Spain - Week 4
Hi to you all once again and we hope this finds everyone happy, healthy and enjoying life.
As is the norm here, our little sojourn in Spain has been full on in one way or another. This house-sit is more demanding than the others, with the time taken in ensuring that Blanca the horse is cared for in the manner that the “Grand Señora" is accustomed too. I take her our for a run 3-4 days per week for somewhere between 2-5 hours, into some absolutely stunning scenery, so I'm certainly not complaining about it. As she is going to take part in an endurance run of 25 kms in February, the owner wants her to stay in condition, so lots of steep hills are the order of the day. There is always a new horsey adventure to share with Phil and there is no shortage of places to go. Then there is her feeds, cleaning the stable, yards etc. It all takes time, but that’s part of the deal we signed up for and there were no surprises as I have had a lot of experience with our own neddies once upon a time.
The big ride this week was up to a fire lookout some 1,500 metres ASL, perched up on a mountain called Cerrajon. Big day out that one. The horse, dog and I all came back looking like something the cat dragged in. We were knackered. But how was the view from up there! Same stuff, but from a higher and different vantage, offering uninterrupted views across the awesome Alpujarras, down to the Mediterranean and across to the higher peaks in the Sierra Nevada’s. From the back of a big horse it is a pretty special and amazing experience.
Had a brief chat to the Forestry Ranger on duty at the fire tower, but with his limited English and my even more limited Spanish, it was a short lived conversation. "Hola amiga. Habla Inglesi (hullo mate do you speak English)” "Nada Inglesi” with lots of head shaking followed by lots more I could not remotely keep up with at his machine gun delivery. But I did love his “office” and told him of his "beuno grand vista” with a wide exaggerated sweep of my arm. He responded with “si señor - mi hermosa grand vista” with a great toothy grin. He did love his job and so he should. What a view to behold when you come to work.
On another ride I caught up with One Tooth Juan. We were told about Juan who is an old fellah who still has a mule who he used to plough the fields with. I bump into it occasionally out on the campo (country side). He used to have two, but one popped it’s clogs and he was rather distraught about it, so one of the neighbours gave him a pic she took when it was alive and still ploughing to which he burst out in tears at the memory of it.
Anyhow, while out riding the big girl I met One Tooth and said "Hola Amiga” with a cheery wave and One Tooth Juan gave me a big smile and waved back. I saw what gives him his name One Tooth Juan. That’s all he had. His face lit up when he saw Blanca and I think I realised that this old man ( well into his 80's) who relied on his mules for his family to survive had a very close connection with his beloved beasts of burden and the land that he worked. Pretty special I reckon. Something most of us in this day and age have lost connection with.
Just up the road is a large Bodega (winery) that has incorporated a museum, restaurant, shop etc. This place holds a number of events throughout the year and we were fortunate to be here at the time the annual demonstration of the traditional method of wheat threshing took place. This was a wonderful opportunity to watch the locals keep alive some of their old traditions. Until about 50 years ago, this area was a wheat growing area and annually the farmers would gather at the closest threshing circle (a circle made of flag stone, which was usually situated on the main farm of the area). Pairs of mules are hitched to a board which resembles a wake board upon which the muleteer stands and drives the mules round and round the stone threshing floor upon which the sheaves of wheat are placed. It certainly looked a lot of fun as they “surfed” their way around the floor. The boards have various trappings underneath to do different jobs such as rolling the wheat husks off the stalks or chopping the wheat stalks to chaff. See the the attached pics. All the gear was also on display in the museum for a closer look.
The elderly locals amongst the gathered throng were great to watch as the mules dragged their handlers on the threshing boards over the wheat. You could see the old fellahs discussing days gone by with lots of smiles, back slapping, having a go at tossing the sheaves back into the centre of the round threshing floor with the old wooden forks, sharing stories and mucho vino / sangria that was being given - yes given to all and sundry. Hold your glass out, get a refill and enjoy - thank you very much indeed. It is so wonderful that these traditions and the equipment are kept alive in these demonstrations and that there are people about who can still remember it. What a great thing for us to be part of.
