Tourists Flock to Álora for Slipping, Swearing and Scary Walks.

Tourists Flock to Álora for Slipping, Swearing and Scary Walks

                                  Elmore Leonard

America's greatest and most successful crime writer, Elmore Leonard, gave 10 rules for aspiring writers and the first was: 
'Never open a book with weather'.
It's a good job I have no such aspirations because here I go again.

We've been here in the most beautiful and friendly town in Spain for two weeks now and it's raining a cántaros (cats and dogs) again. Seville's famous annual feria kicks off on Sunday so it had better clear up by then! According to our amiga , Ana Molina Pérez there was a hurricane there on Wednesday. 

                             'Hurricane' in Seville

You´d think everyone would be going round wearing long faces, Wellington boots, pakamacs(TM) and cagouls, wouldn't you? Well, not a bit of it. The big event of the year here, the Despedía (farewell), had to be cancelled on Viernes Santo (Good Friday) because rain was forecast but even that disaster has not dampened the spirits of the hardy Perotes.

                            Umbrellas at the ready 

Dolores Coronada made only  a brief appearance. She did a couple of quick laps round the bottom square and nipped back into the parroquía (parish church) before the rain started and she'll staythere safe and dry until next spring.
Thousands of disappointed visiting virgin fans headed uptown to drown their communal sorrows in the bars of the Plaza de la Fuente Arriba until the early hours of Saturday morning.
Our neighbour, Joachím is the Hermano Mayor (Chief Brother) of the Dolores Hermandad (Brotherhood) and spent most of  Friday morning pacing up and down our street, looking glum.

                     Joachím (on the left) looking glum

You can imagine the damage that a soaking could do to Dolores's costume but that's not the only reason the Despedía was cancelled. By Friday, after several days and nights of candlelit processions, many of Álora's streets were covered in black and purple candle wax.
So many Perotes have ended up in A&E after slipping on the wax in recent years that this year the ayuntamiento (town hall) has put up warning notices. 

        "Attention! Risk of falling and slipping. Wax on the  pavement."

In Malaga they have special wax removers that remove the deadly and unsightly stuff.

                                   Wax removers

If we had one here it could save the Spanish Health Service millions of euros.

A coating of rain can make the road surfaces lethal, especially if you are one of the lucky lads (and lasses, these days) carrying a ton of virgin and throne up and down the steep alleyways. Driving a car around town at the moment is hazardous. Cars come screeching round the corner at the end of our street day and night. One of them managed to bash my wing mirror again. Bashed wing mirrors are de rigueur round here.

 A familiar sight.

 


Anyway, it's no good shaking your head and saying 'Qué asco de tiempo!' (What awful weather!) to a Perote (Aloranean) because he or she will just smile and say 'El campo las hace falta aguas'  (the fields need rain). - and as olive farmers we agree entirely. 
The reservoirs down here are now nearly full. Some are even releasing water to prevent damage. What a waste. Enough is enough!

Poet's Corner 

When it's raining in Andalucía
The residents give a loud cheer.
The ex-pats, however,  
Prefer the dry weather
Hot sun, English grub and sangría.

Mrs. Sánchez and I are convinced that every year some new event or procedure is added to the already ample agenda of Semana Santa. (Holy Week). This year ,on the day after Viernes Santo, our neighbour and tobacconist, Antonio plucked my sleeve and asked if I was going up to the football ground for 'un gran acontecimiento' (a big event). This was a new one on me. The Saturday after Good Friday has always been a bit of an anti-climax, with only El Dia de Jesus Resucitado (Easter Sunday) to look forward to and no chocolate eggs. This year they've slipped in another attraction...The Swearing of Allegiance to the Flag of the Parachute Regiment.  (La Jura de Bandera).

                              La Jura de Bandera

About 300 Perotes lined up to kiss the bandera (flag) of the Paracaidistas (Paratroop Regiment). We couldn't make it as we were entertaining guests who had indicated a preference for a trip up to the Lakes followed by a  home cooked paella in our garden. Who can blame them?
The event was attended by our popular and still youthful alcalde (mayor) José ' 'Epi' to my friends' Sánchez. (no relation) and a few of his town hall pals. I don't know if he kissed the flag or not but he joined in the spirit of the occasion.

                          Epi and his military mates.

To round off the celebrations a hundred doves were

released, representing The Resurrection and the soldiers took pot shots at them with their shiny guns.

If this new and thought provoking Easter celebration seems a bit bizarre, that's because it is. Two of the main processions here and elsewhere I am told, involve the military - Las Paracaidistas and La Legion Espanola. (The Spanish Legion).

A popular feature is when the Paras juggle with their automatic rifles in the usually dimly lit crowded streets of our little town. So far no-one has been blinded or maimed. The Paras, for reasons unknown to me, have a close association with one of the main hermadades (brotherhoods)  'El Señor de las Torres'. One of the swearers explained to me that the ceremony was really intended for  members of the hermandad, but because it's 'incompatible' for the church and the army to be seen collaborating, everyone was welcome and the presence of the alcalde made it more of a 'civil' event. 
Don't pencil this into your 2019 diary yet. My friend Paco told me it only happened because the top general of the Paracaidistas happened to be in town visiting his grandma for  Easter and was up for a bit of a do.

