Snakes and estate agents.

Way back in April 2004 we were at Benalmadena on holiday and though we didn’t realise it at the time, it was the beginning of our adventures here in Puente don Manuel! Alex had arranged an appointment to view some properties in this area and here we are.  The point of mentioning this is because the estate agent’s words often come back to remind me of why their reputation remains so unsavoury.

In the beginning, I wasn’t keen on leaving England and having lived in Australia was concerned about the dangers in hot countries.  On asking our trusty guide about the local wildlife, he assured me that there are no snakes here, certainly not poisonous ones.  He thought there may be scorpions but he didn’t think there were any poisonous spiders – stupidly, I believed this guy! There are in fact 13 types of snakes, 5 of them venomous and whilst there are 50 deaths a year in Europe from snake bites, only 3 -6 are in Spain, which is all very well unless you are one of the 3 – 6!  Reasuringly, not all of them are in this area of Spain, they tend to be very shy and are only around in late spring and summer.  The photograph is taken from our kitchen window on 6th November where it was meandering over and up the neighbours wall, the neighbour with two active dogs - not something you would expect from a shy creature!  I have tried to identify it from pictures on the internet but am unable to determine whether it is harmful or not but remain very suspicious of its pattern.

That makes the number of snakes I have seen this year as three alive and two dead.  One almost flourescent green coloured one was across our track poised in a cobra type of upright position, motionless for quite a while.  Not wishing to drive over it we stopped (closing all windows and sunroofs) and waited.  All of a sudden it turned, and darted across the road and into the field quicker than I ever believed possible of a legless creature.  That one definitely wasn’t poisonous as it was easily identifiable.

Despite my fear of snakes and disdain of the estate agent, I still love being here and don’t actually feel afraid walking through the countryside as I imagined I would, so maybe I should be grateful for being misled!

Red Hot Chilli Peppers

Having bought a chilli plant from the new farmers market at Trapiche last spring, I was delighted that the early ones to ripen were nice and added a lovely zing to my cooking and the second flowering resulted in me being blessed with a harvest of red shiny chillis in excesss of two dozen! This second batch seemed much hotter, with only a half of one being needed for quite a kick.  However, life in the fridge wasn’t suiting them, so armed with advice from the trusty internet, I proceeded to preserve them, especially so my chilli loving sons and sister could experience my first Spanish crop.   As I had no white vinegar to use the pickling option, I decided to dry half and freeze the other half, both processes requiring washing and deseeding.  As can be seen on the photograph, I had the brainwave of hanging them in the sunshine using a kebab stick and coat hanger, the frozen ones were easier to accommodate in a tub in the freezer.

Standing back admiring my work, despite having washed my hands, I must have touched my face because all of a sudden I felt as if I was being branded with a hot iron on my cheek and forehead, then my eyelid began to sting and as I foolishly rubbed it, I realised what was happening.  As my face reddened, the pain increased, not eased by a thorough washing with liquid soap, cold flanned, nivea, or fanning.  Just before smoke started to bellow from my ears I plunged my face into a bowl of cold water and felt as though you could hear it “hiss”.  Unfortunately, I had to breathe, so the next half an hour saw me developing a techinque to maximise my time underwater and minimise my breathing time.  Happily, after about half an hour, I was able to manage with just a soaked cloth.

Not so for my hands! Throughout the night I woke with them on fire! Bedding was uncomfortable, air was uncomfortable, cream was painful, grandmother’s blessings were absolute curses and it was only after rubbing in brufen gel and having painkillers that I was able to get some sleep.

Sadly, a trip to the loo at 7.46 resulted in the transference of the burning agents to where such antagonistic chemicals are more sensitive even than the face!!  Only by spending a very long time in a luke warm bath was I able to resume normal respiratory function! It has taken nearly 48 hours for my finger tips to feel normal again – a painful measure of the intensity of a fruit which now has my upmost respect.

Lake Maggiore – Stresa

Stresa was a much more touristy place than Arona, English was understood more and it had been more cosmetically maintained.  The big hotel on the front looked as if it had been zapped out of a Jane Austin novel, even down to the wrought iron table and chairs on each little veranda with cloths and cushions.  There is a ski lift type gondola which I bravely agreed to ride to the top of a beautiful mountain where I was able to enjoy a stiff brandy to calm my nerves.  Sitting there enjoying the clear air and the views, I was suddenly addressed from behind by this slow American drawl, enquiring if I was English.  One glance at Alex’s expression transported me to the Fawlty Towers sketch! In my unwilling role of Sybil I attended to their tales of travel with interest feeling my level of discomfort rising as they started to relate their itinery for the next day on their tour which included a trip to Switzerland, returning to Stresa to visit two Islands, then getting ready for dinner to travel to the third island (isola). Alex’s contribution to the conversation finally emerged with an exclamation of how that was all far too much, in true Basilesque, until he finally noted my disapproving stare! 

