Man in Álora Christmas Special.

l

Once again Man in Álora is not in Álora. Mrs. Sanchez, Tommy and I have returned to England again for the Winter Season which inevitably includes Christmas and all that festive fun. The generous winter fuel allowance allows us to turn up the heating and light a blazing festive smokeless fuel fire on which we toast muffins and crumpets and drink mulled wine while wrapping presents, trying to mend the Christmas tree lights and missing Álora.

This year has not gone as planned so far. We had only been back in Brum for a week when we received an e mail telling us that Terry Durham had died. 
If you live or spend a lot of time in Álora you will have come across Terry either in person or you will know him 'by his works'.
He was an artist. He painted pictures. In all the time I knew him he wanted to do little else. He believed totally in his art. His style is immediately recognizable. 

His images are mystical and often disturbing. They appear to draw on the dreams and stories of unspecified ancient civilizations. They occupy no specific place or time. Fish, birds, geckos and impossible plants and flowers fill his boards and canvasses along with 'dream children'..

                                          Terry outside Bar Pinto wearing 'the hat'.


Terry was always happy to chat. For an artist he was unusually approachable. He loved to talk about his own work, of course, but he loved films, music, books (particularly crime novels) and was a fan of the 'Talk Radio Europe' Málaga football commentaries. His knowledge of Art was encyclopaedic. Among his favourites were Miró, Klee and Shiele.

Terry was fascinated with ' a line'. He used to say that he loved to just put a pencil on paper and take the line anywhere it wanted to go. He often started paintings with little idea of where they were going.

                        The Sanchez winter residence with one of Terry's paintings

I was privileged to know Terry and I will miss him very much. At his funeral in Álora his son-in-law, Sam spoke about Terry's stories from a life lived in London, Scilly, Portugal, Brazil and Yorkshire. There were many I hadn't heard and I was able to tell his family a couple he had told me which  they didn't know. 

                                           Terry's 1969 LP.  'Crystal Telephone'

Terry was always 'broke'. He lived by selling his work and giving art lessons. He didn't look after his health. Sounds like the story of a typical 'struggling artist doesn't it. Terry was the real McCoy, as an artist, a friend and a thoroughly good bloke. I hope the exhibition he had planned for March 2014 will still go ahead.

 
                                                    Terry Durham (1936 -2013)




 A happy Christmas to all my readers.

December 17th. 2013

False friends in Álora? Surely not.

False friends in Álora? Surely not.

In the Rough Guide to Andalucía Álora used to be described as 'A small dusty market town with a traffic problem'. That was even before they shut the two main roads through the town this week. Bewildered drivers have wasted hundreds of gallons of petrol and diesel trying to find a route through the still dusty streets. Many visitors  who came up from the coast for a nice  day out  missed their flights back to Gatwick and some can still be spotted trying to reverse up steep one way streets the wrong way. Traffic laws have virtually collapsed and it's every man and woman for himself and herself. Except, of course, for the Law of the Chaleco (Hi-vis jackets and the wearing of). They are a colourful distraction for navigators looking for new routes round and through the town.

I spotted this young chap while trying to get home from Mercadona with my shopping. The two people in the background are on a footpath and don't need a chaleco (waistcoast) but that footpath runs out a few yards up the road so they may be in for a 200€ shock if the Benamerita (Guardia Civil) are lying in wait further up. This new regulation is clearly a desperate attempt to raise cash. More than 50% of young people here are unemployed, don't have cars, walk about a lot and have no money at all. Walkers are easier targets than motorists but they had better watch out too. A few weeks ago in Mijas, Mr. Jonathon Adshead, 45, a car dealer from Lancashire was pulled up by the fuzz (ouch!) apparently for  not signalling that he was going straight ahead at a roundabout, a new law which not many people know about but could turn out to be a money spinner. He was invited to pay 100€ on the spot or 'spend at least a night' in the cells. Mr. Adshead refused to pay and was invited to visit the cop shop. There he was told that he was also going to be prosecuted for using his mobile phone and knocking over a cyclist which is a very serious offence here (unlike in London where killing cyclists appears to be a popular sport). Mr. Adshead got  a bit cross when he was breathalysed too. Eventually he got away with only paying the 100€ .  He says that he is going to move permanently back to Lancashire and who can blame him? (If he can sell his house, that is).

