How to Save the World. Man Not in Álora Rebels Against Extinction - and Mower.

How to Save the World. Man Not in Álora Rebels Against Extinction - and Mower.

                                   A typical morning

It's Pancake Tuesday today and probably the first morning for months that isn't dark and rainy here in Brum. Last year Pancake Tuesday (Shrove Tuesday, Mardi Gras, Carnaval) was a week later, or earlier, because it has to be 40 days before Easter Sunday, and Easter Sunday keeps changing according to a secret formula based on the the 'Paschual  Full Moon', which is the first full moon after the 'Vernal Equinox'. I don't know why they don't just decide on a fixed date like they did with Christmas and Boxing Day and stop messing us around.
It's a big day on the Christian Calendar. We have a 'My Favourite Dogs' one, so I can't confirm that. It marks the start of Lent when everyone is supposed to give up something until Easter.

Mrs. S. and I and are following the fine example of  Jacob Rees-Mogg and giving up going out of the house or, in the case of His Excellency and Prime Minister, The Right Honourable Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, going out of the refrigerator, in readiness for the arrival in Birmingham of the Coronavirus (Covid-19) when we will have to 'self-isolate' ourselves anyway.

 Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg. 

                 (Has anyone seen them recently?)

At the moment, 'staying in' is no hardship for us as the weather is dreadful, we can get Netflix, the freezer's full and we've no money anyway.
We could do without the What's Apps we keep getting from Álora, though. The weather there has been hot and sunny for the last 6 weeks, apparently, and the annual 'Carnaval'  last Saturday was a big success - although a small group of British expats in the top square (La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba) were overhead asking if anyone knew what all the fuss was about.

                         La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba

                                   Calle Cervantes

Now that we are 'self-isolated' we are even more 'economically inactive', as we were cruelly named by the current 'Home Secretary' of Britain, Priti Patel. I must say I was a bit put out by being called 'economically inactive'. I'm all in favour of economising. You should see me at our local Waitrose in the early-to-late afternoon when they start putting the yellow 'reduced item' stickers on!

Mrs. S. and I are planning to do our bit by going  pea picking in Norfolk when the UK leaves the European Union and the farmers can't employ migrant workers any more. It can't be that hard and we'll be doing it for Britain.

                               Pea Picking in Norfolk

Come to think of it, it's a bit rich her calling people 'economically inactive' when she, herself, and the 'special one', who must not be named in case he shows up, are hell bent on sacking everyone in the civil service. Even the 'wierdo and misfit special advisers' that lurk in the shadowy alcoves of 10 Downing Street are looking over their shoulders -  such trusted aides as Messrs. T. Robinson, M. Borman and A.Tilla-Th'un aren't safe there any more.

                            Special Advisers (Spads)
 
If a pandemic of Coronavirus isn't scary enough, we've got climate change and global warming to worry about as well. Two gales, Ciara and Dennis, followed by floods, have left vast areas of the UK under water at the same time as the glaciers are melting and Antarctica has higher temperatures than Aberdeen.

                  Migrant polar bear arriving at Margate.

While the greatest polluting countries are still climate change deniers, the British Government has announced that all diesel, petrol and hybrid vehicles will be barred from our roads by year 2032. 
This announcement came a week after I bought a new diesel-powered car. 

Now we can't have wood or coal fires either. Well, coal fires were banned in Birmingham 25 years ago and the same goes for the 'wet wood' fires also covered by the new ban. Nevertheless we've all got to do our bit to reduce our 'carbon footprint'. I expect our only national festival, Guy Fawkes Day or Bonfire Night will be banned this year, too.
What next?

On the only dry day for weeks I decided to try mowing our lawn. It got me out of the house for an hour or so and my recently bought self-propelled petrol lawnmower started straight away. I'd just about finished when the mower hit a small tree stump that I'd forgotten about. Some bits flew off the engine and it stopped. I took it to the nice chap at 'Mower Maintenance', 'just behind Solihull Blinds', to see what could be done.
'Knackered'. he said, 'The crank's bent'. 

