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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!
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!!
You are a Spanish native, you wake up one morning in February and whilst it is sunny and warm, you know it is early in the year and will become much hotter, so you don your black skirt and cardigan, tights and shoes. Off you go for a walk to the village when coming towards you is this short, dumpy, middle-aged woman wearing knee length denim shorts and a red vest top (“Georges” – but you wouldn’t know that), bouncing along the road with a big beaming smile as if she’s just won the lottery. As she approaches you she broadens her smile even further and says “hello, I am on heat” and then does that gesture only a hot or post coital woman can do!!! Worse still, she then does the same to your recently heart transplanted husband sitting on the wall!
Well, as you’ve probably guessed, that is my latest faux pas!!! I only found out in my last Spanish class that I haven’t been saying “I am hot” but “I am on heat”….ooops! It is to the credit of the Espanols that they didn’t fall about laughing to my face, but nodded in bemusement!This can be added to my previous miscommunications of telling the architect that I intend to live here in two arseholes (easy to mix up Spanish words for years and anus), that I loved him (rather than the house) and to the kitchen fitter “I am a bit” rather than I am small! One thing is for sure, my lack of ability to learn and remember the language has not had a dampening affect on my enthusiasm to try to communicate!! Better get back to my books/cds/computer/class!!
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