I said goodbye to  the safety conscious lad in the picture and he promptly replaced his headphones, a device which many people find useful for blocking out the sound of approaching traffic as you push your child up what may well have become the temporary Álora by-pass. (That's why I was going up there after all). 
A few yards up this usually quiet back road I was surprised to see a piece of graffiti on a bus shelter.

What can this mean? At first I was surprised to see graffiti in English especially  with the word 'friends' spelt correctly. Then I noticed that it had been signed with my own initials!! 
Non political graffiti is usually the  prerogative  of  'young people' so I can  not be a serious suspect and although there is a fair clutch  of  British youth living in Álora I was surprised that 'fake friends' rate as a top teenage whinge. I decided to investigate further at the regular 'intercambio de idiomas' (language exchange) group held in the biblioteca (library) every Friday evening. Célia, 16, and Cristina, 15, confirmed that fake friends were indeed a concern but they were mystified by the graffiti. They suggested that someone Spanish may have written it and used English to throw the authorities off the scent. I  thought that was unlikely.
Further enquiries among the teenage Brit. 'community' put me straight. Rosie, 15, assured me that the improper imperative on the bus shelter refers to that perennial problem for language learners, the cognate or 'false friend'; a word which looks  like an English word but has a different meaning . For example 'pan' is the Spanish word for 'bread' and not for  an  item of cookware which would be una cacerola (another 'false friend'). I wonder if we can  expect to see other heartfelt grammatical grumbles around the white walls of this white walled town. How about;

ALL APOSTROPHES ARE ARSEHOLES  or

'POSSESSIVE PRONOUNS PISS ME OFF' or

SOD THE SUBJUNCTIVE....?

Here are a few more false friends for aficionados:

nudo                    a knot
ordinario             vulgar/coarse
pie                       foot
nombre                name
red                        net
trampa                  trap
embarazada           pregnant

carpeta                   folder
constipado             full of a cold

exito                      success
preservativos         condoms

ropa                       clothes
sensible                 sensitive
once                       eleven
delito                      crime
horno                    oven

You can see how someone could get  very upset about false friends.

November 22nd. 2013

Alora introduces compulsory high visibility jackets.

Álora introduces Compulsory High Visibility Jackets


El Día de  los Muertos (31st. October. The day of all the dead people) seemed to go off well. 

El Día de Los Muertos is also Hallowe'en which we (the Spanish included) all love and blame on the yanks. Hallowe'en (I love those apostrophe's)  gets more attention every year and we have taken to buying a bag of sweets to give to the 'trick or treat' (susto o trato) beggars. This year Mrs. Sanchez and I took it in turns to answer the door until we realised that we had both 'treated' the same 16 year old kid twice each. (hood up/ hood down/ t-shirt over head/t-shirt normal plus evil grin). All for a few boiled sweets. I ask you.

The florists made a killing as usual as November 1st. is  'el Día de Todos los Santos' (All Saints' Day )     (pause for PJC to check the apostrophe). This is the day in the year when everyone has to go and visit the remains of their dead relatives. Flowers are the most popular offering but a few football scarves and  the odd plate of callos were reported. Now that virtually  all the niches have been removed from the castillo (castle) which served as the public cemetery for centuries (and briefly as a mass grave for murdered republicans) and the restos (remains) have been  relocated to the newish cemetery across the valley, nobody walked up Calle Ancha on Friday to pay their respects. The gates were shut anyway. 
The new cemetery is about a mile outside the town so the taxis had a fair day too.

                                                                 Niches 


 You'd think they would have put on a bus service for the day but there you are.  There are nine official taxis and they have a taxi stand on Calle Veracruz. I don't know how the drivers manage to make a living. There are  always four or more parked up outside El Boutique del Carne'. (The Meat Shop) They don't work at night if they can help it. We  booked one to take us to Los Caballos for a meal. The driver was really put out when we asked him to pick us up at 11.00pm. He drove us down there and sat waiting for us at the bar, scowling  as we had our dinner. We were out by ten. You can get them on :952 49 6424.

Do you remember this?;

Yes. It's the old road bridge linking Álora to the Barriada del Puente which was smashed in two by the floods last year. 