Mrs. S. has a favourite saying, 'Buy cheap, buy twice'. (El dinero mal gastado viene dos veces al mercado)
I'd only paid 50 quid for it so she might well be right (again) even though its dramatic demise was my fault (and the stump's) entirely.
The tacturn technician was only able to give me one piece of useful advice:

'They're selling these at Aldi from this Sunday at £179.99.' 
And, indeed, they are.
Prices for self-propelled petrol lawnmowers range from £200- £500 on Amazon so whose advice should I take? I have to

be economically active AND have a lawnmower that will last longer than the 6 months that the last one did. Decisions, Decisions!

And another thing. If they're going to ban petrol cars, they may well ban petrol lawnmowers too, so I've got to make a decision that is environmentally friendly too.

                    The British Lawnmower Museum 

I contacted Oberon who runs The British Lawnmower Museum in St. Anne's, near Blackpool, for advice. He told  me that there are no solar, wave or wind powered  lawnmowers being made yet. He has not heard any rumours about  banning petrol mowers either, but he warned me that the ones on sale at Aldi are made in China and parts are hard to get hold of. 

I was just wondering what we'll have to give up next to save the planet when I noticed Monty, our dog, giving me an odd look. 

                                     An odd look

I can face giving up driving a car and having to brick up my fireplace; after all it's for the best possible of causes, but there appears to be some suggestion that even 'man's best friend' may be next for the chop.

There are 9.9 million dogs and 10.9 million cats in the UK (163 million in the USA) and between them it is alleged that they are responsible for 64 million tons (tonnes) of 'greenhouse gases' a year - the equivalent of 13 million cars! 
That means, so the story goes, that a cat is as harmful to the earth's atmosphere as a VW Golf, and a dog, a great big Toyota Land Cruiser.
 ('The Guardian' 12th. November 2009) 

I won't try to kid you that our Monty doesn't let off the odd fart now and then. Don't we all? But there is some mishtake here, surely! What a load of old baloney (un cuento Chino).

We've just got back from a trip up north to Oldham which used to be  partly in the County of Lancashire and partly in the West Riding of Yorkshire -  an anomaly caused by the difficulty in drawing a boundary line up in the harsh, rugged and beautiful Pennine Hills. It's now in Greater Manchester. 
It was snowing up there and cold. They have a very dry sense of humour, too, despite all the rain.

While Mrs.S. was having a bit of a knees-up at a mountain 'boutique hotel' resort on Ripponden Road with her sister, I drove up to the snow line at 'Grains Bar' to give Monty a bit of exercise. A van pulled up beside me in the car park. The driver's window was open.
I won't try to replicate the accent.

Me:   'What a fantastic view!'

Local van driver:    'Aye. You tend to take it for granted.'

Me:   'Not me, but I don't come here much since I left Oldham.

L.V.D. 'Where did you move to?' 

Me:   'Birmingham.'

L.V.D.: 'How long ago?'

Me:      'Fifty years.'

L.V.D.   Umm. Think you'll like it?

See you soon, if we're spared.

Juanito Sánchez February 28th. 2020.

 

Una Visita Relámpago. Pain, Passports and Pruning.

Man in Álora Makes Una Visita Relámpago (A Fleeting Visit)

                             What's going on here? (answer at the 'foot' of the page)

Last week Mrs. Sánchez and I made a pre-Brexit dash to Álora to sort out some pressing matters while the going was still good. Although Monty has a British AND a Spanish Pet Passport at the moment, we left him for a few days with his best pal Elvis who lives with our number one son.

By the time this edition of Man in Álora hits the streets, Great Britain, as I like to call it, may well be 'A Third Country' at best or even An Unlisted Country for the purposes of travel in European Union Countries.

In fact, the pet passport was the primary pressing problem and purpose of our flying visit - that, and a bit of gardening which has to be done during a 'waning moon', according to local custom.

                             A waning gibbous moon.

You need neither a pet passport nor an ordinary passport to go to the moon, yet.)

Five dark, wet weeks in Brum, combined with the gloomy faces of everyone you meet had left us longing for the sight of blue skies and the sun. Even Christmas had not been able to work its unique magic and raise our spirits

                  View from my window then and now.

It was raining when our plane bumped along the runway at the Aeropuerto de Málaga Costa del Sol. We passed through the 'arrivals from EU countries' gate for the last time ever, and headed for the airport train station, which is just a line of ticket machines that nobody expects to work unless they are foreigners who are using them for the first time and can't follow the 'instructions' anyway.

