Man in Álora Hunts for Billy. But Where's the Water Gone?
Where's the water gone, Marcellus? Oops. It's slipped out again.
Only two days to go before Los Sánchez abandon Brexit Britain and head for the sun soaked sierras of southern Spain, a little paler, a little poorer (£1.00=1.19€) but content in the knowledge that British people have now 'got control back'. Indeed, it's been a delight during the last couple of months to see the happy, smiling faces of all the newly enfranchised and empowered islanders as they skip gaily down Kings Heath High Street to sign on or pop into Cash Converters to pawn the odd gold ring or mobile phone. Meanwhile Sir Philip Green smiles benignly from his new £100 billion yacht somewhere in the Adriatic as he opens another bottle of Krug and toasts all the unemployed staff and penniless pensioners of British Home Stores. It's nice to be in control.
I expect that by the time we come back to 'post Brexit Britain' they will have built the wall between Northern and Southern Ireland, patched up Hadrian's Wall and the British fleet will be patrolling the beaches of the south coast 24/7.
The British Fleet off Brighton Beach
Mrs.Sánchez and I have have just returned from an archaeological expedition in the far south west of Britain on The Isles of Scilly, a group of low lying islands and rocks populated by Scillonians and rare seabirds such as the Manx Shearwater and the mythical Puffin. For hundreds of years Scillonians, a hardy race, have survived by eating barnacles, wrecking ships( allegedly) and providing B&B for passing pirates.
These days the islands are very prosperous. The B&Bs have improved, there are several posh hotels and lots of shops selling expensive clothes, mugs with puffins on them, original paintings, pottery and Cornish pasties. I am told that during the peak holiday period over 10,000 pasties are sold every day, most of them imported frozen from the mainland. (for the lowdown on Cornish pasties the reader is referred to a previous blog 'Home is where the Pies Are' 7/4/2015.).
A busy shopping street in St. Mary's, Isles of Scilly
The Hunt for Billy Idol
A long long time ago all the Isles of Scilly were joined up and what remains today are the tops of the hills. If you are thinking of visiting Scilly, I should get a move on and book now because at the rate the oceans are rising there won't be anything to see at all in a few years. The people who lived here 3,000 to 4,000 years ago, well before pasties were invented, used to bury bodies or their ashes on the hills in graves called barrows or cists. There are hundreds of them on the Islands, so many that if you don't keep to the paths you could very well fall into one or bump into one and get a nasty bruise. There are more of these graves on Scilly than in the whole of Cornwall.
Mrs. Sánchez after falling into 'Obadiah's Barrow' on 'The Gugh'
(a lucky escape)
These ancient people put up 'standing stones'(menhirs) here and there too.
Two 'Bond Girls' and the Old Man of Gugh. (a menhir)
Nobody knows what they were for, but I was fascinated to read in 'The Fortunate Isles' by R.L. Bowley that there is an actual pagan statue on the island St. Martin's which is 'Britain's earliest known statue.' It was found on S. Martin's in 1989 by a holidaymaker looking for puffins and 'consists of a human face - nose, mouth, eyes and neck all faintly discernable'
Naturally, Mrs. S. and I were on the first available 'tripper boat' to St. Martin's, but not before asking the nice lady at the Isles of Scilly Museum . where the statue could be found. She wasn't able to tell me, which was a bit surprising seeing that it's supposed to be the oldest statue in the whole of Great Britain!
She told me to ask 'Keith Lowe' who lives on St Martin's.
St. Martin's
.
Off we went on the Seahorse (a boat) and after picking up a couple of 'locally made' pasties we went off in search of Keith Lowe. There are only 136 people living on St. Martin´s so finding him wasn't likely to be difficult, if he was in. I knocked on the first cottage door we came across and enquired after Keith Lowe.
'Good morning. I wonder if you could tell me where I might find Keith Lowe.'
'You don't want to buy a pasty?'
'Not today thankyou.I'm looking for Keith Lowe.'
'He's upstairs listening to the radio'.
Pause for uncomfortable silence.
'Do you want to speak to him?'
'Yes please. It's about the ancient statue'.
(5-10 minutes later there is a shuffling sound on the stairs.)
'Hello. Are you Keith Lowe? It's about the ancient statue'.
He was a man of indeterminate age with long straggly hair and wearing two pairs of glasses. Obviously a local sage.
'Ah. Billy Idol'. What about her? We call her Billy Idol cos she's a pagan idol.'
'What a witty and inventive name!.' I ventured, 'Can you tell me were to find her, er, it?
