Olive Woes. Flamenco Fun and Álora digs in for a Wintery Winter

Olive woes, Flamenco Fun and Álora Digs in for a Wintery Winter,

The Olive Fly

Otoño (autumn) has been cancelled here in Álora. We've gone straight from summer to winter this year. All the perotes are now going round with scarves over their faces to stop the cold aire de arriba (north wind) from entering any orifice. They say you can catch all sorts of nasty things from a cold racha up the raja.
Temperatures in single figures (°C) were recorded last Wednesday in La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba (Top Square) but that didn't stop the hardy Brits and Norwegians from sitting out in the sickly sunshine sipping sub-zero cervezas and  cafés con leche while the bemused local populace gazed on in disbelief.

I say, old chap. Mind turning the heating down a bit?

'¡Brrrr. Hace un frío que te cagas y los guiris siguen como sí nada! (Those foreigners are so brave.)

              La Sierra de Las Nieves, Casarabonela

Mrs. Sánchez, and I have been picking olives for the last two weeks. We keep telling ourselves that it's just a hobby and that when it stops being fun we'll pack it in. We came very close to that point after battling against freezing gale force winds up in the foothills of the Sierra de Las Nieves.

                                    Our olive crop.

To' pa' na' (Todo para nada)(all that work for nothing) as the locals would say.

We struggled to pick a measly 543kg. 

It's been a bad year for olives. No rain over the winter and high summer temperatures attracted every olive fly in Andalucía to our little field where they flitted about merrily laying their eggs in our juicy ripening olives. ¡Cabrones!

Olive flies don't have much of a life compared to ours but their chances of survival improved no end when some do- gooder, nanny-state kiljoy stopped the farmers spraying lethal poison onto the olive groves from a small aircraft.

We used to love watching that little plane come flying low over the valley opposite our back wall. We'd all wave madly to the pilot who would wave back and dip his wings in response before opening the vents and spraying a brightly coloured cloud of insecticide over us. Oh! Those were the days!

                       The Peña Flamenca cerca 2005

Álora is famous in Andalucía for inventing a form of Flamenco called La Malagueña. There is a flourishing flamenco club in the town called La Peña Flamenca and it used to be down at the end of Paseo Martos next door to the underwear and lingerie shop. It was very exclusive. We tried for two years to get in there but kept getting cold-shouldered by the aficionados. We finally got in by shelling out 40€ for membership.

Everyone has heard of Flamenco and, along with los toros (bullfighting), tapas, sol and sangría it's what's Spain´s all about, isn't it?

Well, if you think it's about castanets, and beautiful dusky maidens whirling about to hand clapping and strumming guitars you´ll have a shock if you manage; first, to find the Peña Flamenca, which is difficult enough, and then to get in to watch a concert.

The Flamenco they do round here is called Cante Grande or Cante Jondo and usually involves an elderly man sitting on a chair with his eyes closed and one hand stretched out, palm upwards, singing a wailing song about difficult times on the farm, the death of his brother or the loss of his wife to a travelling salesman. The guitarist fills in between verses, giving the cantante time for a swig of water or manzanilla wine and to get his breath back.

It´s very serious stuff, believe me, and it can send chills down your spine even though the rhythms are almost impossible to make out and you've probably got no idea what he's singing about.
Here's one of the most famous flamenco singers of all time 
Cameron de la Isla and a few others.

There are a considerable number of women singers too and one of the most famous, Antoñita Contreras comes from and lives in Álora although I haven't seen her for some time doing her shopping in our local Mercadona.

                                Antoñita Contreras

 The Peña Flamenca of Álora moved to a new place a few years ago and we stopped going. It always seemed to be shut. A couple of weeks ago we went for the first time to the new venue, which is just as hard to find, but it's up Folklórico Pepe Rosas, off Camino Nuevo and just past the office of Diego García Rebollo the brilliant asesor. (WE SPEAK ENGLISH).
The advertised artists did not turn up that night so they rang round to find some local singers and guitarists to step in. Mrs. S. and I felt that we'd 'come home' after such a long break.
One of the two guitarists that night was Emilio Cortes who played well and came over after to say hello. He died the next day.

