Buenas tardes (Good afternoon) from Álora where the sun is shining brightly and Casa Sánchez positively throbs with excitement as preparation for this year's olive harvest takes shape. It looks like a bumper crop this year at Olivar Caicunes. Our tip-top quality early harvest, raw, unfiltered, first,cold press olive oil should be ready in time to hit the Christmas markets in the West Midlands, UK.
Readers of this venereal organ can pre pre pre-order a bottle or two to beat the rush by contacting our Marketing Manager UK, Paddy Chadderton at:
paddychadderton@yahoo.co.uk.
I've just got back from caja de cartón (cardboard box) scavenging round the town. It might be tempting fate but we've now got enough boxes for 2000 bottles of olive oil. Mrs. Sánchez wants to know where I'm going to put them all.
Mrs. S has been under the weather for the last few weeks with a nasty virus (virus) but I'm happy to say she's now back on form and ready for some olive picking. What?
She went down with the mysterious bug just after El Día de las Sopas Perotas, Álora's annual invitation to locals and unsuspecting visitors alike to sample the town's signature dish. 27,000 free portions were distributed to the hot and hungry masses congregating down here in La Plaza Baja de la Despedía. The poster says 'Bring your own spoon', but nobody does, so you get a free spoon too.
The Brits here who are aware that this event is taking place both insist on calling it 'Soups Day' so I'd like to clear that up here and now.
It's not soup. Does it look like soup? And why would they write 'soups' in the plural. Surely they're not going to make the same mistake every year. Someone would have told them by now - after 14 years.
Granted that sopa translates as 'soup', but 'sopas' translates as 'pieces of bread soaked in soup'. Add some onion, garlic, potatoes, tomatoes, red peppers and olive oil and 'Bingo'.
Sopas Perotas.
Some Spanish words do not translate word for word and the nearest you could get to 'sopas' in English is 'Pobs'. (Google it. It doesn't sound very appetising).
Mrs.S has very fond memories of having 'pobs' (bread soaked in warm milk) as a special treat as a child, when she was ill. She regularly, even when not asked, recites a once popular, pertinent piece of poetry by Samuel Laycock the famous Lancashire dialect poet who was born in Yorkshire, lived in Cheshire and died in Blackpool (Lancs.)
Tha'rt welcome little bonny brid
But should n't ha come just when tha did;
Toimes are bad.
We're short ´o pobbies for eawr Joe.
But that of course tha didn't know,
Did ta, lad?
There are ten more verses if you've got a taste for it. Mrs.S will be happy to translate them for a small consideration.
Samuel Laycock 1826-1893 (no relation to Colin Laycock, olive picker and all round gent).
Unlike most festivals and fun days in Álora 'El día de las Sopas Perotas' has no religious theme. No misas (masses) are performed and no-one dies (so far).
We've been having problems with our water. It's a recurring worry. We used to collect our water from the old Roman fountain (La Fuente de la Canca) about a mile away until some 'enterprising' bastard dug a pozo (well) to irrigate his aguacates (avocados) and broke into the 2000 year old aquifer (allegedly). The other popular fountain, La Fuente de la Higuera (The Fountain of the Fig Tree) has been declared a health hazard by the ayuntamiento (town hall) because it isn't treated for parasites, harmful chemicals, deadly bacteria, faecal matter and all the other colourful country crap that has been leaking into the 'water table' for the last century at least.
You can't fool the Perotes (Álora people), though. They aren't having any of it, or more to the point, they can't get enough of it or they can't read or they should have gone to Specsavers which now has a branch in Fuengirola.
I pass by the fountain twice a day and there's usually someone filling plastic containers with the stuff. Those letters are about a foot (0.328metres) high at least.
I think that's clear enough.
But, no. Look how the whole problem has been solved by the stroke of a sharp object. All you have to do is scratch out the 'non' in 'non potable' (undrinkable) and it becomes 'potable' (drinkable).
¡ Ya 'ta !
We bought an expensive and impressive water filtration system only to find that our water bill went por las nubes (through the clouds). It seems that you need to use 25 litres (43.9938 pints) of water to get one litre (1.75975pints) of low calcium drinking water. So now we don't flush the toilet, only have a shower every two weeks and only drink wine, beer, gin and our own urine.. Drop round sometime for a drink or two. Cheers!