All the hoo-ha surrounding Catalunya's bid for independence has died down a bit for the moment as all the candidates for the presidency are either in jail or  or dashing round Europe trying to avoid arrest for terrible crimes.
The big news at the moment is about Cristina Cifuentes the president of the Comunidad de Madrid  who is trouble because she lied (allegedly) about her qualifications

      President Cristina Cifuentes with her fake certificate.

It appears that the Master's Degree that she says she obtained in 2012 is a fake. She never attended lectures (not that unusual I would have thought), never completed the course work and never took any exams She can not produce her final thesis and the signatures on a document she produced to prove she had ever been near the 'University of King Juan Carlos' turned out to be fakes.
She's the top Partido Popular (PP) political person in the whole of the Madrid Region. The university, which is the only thing in her story that DOES  exist, is 'very close' to the Partido Popular and its Director of Public Law Department has been suspended.

Well I ask you, who hasn't lied on their CV at some time or other?  I can't see what all the fuss is about. Granted that she appears to be a cheat and a liar, but she wouldn't have got where she is in politics today, Reggie, if she wasn't. 
Cristina is refusing to budge and is convinced she can avoid resigning  by shouting at everybody, stamping her feet and saying she's going to be sick.
Somebody ought to tell her that if she wants a Master's Degree that badly all she has to do is go to Oxford or Cambridge University in England, get a BA or something, pay £10.00 and 'Bob's your uncle!' An MA.

          Lord David Willetts, Universties and Science MInister

Indeed, our own, much loved  David (now Lord) Willetts, Conservative Minister of State for Universties and Science until recently did just that and nobody batted an eyelid! He even wrote a book about it.

You couldn't make it up.

Here's some good news.

 The Caminito Del Rey, (The World's Most Scariest (sic) Walkway)  which is half in 'Alora and half (approximately) in Ardales and which has been open to the public for three years now has been visited by 1,000,000 people who have 'brought a hundred million euros to the region'.

           The Caminito del Rey (before it was mended).

                                 The World's Most Scariest Walkway
                             (after it  was mended)

So says Elías Bendodo, President of Malaga Region. I can't imagine  where all that money has gone unless they used it to put thousands of pot plants on walls around the town. A couple of candle wax removers wouldn't go amiss.

                      New pot plants on Calle Erillas

The Malaga provincial government is very pleased with the 'international recognition' that the Caminito has achieved but they're disappointed that not many visitors are staying overnight in the area despite the fact that "In Alora and Ardales there are 350 hotels with a capacity of 5,000 beds".
Really? I'd like to know where they all are. We've got one hotel and three hostals here in town so that leaves Ardales (population 2037) with the other 346. 
Book early to avoid disappointment!


Juanito Sánchez
15th. April 2018

Man not in Álora on Wisdom, Truth, Fiction, Fake News and a Big Bore..

Man not in Álora on  Wisdom, Truth, Fiction, Fake News and a Big Bore

There's a lot of talk at the moment about 'fake news'. I find it particularly worrying because there are murmurings that even this popular and informative organ may have, from time to time, strayed from the path of righteousness and been a little economical with the truth. I would like to say to all those of you who depend on Man in Álora to keep you al día (up to date) with all the goings on in the world that, apart from the highly acclaimed feature Pie News (see below), not a word written here should be taken as 'news' - even some of the pies and particularly those 'quasi-pies' called 'pasties' pictured here in the past have seen better days.
I'm glad we've got that out of the way.

I'd like to welcome all our readers in Russia.

добро пожаловать (Welcome). 

According to my 'audience figures' 319 of you have read my last post so far- or one of you has read it 319 times . 

                                                                  Russia
 

Speaking of 'fake news', (doesn't that just mean 'lies'?) why all the fuss? 
We all tell the odd porky pie now and then don't we ? especially to children who will believe anything, but we don't expect to find a 'fairy story' in the Non Fiction section at the local library (if we've still got one) do we? Who can we trust to tell us the truth?

Apparently, telling lies only matters when you tell them in a newspaper or another mass medium of communication when millions of people can be told the same story all at the same time. Should we expect them to tell us the truth?
My Dad, Juanito Snr., always told me not to believe all I read in the newspapers so I don't. He said that all the newspapers were owned by rich men and they printed lies all the time to keep down the working classes and persuade them to vote for the Tories. But that was a long time ago. We now have radio, films, television and social media which are owned by, er, well, mostly rich men. Even so, The President of The United States of America, Donald Trump, keeps banging on about fake news, mostly stories about himself, and he's rich enough to own hundreds of newspapers and is a pal of Rupert Murdoch who does own hundreds of newspapers AND television stations, so what's his problem, apart from being bald, racist, sexist and mad (all allegedly).

