The Rambla

Contrary to what many of you may think it does rain in Spain – and not just on the plain! We are now into our third day of very damp, cold miserable weather. Maybe we are only about 25 kilometres from the sea, but at the moment our weather very definitely isn't Mediterranean. In fact it is more like north Wales on a bad day!

Needless to say, the dogs, cooped up in the house were going ‘stir crazy’, until in the end they ‘mugged’ me into taking them for a walk. So I got myself wrapped up, and set off from our cosy casa.


I figured that I didn’t want to loose sight of the dogs as they chased partridges and rabbits up the mist covered mountains, so I opted to go the low level circuit, around the rambla.

The Rambla de Oria

Now the rambla is actually a river bed, but normally it resembles a dry dusty track used as a convenient route by walkers and the occasional vehicle. Today a small stream of water trickled down the way. Once though, indeed last year, when there had been much more rain than today, I saw the rambla running with water over a metre deep. It was a swift flowing river! The big 4x4 had to turn back, but the tractor successfully negotiated its way up to the tarmac lane.

And once in the 1970’s, there was so much water  in the rambla, from its many tributaries, that it inundated the town of Albox causing such devastation, that it was declared a National Disaster!
Take a look at this old film shot at the time.

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-3094817875548654660

This video taken of the tragedy in Albox is a such poignant reminder of the power of nature, on this day of such terrible twin disasters, of earthquake and tsunami in Japan.

A trip to the blacksmiths - or the workman's lunch!

One the more difficult things about living high up a mountain in rural Spain is the quality of the water supply – sometimes ok, but often brown sand stained water or even just gurgling pipes!

Heather often stops the ‘Gestagua’ plumber Juan Manuel, who is a frequent visitor to the Barranco, to ask what is going on. The basic problem is that the well supply is inadequate, and so when the farmer near Los Cerricos waters his large lettuce field, there is little good water left for us.

Back in October, Juan Manuel told Heather that “after Merry Christmas”, works would start to bring a much better supply to the Barranco. We were not going to hold our breath. We have learnt that in Spain, “mañana”, doesn’t mean tomorrow, it means not today!

But now a new notice has appeared on the post box up the camino, announcing that work would indeed start soon, to create a better supply.

The situation with the water since we’ve lived here, meant that one of the first things we did, was to install a 'deposito' - an independent water supply for the Casa. Our 'deposito' is a 1500 litre tank that should keep us supplied with water for a week. However, it was sold to us at the price of a 2000 litre tank. I had an interesting time with Oprey, at the builders merchants, explaining to him in Spanish, that the volume of a cylinder is Pi x Radius squared x height, and that I had been overcharged, but we got there in the end!

I built a small casita to house the 'deposito' pump, which needed a hinged metal lid, so I went to go down to Oria to talk to the blacksmith. On the way I saw Pepe, owner of our nearest bar talking to one of his neighbours, at the development of some new 3 storey flats.

 I explained to the blacksmith what I needed, and fully expected a 'mañana' reply - but no - he picked up a sheet of metal -"is this ok?" – he measured it, cut it to size with a giant guillotine, drilled holes and fixed the hinges and hasp.

While all this was going on, some of his friends dropped in, studying the cutting gear; the anvils; the welding equipment and the work in progress - plough shares, railings and almond 'shakers', a priority job because at that time, the harvest was in full flow.

Into the workshop came the lottery seller to make a few sales, and then everyone started to look at the massive lorry, that had created a blockage on the roundabout into the town. He was on his CB radio, with a knowing smile communicating with another 'good buddy'. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, an equally massive marble lorry appeared from the opposite direction of the too narrow streets of Oria. The lorry drivers exchanged greetings and moved on in their respective directions, a queue of cars following!

Then the huge crane from the new flats development swung across two streets to near Pepe's restaurant. A red plastic bucket was suspended from the giant hook. Slowly it was lowered, and at the third attempt Pepe grasped the bucket. Then he waved the paper taken from the bucket, to the cheering men in the scaffolding - the lunch time order has been delivered!

So, how much was my casita top? Complete with hinges and hasp - 7 euros, and entertainment thrown in for free!

The Lift!

We were going the supermarket to do the big weekly shop and needed some cash, so we drove into Oria to go to the bank.

As we drew up to the bank, Heather jumped out to deal with the cash machine, and I went a little further up the road to the Ayuntamiento (town hall) to turn the car around. I carefully reversed around the lottery ticket seller who always sits on his quad bike on the corner there; and I had nearly completed my three point turn, when an elderly man waved me to a stop.  

To be frank he looked just a little rough! Sun beaten leathery skin! Work clothes that had many a day of work in them. Tough boots and a cap set at a jaunty angle. A typical old time Andalucían peasant farmer. In his very gruff accent, he mumbled something at me, and then got into the passenger seat, folded his arms and waited for me to set off!

“You can’t sit there”, I said! “It’s my wife’s seat”. 

So with a huff and a grunt, he got out and seated himself in the back of the car. So what could I do but set off to collect Heather, who I could see was just completing the withdrawal and stashing the cash in her purse.

