once they stored away their swimsuits and returned to the stage, they (as expected) joined together to unite the country in times of emergency started fighting like school children.
Prime Minister Pedro SĂĄnchez attempted to sound, like, statesmanlike. During visits to Asturias and Galicia, he promised solidarity, resources, and above all a push for a âpacto de Estadoâ â a sort of cross-party agreement to deal withâŠclimate change (not, specifically, natural disasters).
This is a pretty bauble.
SĂĄnchezMr Handsome offered no specifics on what that would actually mean, making it look like maybe a balloon of hot air designed to distract from government failures and make hisrespected oppositionhated opponents look bad (because, like, who could be against a pact to deal with climate change?). He said his idea was to hammer out a deal at the next Conference of Regional Presidents (to be held before 2025 ends).
A love-inâŠNOT. Meanwhile, the center-right Partido Popular (PP) responded by agreeing with SĂĄnchez on everything he saidâŠLOL! Kidding.
You guys are the worst. The PP basically accused the SĂĄnchezâs PSOE government of sucking at dealing with emergencies. First, party spokespeople attacked the government for âdragging its feetâ, for failing to deploy resources quickly enough, and for the PM himself arriving late to the disaster zones. They also called the governmentâs Emergencies Director (like the FEMA boss in the U.S.) a âpyromaniacâ and a partisan âhooliganâ.
Pretty pix. In the PPâs telling, the central government was negligent, partisan, and more concerned with photo ops than with firefighting.
Feet of clay. The slow-moving PP boss Alberto NĂșñez FeijĂło took a possible political winner and fumbled it (again) by floating a proposal that sounded more sci-fi than feasible: the creation of a national database of âpyromaniacs,â complete with geolocating ankle bracelets. Why? He claimed 80% of fires are intentionally set.
Think Spainâs answer to Minority Report, but for rural arsonists. The problem? The data simply donât support his premise. Official figures from 2023 show that only 7.6% of fires are deliberate, far from the 80% figure FeijĂło liked to quote.
MaybeâŠ? FeijĂłoâs âincendiary terrorismâ narrative may be meant to shift blame away from the PP-led regional governments responsible for forest management in the affected zones. đ€
So⊠will SĂĄnchezâs âpacto de estadoâ get anywhere? Well⊠letâs say we wouldnât bet on it. But watching the catfight will be fun.
More news below. đđ
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1. đŠ Correos to U.S.: Return to sender
Didnât get that package off to the U.S. before Monday? Well, youâre SOL (yeah, shit outta luck). Correos, Spainâs state postal carrier, has suspended shipments of goods to the U.S. worth between $100 and $800.
Why? Because Trump. The Big Orange used a July 30 executive order to kill off something called de minimis exemptionâa handy little loophole that allowed low-value packages (under $800) to enter the U.S. without tariffs.
The idea behind de minimis is simple. It generally costs more to collect tax on a $50 pair of socks than the tax itself is worth. So the U.S. (like the EU, which exempts packages under âŹ150) lets the small stuff slide. E-commerce giants like Temu and Shein built empires on it, and countless small European businesses quietly relied on it too.
Not anymore. Starting Aug. 29, those $100â$800 parcels get hit with a 15% tariff at the border. Correos says it wasnât given enough time to build the systems to collect duties in advance, soâfor nowâitâs just refusing the shipments altogether. Letters, books, and personal gifts under $100 can still go, but anything commercial in that middle value range? SOL.
And itâs not just Spain. Postal operators from Germanyâs DHL to Franceâs La Poste, Austriaâs Ăsterreichische Post, Swedenâs PostNord, and even Britainâs Royal Mail are all slamming the brakes on U.S.-bound packages until they can figure out how the f&$% to comply.
No time. European operators complain they had only two weeksâ notice before the rule changeâconfirmed Aug. 15 and in force by Aug. 29. DHL put it bluntly: nobody knows whoâs supposed to collect the tariffs, how the data is supposed to be transmitted, or how customs clearance will work. So until the paperwork catches up with the Big Pumpkinâs pen, the safe play is to stop shipping.
The scale of whatâs at stake is gigantic. According to U.S. Customs and Border Protection, a whopping 1.36bn packages entered the country under de minimis last year, with goods worth about $64.6bn. Thatâs almost 4 million packages a day, suddenly shoved into tariff limbo.
Tough for the little guy. For Spanish businesses that depend on Etsy, Shopify, or direct e-commerce to the U.S., this is a major headache. For American consumers who like buying a âŹ220 leather bag from a Madrid artisan, or âŹ500 worth of abanicos imprinted with BelĂ©n Estebanâs face (donât judge), it means higher pricesâor nothing arriving at all.