Here's my Top Five Fake News Stories

1. In 1924, 4 days before a general election,  the Daily Mail printed a forged letter from  a bigshot Russian Communist, Gregory Zinoviev telling British communists to take over the Labour Party. Labour lost the election.

                                           

                                        Gregory Zinoviev (or Spike Milligan)

2. In 1989 the Sun led a campaign of lies, provided by the police, to blame Liverpool football supporters for the deaths of 96 of their fellow supporters. Interesting headline.

3. In 1985 the British Press organised a campaign against Winston Silcott, 'The Beast of Broadwater Farm' blaming him for the death of PC Keith Blakelock and and he was convicted on virtually no evidence. His conviction was quashed on appeal in 1991.

                                                         Winston Silcott

4. In 878 King Alfred burnt some cakes. This was story put out by the Wessex Advertiser to discredit the king.

                                                           Alfred the Great

5. .In 2018 Man in Álora said that Donald Trump was bald.

Fake News!!!!!!!

The trouble is you don't know who to believe these days.

In the good old days senior citizens  were seen as the people to go to for advice. They had lived a bit, seen lots of things and possessed wisdom. This is how it might have gone:

'Daddy, why do elephants have big floppy ears?'

'Go and ask grandad, Matilda, my child,. he's bound to know'.

You don't get much of that these days, do you? except perhaps in Soufourolaye or Romney Marsh where broadband and 4g haven't reached yet. Wisdom has no value anymore and old people just get in the way and can't even remember what they had for breakfast. A more likely scenario these days would be Matilda 'googling' a question on her Iphone 8 plus or simply  just saying;

'Alexa. Why does Grandad smell of piss?'

I've been told not to believe all I read on Wikipedia  too, because anyone can write anything there. I just can't tell what is true and what is bollocks these days. Help!

Here's an example of what I mean;

If you've ever been to Tooting Common (Bec or Graveney) in South London, England  you may have noticed an annoying high pitched screech and took it it to be a couple of local women sharing memories of the previous evening's 'Strictly', 'I'm a Celebrity', 'Britain's Got Talent' or 'Gay People Dancing on Ice'.
But no. Look above your head. Do you see a flash of green?. There's another. See! Lo!
It's a Rose Ringed Neck Parakeet. (Psittacula Kramen).

                             A Ring Necked Parakeet eating a macadamia nut

Beautiful plumage. And there's lots of them. Further enquiries reveal that these tropical tweeters are all over South London, Surrey, and Kent. According to Dave Parrot (believe THAT if you like) of ParrotNet there are up to 200,000 of the little blighters in the south alone, putting pressure on local services and ravaging gardens and allotments in search of macadamia nuts and sunflower seeds. They are said to be driving out all the local British  birds from Carshalton Beeches and taking all the jobs. But how did they get there from Africa in the first place?

My son-in-law, Miguel, tells it like this:

When they were filming 'The African Queen', starring Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn, at Shepperton Studios in 1951 they brought in a few parakeets as extras. (the rose ringed parakeet is native to Africa) but they soon escaped to look for food because nobody in the film crew had thought to bring any sunflower seeds or macadamia nuts which are the favourite fodder of this elegant fowl. And now they've even crossed the M25 and M2 , heading for  The Isle of Dogs  and Boreham Wood looking for more macadamia nuts and  the flocks of South American Monk or Quaker parrots that live in the wild there and are their arch enemies. I wouldn't like to be around when the fighting starts.

                         Katharine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart in 'The African Grey'

Sounds plausible to me.

Another theory is that the original birds escaped from the aviary at Syon Park near Kew when a lump of ageing Boeing 707 fuselage fell from the sky, narrowly missing The Duke of Northumberland but completely destroying most of his collection of rare exotic birds and a statue of Marie Antoinette.

                                  Hugh Algernon Percy. Duke of Northmberland

                                                          (a narrow escape)

Could have happened.

This is my favourite:

There's a bloke called Dave that drinks in the Tom Cribb pub in Panton Street SW 1 who swears he saw Jimi Hendrix release a pair of Rose Ringed Neck Parakeets in Carnaby Street in 'the late sixties'. He can't be more specific for obvious reasons.

My point is...who can you believe these days?

Incidentally, this might be the time and place to mention that my friend Alan Jones's father, who was also called Percy, owned a Rose Necked Parakeet back in the 1950s. It had been brought back to Wales as a present by his brother, Archie, who was a merchant seaman. During the voyage back from Johannesburg Archie had trained the bird to 'return home' much in the same way as homing pigeons are trained  but by using macadamia nuts instead of black (pigeon) peas. Unfortunately young Alan let the bird escape through an open window just after it had eaten a hearty lunch and it would not come back. He was sent to bed in disgrace even though it was only 1.30 pm.

                                                        Alan's Uncle Archie

I think it's doubtful that Percy's parakeet can have been responsible for the Tooting Common parakeet population. Where would it have found another parakeet in Tonnypandy? Can parakeets fly the 143 miles (as the crow flies) to London. If a crow can do it, why can't a parakeet?