                     Emilio Cortes with Miguel 'El Pibri'

 We went to the Peña again last night with young Patricio, our lad, to see a marvellous performance by Rosi Campos (al cante) and José Juan Pantoja (a la guitarra).Rosi can really bash it out. 

                Rosi Campos and José Juan Pantoja.

There was a notice on the door saying 'SOLO SOCIOS' (members only) but that's just there to keep out the stag party crowds and the riff-raff. I knew we'd get in with no hassle because my 'tocayo' and top flamenco aficionado, Juan, had slipped me the nod by giving me a poster. A 'tocayo' is someone with the same name as you. It's great having tocayos. A few weeks ago the same Juan came up to me in my office in the top square and gave me a bottle of very tasty vino tinto! Result!

                              View from my office

There are a lot of stray dogs around here at the moment, especially out in the campo (outside town). Most of them are big dogs which are used as guard dogs to protect the fincas that surround Álora. I suspect that they get kicked out in winter because they're expensive to keep. 

The other day my amigo and  Honorary Olive Grove Manager Colin, and I came across an emaciated greyhound walking in the middle of the road as we were driving Monty out for his morning run. I stopped the car and we threw out a cereal bar to it. The dog ignored the food but crawled under our car, where it was warm and shelter from the cold wind. We couldn't get it to budge. I tried luring it with bits of the cereal bar and poking it with a stick. No luck. A local chap pulled up and helpfully suggested bouncing the car up and down.
Eventually they kept an eye on the dog as I slowly reversed the car back over it. The dog survived the experience but I don't have much hope that he'll make it through the winter.

Ultramarinos

This is a little shop in Calle Granada in the old part of Málaga, which has become very popular for tourists and where there are hundreds of bar and restaurants. I have passed this shop many times without even noticing it or wondering what it sold. The other day I noticed another 'Ultramarino' in Plaza Santa Ana in Álora.

It's a 'mini-supermarket' or grocery shop. You see them in towns and villages everywhere, along with 'erías' like  fruterías, carnicerías, pescaderías, cafeterías, peluquerías etc. So why do these little grocery shops have such an unusual name?
I'll tell you. 
They got their name ('things from over the seas') from the products brought back from the old Spanish colonies like coffee, spices, beans and cod. They never specialised in one product so they didn't qualify for 'ería' status.

Una heladería

Most of the old Ultramarinos shops were replaced by supermarkets but you still see them in the 'barrios'. The old ones were like the old Co-operative stores in England - a cross between a warehouse and a shop. 

They usually had white marble counters and were 'open all hours'. The mixture of aromas gave the ultamarinos a distinctive exoctic ambience.

They say that the very Spanish custom of 'pedir la vez' started in the ultramarinos. Everyone who comes to live or stay for more than a few days in Spain will have experienced 'pedir la vez'. You`ll be waiting in the bank (no queue here) or frutería or the  carnicería and the next customer to come in will say, '¿Quién es el último?' or 'la ultima'. ('Who is the last?) Everybody then points at you and you say 'Yo!'( I am). 
What fun!
This system does not work in bars. It's every man and woman for themselves there. 

Bar News

Waiting time at Bar Romero is now down to 40 minutes.

Antonio has, at last, reopened his bar, La Jamonería, after three weeks holiday. 

Juanito Sánchez November 24th. 2019
 
 

 

Álora's Annual Solid Soup Day and What You Shouldn't Say about Ham.

Álora's Annual Solid Soup Day and What You Shouldn't Say About Ham.



It's a  sunny, peaceful autumn day in Álora. It's a verano de membrillo (a quince summer). It´s hot for the time of year.
I've just stacked up a load of olive logs in the wood store ready for the colder days to come. 

Up in La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba the cafe-bars are doing a roaring trade in cafés, tostadas, churros, bocadillos and ice-cold beer. It´s chockabloc up there. Outside Cafe-Bar El Madrugón an impromptu bit of flamenco has just broken out. 