Maps came out and Mr. Lowe, who appeared to have recently risen, described a route to 'Billy' involving paths, a day mark,a menhir, lots of heather and cliffs.
'It it easy to find?'
'Ah. That depends. Some times it's easy. Sometimes she just don't want to be found.'
Off we headed, into a freshening easterly ( a sign of bad weather to come in these parts.)
And we found her.
'Billy Idol'
It's not a very big statue. It's not in the guide books and the are no signs for it, but it's supposed to be the oldest statue in Great Britain. I wondered who had really 'discovered' it. Probably Keith Lowe. With a little imagination you can make out a neck. We weren't convinced. Apparently someone pinched it a few years ago to fill a hole in a wall but now it is cemented firmly to the ground.
It turned out that we'd been trying to make out facial features on the wrong side. On the other side, facing the sea and with the sun at the right elevation it's just possible to make out a human face.
'Eyes without a face'
Disturbing news from Alora!
When in Álora we get our drinking water from La Fuente de la Canca.It's a natural spring which has flowed continuously for a least 2000 years when the Romans incorporated it into a villa. The water is a bit limey but it's free. Now, suddenly it's dried up. Not a drop from either of the pipes.
The Ayuntamiento, headed by the popular and now bearded José Sánchez Moreno (no relation) is on the case and big diggers have been brought in to find out where the water is going. No success so far.
Where's the water gone?
The latest theory is that someone has dug a well nearby and diverted the stream. All they need to do is go up in a helicopter and look for a big green patch. There's been no rain for two months. East Peasy. I hope they get it sorted by the time we get there next week.
Juanito Sánchez September 3rd. 2016
Sánchez sails into a BREXIT shitstorm.
Regular readers of this humble organ may have noticed that there has not been a post for over a month. The truth is that Mrs. Sánchez and and I have been keeping a low profile since returning to Great Britain for our annual holiday in the rain. No sooner had the good old MV Pont Aven docked in Plymouth than a complete stranger sidled up to me and asked me to 'F*** off back to your own country you f***ing migrant!'. I can see the playful irony in being called 'Manuel' or 'Johnny Dago' now and then by a few sharp witted wags; in fact I prefer that to 'Back again you f***ing tax dodger?' which, unlike the 'migrant' slur, is a little too close to home, but 'migrant'? Me?
'F***k off back to Spain!'
Getting 'a healthy tan' on your summer hols used to be the goal of every sensible fair minded and fair skinned Brit. Even the meteoric increase in melanomas in recent years has failed to deter determined sun worshippers with the price of a return Ryanair ticket to Málaga from hitting the baking hot beaches of the southern Costas.
Until now, that is.
Apparently someone has had this idea called 'Staycation' which is (very) short for 'Stay in your own windy and rainswept country for your summer holiday (vacation)'. Where Cancer failed to impact, the slump in the value of the pound has triumphed.
Holidays abroad cost a lot more now. Even Coco's Bar in Benalmadena is having to revise its policy of accepting good old pounds sterling over the bar.
This downturn in the power of the pound is due to something called 'BREXIT' which as far as I can make out is some kind of mass hysteria brought on by believing what posh people tell you about 'foreigners'.
Anyway, Watch out, staycationers! Coming back from your two weeks staycation in Towyn, Tenby or Torquay with a noticeable tan may now land you in trouble of a different tone. Previously mild mannered and moderate men and women may manually molest you with a finger prod to remind you that. 'We've got our country back now!' or 'We've got back control now!' or 'F*** off back!' (I think I've already done that one).
Consequently Mrs.Sánchez and I have taken to staying in a lot in our darkened sitting room, waiting to become white again; especially considering the neighbours we've got.
Mrs. Sánchez off to chat with our neighbour about the EU
Thankfully the cold and rainy weather has kept us indoors for most of the time anyway (No hay mal que por bien no venga.) (Every cloud has a silver lining). We've kept ourselves busy by doing rompecabezas (jigsaw puzzles) and watching Good old Albion fall apart.
I hope you will all get well soon.
Speaking of getting well, I've been having a bit of a problem in bed recently, which I don't want go into in detail about at the moment except to say that I've spent the last two weeks trying to get an appointment with a doctor to find the cause of my discomfort.
Two weeks later I've still not managed to bag an appt. until two weeks next Friday when I expect to be staycationing on the Isles of Scilly (Waitrose By The Sea). I was left with the 'choice' of 'going on line' to book a 'triage appointment' with an unnamed contracted out operative who will tell me if I can have an appointment or not and when.