                                                Now you see it. Now you don't.

                                                       Now you see it again  
  
(well.....a bit of it anyway). It`s turned up 100 metres away on a traffic island. If that was Birmingham it would be gone by morning.

Still no sign of a new bridge or even a footbridge so the good folk of the Barriada have to walk all the way to Álora, with its delightful shops and bars, along the road and that's even before they have to slog up the big hill. The Ayuntamiento (town hall) has built a safety barrier along the side of the footpath to avoid accidents. Good job there's a footpath or they would be facing a 200€ fine if they should forget to wear a high visibility jacket.
We now have a law which allows the Guardia Civil (those nice chaps that fined me 200€ in June) to demand money from  anyone seen walking without a high viz. along a road that hasn't a footpath. I thought this was another Brit story at first so I asked at the Comisaria (police station). It's TRUE! You couldn't make it up. Nanny state gone mad etc.

In Lleida in Catalonia they made all the prostitutes wear high viz. jackets in case the drivers crawling slowly by didn't see them. They managed to get some quite attractive ones which sold very well. 40€ was the multa (fine) for not wearing one. I don't know if the cost of the jackets was passed on to the customers


On a lighter note, Bonfire Night was a flop. Not a lot of enthusiasm here for burning Catholic terrorists in effigy. Heretics and you might be on to something. And they do like fireworks and bonfires here.

8th. November 2013

The Álora Tripe Riots and a Massive Drugs Haul. Full Story.

The Álora Tripe Riots and a Massive Drugs Haul. Full Story.


What a week! I thought all the excitement was over until next Easter but how wrong could I have been.

The fun began on Tuesday when the Álora Guardia Civil raided a finca  just outside Álora and found 2082 marijuana plants in peak condition. Three Brits and a Spaniard are helping with enquiries.

Here's a picture of the 'plantation'. The pool looks a bit murky doesn't it?. Observant  readers should be able to identify the location from the chimney in the top left hand corner. If this is your villa and you are renting it out to a respectable family from Weston Super Mare I should get back sharpish before it is embargoed and sold off. 
This proximity of this local dope factory may go some way to explain why, in times of 'la crisis' when money is scarce, the heady aroma of what I believe is called 'skunk weed' lies heavily in the air, especially when the wind is in the north west.

Speaking of ´la crisis', the word on those streets frequented by the 'Brit Community' this week was that Friday 18th. October was going to be 'Crisis Day'. According to an unnamed source in the Cudeca charity shop there was a riot planned for Friday in the centre of Álora and the advice was; ´Keep off the streets!'. (regular readers of this blog may remember the 'Chinese Whispers' story of 19th. October 2012; exactly a year ago to the day). Also, according to a usually reliable (when sober) scource the local bars were going to be giving away tripe to the rioters. You couldn't make it up could you? 
Let's unravel this by applying the rule; 'If you heard about it in Cudeca there may be an element of fact in there .........somewhere'.
Here's a photo of ´the riot'. It contains a clue to the obvious misunderstanding.

 

'Lucha' means 'struggle' but can also mean 'fight'.

A new hospital has been built near Cártama to meet the needs of the people of the Guadalhorce comarca (region). It has stood empty for at least two years and we are all getting a bit fed up because there's no money for staff, power and equipment. (sound familiar?). Our alcalde (mayor) José (Epi) Sánchez (no relation) is leading a plataforma (campaign) to demand the opening of the the new hospital and  a meeting of supporters was held in La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba (top square) on Friday evening followed by an orderly march around the town. No foreigners were to be seen on the streets, including Mrs. Sánchez and me. We got the time wrong and turned up an hour late by which time it was all over bar the shouting . Here's some more pictures of the riots.

Along with posters advertising the meeting on Friday were some others announcing 'El Día de los Callos'.

.
Sometimes the posters were stuck up  close together, as clearly illustrated in this view of Manolo's Cafe Bar Madrugón. Perhaps one of the small minority of British residents with Spanish skills and who read posters  thought the two events were connected. I feel sure that this explains the misunderstanding particularly as Callos is usually translated as 'tripe' (especially on menus with an 'English version'). Most Brits hate tripe  and the prospect of all the bars in the top square dishing it out willy-nilly was probably enough to keep 'em all indoors anyway, riots or no riots.