“WHO IS HE?” She exclaimed when she saw we had gained a passenger from somewhere. She’d only been gone 2 minutes and I’d allowed the car to be hijacked!

“I don’t know”, I replied. I could see her thinking how could this happen?

“What does he want?” she puzzled.

“I think he wants a lift”!

“Where to”?

“I don’t know” – I was pretty bemused myself by now, but I had decided to go with the flow. I don’t like supermarket shopping, and if I was to be kidnapped by a Spanish bandido, well so be it!

Heather was pretty nervous about getting into the car with us, but I told her, “I’m sure it will all work out”.  So off the three of us went!

Down the main street – where were we going?  Bar Oria - No; Third Age Club -No; Coviran supermarket- No and not the butchers either: we went past Nati’s supermarket to the roundabout, and made a right turn to go by the petrol station.

Wherever we were going we hadn’t arrived yet, but apparently we were still going in the right direction!  About 200 metres further on he tapped me on the shoulder.

So I stopped and he got out, and with a “muchas gracias” he set off down a little track.

Such is the trust that people here seem to have in each other, and the respect and assistance the old folk can expect

Chips and tears!

Normally, the Barranco is just so, so tranquil!

Sometimes, you can hear a distant chainsaw lopping almonds or olives. Sometimes, for an hour or so, the mattock gives way to the rotavator. Sometimes the local dogs get excited, over something only they can see, smell or imagine!  Young Christians’ afternoon visit to his ‘abuela’ (grandma), on his small cylinder motorbike; also interrupt the silence for a short while. Normally though, the only sounds, if any, are bird song or the soft tinkle of goat bells!

This morning was different though! Heavy machinery!  A  JCB with large mechanical bucket and ‘bulldozer’, was busy in the field below our Casa, cutting away the sloping bank to create more of a terrace and a much larger field in the process. What could be going on?

During the afternoon, Caterina came past our casa with her dog Tina. I asked her what was going on in the field below. She told me that Juan and Juanna were making a new olive grove. Sure enough, Juanna was busy with her mattock in the field above making sure the acequia was clear for the water necessary, for the olives. Unlike almonds, which can survive very arid conditions, the olive trees need a good soaking, a couple of time a year.

Catti asked me if I wanted some potatoes. They were too heavy for her to carry up from her casa, but if I wanted some, I should come to fetch them. Next morning I went down to her house.  Tina was dozing on a mat outside. I called for Catti and she shouted me in. A wood fire was prepared but she wouldn’t light it till much later. A bowl of shelled almonds were next to the fire – ready for toasting –yum!

She went to fetch me a big sack of potatos. Then she went off again and came back with a litre bottle of her recently pressed olive oil – very green and not very clear – but very delicious! Then she reached up to a shelf and produced an old small foto of her daughter (looking like a young bride) outside the local chapel at her ‘First Communion’. She asked if I could use my computer to copy and enlarge it, because in May she was going to Barcelona for the ‘First Communion’ of her granddaughter, and wanted to be able to give one as a little present!

A couple of days later she called around. This time with a bag of oranges from her tree!  I had the fotos ready for her, but as usual she liked to see the other fotos, I had scanned for her on other occasions.

….and then the tears came, as they always did, when she saw the old foto of her guapo Ramon, who died eleven years ago now.

Close encounter with 'los zorros'

I went for a lone walk the other day. It's not often i get out without the dogs, but  I needed to return a tool to a neighbour and sometimes they can be a bit pesky! 

Going down the camino,  I was surprised by a silver grey fox crossing my path. Just a few steps later I heard a 'squawking' noise coming from the small field. Two more young foxes were squabbling over a mouse that one had caught. They chased around the field until the fox that was chasing, spotted me. He quickly slunk off to hide, and the other enjoyed the respite and polished off the poor mouse! Then, hunger satisfied, he jumped into the camino and to my surprise trotted down it towards me where I was standing quietly by a tree. As he drew alongside he suddenly sensed my presence; I said 'Hola', and then with a little scream of great shock, he bounded up the hill into the wood.

Domingo too!

Another Sunday!

My dogs needed their early morning walk! We set off along the lane. The sun was rising, a rosy glow to the east over the sea, and reflecting golden on the Filabres to the west. Suddenly there was gun fire! Early morning hunters!

La Caza – the ‘sport’ of many men in this part of Spain. Every Sunday, they set out dressed in their camouflage to hunt rabbit, partridge and boar. I’m not sure about their hunting methods, but they involve guns, dogs or both; and the gunfire scares Holly, so that all she can do is tremble and hide for the rest of the morning. Pet dogs and hunters with guns don’t mix!

Now, a good part of my life in Spain seems to be about expending the energy of my dogs. A least two long walks every day are essential, if they are not going to pester me all evening to play games of their choosing! That being the case we decided to go down to Mojacar, for a walk along the beach, where they could chase seagulls and cormorants, up and down the surf, for miles, without fear of meeting La Caza, and hopefully to wear themselves out!