I tried this option but stalled at the first hurdle. It seems that I need a 'PIN' from the local health centre in order to 'access' the 'site'. I drove down to the Health Centre for my PIN, carefully avoiding eye contact with passing Brummies (who voted for BREXIT). The Health Centre was closed so I went home and looked at their website again which said they were, in fact, open.
That was last week. Today (Monday) I repeated the process and the Health Centre was open and guess what! Hardly anybody there. The nice uniformed receptionist looked up from the fan she was adjusting and five minutes later asked me if she could help.
'I've come for a PIN'
She smiled and gave me a biro.
'No. I need a PIN to book an appointment'.
'We don't call them PINs now'
'Well you do on your website, but then again it says there you're open on Thursdays so I came down here and you were shut.'
'It needs changing. Do you want a 'triage appointment?´'
'Have you any others?'
'Not until September'
'Yes please'.
I've got my 'Linkage Key' now, and my 'ODS code' and my 'User ID' (not PIN) which is 12 digits long. How am I going to remember THAT?
I'm going to book a triage appoinment.
Can the BREXIT be blamed for this too? They tell me that we may lose our EHIC card which, at the moment, entitles us Brits to free emergency health care anywhere in the European Union and EU residents can see a doctor here, free of charge.
Good luck with that one, Manuel.
Gourmet corner
Pie fans may be interested in a new mobile pie emporium being run by a very nice chap called Jay.
Jay makes 'gourmet Pies' and I met him at a food market where Sánchez and Co. were selling our top quality Olivar Caicunes olive oil, which, incidentally, is proving popular with the more discerning Brummie.
The good news is that we will not be changing our prices post BREXIT.
Here's a little gem I bagged in a boutique bodega in Aranda de Duero.
It's 'Cream of Black Pudding!!'
Can you imagine anything better to spread on your morning toast? I thought not.
Juanito Sánchez
July 27th. 2016
El Fenómeno (no ordinary tomato)
At the risk of losing potential blog readers right from the 'get go', I'd like to introduce you to a tomato. I bought it today at the frutería (greengrocer's) up in town opposite the farmácia (chemist). What with the weather getting hotter and hotter here, Mrs. Sánchez and I fancied an ensalada (salad) for tea so I was dispatched uptown for the usual salad ingredients : lechuga (lettuce), pepino (cucumber) remolacha (beetroot) and tomates tomatoes) etc. .
For some reason salad tomatoes are usually sold when green, or just short of ripe, so pointing at basket of green tomatoes I asked for a kilo of salad tomatoes. The lady standing on my left and Juan the greengrocer ejaculated in unison. 'No!' they cried. 'No son para ensaladas.' ('They are not for salads'.)
'Here we go', thought I, 'I'm in for another dose of invaluable Perote (Aloranean) wisdom.'
'They are the 'pata negra' of tomatoes'. said Juan.
Digression.
For readers of this humble organ who are not familiar with the term 'pata negra' it translates as 'black foot' and is usually only applied to the very best legs of ham obtained from the hind legs of black 'Iberico' pigs which live (and, sadly, die) in south west Spain and eat acorns . (vegetarians can skip this next bit but should bear in mind that jamón (ham) is not generally considered to be meat at all here in southern Spain. If you ask the camarero (waiter) in a restaurant if a dish contains meat or not (I agree it's not a question that is often asked) you may be assured thus ; ' no lleva carne' (it doesn't contain meat). But when the dish is presented to your unfortunate vegetarian friend or family member, little pieces of ham may be spotted within. (my elder daughter can spot a bit of panceta from 3 km. on a foggy day.) If you protest, the response will be, 'Well, there's only a bit of it'.
The same is true of atún (tuna) which is not considered to be 'fish' and is always included in a green salad round here.
Anyway, these very tasty and very expensive hams have black feet. (patas negras) to distinguish them from the equally tasty but much much cheaper jamon serrano.
A pata negra ham (mmm.)
A 'pata negra' tomato, though? Are they having me on? Mrs. Sánchez and I have spent more than 15 years eating Spanish tomatoes but this is a new one on me. To be sure, this tomato looks a bit deformed too (funny shaped fruit and vegetables are called 'fenómenos' I once had a lemon shaped like a swan) but still green enough to be a 'salad tomato'.
Emphatically 'No!' (No). This tomato must be sliced thinly and served with only a good olive oil (we've plenty of that) some salt and a little vinegar. We'll see.
Joseli
Every morning Tommy and I go up to the castillo arabe for our morning constitutional. The castle is one of Álora's most attractive features and from a distance is pretty spectacular.
Spectacular, I'm sure you'd agree, from a distance, and with magnifcent views of the Guadalhorce valley and hills to the north and west.