More than a cursory glance at the two posters, however, would have revealed that the two events were to take place on different days. Perhaps I am asking too much.

As we know, Callos is not just tripe. It does contain some tripe but mucho mucho más. It is one of my favourite dishes. 
You get all this yummy stuff in one bowl:

garbanzos (chick peas)
cebollas     (onions)
ajo              (garlic)
manitas       (pigs feet) (NB. no attempt at apostrophe)
oreja           (pig's ear)
tomate         (tomato)
callos           (pig's stomach)
rabo             (pig's tail)
añejo           (don't ask)

morcilla        (black pudding)
chorizo         (chorizo)
water
lots of herbs and spices


See, not just tripe

and free to boot..
 Manolo in El Cafe Bar Madrugón likes a joke so he told me that he would charge me for being a 'guiri' (foreigner). Ho ho ho. Here he is with his son, Javier, also a bit of a joker, with our alcalde.

 You may note that Snr. Sánchez (call me Épi) is holding an empty olla (pot). Mrs. Sánchez and I had to eat the dregs which were very tasty. Astute Sánchez (me) blogfollowers (and I use the plural with more than a little hubris) will remember that Manolo was banned from serving hot food a couple of years ago. Guiri eh?
I hope I have cleared up any misunderstandings.

The really big event of the week was also on Friday despite the dire warnings of civil disobedience.
It was the opening of the Second Annual Exibition of 'The Independent Artists of Álora' in the Casa de Cultura at 9.00pm ; enough time for el Alcalde to stop the riots, go home, have a shower, put on his best togs and open the exhibition. It was a big success. 

              Where's Wally? Can you find Mrs. Sánchez?


A quintet from the Orquéstra Sinfónica de Málaga played. Food and wine were artistically scoffed and quaffed and several paintings were sold there and then; two of them by Kent Harrison. (we've got four of his on our walls). Terry Durham sold one of his excellent three. Terry has a one man exhibition here next March.

We ended up at Lodantonio's and had a late tapa of pulpo frito (fried octopus). Antonio has sharpened all our kitchen knives and they are, well, sharp.

My shoulder is a lot better, thanks.

                                    Terry Durham



20th October 2013

Super Soup Day in Álora

Super Soup Day in Álora

                           Lots of things dipped in chocolate.

On Saturday it was Álora's turn in the round of local village  money spinners. We have 'Sopas Perotas Day', one of the only celebrations here that does not require a virgin. 
Álora's signature dish is our best shot to attract lots of visitors to spend money in the bars and buy all sorts of stuff from the stalls which are set up in the Plaza Baja and right up to our front door.

                                         Sopas Perotas

The highlight of the day was a free plate of this meat free delight if you were prepared to queue up in the hot sun or have a drink in one of the 36 bars which featured it as a free tapa if you bought a drink. Normally you would not find 'sopas' available in bars so by Sopas Perotas Day most Perotes (people from Alora) are gagging for a taste.
'Bring your own spoon' said the posters and two people did. I saw them. Entertainment included some very good flamenco dancing by girls from the Mónica Morales Dancing School, a recital by the town orchestra, a few songs from our local songbird Yoli Fernandez and a Verdiales group. (see 'Man in Alora' 11/5/2013).

 

The Groupo de Baile de Mónica Morales

Mrs. Sanchez and I set off for a jolly afternoon of eating  and drinking but not before paying 20€ for a nice log basket that was outside our bedroom window. The nice man declined my offer of a discount in lieu of rent for the space.

Our first stop was at Bar Mocho which is run by Manolo and his wife. He only makes any money on Sopas Perotas Day and Easter Friday (if it's not raining) as most of the year the Plaza Baja is avoided by the good burghers of Perote town except for weddings, baptisms, first communions, masses and if they want to buy drugs. Manolo was but a blur as he served up beer and tapas from the zinc topped bar outside his premises. I hope he did well as Mrs. Manolo

 

has just had another baby (and so was excused bar duties for the day.)