One day we headed over the narrow winding road with the usual maniac Spanish drivers, incredibly steep drop offs and stunning scenery, to the small mountain village of Travelez which is famous for it’s jamón curado (cured hams). Now this place has too be seen to be believed. These guys take to supporting the local delicacies to new levels. Every shop has legs of ham, with trotter still firmly attached hanging up everywhere. Not one or two, but anywhere from 12 - 20. The main outlets have dozens, but the tavernas, bars, restaurants, general stores, souvenir shops etc etc all have an assortment cured pigs legs hanging above from the ceilings. We didn’t go into the farmacia (chemist), but we wouldn’t be surprised if they had a few as well. Had lunch at a taverna, away from the main tourist strip which was frequented by local tradies and guys who worked at the ham factory, so we figured if the locals hang out here it must be good. And so it was. What was on the menu - cured ham of course. Very nice. Pretty obvious why the locals hang out here.
Phil left the mountains one day and had a girlie day with 2 car loads of Brit expat ladies who all headed for a “coastal spa” which offered Turkish steam, sauna, spa and massage. So they all got steam cleaned, sauna’d, spa’d, massaged, drank bubbles, had lunch and then hit the shops as girls seem to have a tendency to do when they hang around in packs. All in all it seemed they had a wonderful day of it as they were gone for about 10 hours and much to my amazement and certainly to Phil’s credit, the travel credit card was reasonably intact. Well done yooooo! Wonders never cease. But there is still time for Phil - especially with Istanbul's Grand Bizarre coming up in a few weeks time. I shudder to think. She is already working out how much extra baggage will cost for our return to Oz.
It was market day again in the little village of Orgiva on Thursday , so we went along to stock up on some goodies. This trip we had more time and decided to go along with the Spanish way of doing things, so were able to take it in and absorbed it all a bit more than our last visit. The thing we noticed is that the town square had more Brits per square metre than Trafalger Square in London - or so it seemed. The next thing was that it had more alternative lifestylers / hippies than Nimbin - the hippy centre of Australia. Combine the two and you get a heap of English speaking hippies, ranging from 5 weeks - 75 years old looking pretty happy with life in the mountains of Andalucia.
We sat down at an alternative Moroccan restaurant / tea house for lunch, watching the buzz of the market, the hippies who had come down out of their mountain retreats and listened to them as they caught up on the goss, new children and old dogs. It was great watching this melting pot of people from all over - Spanish, African, Brits, Euros from Germany, France, Scandinavia, a Scot and an Australian. We could certainly see the attraction of it all as we sipped our chai latte, fresh juice with aloe and ate exotic falafel, hummus, seaweed and mushroom risotto, courtesy of the Moroccon chef. Very nice way to spend a day indeed.
Hair was the theme of the day. On legs, under arms, on chests, backs, faces and dreadies to the waist. We did stand out a bit with our shaven bits, a bald head and regular threads though. But hey man - peace bro. We were in there and we were into it, but not out of it. Oh well!!
Early one morning I got up long before the dawn and wandered by torch light up the hill behind “our” cortijo (small house) with the dogs to watch the day unfold on the campo. As the darkness, with it's waning moon gave way to the picaninnie dawn, then the sun rising, casting a warm glow over the mountains I was absorbed into something very, very special and it was absolutely stunning. The sights, sounds and smells of a new day dawning in this place was a treat to the senses. Man that was so good! What an incredible senses overload THAT was.
To finish off the week, Rochelio, our Spanish neighbour from across the road wandered over with his beautiful wee daughter Estella and son Rochy, 5 litres of his own rosado vino (rose wine) under his arm and a basket of ripened figs. “For you eet is present”. He grows the grapes in his family’s vine yard and gets it made up for his family’s private stash and grows the figs for sale. We felt so humbled by this gesture. There was far more to it than the simple gesture. THAT is what travel is about. People, time, place and emotion.
For dinner tonight, Phil made a Spanish omelette (Tortilla) with potato and choritzo. Add some flamenco vegetables from “our” garden and a view to die for.
So it's with a chilled glass of Rochelio’s vino, we say to you all:
“Saludos señoras y señores”.
Philomena & Volker
PS - Hey - Rochelio's vino is not half bad at all! Phil ‘em up again fill - oops - that should be fill ‘em up again Phil!