Lake Maggiore – Arona

After our hectic summer, then me working sessions in UK and two years of holidaying here at our home we decided to indulge ourselves with a break in Italy, one of the few foreign holiday destinations available from Malaga airport within our budget. 

Guffawing like a pair of pre-adolescents, our arrival at Milan Malpensa airport saw us searching for a shuttle bus to our hotel Spagna (well we thought it sounded like smegma anyway!). However, once spoken by the driver we realised it is pronounced spanya (like in lasagne of course!!) and it took us a few days before it dawned on us that this is the Italian word for Spain – a coincidence which amused us anyway!

Anyway, Arona is an old little town with many of its buildings dating back to the 16th and 17th centuries, tiny little streets, windows with shutters, Romeo balconies and churches with towers (and not so tuneful but very early morning bells!).  The first thing that stuck us was how neglected the buildings seemed, with crumbling walls, peeling or absent paint and splintered woodwork, leading us to the assumption that the inhabitants must be quite poor.  The amount of graffiti was reminiscent of Salford subways and whilst I was unable to read it, some of the pictures were graphic in a multi-lingual way! Inside the hotel, the dowdy theme continued but it was very clean, the staff were friendly and cheerful and we had a lovely view of the new eye hospital!

Wearing our usual Spanish attire of shorts and t-shirts we set off to get our bearings only to find ourselves constantly stared at, heads turning everywhere we went with Alex blushing as his legs were appraised!  Returning the scrutiny, however, made us realise that the locals were all immaculately groomed and dressed in autumn/winter clothing of very high quality, including some in scarves, despite the warm sunshine. As you know, we are fairly low observers of fashion hierarchies and when we are trying our best we wear our holiday “George” or “Primark” gear with pride!  However, closer examination of the shop windows revealed the reason for the lack of house maintenance!  The clothes and shoe prices were phenomenal! I struggled to see a pair of shoes less than 100 euros, coats were several hundreds of euros, even underwear, nightwear and children’s wear were in the high 70s upwards! A red sock in their whites wash must be catastrophic!  Even though we ditched our shorts, we felt like eccentric hoboes for the remainder of the holiday, but it was a fun role with our Spanglish attempts at Italian. It was an interesting and different socialogical concept to observe such neatness and poise of individuals, even on the boats or working in the shops and I felt they were as sorry for me and my clothes as I was for them and their buildings.

The lake and surroundings were really beautiful and the villages look picturesque from a distance.  We went on trips on the lake most days so I will have to do different blog entries for different days as I struggle getting pictures onto each.

Alcaucin walk

Alcaucin is a village 5 kilometers by road from our village and is where our town hall is situated.  The road is windy with no pavements and to get to the car park involves driving through the village which is only one car wide and makes my knuckles very white as a passenger! The view of the village when approaching from the road is marred by some large developments of apartment blocks and therefore doesn’t seem to be very picturesque.  We have always believed it would be possible to walk there, so one September day when the weather had cooled to the high 20s we decided to give it a try.

The hill behind our house looks like it just goes on up towards the mountain and we had always planned to go exploring. My endeavours to obtain a good walking map, or indeed any map of the area, despite importing a military map at great expense from USA, proved completely unsuccessful at detailing any footpaths or routes. 

However, having successfully found our route via the dirt tracks to Vinuela post office, we were hopeful that we would reach our destination.  As from the photographs above, not only was it possible but it was absolutely spectacular.  The track climbs steeply behind us then goes round a bend to reveal a hidden, deep valley, which even in September when there has been no rainfall since May, seemed green and for here, lush! The only sounds audible are those of occasional birdsong, and our own footfall on the dusty track.  We passed a couple of Spanish homes where their dogs alerted the owners to our passing and they came out and peered at us as though we were completely bonkers, but still nodded buenas dias!