Back in Álora, Antonio and Flores who run the little grocery shop in La Plaza Baja (Lo Mas Natural) told me they were coming to England for a few days in January. As is always the case they were going no further than London on their trip, not even to Oxford. I was unable to tempt them up to Birmingham for a day, even with the promise of a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon which is just down the road (A34) and well worth a visit.

                                                         Stratford -Upon Avon

Unfortunately The Midlands  do not attract many foreign visitors (Stratford -upon-Avon excepted). Have we got nothing to offer them here? Apparently not, except work. A nephew of Pepe Díaz used to work at IKEA in Coventry.
Mrs. Sánchez and I have decided to act as the unofficial tourist board in an effort to build up tourism round here.

                                                             Birmingham

Obviously Birmingham would be the epicentre of a trip to the Midlands with its hotels, restaurants and clubs, its world famous Museum and Art Gallery (we've got almost all the Pre-Raphaelite paintings in the world, I'm told) and its canals which outnumber those in Venice. I could go on.
But what is there outside 'Brum'? (as we affectionately call the second city)
Well, there's The Severn Bore. for a start. ('The Severnth Wonder of the World') (I made that up).

The Severn Bore

Only an hour away from Birmingham  by car lies Minsterworth and The Severn Bore Inn, named after the River Severn and a phenomenon, 'The Seven Bore' which takes place during every 'spring tide'. Twice a month at high tide in Sharpness a tidal wave heads up river and, as it reaches the narrows by Minsterworth, the wave grows to an amazing height. People come from miles around to watch the event which is even more spectacular when the moon is unusually near to the earth which it was last week. Tides as high as 10 metres were predicted. Some people even attempted to surf on the tidal wave.
Now isn't that worth a visit? Let's just say it's aptly named.

Pie News

Holland's Pies available at Asda

Apart from 'artisan' pies, 'gourmet' pies and the like, the best 'mass produced' pies are made by Holland's of Baxenden. They are pies to be eaten hot as are their close cousin the steak and kidney pudding. They are not to be confused with 'Pork Pies' which can also be scrumptious but which are usually eaten cold so that the jelly stays set.

I've been eating Holland's pies for as long as I can remember, which these days is last Friday. Unfortunately the Sánchez family fortunes have taken us further and further away from Lancashire, (Pieshire´), and the birthplace of the modern 'hot water pastry' pie and coincidentally, Uncle Joe's Mintballs, Wigan.

There are other great names in the pie pantheon; Greenhalgh, Poole and Galloway to name but two, but outside of Wigan itself Holland's have taken the Lancashire meat pie as far afield as Yorkshire, Birmingham and just about anywhere you can find an Asda. You can only buy them frozen but with careful handling and heating they are nearly as good as the fresh fellows. Last Friday I stocked up just a couple of miles down the road in Kings Heath. 16 pies and 4 steak puddings and I'll be back again as soon as there's room in the freezer.It makes life away from Álora almost bearable.

This week's Quiz

Which painted lump of wood had it's own, very successful radio show in the 1950s?

Answers, as usual, on a 50€ note.


Juanito Sánchez January 13th. 2018.

Cutbacks all round. A fleeting visit to Álora.

Cutbacks all round. A fleeting visit to Álora

                                                         Paco Mañoño

Last week Mrs.Sánchez and I made a flying visit to Álora. We were on a pruning mission.
We've got a parra (grape vine) in the garden that's not produced many grapes for the last couple of years and local wisdom has it that the answer lies in the pruning, which should  be done in January or February. We tried that last year. I made the trip back last  February with Colin  'Legs' Laycock from Liverpool as Mrs. S. had to stay in Brum with a sickly dog.
It  all looked pretty easy when local expert 'Chuster' (I don't know his real name) showed me last year. All you have to do is choose a couple of strong looking twigs, cut them back to two buds and chop off all the rest. A piece of cake.

 'Chuster' (not his real name) pruning our olives.







No luck. We got about six bunches.

This year, acting upon reliable information, ( Dr.Google), we've pruned by the moon; not just by any old moon but during una luna menguante (a waning moon), which guarantees success, apparently.

                                                                 Moons

Mrs.S. is never happier than when she's hacking back vegetation or 're-organising'  the compost heap. We bought a new pair of expensive tijeras (secateurs) at El Pintor (50€!!) so she set about the bouganvilla, wisteria, jasmine etc. like a woman possessed. Nothing was safe from those flashing blades.

                                               Mrs. Sánchez and the pruned vine

As for the moon thing, well, it's worth a try despite the expensive flights, kennel fees for the dogs and a rotten weather forecast.  Mumbo jumbo might actually work. It's going to need a lot more than la Madre Naturaleza  to rescue the scene of desolation we left behind us.