The cultural event of the month has been the, now annual art exhibition put on by 'The Independent Artists of Álora' in the Casa de Cultura (the Cultural Centre). It opened on Friday.
Mrs. Sánchez and I like to go to the opening because they put on free nibbles and drinks (well just me) and lots of interesting people turn up to to praise the efforts of local artists. Most of the exhibits are for sale.
The ayuntamiento (town hall) used to turn its corporate nose up at the 'independent artists' but now it's fully involved. Our popular and handsome alcalde (mayor) José Sánchez Moreno (no relation), Epi to his friends, chaired the inauguration and, despite his rather unkempt or fashionable unshaven appearance, gave a convincing demonstration that he is back in the administrative saddle and in full health again. Welcome back, sir.
We bought a small painting, which only seemed fair considering the amount of wine I had knocked back. Epi's looking straight at it.
Speaking of inaugurations, I passed the Parque Canino (Doggy Park) again today. It's on the right as you navigate the interesting, picturesque Álora circulatory system, just past the big tiled sign that says AVENIDA PEÑON GORDO.
Dogs and dog owners were delighted when the ayuntamiento announced in March that they were spending 84,681 euros and 54 centimos on a special park for dog training and and it was ready in just a couple of months.
It's got a see-saw, a hoop to jump through, some old tyres to run through, a big list of rules for literate lapdogs and even a street lamp. But it's still locked up. My parents drummed into me that you shouldn't tease 'dumb animals', which included, unfairly in my opinion, dogs. Never mind teasing, this is downright canine cruelty. 'How much longer do we have to wait?' ask Monty and Tommy.
EL PARQUE CANINO!
When do we want it?
NOW !
No barking
No running
No bombing.
No petting
No smoking
No bum sniffing
No peeing on the lamp post.
Securely padlocked
The jolly woman in the town hall told me today that they can't open the Parque Canino until it's been inaugurado (inaugurated.)
I suspect the real reason is the same one that keeps the padlock on the Mirador in the Plaza Baja. They don't want the public going in for a pee.
But what's the lamp post for then?
The Days of Death..
La Floresteriá del Ríncon
In Mexico they have 3 days for their 'Día de los muertos' (Day of the Dead) and they go completely over the top. In Spain the tradition has been to celebrate November 1st. El Día de Todos los Santos (All Saints' Day). It's a public holiday, masses will be held in the church and Mercadona will be closed for the day. On this day people come back to their villages and towns of origin to put flowers on the graves of their dead relatives.
But they don't have many graves here. Most dead people here are interred in banks of nichos (niches) which are usually rented by the families of the deceased.
Andalusian Niche Graves
Álora's cemetery used to be in the grounds of the castillo at the top of Calle Ancha and you would see people going up there on the days before November 1st. to tidy up the graves. Now they have to go nearly a mile away to the niches in the new cemetery on the hill opposite our back wall. The taxis make a lot of money around this time too. It's a niche market.
No hay mal que por bien no venga. (It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good /Every cloud has a silver lining)
Álora' beautifully landscaped cemetery
(also the town's helipad)
I am told that people living within a 500 metre radius of the cemetery can't be interred there. That doesn't seem fair.
The eve of Todos Los Santos has been an excuse for a party in Spain long before 'Halloween' became popular.
In some parts of Spain 'All Souls' is marked by candlelit processions. These days Halloween has progressed from being a day when some parents let their children go from house to house in scary costumes hoping for handouts of caramelos (sweets).
Now the Ayuntamiento has put on a party for the kids and the 'grown ups' have muscled in. They dress up as skeletons and vampires and sit outside the old peoples' day centre singing songs about death and drinking flavoured gin, just like in the old days!
The Day Of The Nearly Dead
Galicia, up in the north west of Spain is a murky place at the best of times and it has some of the strangest customs. It has provided Spain with Francisco Franco and Mariano Rajoy, but the village of Las Nieves ( The Snows) has a fiesta which takes some beating. This is where people who have had 'near death experiences' are paraded round in open coffins.
The festival of Santamaria de Ribarteme
This takes place in July each year when there is a fair chance it might not be raining.
Needless to say there is a lot of drinking involved and up there and they're very fond of the cider which explains a lot. I've seen the effects of too much cider drinking at first hand, but even the regulars at The Bluebell in Earlswood didn't get up to this kind of nonsense.
I'm off now. Those olives won't pick themselves.
Juanito Sánchez October 24th. 2017
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