Half Blog. Half Biscuit. Borders, Blunders and Bourbons.
It´s 8.07am. and dawn is breaking here over Birmingham to the sound of rain hammering on the flat roof of our living room extension. Good to be back.
It was raining when we abandoned Álora again last Saturday at about the same hour. In June we left nursing fractured limbs - this time we left behind a complete corte de luz (power cut). ElectroDavid bravely struggled to rescue us on Friday night but he gave up looking for the fault after 2 hours of pulling wires, ripping off 'junction box' covers (I never knew we had so many) and shaking his head. All by torch and candlelight.
'The problem is that the cables (wires) go under the marble floors and inside the walls. The fault could be anywhere and there's no macaroni'. he pronounced. 'You will need all the cables replaced.'
no macaroni but lots of spaghetti.
'Could cost between 500€ and 2000€. I'll send you an e-mail.'
I could swear we had the place rewired about 10 years ago!.
macaroni.
And so it was with heavy hearts and in heavy rain that we set off down Calle Benito Suarez 'rumbo a Santander'.
Two days and 1000 kilometres later we joined the queue for the Santander to Portsmouth ferry only to be told at the check-in booth that Tommy's pet passport was invalid. The vet in back Álora had made a mistake on the passport.
The Pet Passport Scheme has allowed us to go back and forth from England to Spain for the last 13 years without having to put Tommy or Monty into quarantine for 6 months when we entered the UK. More than 100,000 journeys a year are currently made by dogs, cats, rabbits and ferrets under the scheme.
In order to travel back with our dogs we have to make sure that their vaccinations against rabies are kept up to date, they are microchipped and they have to see an approved Spanish vet for a worming tablet five days before we go back.
Any error or omission in the passport will result in refusal to board a plane or a boat until a vet has sorted it out which, could take days......or 6 months quarantine. It happened to us a few years ago when Juan the vet altered a date and Brittany Ferries had a purge on pet passports. Trying to bribe a border official is always a bit risky so now I always check everything is kosher. I can't believe I missed the error. He'd put the wrong year for the vaccination to become effective. The word for 'wanker' in Spanish is 'gilipollas' in case you're wondering.
We were told to get out of the queue and try to contact our vet 1000 km. away at 8.00pm on a Saturday night.
Meanwhile cars continued being loaded on to the only ferry for days and dog accommodation on the ferries is as rare as hens' teeth at this time of the year. Ernesto the vet (not his real name) answered his mobile (Grácias a Díos) and agreed to fill in a form with the correct dates on it and e-mail it to the checkpoint. The rest is all a blank to me.
There is no agreement yet about what will happen after March 29th. 2019 when Britain leaves the European Union. If there's 'no deal'- sí que estaremos jodidos (we'll be up shit creek without a paddle).
Will we ever see Álora again?
I've just been to the Audiology Centre at Queen Elizabeth Hospital because my hearing aids have packed up. It's a nightmare trying to park there so after driving round and round for the best part of half an hour I only just made it before the 'drop in' clinic closed.
Grateful for a change of scenery I plonked myself down on an empty seat in the warm, cosy waiting room expecting to be there for enough time to run up a hefty charge in the tower of extortion known as Car Park A.
Imagine my surprise when I recognised the patient in the next seat as G****n from Álora.
What are the chances of that happening, eh?
For many years G****n's short, stooped figure haunted the streets of our fine town in search of a property to buy. The owner of Alora Properties in La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba (The Top Square) will remember him well.
During dozens of visits over several years G****n must have viewed every available property in the town at least once. In between viewings he liked nothing better than to report his lack of progress to anyone not quick enough to see him coming. I never met his wife who, apparently, lived and still does live in Australia from where she was able to prolong his house viewing and visits to Spain long enough for some of his refusals to bought, renovated, lived in and put back on the market. It was an arrangement that seemed to please all parties except perhaps the very patient estate agent.
We were all surprised when he finally bought a house in the highest part of town and (less surprisingly) immediately started having problems with his Spanish neighbours.
G****n has just returned from Australia to Birmingham '..where I live when I'm here' and is now trying to sell his house in Álora. The hills are a bit much for him.