Not what you'd call a 'flash mob' but a reminder that Álora is an Andalusian town -  even though some of the drinkers up there are necking  beer from litre (2 pints) glasses. (grandes)

This alien 'Costa' custom has now reached inland Andalucía.
The locals don't get it. In temperatures of 35 degrees Celcius a litre of beer in full sun will heat up quite quickly, and warm lager tastes like piss. That's why the Perotes (people from Álora) drink their beer in tiny cañas (small tumblers) or tubos (tall thin 'highball' glasses). The empty glasses are kept in the freezer too. Perhaps these lads think they are getting a bargain by buying beer in bulk - or they may just like drinking piss.

                                             cañas

 Round here they like their cerveza with a lot of 'espuma' (foam) on top, - the more the better, and the glass is not a standard measure, as it would be in Inglaterra. Believe it or not, the locals would be fighting over who gets the frothy one on this tray of cañas.
A few years ago I tried this old gag in  Bar Lo D'Antonio ;

'Can you put a whisky in that caña for me?'
'Certainly'.
'Well if you can fit a whisky in it, you can fit some more beer in it, mate. Fill it up!'

(Puzzled looks all round). 

I keep getting caught out by a freezing cold glass of red wine. Because it gets so hot here, they keep the red wine alongside the white, at near freezing temperatures. It soon warms up in the summer heat but they forget to take it out of the fridge when the weather gets cold (cold for here, that is). From November to June you've got to ask for your red wine 'del tiempo' (room temperature) if you don't want to get a shooting pain up your teeth as you take your first sip of Rioja or Ribera del Duero.

 Last Saturday we had the annual Día de las Sopas Perotas in Álora.

Every year, on the First Saturday in October, Álora throws its doors open and welcomes people of all nations and gender orientation to a day of gastronomic challenge. Our signature dish, Sopas Perotas (it´s not soup) is celebrated in style.

Apart from Viernes Santo (Good Friday), it´s the only time the ayuntamiento (town hall) admits that there's another vibrant and picturesque plaza in Álora... La Plaza Baja de la Despedía (The 'Bottom Square'). Thousands of people were lured down from the´Top Square' by the promise of a free plate of nourishing and piping hot sopas (with some olives), served to them by our distinguished new alcalde (mayor), Snr. Francisco Martínez.

                                   Sopas Perotas



I've tried very hard to like it. It´s all right if you´re hungry.

Here's Señor Martinez ('Humillo' to his pals) dishing out the stuff to the hungry, starving masses. On his right is Susana Díaz who is taking a bit of chance. She came last year when she was the President of Andalucía and was booted  out a few weeks later.
The only way is up.

After queueing for two hours in the hot sun you might well be hungry...if you're still standing.

The ambulance stationed outside our door was doing good business too. The day was really hot.

There were lots of wonderful stalls, many selling food which is produced locally.The local beekeeper, Antonio told me he sells 1500 kilos a year of his honey to a man who has a stall on The Bullring Market in Birmingham.

As usual, only a small number of estranjeros (foreigners) turn up for the event. Those who do, insist on calling our distinguished delicacy 'soup'.
It's NOT soup.

It´s true that sopa means soup, but sopas is the word for what you see above. Does it look like soup?

Oxford Spanish Dictionary

Sopas 
'Aunque se denomine sopa, no es un plato con caldo ya que el pan lo absorbe,  aunque si que se toma con cuchara.'

Aunque la mona se vista de seda, mona se queda.
(Even if a monkey is dressed in silk, it's still a monkey)

I'm glad we've cleared that up.

It's one thing knowing what it's NOT, but quite another knowing what it IS. (rather like BREXIT). At least you can see what Sopas looks like.

It´s actually made from stale bread, potatoes, green peppers, tomatoes, hot stock and oil. Mmmm.

The word 'Sopas' is another 'false friend' like;

actual   (it actually means 'currently')
asistir    (not assist, but attend)
constipación   (a cold)
embarazada    (pregnant) 
vaso     (a drinking glass without a stem)
suceso    ( an event)
ropa     (clothes) 
and this one...