Soonish? Correos says it will restart shipments in âthe shortest period possible.â No word on when.
2.đžđ» The return of BelĂ©n Esteban: Spainâs patron saint of reality TV is back (again)
We know you may not care about Belén Esteban. Sure, her fortunes on screen may appear trivial, but they serve as a barometer of gossip, melodrama, and scandal broader cultural tastes. She will not be ignored!
Tears shed. It was only two months ago that we broke the sad news that her show on TVE was being canceled. Yet, in a testament to the resilience of Spanish daytime television and of Esteban herself (often dubbed the âprincess of the peopleâ), she is already returning to the medium that made her famous: the afternoon talk show. Repent, fools!
BelĂ©n Esteban returns to the small screen starting Monday, alongside the legendary MarĂa Patiño and Carlota Corredera in No Somos Nadie, a brand-new daily talk show on the TEN network.
The show will air weekdays for (hurray!) a jaw-dropping four hours a day. BelĂ©n will do what she does best: be herself (which translates into screaming, eating on the air, yelling personal anecdotes, and the sharp analysis and commentary ĂĄ la TMZ thatâs made her a household name for nearly two decades).
TEN is a modest digital channel thatâs become something of a rehab clinic for fallen TV stars, and, after their failed TVE experiment, itâs providing Esteban and Patiño (again) with a platform to return to our hearts.
So why does this matter? Because BelĂ©n Esteban and MarĂa Patiño are Spanish pop culture. Esteban isnât just a TV collaborator; sheâs a national archetype.
BelĂ©n is you! Sheâs the everywoman who turned heartbreak, family drama, and outrageous one-liners into a media empire, complete with branded potato crisps and gazpacho (the latter of which, tellingly, folded this week đ). Patiño, meanwhile, is her perfect partner: a fast talker with a journalistâs instinct for scandal.
Together, theyâve defined what Spanish daytime gossip looks and sounds like for an entire generation. And hundreds of thousands of people go on TEN or YouTube to watch them scream at each other live for four hours every afternoon.
When Belén Esteban speaks, you should pay attention. Resistance is futile.
3. đïž How far weâve come (no, seriously)
JosĂ© MarĂa SĂĄnchez Silva died Monday in a military residence outside Madrid. But he wasnât just another retired officer: in 2000, the lieutenant colonel in the Armed Forcesâ legal corps became the first high-ranking member of Spainâs military to come out of the closet.
Breaking through. Back then, Spainâs same-sex marriage law was still five years away, the word âPrideâ conjured more sneers than sponsors, and Spain was only a generation removed from GeneralĂsimo Francoâs 39-year ban on, well, pretty much everything fun. For a military man to pose on the cover of Zero magazine (an LGBT-themed mag that ran 1998-2009) under the headline âThe First Gay Soldierâ was kind of an earthquake.
The story began not in the barracks, but in Chuecaâs famous gay Berkana bookstore. SĂĄnchez Silva, then 49, confided his secret to owner Mili HernĂĄndez, who put him in touch with Zero, El PaĂs writes in its very good obituary. Soon after, he sat for interviews with both the magazine and El PaĂs: âThe correct thing would be discretion. But silence means renouncing our rights, suffering in silence, staying locked away.â
The backlash came quickly. The Ministry of Defense sniffed that his private life was âinconsequential.â He endured insults and threats, and a fellow officer left a note on his desk calling homosexuality worse than âthe Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse together.â He knew his military career was over when, after he filed a court complaint against the author of that note for slander, the army said the letter did not constitute a disciplinary offense.
No more. By 2004, discredited in the eyes of the military, SĂĄnchez Silva requested early retirement. But he refused to become embittered: âIf anyone has hated me, let them know, right now, that they have not succeeded in making that hatred reciprocal.â
History moved faster than his career. Spain legalized same-sex marriage, and Madrid became one of the worldâs gay capitals, and now throws a Pride party that now rivals SĂŁo Paulo or San Francisco. The irony is hard to miss: under a wee little general named Franco, gay men were jailed and âre-educated.â Forty years later, Madridâs Castellana and Gran VĂa flood each July with rainbow flags, drag queens on floats, and half a million tourists ordering gin tonics in Chueca.
SĂĄnchez Silva didnât keep his medals or his uniform after he left. His later years were quietâa home in ChamberĂ (we like him even more!), meals at El Yate, strolls back to Chueca to buy books at Berkanaâbut his act of defiance left a mark larger than any rank could bestow.
The world still isnât perfect. Discrimination hasnât vanished, and progress always feels fragile. But one lifeâlived bravely, at great personal costâreminds us just how far weâve actually come.