Regular readers of this blog may remember the 'Spanish Inquisition Day' at Casarabonela a couple of weeks ago where I bought a piece of sheeps' cheese. I was hoping to find the same purveyor to buy some more. No luck. Loads of cheese but nothing as dramatically pungent as the last lot. Other stalls offered pork products of every description, churros, olive oil, honey, chairs, painted roof tiles, potato crisps made as you watched, sweet wine, log baskets. My favourite was the one that sold all kinds of things dipped in chocolate. I think the stallholders had been eating rather too much of their product to make any money on the day.

We made our way up Calle Atrás to the 'Fuente Arriba' where all  my favourite bars are. Passing by the door of Bar Madrugón I called out 'Hay Sopas?' (Have you got any Sopas?) to Manolo (a different one) and Javier. I don't know what they shouted back but those within earshot found it very amusing and I took it as a 'No'.

We went into Bar Alegría instead and had calamares and Cruzcampo beer. Paco Gordo, the proprietor, saluted as he passed us on his way out to do a 'ronda' of his competitors.

The hot afternoon wore on as we slogged from bar to bar to cultural centre to casa de hermandad in search of the perfect sopa.

Come to think of it we only had the one plateful at Mocho's.

 I'm not very fond of it anyway and not only because it has no pork in it. It's called 'sopa' but it's not like a soup at all. It is usually made in a big earthenware bowl called a lebrillo which means 'bowl'. and traditionally everybody tucks into the sopa with their spoon, taking care to keep to their own little sector. Here's what's in it:

Pan cateto  Stale dense bread

Papas           potatoes

espárragos    asparagus

tomates          tomatoes

cebollas         onions

pimiento rojo red pepper

 aceite             olive oil

agua               water

Mmmm.

 

 Here's the alcalde (mayor) José (Epi) Sanchez (no relation) and his retinue tucking into  the free sopas. I don't know what he's found in his sopa, but the bloke on the far left is  the leader of the .opposition party.

October10th. 2013

 

I was lying face down in two inches of muddy water....

 I was lying face down in two inches of muddy water....

I was lying face down in two inches of water wondering if I could could get up; if I'd broken anything; if anyone had seen me fall in. Yes, yes and no. I couldn't move my left arm but was able to crawl up and out of the fountain. Water continued to gush from the two iron pipes and there was no-one in sight. I carried on with the job of filling my  twelve 5 litre plastic containers with 'spring water' single handedly.

                                                             La Fuente de Canca

My mistake had been to stand on the very slipperly stone slab. Water gushes out of these pipes onto the slab day and night. I don't know where it comes from but it's free and doesn't have the taste of fomaldehyde that the tap water often carries. Sometimes a 'no potable'  (undrinkable) sign is put on the wall so we knock it on the head for a few weeks. In the few seconds that passed as I lay in the shallow, litter strewn muddy water I questioned the wisdom of this routine. Where does the tap water at home come from anyway? Is it safe to drink that stuff? It's clearly much  safer than diving onto concrete. Sometimes the drainage hole gets blocked and there's a few feet of water in there along with the abandoned plastic containers and giant, noisy frogs. I could have drowned.
I loaded the water into my car, wishing I'd bought an automatic. My left arm wouldn't work so I drove back in 1st. gear, parked on the street (no mean feat, I can tell you), went in and reviewed the situation.

As you approach Álora by plane you usually fly over 'the lakes'.

These are the Guadalteba Embalses (reservoirs). They are about 20km. from Álora and hold enough water to supply most of the Costa Del Sol hotels,(986) apartments, restaurants, bars, houses and golf courses.(60). People here call them the pantanos, (easily confused with platanos (bananas)). You can swim , fish, paddle a pedalo and  canoe in the lakes, but  you can't drink the water if you live down the road in Álora. I found out this interesting fact as I wandered from bar to bar seeking sympathy and information yesterday. Nobody seems to know where their drinking water comes from. The most popular guess was 'From the deposito  (tank) by the football ground.' 'And how does it get to the deposito?' Blank looks. The ayuntamiento  (town hall) , even the abastamiento de aguas department (their guess was 'El Chorro') sent me to the oficina de urbanismo where I was given a 'Why do you want to know?' look before the chap said  una captación' (something for collecting water) and would not be drawn further. The barman in Los Caballos Dos (recently reopened under new management and serving good calamares tapas) said he was from Pizarra so he didn't know. He didn't know where the water came from in Pizarra either. Several people suggested it came from the river (also known as the sewer) and wells were mentioned more than once. Boring or what?