Not the opening of a pie shop in Álora at all!
It´s a foot clinic!
Pie = foot 
¡Qué decepción!




Yesterday I bumped into an old friend in Mercadona (Álora's 'out of town' hypermarket complex). He told me that he's leaving Spain before the end of October. 
Julio and his wife are worried about being refused entry into Britain if the UK leaves the European Union on October 31st.

Julio moved to England from Italy, aged 16, in 1962 when immigrants to Britain were welcomed. He worked there continuously for 45 years. He married an English rose, raised a family and ran a pizza bakery until retiring  to Spain 15 years ago. His grown up children and their families live in England. There had never been any question about his right to return to live in England until the forced repatriations under Theresa May's 'hostile environment' policy and anti-European Brexit propaganda gave many people like Julio reason to fear for their future.

Letters to the UK authorities asking about Julio's status have not been answered or acknowledged.
Buen viaje, Julio. We'll really miss you.

The olives on our trees have started to ripen. In just over 3 weeks we'll be heading off to Olivar Caicunes with our nets, poles and rakes to hacer la cosecha. Our Liverpudlian migrant workers have already booked  flights out and Mrs. Sánchez and I have no broken bones (so far) this year. All volunteers are very welcome to come and give us a hand. The pay is not good - well, there's no pay- but you can eat all the olives you want.

                            Two happy olive pickers

We pick all the olives by hand but the proper farmers use machines that shake the  branches. We don't need those contraptions because our migrant workers are from Liverpool which has some of the best pubs in Britain and they already have 'the shakes'.

These machines cost about 1000 euros and make a noise like a chainsaw. Where's the fun in that?

You may have noticed I slipped in a Spanish refrán (proverb) up there.
The Spanish are very fond of proverbs - there are 100,000, apparently - I have a book with 1000 of them in it. I can honestly say that I have tried using lots of them but not once has anyone understood one.
I think someone made them all up for the book  Most of them make so sense at all.
Here's a few examples to try out if you want to impress the girl in the frutería in the Top Square. See if you can think of an English equivalent:

'En casa de ahorcado no hay que mentar la soga'.
 (When you're in the house of a hanged man, don't mention rope.)

'Quien da su hacienda antes de la muerte merece que le den un mazo en la frente'.

(Anyone who gives away his property before he's dead deserves a biff on the forehead.)

La rodilla de María García que más me ensucia que me limpia.
(The knee of María García makes makes me dirtier rather than cleaner).

 Answers on a postcard, please.

Another General election is coming up in November. The parties are busily slagging each other off and at the same time trying to cobble together alliances in order to win a majority and form a viable government. (sound familiar?).

Pedro Sánchez (no relation), prime minister and leader of the PSOE party dealt himself a stunning blow last week when he referred to Jamón Ibérico as Jamón Serrano. Gasps of horror went up as he committed this gaffe of gaffes.

Gaffacious enough, it seems, to lose him the election. His error was gleefully reported in all the national newspapers.

     Pedro Sánchez just about to put his pata negra in it.

Jamón (ham) is probably the most popular food item in Spain. As everyone knows, it´s made from the legs of dead pigs which are soaked in brine, hung up for years, sliced into the thinnest of slices and served with little bread sticks called picos.

So far, so good.
 
Athough some very tasty and high quality Serrano (mountain) hams (if you like that sort of thing) come from places like Teruel and Trevélez, they are made from 'white' pigs.
In Extramadura in the west of Spain they have 'Iberico' pigs which have black feet (patas negras), wander about a bit and are fed for a time on acorns (bellotas).

                        Ibérico porkers eating acorns.

Jamón Ibérico Bellota is the Rolls Royce of the ham world. It's very expensive, too. It's often just called 'pata negra'.

                                                                Jamón Ibérico Bellota (840€)

                                 Teruel Serrano Ham (102€)

You can see why they slice these hams so thinly. They even have a national a competition in ham slicing and you can do a PhD. in Jamonología at Spain's most prodigious university in Salamanca.