After the steep climb with the valley to the left, we turned a bend to see the main valley opening up infront of us with the “horseshoe” or “saddle” pass. The path continued to climb and apart from one dip, we seemed to be getting higher and higher. After a final turn, there it was, just to our left – the village.  As I walked along, a round object seemed to roll for no reason down a little embankment, then scurrying after it a large beetle caught it up and continued to roll it along (as above). We watched it in fascination for a few minutes (later confirmed as a dung beetle of the “roller” variety by Wikipedia) before continuing on to Alcaucin.  Our arrival there was a lovely treat as the view of the village when approached from above is very welcoming and rustic.  The little houses and lanes lined with plants seductively led us to a village centre bar and much needed refreshment, having consumed our 2 litres of water on route.

There is a chestnut fair there on 30th October so we are going to go and see what that entails, walking again, weather permitting!

Meet Jamie

Following Following a hectic summer, with visitors filling casa alejandro to capacity and a visit to England, all is now quiet in Pradosol. We are very busy with repairs and maintenance, cleaning and gardening as well as enjoying more unpredictable weather varying from thunder, lightening, rain and clouds, to high winds then wall to wall blue skies and hot sun, all within one afternoon.

I have attached a photo of my adopted pet Jamie who keeps making an appearance to survey my gardening efforts or watch me peg out the washing as if I am some sort of strange alien exhibiting very peculiar behaviour. He moves very slowly, which is one of the reasons I like him, unlike the darting lizards which launch themselves out from behind my plantpots when I am watering my plants. He holds onto the fence with his little toes and uncurls them one by one in preparation to move, then slowly and determinedly he moves a leg, then another, his bulging lidded eye watching and rotating all the time. Sometimes he is at ground level where he blends in with the stones or the rockery at first resembling a moving rock. He has been seen perched on the garden wall, driving the neighbours dogs potty, just basking and blinking out of their reach, much to our amusement. Yes, I reckon he is quite a character and I imagine he we be off to hibernate before very long. My efforts to formally identify him and establish his preferences have proved inconclusive so I just hope he will stay close, enjoying my little garden whilst he can and will return again next summer.

Fiesta and fun

This week began with a trip to Burriana Beach with my friend and her daughter, luxuriating on the sunbeds with the thick mattresses under coconut parasols. This was perfect preparation for a diversion into Nerja town for my shopaholic companions to get another fix. As a shopaphobic, I stationed myself outside a central café/bar overlooking the church square, indulged in some delicious hummous and pitta bread and browsed through a magazine between eating and people watching. There was a feeling of something imminent by an increased police presence, some of the square cordoned off and some young band members tuning (well tooting) their instruments! Anyway, the church clock chimed 8 p.m. and out of the church came a Madonna in muted gold, on a plinth festooned with fresh white lilies, holding toddler Jesus’s hand. Unlike the Puente Madonna who was carried along supported on people’s shoulders, the Nerja Madonna was being held up high with outstretched arms, by some very muscular, tanned Spanish men, wearing medals around their neck (not sure if they were in recognition of their strength, but they deserved them to be!). Outside the church, the men continued to hold the plinth at arms length and sway in rhythm to the now familiar female Spanish wailing music. The article I was reading was about mindfulness, but I couldn’t even concentrate my mind on it enough to finish it – everything was far too exciting. Exploding rockets were being set off at irregular intervals from a roof somewhere, and a troop of dancers, ladies dressed in electric blue dresses with full skirts and white petticoats and men with trousers like matadors were swinging themselves and eachother around using castinets trailing multicoloured ribbons. The crowd were clapping and cheering, a cameraman was filming for the local cable t.v. and all the time the strong muscular men were swaying Madonna from side to side.

Eventually, the singing stopped and the band formed on the street playing the same strange tune as the Peunte parade. The Madonna men finally rested her plinth poles on their shoulders and set off on their march around the tiny, crowded streets of Nerja, followed by a crowd and saluted by frequent rocket explosions.

My friend, having missed the performance, returned laden with many bags accompanied by her terrified daughter, who has an intense fear of fireworks!!!!! That had to be about the worst place for her so we quickly sought refuge in a delightful Mexican bar where the live music drowned out the noise, and there was much to offer for the vegetarian palate.

Having a speedy change over day with my friends departure followed by the arrival of a group of 8 young Australians saw Alex and I going off to our first house party over here, totally exhausted. At the friend’s 60th there was lots of delicious food and drink, a backdrop of lake vinuela and mount maroma from their veranda and comparing of notes with lots of other ex-pats. Pictures were passed round of a fire which had taken hold on the other side of the hill across our valley where one couple lived. They showed how the Spanish fire fighting helicopter had hovered over their next door neighbours pool, scooped water into its dangling bucket then precariously tipped the chopper to cascade the water directly over the flames. The fire was contained within two hours – about how long it took them to empty the pool which had probably taken the owners 24 hours and many euros to fill!