Eventually I ran into Pepe Rojas in Bar Azahar (Candelaria's). What Pepe doesn't know about Álora....

                                                                       Pepe Rojas



Where does the water come from? La mesa. Where's that? El Chorro. Where abouts? By the Hermita de Villaverde and La Iglesia de la Virgen de la Medalla Miraglosa.  (The Church of the Virgin of the Miraculous Medal) An authoritative answer at last.

                                                                            La Mesa

I don't believe that either.

What did Pepe think about the two main 'water fountains' ;La Fuente de La Higuera and my recent nemesis La Fuente de Canca?
 'Too much fertiliser and urine in the water. Go the La Fuente de Pedro Sánchez (no relation) up on Monte Hacho.'
'Where do you get your water?'  ' Bottled'. I should have seen that coming.

No sign of rain yet. Feel free to ask if my injured arm is getting better.


2nd. October 2013

Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition

Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition

Yesterday we went to Casarabonela, a small picturesque town in the Sierra de las Nieves about 20 km. from Álora.

                                                                     Casarabonela

 This weekend they are having a Recreación Histórica 2013 Inquisición en Casarabonela 1560. (A 2013 historic recreation of the Inquisition in Casarabonela). 300 locals are dressing up in period costumes and the town square has been converted into an espacio escénico to commemorate the arrival of the notorious and dreaded Spanish Inquisition in the town in 1560 on the hunt for heretics, blasphemers, bigamists, horse smugglers, freemasons , moriscos, crypto- jews, witches,sodomites solicitors and foreigners. If the espacio escénico is authentic, they would have been pleased to find in the town square; a bread shop, a cheese shop, six bars, an olive oil shop, a tea shop, a small prison and a tourist information office.

On our arrival a young lad on crutches (not a costume as it turned out) led us to a shed where I was interrogated by a shifty fellow in a big hat who asked my name (I told him 'Pedro' - a lie) and then I  was invited to stand in a cell. Apparently I was being accused of one of the above indiscretions but none was specified. This was fun and a good start to the afternoon until it became clear that the lad was demanding money and wouldn't let me out until I gave him 1 maravedí  which  turns out to be about 1€ in new money. I told him to keep the change and was given my certificate of release by el inquisidor.

                                                            the view from my cell

                                                                  my release papers


Mrs. Sanchez reckons I got off lightly considering the charges.

Everyone was having a jolly old time drinking local beer and eating local tapas but mostly taking photos with their phones, tablets and cameras. Most of the locals were either dressed as moriscos or  16th. century Christians except for a rather glamorous young woman who had clearly mistranslated the poster and looked liked Edith Crawley off Downton Abbey. She was with a nice young chap in bloomers and high heels (circa 1475. The White Queen?) who wouldn't have lasted 5 minutes if Torquemada had spotted him clacking across the cobbles. The same applies to a German Jehovah's  Witness Estate Agent I spotted. (Got him on three counts at least).
I approached three pretty morisco girls chatting and smoking on the church steps. I asked the prettiest to explain something in my programme but  her chewing gum got stuck on  it and the moment was lost.  How we all laughed.

                                             Inquisitor asking tourist if he is a sodomite

                                       "Watch out if they offer you a spot of relaxation, girls"

At a given signal the Escenification história. Escena 6 began. Some women had an argument  and an old lady was marched away by a couple of priests and four burly soldiers. I bought some cheese and we went home.

The weekend of events in Casarabonela is another of the village initiatives which have appeared all over Málaga Province. Some have been runnng for a few years and they are all a way of attracting tourism (mainly from other towns and villages) and so generating income. Álora has it's 'Sopas Perotas Day' (October 5th.). Almogía has 'The Day of the Almonds', Alozaina has 'The Day of the Olives', El Burgo 'The Bandaleros' and  Los Bobos has 'The Day of the Village Idiot'. Good luck to them all I say.

The Spanish Inquisition really did come to Casarabonela in 1560. They were looking for Moriscos (moors who had converted to christianity.) and in 1560 Casarabonela was full of them.

