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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.
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!
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!
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!!
After a lovely morning cup of tea in bed, we got ourselves together to set off on our walk to the local weekly farmers market which is at a bar in Puente don Manuel down a little laney type of dirt track with reeds, orange and lemon trees, lethal looking electric cables on leaning poles and a seventies style dumped armchair. I always liked this walk until a hiking guide told us about the wild boars. Now the rustling in the reeds I believed to be birds, worries me to death in case a wild boar dashes out and gores us. I think Thorn Birds can also take some responsibility for this fear!
Anyway, we arrived to find the thronging converted car park, full of people and tables displaying wares of all kinds. Just to the entrance of the car park was a formidable four by four with “Guardia Civil” emblazoned on the side and an impressive set of coloured lights across the top, complete with a serious uniformed Spanish policeman, scribbling something down whilst sat at the steering wheel.
Now the first stall inside was laden with all types of fruit and veg, clearly having been recently harvested judging by their fresh appearance and the clods of earth clinging to some of the roots, manned by your archetypical Spanish senora complete with balancing scales and weights from my childhood era.
Sadly, this was the only stall which could possibly be construed as “farmers”! Venturing beyond was like venturing onto Peckham market! Cockneys (or at least southerners, I’ve never been able to distinguish between them!). were all up in arms having been visited by the Guardia. Upon closer eavesdropping, which wasn’t difficult – imagine walking past Del boy, hot and bothered, protesting innocence and complete indignation about the council coming round whilst he was trying to flog his stuff – it seems that the policeman was checking up on permits and passports!
As for the goods, well it could have been beamed across, Star Trek style, right out of Rodney’s suitcase and the yellow van. Costume jewelry Bet Lynch would have cringed at, some bric a brac, kitchen utensils etc., hoover bits and pieces, DVDs claiming not to be copies and looking less like originals that your average photocopied fiver! To be fair there were several arts and craft type stalls,as well as some bargain clothes etc. and under cover were the food stalls which did look tempting, home made pies, pasties, sausages and sauces but they were very pricey and not in keeping with my new philosophy of doing my own home cooking.
In the end, I proudly purchased tomatoes, aubergine, lettuce (2 for one euro), potatoes, mushrooms and onions, in Spanish and was understood!!!!
Now I feel ready to try the real market down in Torre del Mar or Velez Malaga, only there the vendors all compete by shouting about their bargains in very rapid Spanish, reminiscent of Cross Lane market when I was little, and just as scary! However, “when in Rome” as they say, that’s a challenge for next week! We can save Peckham market as our fall back!
We (Alex and I, my two sons and sister Jenny) arrived to a rainy, muddy, roadless house with no power, so it was quite disappointing especially as we were hoping for an improvement on the previous Christmas when had arrived to find the water mains severed and had no water. However, we soon got a roaring real fire, some candles and even brewed up on the emergency gas cooker and had a really lovely evening. The wine started flowing and just all being together was wonderful.
The next morning Alex sorted out the power cut by visiting the local pylon and finding a mains switch! DIY in Spain is in a completely different league to England, not your usual tiling and shelf erection but mains water, sewer repairs and mains electricity!
Christmas eve was glorious sunshine and we were able to have our breakfasts outside on the back patio and we all just jollificated our way through Christmas having food, drink and being merry in the plenty. The boys and Jenny even had a swim in the pool, but this was more of a dare than a pleasure and happily they survived without suffering hypothermia. The video is like a comedy sketch. Alex got a remote control submarine for one of his presents so he has been playing with it and his yatch on the pool (ooops sorry, not allowed to say “playing” –using his submarine and yatch!), I have just enjoyed looking at it!
Saying goodbye to the boys was quite emotional as I felt like the mother who abandoned her children, but they were both so lovely and reassured me that they were actually very happy for me!
The remaining three of us went to Malaga city to see the Christmas lights which were really beautiful, even trees had been wrapped in light netting and the atmosphere was very jolly.We were amused and entertained to see an electrician repairing some lights on the huge artificial tree in the square, observed by many onlookers until he completely disappeared inside the bottom of the green conical foliage – worryingly followed by some curious children! Once he switched them on again, everyone was agog with admiration and oo’s and aa’s until smoke started billowing out from between the branches and a policeman dived into the bar we were sitting outside and grabbed a fire extinguisher, also disappearing into the foliage of the tree. Fortunately he re-emerged in tact, smoke died down but the tree remained in darkness!
New year’s eve was great as we spent the day on the beach, had a lovely Chinese meal on the sea front then came home and partied. Spanish New Year tradition is to eat a whole grape for each of the twelve bongs at midnight. Jenny managed to eat hers soaked in cava (the grapes, not Jenny), I nearly managed it but Alex had loads left. After much singing, drinking, phoning and watching all the fireworks across the valley we tuned in to English t.v. and celebrated all over again. We extended our celebrations to 4a.m and spent our first of January, much the worse for wear.
Well, it doesn’t seem like we’ve actually moved here for good yet, we have just been partying all the time. I expect it will start to sink in once Jenny has left and we have checked our bank balances! Before then we have the Spanish Reyes celebrations which is when the three Kings come in the night and leave presents so we will obviously have to participate!
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