Mrs. S and I have the shiny new 'tarjeta dorada' (gold card) which gives us a discount for being over a certain age but  cruelly refuses to work in the machines. I got through the barrier without incident but not so Mrs.S., who was left on the wrong side, clutching her useless piece of plastic and swearing in at least two languages. I had to decide quickly whether to abandon her and catch the train or stay and shout instructions to her as she joined the back of a queue to start the whole process again. Tricky!

                                     Tarjeta Dorada

Eventually I called, ´Don't bother with the card, just try and get a normal ticket!'. I then stood at the barrier, shouting encouragement, whilst watching a RENFE employee with a big set of keys, like Marley's ghost, open the machines and try to get them to work. It passed the time as my dear wife moved slowly up the queue.

It was still raining when we reached Álora. We rushed out of the station to catch the high-speed shuttle bus that takes you up into town. (I was clutching the right money (€4.10). The driver hates having to give you change.)
No bus! I phoned for a taxi which arrived just after the bus, only cost €5.00 for two of us, and the driver was cheerful. Result. 
Our kind neighbour, Julieta, had lit the wood burner and put a chicken in the fridge, too. Thanks.
Still raining but cosy. A quick siesta and then up into town for Calamares al plancha con patatas fritas at La Lonja and a late tapa at El Taller.
Great to be back!

The next day was sunny and we got most of the gardening done - I pruned the vine and did a bit of weeding while Mrs. S. sorted out the compost bins. Then I spotted this on the Wisteria.

It's Karma the Chameleon. We haven't seen him for a couple of years. I was just about to prune his branch when I spotted him. I thought they were supposed to change colour, but he just gave me the swivel eye and started to reverse down the branch in slow motion.

There is a false opinion that the chameleon changes its color to mimic its environment as a defense against predators. An individual able to shift its behavior in accordance with different persons is compared to a chameleon, but this does not happen with the real animal.

Well, who'd have thought? You don't know who to believe these days, do you? Apparently they do change colour but not for defence - just for a lark.
 

                             The view from my ladder.

Álora is a bit quiet at this time of the year. The Christmas celebrations come to an end on January 6th. which is the day of Los Reyes Magos (Epiphany or Twelfth Night) and the day that presents are exchanged. 
Every year on January 5th., the Three Wise Kings parade through town at night ,on motorised vehicles, in elaborate costumes with their retinues, chucking festive boiled sweets at the crowds lining the streets. So far no-one has had an eye put out. I'm just saying.

               Melchior chucking the caramelos. Watch out!

 In Álora one of the kings is always 'a person of colour' as we say these days, which involves a bit of festive 'blacking up', as we also say these days.

 
We missed the fun again this year and the next festival is not until Carnival (Shrove Tuesday) in February. We'll miss that too.

 Everyone was going around muffled up with puffer jackets on and scarves over their faces. Even Antonio who keeps our 'corner shop' Lo Más Natural in La Plaza Baja was wearing a woolly hat as he handed out free bocadillos (sandwiches, paid for by the church) to the local kids on their way to school. '¡Qué Frío!' (How cold it is!) everyone was saying. 'Un frío que te cagas', even.

I went into El Paso, the frutería in La Plaza de la Fuente Arriba to buy a coliflor. Some fruit and vegetables can be grown all the year round in southern Spain but the fruterías tend to stock seasonal fruit and vegetables.
There was a sign written in felt tip on the counter that said,

'EL QUE COME MELÓN EN ENERO NO LE FALTA DINERO'
which means;
'Anyone who can eat melon in January isn't short of money.'

They didn't have any melons, even for cash.

The best way to find out what's going on in Álora is to look at the posters that are put up on the walls and shop windows round town. You need to understand  bit of Spanish but it´s well worth it. I thought the poster above was about a flamenco concert which we had missed by a day but it's about the opening of an exhibition at 'La Cáncula', the Sala de Exposiciones ( The Exhibition Hall down the slope on Calle Cervantes, on the left just past 'Coviran' supermarket.)

The Exhibition is called, Huellas, Dolor, Memoría, (Footprints, Pain, Memory) (1936-1950).