Only well-heeled Spaniards can afford to buy the best hams, but you can get good Jamón Ibérico as a tapa at many of the bars in Álora. If you´re in the right place at the right time you may even be able to beg a bostin' bone from a bar. They are great for soups and stews. I'm not going to tell you which bars to beg in.

However, co-incidentally,  jolly joker Antonio Gil who now runs the bar called 'La Jamonería' has closed his bar for a bit.

The notice reads
'Shut until it´s open again'

Juanito Sánchez October 11th. 2019











 

 

Stop press...

Stop press.....

https://elpais.com/

Spain's Supreme Court has just ruled that Franco´s remains will be removed from El Valle de los Caídos.

You heard it first from Álora.

Juanito Sánchez 24th. September 2019.

If Franco Were Alive Today He'd Be Turning in His Grave - But Which One?

If Franco Were Alive Today, He'd Be Turning in His Grave - But Which One?


Paco. You're confused. You've brought a wooden stake instead of a chisel.'

'I know. Shut up and get digging'

Here we are again in Álora.
Just over a week ago we took our place among the Rolls Royces, Bentleys, Lamborghinis and Ferraris in the queue to board the Good Ship Pont Aven in Plymouth and headed off into the unknown. It appears that a good few of the richest people in the UK had the same idea. There must have been billions of pounds worth of cars crammed on those car decks. It doesn't look good for the British economy when all the toffs are scuttling away to the Continent - like rats leaving a sinking ship, some may say.
Here's a toff showing off his new Rolls Royce Phantom. I bet not many people north of Crouch End have never even seen one of these £400,000 monsters. Ten a penny on the Pont Aven.

We've booked a passage to come back to Blighty in December but God Only Knows (by the Beach Boys) what the future holds for Fair Albion (with all the toffs gone).

However, some of them have been forced to stay behind for a week because of an ancient British tradition called 'Droit de Seigneur. At this very moment 11 elaborately berobed Law Lords with names like Lord Pannick, Lord Keen and Lady Bracknell, (A handbag?!!) are trying to find a way to break the news to the entire population of The British Isles that for the last 300 years (at least) they have had no democratic control over their government. Our parliament ,The House of Commons, has been given two fingers and the bums rush by a fat ex-Eton schoolboy, without so much as a by your leave, and nobody can do a thing about it!

What was all that Women's Suffragette Movement about then? 

 'Take your grubby mitts off me you plebby plod. I'm Lady Bracknell, don't you know.'

Apparently it's all been done by a nod and a wink and the odd handshake in the past and NOBODY HAS NOTICED that we don't have a constitution.

                           The Supreme Court Judges (top toffs)

 I just hope they can sort it all out before we get back.

Speaking of 'judges', Mrs. Sánchez and I are very proud to announce that our little dog Monty was judged 'Dog With  Best Trick'  at the prestigious Brittany Ferries International  Dog Show.

I hope it hasn't gone to his head.

The voyage south across the Bay of Biscay was without incident and, as usual, mostly took place during the night while Mrs. Sánchez and I were were asleep in our 'inside' (no view) cabin, Monty was giving his contralto contribution to the canine chorus from his prison cell on deck 10, and members of the 'Luxury Tours' £8,000-a-head posh car rally were sleeping off their champagne cocktails in 'Commodore Class'. (Try saying that without taking a breath).

                     Choppy seas in the Bay of Biscay

I must say it felt like an escape from chaos as we closed in on the port of Santander. At last, a country at peace with itself after 40 years living under a fascist dictatorship  and 40 more with a CONSTITUTION, a king, and a bright future.

BUT no government either, apparently. At least Spain has a parliament, Las Cortes, but they can't agree about who shall be the Prime Minister.
The PSOE party won the most seats in the latest election, so its leader, Pedro Sánchez (no relation) thinks he should have the top job. The other party leaders won't go for it, so he's well miffed and says they'll have to have another election - the fourth in four years.

                            Pedro Sánchez (bless 'im.)

Personally, I like elections and can't get enough of them, and one a year is not frequent enough in my opinion, but all this messing about has held up the exhumation of Franco's body again.