Phoenician, built on by the Romans, Visigoths, Arabs and the reconquering Christians (known here as Los Reyes Caóticos). It's the oldest building in town and was used for a century as the town cemetery- and for the mass murders of Republicans during La Guerra Civil (The Civil War 1936-1939).
The castle contains an Arabic Archway which is unique in the West.
Since they shifted all the graves and niches the Ayuntamiento (town hall) has set about making the doddery old heap safer by encasing remaining bits of the old walls in ugly concrete casings.
There have been lots of rumours around the Brit community that they are going to make it into a luxury hotel (like the one in Jaén) or install a cable car or zipwire from the Plaza Baja or build a road up to it or make it into a donkey sanctuary etc.) At least visitors may now avoid the disappoinment of climbing all the way up Calle Ancha in the blistering heat to find row upon row of burial niches or worse still, find the place locked up. They now employ a 'vigilante' (caretaker), Joseli, who takes the job very seriously. He's even revived the garden that was planted years ago at great expense and then abandoned.
Tommy looks forward to his daily walks up at the castle because Joseli has five dogs including three ugly bitches (Chinese Shar Pies) which are often on heat. Normally I am fond of Pies but these three could turn UHT milk sour at a glance. Tommy disagrees and heads straight for the castle gate and a good old sniff up.
One of Tommy's girlfriends. Imagine if you felt like that all day
Joseli and I usually have a chat about the weather, plants, the lack of jobs round here (youth unemployment is at 45% at the moment), and sometimes music. I have difficulty following his rapid Andalús Spanish. Joseli, like many men here sounds as if he's angry all the time and sometimes he is. He is a member of a large and important Gitano family which has seen many tragic events. Three of his brothers have died young.
There are a lot of Gitano families in Álora, particularly around La Plaza Baja. The word 'gitano' is translated as 'gipsy' (egyptian) although most gitanos (roma people) originated in north west India and may have travelled through north Africa before arriving in Spain over 500 years ago.
Although integrated into Spanish culture, especially in Andalucía, gitanos have found themselves marginalised and ,especially in cities, associated with drugs and crime. Flamenco is widely considered to be the music of the gitanos. 'The song of the outcasts'. Any evening you can hear flamenco being sung around La Plaza Baja, coming from the windows of houses or from an impromtu performance by a couple of lads with a guitar and an audience. Strange, then, that gitanos are hardly ever to be seen in Álora's Peña Flamenca (Flamenco Club) either as members or performers! Curiously many 'Spanish' people here in Álora lower their voices to a whisper when they say the word 'gitano' despite the fact that some so called non-gitano families have typically gitano surnames.
A couple of days ago I bumped into Joseli doing a bit of weeding. under the castle walls. He called me over and showed me a coin he'd just found and a stone from a ring with what looked like an arabic design on it. He's found several pieces of Roman and Phoenician pottery there which are now in our fine Museo (museum) in La Plaza Baja.
Helpful tip for visitors to Álora
Please note that, although this rather confused sign at the end of our street tells you the Tourist Information Office is there too, it isn't. Another sign near the petrol station tells you it's 500 metres up on the right outside the swimming pool. It's not there either. It's in La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba (Top Square). ( where the desirable Ana Básquez used to work when it was the Tour River Travel Agency) It may be open if your luck's in.
Mrs. Sánchez has been planning a surprise 'significant' birthday party for me for the last three months. This has involved clandestine meetings, suspicious phone calls and even a secret Whats App account. After a week or two I started to smell a rat and by the week of the party I had managed to wheedle out most of the details including the venue which was the headquarters of the Hermandad of Dolores Coronada in Calle Parra. The big surprise really was a surprise. She'd booked a band and in walked......Los Compadres de Álora
led by my mate from the castle, Joseli.
Here he is with Conchi Vila and here he is again talking to a music critic.
He isn't really angry. Really!
Los Compadres de Álora are a flamenco band which should get more support from the Ayuntamiento. Although Álora is a fun-loving place, there are no venues for live music like this except, perhaps, during the annual Feria. (early in August this year).
If you click on the link you can see them in action. Keep an eye on the little lad in front. The two girls are Joseli's daughters.
Los Compadres de Álora .
Thanks for the party. It was fantastic with a big paella cooked by Antonia with her handsome assistant, Antonio.
and a giant cake.
Mrs. Sánchez and I can't wait to get back to England to join in all the Referendum fun and games. Thay seem to be having such a good time back there.
The tomato was delicious.
Juanito Sánchez June 5th. 2016
