Published: 11 Aug, 2026 CET.Updated: Tue 11 Aug 2026 10:52 CET
When entering or leaving Spain, you can carry up to €10,000 (or foreign currency equivalent) without declaring it. Photo: John Oswald/Unsplash
Did you know that if you’re entering or leaving Spain with a large amount of money, you need to declare it to Spanish authorities? The same applies if you’re travelling around Spain with it too. Here’s what you need to know.
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Noche de viento y promesas de viejos campeones, que, ligeros, alados, anuncian maravillan. Y la gente, con la boca abierta de admiración, exige, seguid regalándonos belleza, no paréis, no lo dejéis. Miltiadis Tentoglou, el doble campeón olímpico griego, responde. Trepana el muro del viento (-1,1) con sus pies increíbles, salta 8,44 metros en su cuarto intento, cuando ya ha podido ajustar su carrera, y logra su cuarto título europeo en salto de longitud.
Media hora después, le toca a Marcell Jacobs cumplir con las expectativas, con los deseos de unos espectadores que, después de una semifinal en la que mostró su superioridad en el desolador panorama de la velocidad europea, es el favorito único para la victoria en los 100m. Y los más apresurados ya empiezan a preparar cuadros celebratorios con tres figuras, el soviético Valeri Borzov y el británico Linford, rescatados del pasado como únicos ganadores de tres títulos seguidos de los 100m en los Europeos, y a su lado, Jacobs, el campeón olímpico de Tokio (9,80s) contra todo pronóstico y contra todo el imperio americano, que sería el tercero. A los 40 metros de una carrera fría como la brisa que, sigilosamente, ha descendido su intensidad, el sueño, la emoción, mueren. Jacobs, que no ha salido bien, como el preveía, se rompe, los abductores le traicionan, se para, y al trote, detrás de casi todos, pues también se ha lesionado el belga Simon Verherstraeten, contempla la victoria del que él sabía que sería segundo detrás de él, el británico Romell Glave, nacido con el siglo, que compitió como jamaicano hasta hace tres años y que solo bajó de los 10s por primera vez hace dos meses (9,98s) en la misma pista azul de Birmingham en la que grita extático su victoria.
El tiempo es secundario (10,09s, -0,4 de viento). Segundo fue su compatriota Jeremiah Azu (10,16s) y tercero Owen Ansah (10,19s), el primer alemán que ha bajado de 10s en los 100m. Los tres han nacido con el siglo.
Si Jacobs es esbelto, casi 1,90, y proporcionado, potente, musculado y estilizado, y su técnica de bailarín depurada en sus años de saltador hace parecer que no golpea al suelo sino que lo acaricia y el tartán agradecido por la delicadeza de trato le devuelve aún más impulso que si lo machacara, Glave es compacto, tipo bola de músculos, 1,72m, 66 kilos, y muy trabajador. Tiene una gran salida (fue segundo hasta los 20 metros, solo superado por Azu) y más disciplina. Perdió hace dos años la final de Roma (fue tercero) después de ponerse primero a los 10 metros sencillamente por no saber gestionar la carrera desde delante. Se embarcó con su entrenador, Michael Alifaka, en lo que llamaron Proyecto 40 y demostró el éxito de los entrenamientos en la final, con la contribución de la lesión de Jacobs, que tenía previsto superarle al llegar a los 90 metros.
La camiseta flota en el aire y el brazo sale fluido, veloz, sin brusquedad; los dedos apenas rozan el disco que gira volando en el aire. Diego Casas, el coloso de Pucela, lo mira satisfecho. No es su mejor lanzamiento (62,90m), pero es suficiente para pasar a la final del jueves (21.45). “Me ha faltado alargar un poco el final”, dice el lanzador, que vive en el cuartel de la Guardia de Finanzas en Roma, donde se entrena a las órdenes de Federico Apolloni, un entrenador que cree que el lanzamiento es swing y movimiento, y el lanzador debe ser ligero, no una masa de músculos trabajados en las salas de pesas, y su filosofía made in Italy impregna a Leonardo Fabbri, el campeón de lanzamiento de peso, y no tiene barriga, y contagia también a Jacobs, que tras ganar en Tokio había regresado a Italia después de penar unos años en Florida bajo el régimen terrible de la velocidad norteamericana, y se ha reencontrado con su entrenador de toda la vida, el extriplista Paolo Camossi, que le habla de ligereza, técnica y elegancia, y le cuenta cómo era Livio Berruti, el velocista que derrotó a los norteamericanos en los Juegos de Roma y enamoró a la gran Wilma Rudolh, y a quienes todos admiran y lloran en su muerte. “Berruti me señaló como su heredero. Con su carrera tan ligera, dejó claro que los velocistas no son solo masa y músculos. Y así quiero ser yo”, dice, y salta a la pista para demostrarlo. “He recobrado la chispa”. Y todo se queda en un grito y un lamento.