Álora hadn't changed much in four weeks except for a new bar/asador opening just down the side of Bar Alegría on Calle Rosales. It specialises in barbecued chicken and is called 'Don Pollo' (Mr. Chicken). I suspect it's another re-incarnation of 'Chicken George' who used to have the roast chicken shop in the square next door to to Repsol -Butano (the bottled gas place). It was incredibly popular in the days when people had jobs and some spare money. You could smell  the roast chicken from as far away as Málaga. People queued round the block. I don't know what his wife put on those chickens - it can't have been healthy, but my mouth's watering now just thinking of it. When the 'Crisis' hit in 2008 the shop shut down, There was talk of a fire risk and rumours about his 'special recipe' but he soon re-opened 50 metres away as a bakery/roast chicken shop, (now an estate agent/antique shop).Chicken George (not his real name) is a big Real Madrid supporter so   I'll give Don Pollo six months.

Despite all the comings and goings as the Christmas decorations were being taken down I couldn't help noticing that an old friend, Paco Mañoño was not in his usual spot by the traffic lights in the Plaza de la Fuente Arriba, watching the world go by. We've known Paco for 17 years and, although he has gone steadily downhill over the past couple of years, he was always pleased to see us. I wasn't surprised to hear when we got back to Birmingham that he had died.
I suppose it's only to be expected that people we have got to know since we came to Álora get older and die but many of them don't even make it to 'three score years and ten'.
I don't know how old Paco was. His brother Julián died a couple of years ago and his brother Juan isn't looking too good either. After their mother died the three brothers seem to have lived mainly on Cruzcampo and were regular visitors to the Urgencias (A&E) department at El Clinico  Hospital as a result of 'falls'.

Juan Mañoño last week after his latest 'fall'.








All the brothers were usally referred to as 'Mañoño', which is not their surname at all. Paco once showed me his DNI (ID) card because I didn't believe his age. His real name was Francisco Acedo Fernández. Paco is short for 'Francisco' but Paco's father's surname must have been 'Acedo' and his mother's surname must have been Fernández. In Spain everyone has two 'surnames'. Women keep their two surnames when they marry. They don't change their surnames to their husbands'. Mrs. Sánchez thinks that's a good idea but there are so many people called Sánchez or Sánchez Sánchez you probably wouldn't notice anyway if we did it.
The first surname is usually the one you are known by although some famous people, (authors, actors, corrupt politicians, etc) choose to be called by their third surname out of respect for their mothers or to avoid arrest.
...So Paco should have been known as Paco Acedo and Juan as Juan Acedo,  Julián too, but they were all called 'Mañoño' (Man yon yo) I have never seen it written down.
Their father was also called Mañoño and his father too.. It's a family nickname that has been handed down through the generations. Many men have them (I don't know of any women who have them) and many of the those with them have no idea when or how the name originated.

Paco was a member of the Real Sacremental e Illustre Hermandad y Cofradía de Nazerenos de María Santisima de los Dolores Coronada y Soledad. (The Dolores Hermandad).
He was always ready and willing when hard work for the hermandad was  needed  and every year helped to carry the throne of The Virgin of Dolores up and down the steep streets of Álora during Semana Santa (Holy Week). The picture of him above shows him in his black Dolores cassock having a break from carrying the throne.You'd nearly always find him working behind the Dolores Hermandad bar (El Capirote) at the annual Romería too - as long as he was able to remain vertical.
Paco was great fun when he was younger and a good friend. One night in  La Taverna de Antonio on La Rampa he collared me and launched into a long monologue in growly Andaluz .He'd had a few. I did a bit of head nodding and smiling which usually works as long as I'm not asked a question and tried desperately to identify a word or two to get some idea of what he was going on about. I still had no idea after 10 minutes.  I turned to Antonio Martos, the owner and barman;

'I'm trying really hard but I can't understand a word'

'Don't worry. Nobody can'.

What a great bloke and a good friend even though I can't honestly say I ever understood a word he said in 17 years. We'll miss you.



Juanito Sánchez Sánchez
January 25th. 2018

A Christmas Message from Mr. and Mrs. Sánchez.

                                                    Calle Carmona, Álora 

Christmas greetings to everyone in the Turks and Caicos Islands. I'm glad to see that you are up and running again after the terrible storms. And a Christmas hello to the 268 page viewers in Russia - glad to have you back. I've no idea what you see in this blog but keep it up!
This is the first Christmas Man in Álora blog and the first from London Town where Mrs.Sánchez and and I are spending the festive season, as it's called, I believe, - and I'm going to try and do it on my phone.

We left Álora for our winter quarters in mid December- later than usual because I left it a little late to book a large dog kennel on the Santander to Portsmouth ferry. You wouldn't believe it. Large 'kennels' are scarcer than hen's teeth these days and if they're all booked when you try to buy a ticket 'on line' you get the 'bums' rush'. All we could manage was a much later sailing on the old Greek tub 'Cap Finisterre'. I've booked for next September already.

Our top quality raw unfiltered olive oil reached Birmingham more or less safely and cash rich Brummies couldn't wait to snap up bottles of the delicious delicacy  as fast as Sánchez Junior could stick labels on the bottles. Christmas madness I call it.

                     Mrs. Sánchez during a quiet spell at Moseley Farmers' Market.