The dates refer to the Spanish Civil War and the following 11 years of General Franco's 'repression'. This is a very difficult subject for Spanish people, especially in towns like Álora where murders and disappearances were carried out as part of Franco's 'crusade' to eradicate anyone who opposed him.
It has been called ´The Spanish Holocaust'.

                        The (196) murders in Álora

The fact that this exhibition is taking place 45 years after Franco died is partly because people were afraid to talk about what happened them and their families, partly because Spanish people agreed to an unwritten 'pact of forgetfulness' which was supposed to help Spain move into democracy and partly because it has been too painful for people to remember and think about what happened.

Most people living outside Spain during the period of Franco's repression (which continued well after 1950) knew little or nothing about what was going on there or didn't care. The murders, tortures,summary executions, concentration camps, imprisonments and disappearances took place in the shadow of World War Two and the rebuilding of Europe. 

People in Britain tend to say 'Well, there were terrible things done by both sides'. After the civil war ended there was only one 'side' that was in a position to carry out such a massive programme of atrocities.

It is only the ´Law of Historical Memory' (Ley de Memoria Histórica) passed in 2007 than has given families the right to find out what happened to their relatives. This has meant identifying thousands of mass graves, excavating them and carrying out DNA tests on the remains of the victims.
So far over 700 of these graves have been found but there are still many thousands of bodies still to be unearthed.

This exhibition is very disturbing. A friend told me the day I'd been to the exhibition that two of her family are on 'asesinado' list. 

Here's some good news....The Ayuntamiento has decided to change the horario (opening hours) of the some of it's sites. The Castillo Arabe, the mirador de Cervantes in the Plaza Baja and the Museum/ Tourist Office will be open every day of the week, if there's a 'p' in the month.
I hope all the staff will be getting a pay rise.
 .

As part of the town's continuing policy of providing work, it's been announced that Calle Veracruz will be re re re resurfaced again because for some, as yet unfathomable reason, the block paving has collapsed again. 

Álora's favourite author, Antonio F. Ortiz, who wrote the forgettable 'La Chica que Sonreía con los Ojos.' (The Girl Who Smiled with Her Eyes), set in Álora and 'El Hombre Escondido Bajo el Arbol' (The Man Hidden Under the Tree), set in Álora, has launched his new book 'Las Cicatrices de una Manzana Amarga' (The Scars of a Bitter Apple), set in Álora. All his books have been popular in Álora.

I believe his next book will be set in Álora, with the title 'El Tomate que se Cayó el el Rio' ('The Tomato that fell in the River') .

Bar News

I was very disturbed to note that Bar Zentral did not open once during our visita relámpago. I hope that Jesús is having a short holiday and will open again soon. Does anyone know?

Bar La Baranda is still open

Bar El Tapeo, which was called El Rincon, I think, the last time it opened its doors, may rise again. This is just a rumour from a usually unreliable scource.

The old Post Office , lately Bar Padre y Hijo which has made more comebacks than Rolf Harris's boomerang (remember him?) is undergoing refurbishment. Can anyone make this bar pay?

Pie News  

The picture at the top shows The Annual National Pie Awards in Melton Mowbray. 

More about this in the next eagerly-awaited issue.....

As we left Álora it was raining heavily, after a night and a day of heavy rain. Good for the Olives!

Juanito Sánchez January 26th. 2020.

 





 

I Know It's Only Sausage Rolls, But I Like It.

I Know It's Only Sausage Rolls But I Like It.

             LS Lowry. 'The Doctor's Waiting Room'.

I can't believe it's only four weeks since my last outpouring. Such a lot has happened, I don't know where to start.
The 3 'M's (Me, Mrs. S. and Monty)  left Álora at the crack of dawn on December 5th. rumbo al norte (heading north), first stop 'El Capricho' on the autovia to Granada for our traditional Back to Britain Breakfast -tostada con aceite de oliva (y tomate for me)´, y café.

                                     El Capricho

Probably the best thing about the motorways of Spain is that  there are good places to stop for coffee and something to eat every few kilometres. The newer roads, such as the A45 to Córdoba have hardly any and so should be avoided if possible.
Some motorway cafeterías and restaurantes are disappointing, so a long journey can be made more interesting by trying to pick somewhere good to stop. (what used to be called 'a good pull-in' in the early days of British motoring).
The ones to avoid are petrol stations with just a shop and a coffee machine. The best ones are hotels with restaurants and are nearly always visible from the road. Look out for the 'bed' sign and NEVER follow signs for one that you can't see from the road - you may end up driving miles to a run-down bar or the Spanish equivalent of The Bates Motel.