Eusebio Cáceres, como Tentoglou, como Casas, como Fabbri, como Berruti, es de la escuela ligera, pero en la final a la que llegó más convencido que nunca de que sería su gran noche, el viento le machaca, le frena, le desequilibra en el aire, tan poco su peso, le obliga a ajustar varias veces su talonamiento. Contra la desesperanza, él pelea. Exige más que nunca palmas en un estadio que suena a hueco. Se empeña. Choca y se rinde. “No soy de tener suerte, soy de luchar contra ella”, dice sombrío el saltador de Onil, al que intentaba aconsejar desde la banda su entrenador, Iván Pedroso. “Físicamente estoy muy bien, pero me ha fallado la técnica. Con estos vientos irregulares era muy difícil pensar en la técnica”. Termina séptimo con un triste salto de 7,92m, muy lejos del cuarto puesto tantas veces maldecido y que no quería repetir (8,18m del portugués Gerson Baldé en su sexto intento), y más aún de las medallas que pelean hasta el último salto el suizo Simon Ehammer, segundo con 8,29s, y el búlgaro Bozhidar Sarâboyukov (8,26m). “Es el puesto que merezco”.
Jaime Guerra fue noveno (7,73m) y Lester Lescay 10º (7,72m).
Screenwriter Russell T. Davies, 63, has lost count of the number of times a member of the LGBTQ+ community has approached him over the past 25 years to tell him that one of his series changed their life. “I never get tired of it happening. I appreciate it every time someone says that,” the British writer tells EL PAÍS in a video interview.
Several generations of viewers have now thanked him. The first barely knew how to use the internet when they were pirating Queer as Folk(1999), before streaming platforms existed. The series occupied a groundbreaking space on television, portraying a gay community that was imperfect, vibrant, and unapologetic about its existence. Later, the dual narrative of his companion series Banana and Cucumber (2015) added new layers, including the challenges of middle age, to characters who were far from likable or angelic. Meanwhile, It’s a Sin (2021) chronicled the AIDS crisis through a group of young people in 1980s London. Other works with broader themes, such as the new Doctor Who and Years & Years, have also explored diversity.
“I don’t spend much time on social media because I’ve received death threats since I began including trans characters in my scripts. But I also get complaints from the trans community, which believes a gay man should not be the one telling their story. That’s when you think, God, everyone’s angry,” says Davies, just days after HBO Max’s international release of his latest work, Tip Toe, which is precisely about that widespread sense of hostility.
The story begins with Leo (played by Alan Cumming), a gay man who is open about his sexuality and owns the Spit & Polish bar on Canal Street, the heart of Manchester’s LGBTQ+ district. It is a safe haven for many of the city’s young people and a familiar setting in Davies’s television work.
In the opening minutes of the series, Leo finds himself in a situation straight out of a classic comedy. After a one-night stand, he ends up stranded in the street wearing only his underwear and is forced to ask his next-door neighbor for help. Clive (David Morrissey), the man who has shared a wall with him for 14 years, could not be more different: an electrician struggling financially, with two young children and trapped in an unhappy marriage. Before the first of the series’ five episodes is over, however, Davies makes it clear to viewers what lies ahead. This is not a comedy, but a tragedy.
Tip Toe originated in Davies’s mind from a similar situation, though one completely opposite to the one depicted in the show. “My neighbor Mike was a wonderful man who sadly passed away last year. He had a key to my house. He was a lovely neighbor, a big, tough man. But giving your front door key to someone suddenly makes your house a bit porous and open. And he would sometimes walk in without saying,” the screenwriter recalls.
That anecdote sparked his storyteller’s imagination, leading him to explore possibilities far removed from reality. “What if something went wrong between us? What if we fell out? What if my neighbor or his family were homophobic?” Davies found himself wondering.
At the same time, the British writer was increasingly concerned by the growing wave of anger and violence in society. “These elements have always existed in some shape or form, but now they are being driven by the digital environment, by our phones and by algorithms. As a gay man, I was getting more and more alarmed by this,” he admits.
It is a theme he had already explored in the dystopian Years & Years. The series enjoyed major success around the world, though less so in the United Kingdom. “I was wondering how to tell a story about where we’re heading, but make it more popular, more watchable,” he says.
That is how Tip Toe was born. Ultimately, the series examines how toxic masculinity permeates society regardless of gender or sexual orientation, much as it does in another of HBO Max’s major releases of the year, Richard Gadd’s Half Man. “Toxic masculinity is also awful for straight men,” Davies argues.
David Morrissey and Alan Cumming, the lead actors in Tip Toe, have been friends for more than 40 years. Paradoxically, that on-screen chemistry helped build the gradual rift between the series’ two protagonists.
“It was a huge advantage that we didn’t have to wait for them to build trust. They know each other so well that they could try things other actors would never dare,” the showrunner says enthusiastically. “I’m glad that LGBTQ+ stories like Heated Rivalry and Heartstopperhave happy endings. But I can’t seem to write them… Thanks to those shows, I don’t necessarily need to.”
In many of Davies’s series, the enemies confronting his characters are invisible monsters that no one quite knows how to defeat. In Tip Toe, those forces are the algorithm and vulture funds.
“The economy feels like a ghost. TV shows don’t usually explain how their characters manage to pay for their homes. In this series, I wanted all of that to be part of the story. Prices keep going up because of a ridiculous war like the one in Iran, sparked by his tantrums and outbursts of the U.S. president. And that really drives people to despair and makes them feel trapped,” he concludes.
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THROUGH the lens of Cristina Cuadra’s camera, the Olive Press spent two days talking to anxious locals and desperate migrants. These are their stories.
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