I must say it was a relief to get back to Brum in one piece. We made the almost disasterous mistake of travelling towards Madrid on the same day that hundreds of thousands of suicidal Spanish car drivers were taking part in the annual December Puente Chicken Run (El Concurso Suicida del Puente de Diciembre). This year there were 26 road deaths, which must have spoiled somebody's Navidad no end. I'm surprised there weren't more.

There was an almost tangible festive atmosphere aboard the Cap Finisterre as it headed optimistically north from Bilbao to take on the infamous Bay of Biscay. We took a risk and tucked into a meal in the ship's 5 (Pirelli) star Restaurant du Port  It's bit of a risk at this time of the year - it gets a bit choppy out there and a quite expensive nosh can easily make a return visit especially what with Mrs.S's delicate stomach. The food is very good though, too good for seagulls and fish. Even on the 'Cap' it's tip top French cuisine.
The cabaret was excellent as always and we managed to sneak our Álora bought bottle of wine into the bar without incident (you should see the prices!). The bar staff were too busy keeping a Gallic eye on a drunken chap from Wigan ("I'm from Wigan") who insisted on showing everyone the new leather 'Peaky Blinders' cap  that he'd bought in the duty free shop.
We were too late to book a 'dog friendly' cabin so Tommy and Monty had to spend the 24 hour trip banged up in a cage ('kennel') on deck 10. They still haven't forgiven me.

Home, Sweet Home at last. Heating on. Fire lit. Kettle on. A cooker that has a functioning thermostat. Rain. Snow . Proper telly instead of having to rely on 'my-expat-network.com' , a questionably legal website which freezes up on a whim, leaving you to stare at the screen for minutes on end on the off chance that service may be resumed. 
I don't know why we ever leave England. Drinkable water. Proper grass That astro turf they put on the traffic islands in Álora doesn't fool anybody except the stray dogs club which gathers there to bask in the sun, worry the car drivers and discuss the likelihood of 'Canine Park' ever opening. 
And then there's Christmas - the best example I know of hope triumphing over experience.

Mrs. Sánchez and I really do look forward to Christmas every year and try to get into the Christmas spirit. There was even snow on the ground when we pulled into the drive of our spacious winter residence. I went straight out and bought a Christmas tree.
Four days later we were all set - festive lights switched on indoors and out, Christmas cards bought, written and stamped, Christmas presents ordered on line (they all arrived in time. Well done all you girls and boys on starvation wages at Amazon.co.uk. A happy Christmas to you all).
By this time we were well and truly into the 'Christmas spirit', not to mention the supply of Ribera del Duero vino tinto we've  hauled back from Spain. Well, it's what Christmas is all about innit? Two Christmas markets later we were on the good old M42/M40 heading south into the darkling dawn.

.Cheers.

Juanito Sanchez. December 31st 2017

Don Juan, The Beast of Bonela and Spain's Deadly Domestic Heating.

Don Juan, The Beast of Bonela and Spain's Deadly Domestic Heating.

News.

It feels like only yesterday that we were going around in shorts and t shirts and our woolly jumpers were still in the suitcase on top of the wardrobe. Today it was a bit chilly sitting up in the top square and my café con leche doble went cold in minutes. After a verano de membrillo (Indian summer) el invierno (winter)  has arrived in Álora. Women of all ages are going  round with scarves wrapped round their faces;  only the hardiest or foolhardiest of Brits are in shorts (the local youth went back to their chándals (trackies) months ago) and the shelves in the ferretería are full of electric braseros. 

           An elderly lady sizes up the latest newfangled electric braseros in 'El PIntor'

In  Álora braseros are still the calefacción (heating) method of choice, although the really traditional type of 'under the table' heating, using burning red hot coals, has almost died out following hundreds of years of fatal house fires, badly blistered  feet and a shortage of abuelas (grandmas). I bet the insurance premiums are pricey.

Another  elderly lady stokes up the fire in her 'under the table deathtrap' 'brasero´. That rug looks a bit flammable, not to mention the blanket.


It's no wonder that that the electric ones are catching on. Central heating hasn't really taken off here but wood burning stoves are popular, especially among the extrañeros (Brits etc.) who tend to go in for air conditioning too.

This lady, Tonia, still lights her brasero every evening in Calle Atrás using olive stones and charcoal. I took this picture last night. When the coals are good and hot, all the family sit round the table with the heavy flammable blanket over their knees. Everybody is lovely and snug and who knows what goes on under that blanket? You've got to be careful where you put your feet though.



















The weather was ideal for the start  of the olive picking season  - not too hot, no strong winds to blow the nets around and only one day's rain.
The Sánchez family estate (Olivar Caicunes) yielded 2295 kgs.this year thanks to the impressive efforts of our 'team' of enthusiastic volunteers. Every single olive was picked lovingly by hand.   Special thanks go to:

Mrs. Sánchez 
Colin 'Netman' Laycock
Paul 'Yosser' Hughes
Ben 'The Vegan' Connolly
Helga
Bob 'Standard Lamps' Bailey
Geraldine and Ivan
Alan 'Runcorn' Radley and the lovely Julie.
Henry 'The Horse'. who provided organic fertiliser and kept the weeds down.