Meanwhile, back at Casa Alejandro it was very satisfying to find our guests having a wonderful time playing water volley ball in the pool – and actually keeping score (girls were winning of course). In the water they had the most ingenious contrivance which they have promised to leave for me. It is an almost conical shaped inflatable with a fat, ring shaped base with several cup holders around it. The top of the cone shape lifts off and inside you can keep your cans of beer on ice!! Well if that’s not a floating bar, then nothing is!

Development

This week we have been able to have a meeting with the developer of our little urbanization of 24 homes, to establish progress. It is the first time we have had our own interpreter and it was really enlightening to be able to understand and question everything fully.

On our excavated field so far there are 5 homes completed, three of them lived in, including ours, and two used for holidays. There are another 7 at various stages of completion and the rest of the development is a field in waiting! Our choice of the biggest plot available 3 years ago means that we are alone on the top far left corner of the field and have the soil foundation of a road leading across the field to our house. The developer informed us that due to the decline of the property market over here, he is not planning to build any more houses but is going to sell the plots of land to people who wish to build their own! Our road will not be completed until all the houses have been built as the construction traffic will cause damage to the road.

On first hearing this news we were understandably very disappointed as it will be many years before we are part of a flourishing urbanization complete with neighbours, post boxes, roads and street lights etc.

However, it does mean it will be many years before we have to pay urbanization taxes! It also means that we have our views to the side for much longer, until we get neighbours, and the wildlife can continue to provide us with entertainment and pleasure with much less disturbance than we were anticipating. As for the road, well many people over here would dream of a dirt track with as few craters as ours! The facts that we are the only ones using it at the moment and can now get our car onto our driveway makes it feel like our own luxury highway! The arrival of post boxes would remove the incentive for our wonderful weekly post office hike and the light pollution from street lights is bound to have a detrimental effect on our view of the stars. Therefore, all things considered, the news was almost good news for us in the end! It will obviously make a difference to our lettings plans but considering other places people are willing to get themselves to in this vicinity, it isn’t completely bleak, just a matter of reaching the right market.

Meanwhile, I can delight in observing the progress of the neighbouring flora and fauna through the seasons and continue with my vigorous aqua aerobics in our pool- completely unobserved by curious neighbours! There is, after all, a lot to be said for living in the corner of a field.

The return of the young ones

This week has seen the arrival of my son Rob and his girlfriend Sophie.Its like meeting folk from Rivendel going to meet them, as they are both so pale, tall and willowy, him with his long dreadlocks and her with her long silky dark hair – taking all the hassles of air travel in their strides, shrugging off any inconveniences, young ones’ style.

Whilst on our travels, to my delight, Rob found a tapas bar at Burriana beach which had a whole page of vegetarian tapas on the menu (eating in Spain is difficult for him, being a vegetarian who doesn’t like eggs!!).We decided to order all six options and share them, expecting that this was likely to be too much, but hey, it is their holiday.The bowls of olives were delicious, particularly the ones filled with jalapeño peppers and the raw strips of veges to dip in the spicy whiskey dip were delicious.However, these portions were rather small and the three little lettuce leaves filled with yoghurt and three manderine oranges were not really very tasty and the tiny dish of roasted potato cubes didn’t go very far, so we were really looking forward to our roasted vegetable skewers! Little did I think that such a dish could be prepared and delivered nouveau cuisine style! The first skewer came with four lonely pieces of vegetables at intervals on the stick – a bit of aubergine, a mushroom, some pepper and a third of a slice of one sleeve of an onion – the brown design on the plate by some drizzled sauce did look pretty, but pretty isn’t filling!!The vegetables on the cheesy skewer were just as lonely but at least had toasted cheese on them!Still being very hungry I ordered the champagne and lemon sorbet from the desert menu only to be presented with a lemon drink with a white blob floating in it.I have to say it tasted delicious but did nothing to reduce my remaining hunger.Straight from there to the icecream parlour was the only solution.Rob said he had enjoyed it all so that was good!