Ferdinand and Isabela (Los Reyes Católicos) finally conquered Spain with the fall of Granada in 1492. At that time moors and Christians had lived reasonably well together down here but Ferdinand and Isabela had  already expelled Jews (about 40,000) who would not convert to Christianity from Spain by 'The Alhambra Decree' (1492) (finally rescinded in 1968)

Moors or arabic people had lived in Andalucía since the invasion in 711 but F&A wanted to get rid of them all so they set up The Tribunal of The Holy Office of the Inquisition in 1478 which set about ethnically cleansing Spain and later its colonies.

                                                     The Seal of the Spanish Tribunal


The original Inquisition had been set up by the papacy in the 12th. century to stamp out heresy in France. The Spanish version was mostly aimed at Jews and Moors. There weren't many heretics in Spain as Protestantism never caught on, but any of the above would do as long as they had a healthy bank balance ; the Spanish Inquisition had no budget and depended on confiscation of money, land and property. "If they do not burn they do not eat". Its most famous 'Grand Inquisitor' was Tomás de Torquemada, a Dominican friar from Valladolíd who looks a bit of a bruiser. There is a posh hotel nearly named after him in Benalmádena.
 Between 1560 and 1571 82% of those accused by the Spanish Inquisition were Moriscos.

                                                                      Torquemada

Anyone seems to have been able to denounce a crypto-jew or false morisco. Suspicion could fall on you if there was no smoke from your chimney on Saturday, you bought meat from a 'converted' morisco or you ate a lot of vegetables. Everybody ate as much pork product as they could when anyone was looking.

This is how it worked.
Quite unexpectedly the Spanish Inquisition would arrive at your town to hear accusations. Everyone would be given 40 days 'to relieve their consciences' and/or accuse others of some transgressions. All accusations were anonymous and the accused were not told why they were being arrested. Sounds a bit unfair so far doesn't it?

the garrucha and the rack

Then came detention in a secret prison in the nearest main Inquisition centre for up to 2 years while all your property was confiscated and you were 'encouraged' to make a clean breast of it. A trial  then took place which would often involve torture. It may be a fine point but they say that torture was not used as a punishment but only as a means of interrogation. So that's all right then.
The three most popular tortures were:

the garrucha where the 'defendant' was hung by his/her wrists and periodically dropped short distances. Sometimes weights were attached to the feet. This tended to dislocate the joints a bit.  
The potro (rack) was stretching things a bit far, too, although some participants found it quite therapeutic in the initial stages. (see also osteopathy.)
The toca involved sticking a cloth in the mouth of the interrogee and pouring water on it, giving the impression of drowning (see also waterboarding).

I think they all sound unpleasant.

                                                     A  Wacky Warehouse circa 1560

Sentences ranged from acquitted (rare) to relaxation (ha ha wait for it!).

In between were:

penanced : guilty but made to work on the galleys (average survival rate 5 years) or exiled etc.
reconciled : long jail sentence, flogging, whipping, confiscation of property, chinese burn etc.

Relaxation meant that you were turned over to the local council for burning at the stake unless you  begged for mercy and then you might get off with a garrotting. The church didn't carry out executions. They were, after all, Christian gentlemen in Holy Orders. Some people were convicted in their absence and burned in effigy. This sounds a good deal better than the other outcomes and could have avoided all that stretching and drowning, not to mention burning. My choice every time.

The executions took place at an auto de fé which was a bit like an Olympic Closing Ceremony held in a McDonald's.  Estimates of people burned in person in Spain vary from 3,000 to 28,450 depending on who you ask and how much Cruzcampo they have necked.
As Leonard Bernstein said in his musical version of 'Candide'; It's a lovely day for burning and watching people fry".

                                               An auto de fé in Valladolid 21st. May 1559

As for the poor old moriscos of Casarabonela, the ones who survived the 1560 inquisition were all ethnically cleansed in  1609 when hundreds of thousands of them were expelled from Spain following the Morisco Rebellion of 1568. Casarabonela was repopulated by people from Seville with promises of free housing, as much callos as they could eat and a bit of street theatre.

The Spanish Inquisition was abolished in 1834 although General Franco wanted to bring it back.

September 23rd. 2013