 From olives to liquid gold
 

If you fancy a taste of the best olive oil in the known world and know where Birmingham is, we shall be selling a limited amount of our raw, unfiltered, early harvest, cold press, first pressing, almost organic, low acidity (0.3%) olive oil at the MAC Christmas Food Market, Sunday December 17th.,Cannon Hill Park and at the Moseley Farmers' Market Saturday 23rd. December.

Avid and loyal readers of this informative and entertaining organ may remember that last year, whilst we were picking the olives our dinner was pinched, along with the cool bag by an unidentified felon. Suspicion fell on the short toed (snake) eagle that regularly patrols the sky above Olivar Caicunes. No trace of the bag or the sandwiches has ever been found. The latest theory is that an Iberian Lynx may have strayed from the not so nearby Coto Doñana and is living in the High Chaparral next to our finca in Casarabonela. Small dogs and cats have been reported missing by goatherds, shepherds and local farmers.

                                                 Iberian Lynx with dinner

This elusive and potentially dangerous feline food filcher has attracted so much attention and notoriety that it is being compared to the Hound of the Baskervilles, The Loch Ness Monster and The Beast of Bolsover. It is now referred to locally as The Beast of Bonela.

The Olive harvest and oil production (315 litres) has kept Los Sánchez pretty busy for the last few weeks so I've not been able to keep up with the regular programme of cultural and social events in the town. These are usually advertised on posters that are stuck up   willy-nilly on walls and windows in 'The Top Square'. It was only when I called in our little corner shop, that isn't on a corner, to buy una barra de pan that Antonio, who runs 'Lo Mas Natural' with Flores,told me that there was a concert in the Teatro Cervantes that same evening featuring a choir from Newcastle, a large town in the north of England. He showed me part of the poster on his phone. I could see 'Newcastle' and 'Choral'. He said it was free, too.
Our two guests didn't fancy it but Mrs. S and I were well up for it. A good old sing along to 'The Blaydon Races', 'Wor Geordie's Lost His Penka' and 'The Lampton Warm' seemed just the ticket (free) to round off a week of strenuous harvesting. A drink afterwards in Lo D'Antonio's, next to the theatre would be la guinda del pastel (the icing on the cake).

It turned out that the tickets were 6€ each and there was a play on too, called Don Juan Tenorio. It was too late to pull out so I bought the tickets and we went in. The Teatro Cervantes which holds up to 10,000 people was absolutely packed and we only just got a couple of seats at the back.

                                             A scene from Don Juan Tenorio

Two and a half hours later, with no interval, we collapsed into Lo D'Antonio's and ordered drinks. It was nearly midnight. We had hardly understood a word and we had no idea what had been going on. (I admit that I had a couple of naps during the performance) and the only sign of any singing was this:

You can just make out the Newcastle Chorale in the background lending a skillful and sombre soundtrack to this very moving graveyard scene towards the (mercifully) end of the play.

I Googled the play when we got home. Here's the main things I learnt:

• Don Juan Tenorio is an extremely popular play that is performed all over Spain around El Día de Todos los Muertos (The day of all the dead) (November 2nd.)
•  It is the longest play ever written in Spanish.
•  It's about Don Juan who was a notorious womaniser and murderer.
•  The kids love it.   
• I won't be going again.
• Not all Geordies sing 'The Blaydon Races', 'Wor Geordie's Lost His Penka' and The Lampton Warm'

Local Characters

I'd like to introduce you to a couple of local Álora characters.

1. Paco Rumar

The jolly chap doing the bird impression is Paco. He used to own a traditional furniture factory and shop called Muebles Rumar down on the El Chorro road near the Guardia Civil Cuartel, so we've always called him Paco Rumar, which is not his real name.
For the last 17 years he has been doing this birdie act every time he sees me. It's funnier when he wiggles his fingers. You'll have to take my word for that. The man sitting down is called Rudolfo and is not in on the joke. Neither was I until a couple of years ago when I bit the bullet and asked him why he kept doing it.
In 1999 we bought quite a lot of furniture from him as all ours had been stolen (but that's another story). My good friend and then joint owner of what is now Casa Sánchez, Terry, tried to get a bit of discount on the bill. Paco wouldn't have any of it and good humouredly stood his ground for about half an hour of heavy haggling. Terry finally managed to get him to throw in a flimsy magazine rack and we all shook hands on it.

 

 Apparently the word 'pájaro' (bird) and the accompanying rib-tickling gesture also mean:

(fam) bad lot, nasty piece of work (colloq) an unpleasant character.
(Hist) A hired killer (in the pay of landowners).

NOW it all makes sense. It wasn't even me doing the haggling.