After a few minutes chat his name was called. Apparently he's not called G****n at all, but Walter!
What a dark horse!
Diligent readers of this classic journal may remember that this picture of my good friend Antonio holding a poster appeared at the head of my last post. The photo was taken at midday on Monday under the town hall clock. As regular as clockwork, too, a group of Perote pensioners has held a peaceful demonstration in the top square (which is actually a triangle) for over a year at the same time and day. They are protesting against the very low annual increase in their state pension.
During the summer they moved across the square and demonstrated outside Paco's Bar Alegría even though he has little or no influence with the government in Madrid - it's just that it was shady over there.
'¡No vale ganar más dinero y morir de una insolacíón!'
('No point in trying to get better pensions if we die of sunstroke!')
The numbers have dwindled over the last year. The average age of the demonstrators is about 85, so some losses are to be expected.
The sign says:
'Where is the money for our pensions?
'They've got it. The Bankers,the Church and the Bourbons'.
Demonstrations are very popular these days. It's as if they are making up for almost 40 years of Francoism when anybody daring to protest would have been arrested and given a severe biffing at the Cuartel. (Guardia Civil Headquarters) ...or worse, and these chaps are old enough to remember those days well.
It's easy to understand why they blame the bankers and the Church but ...
a biscuit?
or the Royal Family
(spot the one currently doing 5 years in the nick)
The Bourbon family have ruled Spain on and off since 1700.
In the War of the Spanish Succession they lost Gibraltar to Britain (1713). Watch this space.
Even after being kicked out by Napoleon and a couple of dictators they bounced back, bore a big bunch of baby Bourbons and bagged billions (of pesetas).
A lot of Spaniards don't like the Bourbons, mainly because they are French.
Interesting fact: The Bourbon biscuit (Peak Freans) is named after this family. The holes are to let steam out during cooking. Bourbon buscuits are the fifth most popular biscuits for 'dunking'.
The Bothers Cids' Barbería
Just before we left Álora I went for a haircut at Hermanos Cid (The Cid Brothers). It's run by two brothers Paco and Pepe Cid. That's either Paco or Pepe leaning in the doorway. After having my hair cut there for 18 years I still don't know which is which and it´s too late to ask now. Their 'salon' is right next to where there used to be an old fountain that gave its name to the top square and was the main scource of water for the town.
La Fuente de Arriba before The Cids
When it´s not raining this little space is full of mainly elderly men chewing the fat. Some of them sit inside as if they are waiting for a haircut, which can be very confusing. They carry on animated conversations with Paco and Pepe while they go about their barbery business. I watch them through the mirror. The box on the bench is a cage with little birds in it which are for sale (going cheap).
A haircut there is a very thorough job and takes, on average, twenty minutes. It would be quicker if Paco/Pepe didn't keep breaking off to join the conversations. I sometimes wonder if they are concentrating enough on what they are doing, especially when they get out the cutthroat razor to shave my neck.
Here's Antonio Gil who seems to be happy in his new premises on Calle Vera Cruz just up from Hermanos Cid. He's taken over La Jamonería which used to be a carnicería (butcher's) run by Andrés.
It's a much smaller place than his previous bar on La Rampa, he doesn't open at night and he plays rock music a bit quieter than he did there. Antonio now specialises in Pata Negra jamon (the best hams - there are 14 hanging up there), very good cheese and other tasty cold tapas. There's no door so it's very easy to slip in there when you're on your way 'uptown'.
Pie news- the continuing hunt for a proper Spanish pie
Great news. On recent visit to Granada I spotted this little belter in a shop on Reyes Catolicos not far from El Corral del Carbón.
It's a circular pie, not a pasty and it's stuffed with jamon serrano, chorizo and something else I couldn't identify. (€2.50 a slice) It's definitely a pie though. Just my luck that we had just put away a big menú del día at La Chantarella.
Olive news.
Olivar Caicunes has just finished bottling this year's raw unfiltered olive oil. It's smooth and strong and has the peppery taste you get with Hojiblanca and Picual olives.
The harvests were down on last year around Casarabonela but we managed to pick 1767 kilos before the weather took a turn for the worse and bottled 187 litres of oil.
Juanito Sánchez December 5th. 2018.
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