 Friday night we walked to the local Italian where I knew Rob would be certain of getting something vege and we all had a lovely meal.At the other end of the block to the restaurant is a bar where a live band were expected so we all went there after our meal.Sure enough live music began so Al and I left the young ones there at about 2.30 after I had found myself doing a bit of head banging, urged on by a Scottish woman, and began walking home with our torch, both very merry and probably not shining it too evenly.As we were meandering along the track near the main road, admiring the perfect half moon which had just risen I suddenly became aware of a big spotlight heading towards us and a Guardia Civil (police) car stopped on the other side of the road.A deep Spanish voice shouted some enquiry we couldn’t understand and continued approaching us with his big flashlight so Alex, in his pigeon, drunken Spanish explained that we were English and we were going to our house whilst I shielded my eyes from the beam! It certainly made our torch with dimming batteries seem very dim and flickery. Anyway, this seemed to be what he needed to know as he uttered something which had reassuring tones, then returned to his car!Subsequent images in my mind of what we had looked like from his perspective kept me amused for the rest of our journey home.

Rob and Sophie had a good night mixing with local Spaniards communicating by gesture, odd Spanish words, a bit of French and drawings, returning home at 0700 to the delight of all the neighbourhood dogs who had been having such a boring night until then!

Final Bulletin

Well, the last day of the fiesta saw hoards of people, summoned by bangers and rockets, gravitating from all directions towards the main arena where rows of tables and chairs were all neatly laid out.

We found our places and got our drinks, watching the musicians tuning up and enjoying the assembling families of all generations. In the corner an enormous paella was being prepared by a chef complete with pilsbury dough boy hat on! Then, suddenly queues at right angles were formed by hundreds of people eagerly anticipating the paella. I was thrust forwards much to my surprise as my love handles were manouevered by a little old Spanish lady who was clearly excited and delighted to show off the village culinary delight to a newcomer. Her actions of anticipation were bubbly and unable to understand a word she said I just happily went along. At the end of the queue was a human chain of women passing down plated of paella and chunks of crusty bread to the hoards and two bulging plates were generously pushed into my hands.

The ambience, the excitement of the old lady (who was sitting next to our table), my own absorption in the atmosphere and an overwhelming feeling of being embraced by a culture led me to completely abandon my vegetarian principles and tuck in – which clearly delighted my neighbourly old lady. It tasted delicious!! At least I will now know when I see future huge paella dishes, what it actually tastes like! It was completely free, the villagers hold events all year to fund the feria, and free beers were also distributed followed by free Spanish cornettos! MMMMMMmmmmm! Being in such a huge dining frenzy was exhilarating and fun and really made you feel like part of the community!

More singing, dancing and drinking went on until everyone had finished, plates cleared and people started drifting away. Checking out the later events we too sauntered home in the blistering heat for a much needed siesta.

Thinking we were late at 9p.m. we returned to the feria restaurant to be the first customers and tucked into some unusual tappas washed down by summer wine. As the place filled up we ended up being there until midnight awaiting our refreshed drinks and then the bill, but it was such a perfect people watching place that it was like being in the stalls at the theatre.

We returned to the main arena to find everyone else had returned, suitably and respectably attired for the main event, which promised to be big as there was even a mixing desk!! The smoke bellowed, the lights came on (then fused – not sure if that was to build up the tension or whether the guy with the pliers hadn’t cobbled the connection properly) and then, to a crescendo of drum, guitar, keyboard and saxophone intro a blue apparition appeared on the stage and ……….yes………proceeded to wail!!!!!! Fortunately her wailing was much deeper than Friday night’s so it wasn’t quite as traumatic on the eardrums, but we could only wait until our drinks were finished before deciding to leave. As her OOOOOoooooooaaaaaahhhhhhhhOOOOOOOOoooooooaaaaaHHHHHHHs repeated and repeated, the more the audience became enthralled and would cheer and clap to the very long ones!!

As it was quarter to three we decided to see if we could sleep and if we heard the fireworks, would get up and watch them……………..Ha! ha! IF!!!!!! My god!!! It sounded like a bomb going off outside our door!!! We got up and the display was spectacular. You couldn’t hear any OOOOs or Ahhhs, only dogs going wild and echoes going round and round the mountains long after each one exploded. I have attached three of our attempts to get good photos which was very difficult with the delay after you click.

Finally ending at 3.30 we crashed out, although on a visit to the loo at 5.30 I was still able to hear the music and partying going on down there ………how do they do it? I have been consistently unable to tell the Brits and the nationals apart until this feria – the Brits were always the ones yawning!!