2. Cuca (Julia Gross)

                                                                    Cuca

Julie Gross (Cuca) is smiling because she has just had a very successful exhibition of her paintings in Málaga. She is an artist and a good friend who has lived in Álora  for many years but lived previously in Alhaurín el Grande with her family. Mrs.S and I met Cuca soon after we came to Álora. She speaks English very well but has always encouraged us to learn and speak to her in Spanish. Her paintings in those days were already much sought after and she is particularly known for her 'women' paintings. Her recent exhibition was entitled 'Mis Mujeres' (My Women). Mrs S and I are very proud of the magnificent painting of Cuca's we have here on our wall in Álora.

                                                           'Mujer 001' (2016)

Cuca moved to Álora in 1991 and lived here with her husband Keith Nicholson Pryce who was an author,('Omar, King of Andalusia.'  (Northumbria University, Newcastle upon Tyne UK. 2015) , painter, sculptor and craftsman, until his death in 2012.
After Keith died Cuca stopped painting for a time but I'm delighted to say that she is working very hard again now and is at the top of her form. Her exhibition in Málaga attracted a great deal of interest, gained very good reviews and resulted in a good number of sales.
Keith and Cuca were both very close to the famous Hispanist and author Gerald Brenan who wrote South From Granada, The Face of Spain and The Spanish Labyrinth.

                                                    Granada.  The River Darro

Mrs. S and I and our friend and olive 'netman', Colin have just been to Granada for a few days. It's getting a bit chilly up there but we took some warm clothing and spent as much time as possible in warm bars and restaurants, which is what cities are all about in my opinion.
The big attraction is the Alhambra, of course but it gets very crowded  round there and down in the Plaza Nueva at night, too. We tend to head down to the Plaza de la Trinidad area which is still pretty busy day and night. We had two great Menú del Día at La Chanterela on Calle Aguila. If I thought that a lot of people might read this and go to Granada and make it difficult for me to get a table I wouldn't have told you where it is. It's that good.
On Calle Tablas is the Hotel Reina Cristina which opens until quite late at night. Its cafetería is called El Rincón de Lorca.

I think they've got a bit of a cheek calling it after Federico García  Lorca seeing as how this is where the Granadian fascists grabbed him in 1936 when he was hiding from them in what was then the house of the Rosales brothers. He was already one of Spain's most famous poets and playwrights and not known for any strong political views but the fascist falanguistas hated him for his criticism of the Granada bourgeoisie and his open homosexuality.
They took him away to nearby Viznar and killed him in particularly cruel and disgusting way, Franco tried to cover his murder  up for years and Lorca's body has never been found. So when you're sitting in the warm bar of the Hotel Reina Cristina sipping a Cruzcampo beer or a G and T, spare a thought for Federico García Lorca and the other thousands of republicans murdered in Granada after the city was taken over by the falangists in 1936.

High on the south wall of Granada's cathedral you can still see inscribed the name of the founder of the Spanish Falange, José Antonio Primo de Rivera, even though it has been almost obliterated for some years by the red paint thrown at it by enthusiastic admirers.





Since the re-establishment of democracy in Spain in 1978 the dreadful atrocities of the Civil War and during the years of the Franco dictatorship were hardly talked about because of the Pacto de Olvido (The Pact of Forgetting). The current events in Catalunya, though, have stirred up a lot of long standing animosity between those who believe strongly in a united Spain, as did General Franco, and supporters of an independent Catalunya. Lots of Spanish flags have appeared on the balconies of apartments. Some people have taken this to signify a resurgence of Francoism.

Just round the corner from the cathedral, this piece of graffiti has recently appeared.

We'll see.


Pie News 

There's good news and bad news on the 'pie front' for pie lovers in Spain. Seasoned readers will know that is is almost impossibe to buy a decent pie in mainland Spain (try Mallorca). However, last week I was presented with an unexpected treat....a pack of four genuine Holland's Meat Pies, the Rolls Royce of the meat pie world. They were frozen, of course, and had been bought in Iceland, which is a shop in Fuenguirola (a famous holiday resort down on the Costa Del Sol.). They warmed up nicely and were delicious.

                               Holland's Meat Pies. Made in Baxenden, Lancashire.

I was also presented with what I took to be a Melton Mowbray Pork Pie, the Rolls Royce of the Pork Pie World. (There IS a difference). It was OK but on closer inspection it turned out to be a horse of an entirely different colour! (I am NOT implying anything about the pie recipe here). It's a metaphor.

                                    A Vale of Mowbray Pork Pie. Made in Yorkshire.

 All Melton Mowbray Pork Pies have Protected Geographical Indication status (PGI) and must have been made in Leicestershire around the delightful town of Melton Mowbray. Melton Mowbray Pork Pie.
This one was made in North Yorkshire.
An unwary pie shopper, and there must be hundreds of them in Fuengirola, could easily mistake the Vale of Mowbray pie for a genuine Melton Mowbray Pie, which it isn't.
I think all pie lovers who read this should take note. There is no charge for this advice.


Juanito Sánchez
November 29th. 2017

PS. Please excuse the possible lack of 'u' s in the text. My laptop compter is playing the giddy goat with me and not printing 'u's unless I really biff the key hard.