Millie

and Holly

As we drove into Mojacar, the sea glistened all across the bay as far as Aguilas, and the advertising sign of the ‘Pharmacia’ read 19deg centigrade. The resort town wasn’t melancholy today, as it had been through January. The town had spring in its step! Many more bars were open. Families were playing. There was a meet of cycle clubs. More people were strolling along the sea front.

We set off along the most southerly beach, just out of the town. It is the most deserted and undeveloped – mainly because of the recession! Several shells of apartments are awaiting completion. I suspect they will wait for some time yet! There are some fishermen on the shore and sailing boats out to sea. We set off towards the Moorish Tower and chirringuito at the far end of the beach, the dogs alternatively chasing, digging and playing. Prospects for a peaceful evening bode well! A motorised hang glider provided great entertainment for us and the dogs, the pilot waving back as he cruised overhead.

At the chirringuito we ordered coffee and tostadas – toasted bread spread with olive oil, tomatoes and cheese.  Some hikers came and went and then mountain bikers. Then a 4x4 arrived towing a trailer. Hunters with dogs in ‘tow’! On top of the trailer another ‘beast’ was laid, a deer or boar, dead!

I went to pay, and was astonished to see that the boar was by the counter, with one leg shackled with some cord so that it couldn’t run away. It was the size of a medium sized dog and was covered in course straight brown hair. It looked pretty bemused, pretty frightened!  I asked the camarera, if the pig was going to be eaten.  Sensing my feelings, she immediately replied ‘ oh no’; it was going to be released into the campo – to enjoy it’s life in the countryside! The huntsman led the poor pig closer to our table, where Millie and Holly surveyed it with much curiosity and just a little nervousness! I repeated the question – was the pig to be eaten? ‘Oh yes’, he said, ‘Do you want it’?

I declined! Poor Pig! I couldn’t have killed and eaten it. But isn’t it a more honest way of eating meat – hunting, finding, capturing and killing your food, that has had a life in the campo, than resorting to eating one of their ‘sorry’ relatives, who after no life at all, I often see being driven, in double-decker lorries down the motorway, to be slaughtered and butchered!

Domingo

Another thing I miss about my old life in the UK is my Sunday morning saunter to buy a newspaper. Invariably, I wouldn’t just go to the shop around the corner, but would set off over Somersall Fields, taking in the football matches underway; and then along the banks of the River Hipper to Walton Dam, and over to Morrison’s to get my Observer. On the way back, I would contemplate what part of the paper I would get into first while I sipped my coffee. That largely depended, on whether City, Lancashire or England had had a successful Saturday, in which case, it would definitely be the sports section!

Living up a mountain in Spain, such an excursion just isn’t an option, but the dogs needed exercising, so I set off on the walk part anyway! I went past the fuente (natural spring) where we get our drinking water from, and then, going around the first corner, I saw that Antonio was busy on his patch of land. I’m not sure what he’d planted, potatoes perhaps, but now he was busy making sure that the land was well watered. He has a balsa (concrete water storage tank) which is fed by a fuenta, , and he had released water to run along the acequia (water channel) , and was directing it around his crop through the skilful use of a mattock. There are a dozen or so, fuentes and balsas around Barranco de Quiles, and a network of acequias, that run all around the Barranco for kilometres. For some of the balsas, there is an organised rota with time slots for releasing water to an individuals land, but this is no concern to me and to most of the other non Spanish as well. For the most part we have only been sold land that stands above the acequias, so we don’t need to know! The locals often value growing land as much as houses!

Around the next bend, I was welcomed by the spectacular sight of the snow covered mountains of the Marias, glowing in the sunlight, against an azure sky. Here the air was definitely chillier, as the breeze blew from the high sierra. The shelter of the Sierra Estancia (together with ample water) another reason, vegetables grow so well in the Barranco.

The walk took us along the Rambla de Oria – a wide and for now dry river bed, used as a track and a road, but for twenty minutes I didn’t see anyone. Just the song of birds and the pine covered mountain rising above me. Eventually, we came upon Mel, collecting the last of his olives – just 12 more trees to pick!

A little further on we came to another fuenta. Many locals think this one has the best water, and will pass other fuentas to fill containers from here. Other locals disagree, and will collect drinking water from another. Whatever, this fuenta has the additional facility of a washing shelter, complete with clothes rubbing boards. I’m sure the water must have been freezing, but Juanna and Josephina were busy washing sheets. They told me that because of the works (that eventually will bring a better mains water supply to the Barranco), the water was too brown for laundry. They were enjoying a good gossip, while alternatively rubbing some sheets and keeping others ‘floating’, so that they didn’t disturb the bottom sediment, and didn’t have to immerse their arms too deep in the cold water!

…….and so back to our casa for a well deserved coffee! No newspaper, but nowadays I wouldn’t really have time to read one. I still needed to chop some wood for the week’s fires. Nevertheless, what I’d seen on my walk more than covered a good gardening article; the travel section is taken as read; the landscapes would grace any colour magazine and just before lunch I caught the BBC Politics Show. Even better City are on live this afternoon in the FA Cup!