4.đș SimĂłn PĂ©rez & Silvia Charro kicked from Kick: A Black Mirror episode nobody asked for
Warning: this story is sad.
Few viral careers better capture the dystopian side of internet fame than that of Simón Pérez and Silvia Charro. Their story reads like a lost, depressing episode of Black Mirror: two minor financial consultants record a video, go viral for all the wrong reasons, lose everything, and then reinvent themselves by monetizing their own self-destruction online.
It all started back in 2017. Then, the pair uploaded a YouTube video titled âÂżPor quĂ© las hipotecas fijas son tan convenientes?â (see video above). Instead of financial wisdom, viewers got something else entirely: two visibly intoxicated (and, by their own later admission, coked-up) presenters slurring their way through mortgage advice. The clip went viral immediately, not because anyone cared about fixed-rate loans, but because the spectacle was too sad and weird to ignore.
The fallout was immediate. They lost their jobs, their reputations, and any semblance of professional credibility. But we are living in strange times, and thanks to the twisted economy of internet attention, Pérez and Charro managed to turn that downfall into a business model.
They became streamers (shocker), reinventing themselves across platforms such as YouTube, Twitch, or Kick, catering to an audience that paid not for advice, but for entertainment and chaos.
On their Kick channel SS ConexiĂłn, donations flowed live in exchange for increasingly extreme stunts: from binge drinking to drug use to acts of humiliation (âŹ100 for consuming drugs on camera). El Español wrote about them earlier this month and called it âthe live streaming of a âsuicideââ.
But their âanything for clicksâ strategy finally hit a wall this month. After the tragic death of French streamer RaphaĂ«l Graven (aka Jean Pormanove) during a 12-day Kick livestream (an incident that has triggered investigations in France), the platform expelled PĂ©rez and Charro.
Going straight. For Kick, which had long branded itself as the âpermissiveâ alternative to Twitch, the crackdown was a rare moment of restraint. For PĂ©rez and Charro, it was the end of their last major refuge.
Or at least, almost. The pair have already dusted off their old YouTube channels, where they announced theyâll continue streaming, though they admit theyâve âlost all their traffic along the way.â Their real plan, however, is to move to Trovo (a smaller live-streaming platform owned by Chinese tech giant Tencent, pitched as a mix between Twitch and YouTube Gaming). Think of it as the streamer worldâs bargain-basement afterparty.
For now, PĂ©rez and Charro are clinging to the only asset they have left: notoriety. âWeâve got no money,â they admitted in a recent broadcast. But in the attention economy, being broke has never stopped anyone from streaming.
5. 𩩠Youâre not from around here, are you?

Guardia Civil agents knew they were onto something when they found a makeshift animal preserve in a CastellĂłn small town packed with scores of animals that had starred in David Attenborough nature documentaries that definitely did not have the word âSpainâ in the title.
Agents stumbled across the clandestine zoo after spotting an online ad offering exotic âpetsâ that looked suspiciously like they belonged in rainforests or savannas. The seller was hawking Asian otters, kinkajous, and agoutis, and even boasted of breeding meerkats, kangaroos, and caracals. Thatâs when the Guardia hit play on some videos of the supposed âfarmâ and found an even stranger cast: leopards, owls, llamas, and ibis.
The trail led them to a property in Nules (the town known for breeding Spain's most popular Clementine), where they found a makeshift menagerie in cages, barns, and sheds. None of the animals were registered, and â shocker! đ±â the two men arrested (ages 30 and 35) lacked both a breederâs license and authorization to run a zoo.
Inside were more than 150 animals from 56 different species, spanning all five continents. Think: zebras, servals, crowned cranes, turacos, possums, bighorn sheep, macaws, porcupines, and, for some reason, a dromedary. Two of the macaws even turned out to have been stolen in AlmerĂa. đ€·
But the real headline acts were the endangered ones! There were two ring-tailed lemurs (from Madagascar the islandâand yes, also Madagascar the movie); two Asian small-clawed otters (the worldâs smallest otters â and so cute!); and one Bali starling, a snowy white bird so rare there are fewer than 100 left in the wild.
Thatâs when the Guardia Civil said, âDamn, you really arenât from around here.â (Fine, they didnât.)
The men are now under investigation for wildlife trafficking and contraband, with the average market value of the seized animals estimated at nearly âŹ70,000 (âŒïž). The animals themselves were handed over to experts from the Environment Ministry.
If you really want to see some Asian small-clawed otters â but, like, legally â head to Terra Natura Zoo in Benidorm. (And no, weâre not using âAsian small-clawed ottersâ as a euphemism for âreally drunk Brits,â though youâll find plenty of those in Benidorm too.)
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