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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!
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.
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!
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 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!
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.
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.
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!
Yesterday afternoon, having been stunned into action by more rockets, we sauntered down to the main arena and as it seemed to be childrens’ entertainment, went on to the bar down the road next to the dodgems for a couple of cool beers as it was sweltering heat. We had eaten before we left, so did not need any food. Just as we were chilling someone told us that the main arena had loads of delicious free food where you could just go and help yourself!! Trust me to miss free food! Apparently it was a nice stew and some lovely potatoes!As none of the rides or stalls were open we decided to go home for a siesta and go to watch the procession at 8p.m.
There we were, just before 8 on a shady bit of wall, in full view of the church, camera primed and ready (when will we learn). Smartly dressed villagers were in and around the church and continued to cram in, whole families walking past us, a band dropped off in a mini bus, police, rocket men!……….meanwhile one and a half hours later, after much church singing and random rocket launches, the church doors were thrown open and out came the madonna and her entourage. Standing up to get the perfect picture of madonna and parade with church in the background, imagine our dismay when they suddenly turned left and headed off towards the bridge!!! (pictures 006 and 008) We legged it down there to tag on to the back, embarrassed at our faux pas and sauntered over the bridge with them all, the police car just behind us. Then, just as we all trooped over the bridge, they turned completely round and came back again!!! There was us, legging it back to our original spot and hopefully achieved our picture (the one ending in 010).
At random intervals, the rocket men would just hold a rocket (three had a sort of wooden handle to hold them, but one just held them in his hand) and light them (photo 011), the explosions echoing around the valleys sending horses and dogs wild!!
They trundled on with Madonna, along the road, the durgy band music, until they got to the restaurant at the Feria where they put her on a few tables, lit some sparklers then set off back with her. (photos 012,013,015) Yours truly needed to eat, so didn’t follow them back again.
The entertainment in the main area was excellent, people watching was brilliant as well as enjoying the music. Even the main artists were so good we stayed until nearly 3. The last two photos are of the mini dodgems and adult dodgems which I have tried to show how they are just plonked on plots between occupied houses.
Observing the children at these events has made me completely rethink the British child rearing philosophies. They are still playing and using all the bouncing apparatus at 2a.m., babies are either sleeping in buggies on in the arms of a grown up – whole families sharing care. We did not see one single child cry or throw a tamtrum or look unhappy – all the adults enjoyed them being around and there was even a little boy about 7 dancing the routine with the women singers very, very well!
Today is the last day, paella this afternoon and a big star from Madrid tonight!
The morning after the night before.
Our return to the evening Feria proved very entertaining with the band singing and dancing, villagers dancing in couples, food being served both BBQs and restaurant a la carte (we had eaten of course so apart from some cardboard cheesy puffs didn’t have any food) and a general hub bub of happy activity.
Still no farmers bringing their goats so maybe that was in by-gone days or someone was winding us up.
We decided to stay until the main act whcih was due to start at 1.30. However, as the crowning of the Queens was supposed to happen at 12 and didn’t start until nearly one, we guessed it would be delayed.
Sure enough at 2.15ish a rather dashing flamenco guitarist and glittery singer arrived, complete with their own pine dining chairs. They sat themselves down on stage and after a lengthy and skilled guitar intro the glittery woman started to sing! Now, I have worked on a labour ward so I thought I knew what howling sounded like, but no, that was like heavenly music compared to the agonising protracted wails this glittery woman emitted. I tried very hard to understand what it was all about and to share the enthusiasm of my Spanish neighbours but completely failed! As the notes escalated and our nerves quivered, we drifted off home and judging by the disapproving frown I received from one of her fans, it wasn’t a moment to soon. We were able to hear her all the way home!
I don’t think we will stay for the top act tonight! I think this experience has demonstrated how we are socialised into music appreciation in our own cultures rather than it being innate.
Hope the photos give a clear picture of how it is. Sadly, we never saw anyone ride the cylinder bulls, or the dodgems the poor fair people looked really depressed. Maybe tonight will be their night.
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