Generalisimo Francisco Franco Bahamonde. 'El Caudillo'

They were supposed to dig him up in June from El Valle de los Caidos (The Valley of the Fallen) -  the modest monument to Franco's victory in the Spanish Civil War that dominates the skyline a few miles north of Madrid, where he's no right to be anyway because he neither fell nor was he pushed. In effect he gate-crashed the graveyard, but his family and fan club ,The Francisco Franco Foundation can't agree where to put his mummified body when they they've dug him up,

           El Valle de Los Caidos (The Valley of the Fallen)

So, he can stay where he is for the time being.

It's all because of The Law of Historical Memory which was put into force by the socialist and anti- fascist PSOE Party in 2007.
The law was intended to end El Pacto del Olvido ( the unwritten agreement to forget all about what had happened during and after the Spanish Civil War). 
The new law recognises that El Franquismo' (The Franco era 1939-75) was a fascist dictatorship (a bad thing), that Franco committed crimes against humanity and that the families of people who were killed or persecuted for opposing Franco have the right to justice and to give a decent burial to their relatives who, in many thousands of cases,  lie as yet unidentified, in mass graves all over Spain.

Members of the Franco Fan Club at The Valle de los Caidos

This also means that the Valle de Los Caidos can not be used as a 'shrine' to Francoism any more - so El Caudillo got his marching orders.

I noticed in 'El Pais in English' that a little village up near Salamanca called Agueda (60 inhabitants) has offered to have Franco's body buried there, so that the villagers can pay their respects and earn a few euros by selling Franco memorabilia, plaster virgins, beer and ice cream.

The village used to be called 'Agueda del Caudillo' and is one of 300 'Franco towns' that were built between 1939 and 1970'. 

                            Brasilas del Caudillo, Rioja.

101 of these 'colonisations' were built in Andalucía. Franco had them built in order to repopulate rural areas where, presumably, everyone had either been shot dead, locked up in prison or put in one of his concentration camps.

They were nearly all built from scratch in drought areas or swamps and people were shipped in to grow fruit and vegetables. The pueblos were usually named after the modest 'Caudillo' himself.

Agueda del Caudillo has had to change its name to just 'Agueda'. This will help people to forget about Franco.

El Ultimo Pueblo del Caudillo. The Last Pueblo of the Caudillo

All but 7 of the 300 Franco towns have changed their names to ones having no reference to Franco.
The last one not to comply in Andalucía is Villafranco del Guadalhorce which is 22 km (12 miles) from Álora . We used to pass through it every time we went to the coast or the Sunday Market in Coin. 

The people in Villafranco don't seem to care one way or the other about the name of their town but with new elections on the way, who knows? We had a visit from Vox,  the 'far right' Francoist Party yesterday. It will be right up their street to stir up trouble amongst the peace-loving Villafranceños over a name.

'What are you going to do about the lack of pies in Spain, mate?'

They'd better not start any trouble round here. Las Personas Mayores (the elderly) round here are signing up for this course in 'self defence´. It's being run by Manuel Conejo (Manuel Rabbit) so it should be good. No special equipment will be necessary, but participants are advised to 'wear loose clothing and carry a 'baston' (stick.)'

 'Speak softly and carry a big stick.'
 Theodore Roosevelt.

Bar News 

Sad to report that 'Padre y Hijo'. on Calle Santa Ana has closed its doors again . Since it stopped being the town's Post Office it has re-opened at least 15 times as a bar. The only successful owner was the first, Lars, a tall, serious Swede.

'Bar El Tapeo' on Calle Vera Cruz has had a few incarnations too. It was a bar with that name in 1999, then it was Obi's Bar, then Bar Gallego. Recently it has been selling women's underwear and was  the HQ of the Partido Popular.
Now it's La Sede and is doing very well at the moment.

I've been waiting for those nice people at 'A Place in the Sun' to contact me. So far I have not received the large cheque I was expecting following their visit to Casa Sanchez. I rang their production office a couple of weeks ago but the nice lady seemed to think I was asking about a programme on global warming.
She just kept saying something about 'hell freezing over'.


Juanito Sánchez 22nd. September 2019.