I hope my readers in Ireland, Singapore and the Turks and Caicos Islands will find that information helpful. Good morning to you all and 'Happy motoring!'

Our first overnight stop is nearly always in Aranda de Duero, south of Burgos where there is a cheap, dog-friendly hotel, cheap diesel and lots of good Ribera del Duero wine if you've got any room for it in your car. (there's always room for a few more bottles). 

                             Hotel Tudanca, Aranda

 After breakfast and Burgos black pudding bulk buying at Sotopalacios we headed for the snow-capped Cantabrian mountains and Santander.

                              Cantabrian Mountains

After two more nights in the cosy luxury of a hotel room, little Monty was ill-prepared for a night and day banged up in a stainless steel cell on the wind-and-seaspray-lashed top deck of the Cap Finisterre, Brittany Ferries' second-string and second-hand ferry boat, especially after his triumph in the Pont Aven International Dog Show on the way down in September. 

                                  Cheer up Monty!

As usual there was a problem with the pet passport. The computer rejected it in Plymouth on the way down but they let him through anyway (how could you resist a look like that?). This time I got them to check the passport the day before, all OK, but once again the computer went 'ding' and bounced it back as we checked in. Apparently there are only 30 days in June.
They let him through again ('We're being much more relaxed about pet passports because of Brexit') but he has to have a new passport before we go back in March. (I hope this vet knows there are 31 days in December).

We landed at Portsmouth and drove in the dark up to Birmingham - slap bang into the Brexit/General Election nightmare which dear old Albion has wished upon itself and which mystifies all our Spanish friends in Álora - even Maria Gracia, the camarera (waitress) at Cafe-Bar Madrugón can´t believe it.

Maria Gracia making a gesture that means 'When are you going to pay for a round of drinks you tight Guiri bastard?'

How to ruin Christmas

Back in rain-drenched Brum everyone was even more depressed and downbeat than usual. Every news broadcast began with the words 'Boris Johnson' and all but two of our national newspapers screamed Corbyn-directed hatred from their front pages every day. This was not a happy place. And it still isn't. Everyone I have met so far has asked me why we don't live in Spain permanently ('Why don't you f*ck off back to Spain, then?') and for the first time in 20 years it's worth considering. The National Health Service is our most powerful reason for staying.

One of the first things we do when we get back to our Winter Residence in the Merry Midlands, as I like to call them, is to get things fixed, and so this inevitably means a visit to the doctor, the optician, the dentist and the garage. In my case I had to follow up a course of vitamin B12 tablets 'prescribed' (8.45€ a packet) by a doctor in Álora. (see Man in Álora 21/7/19). 

I decided to play 'Appointment Challenge' - a game which you can play if you have 'the app' (The Birmingham & Solihull Health App') and which you are obliged to play unless you want to play 'In The Phone Queue' which is a test of endurance involving listening to a distorted version of a vaguely familiar old pop hit for about three quarters of an hour, punctuated periodically by a pleasant person informing you that you are 'number 34/33/32, and so on, in the queue', and you don't mind being told, at the end of all that aural GBH, that 'all appointments have been taken, please try again tomorrow.'

'The app', which is the very latest thing in IA (Artificial Intelligence) can be lots of fun, unless, of course, you're feeling a a bit under the weather, and you have to be up before 7.30 am. to play. This is the time that the NHS Gaming Centre opens its website. Then it's a mad rush to see if you can snap up any of the juicy appointments that flash momentarily onto the screen. It's a thrilling 'head to head' with all the other thousands of desperate patients playing at the same time. (Watch your blood pressure! ). You've got to be in it to win it!

It's very unusual for your own GP's name to appear on this list because you have to win at 'Level One' before you can progress to 'Level Two' which is also called 'Names You May Recognise'. (Tip: It's worth checking the Practice website to see an up-to-date list of doctors.)

I thought I'd won at my first attempt but the two appointments that I thought I'd bagged both turned out to be fake. I expect someone was just having a laugh. Honestly, some people!

I went down to the 'Practice' but it was closed for lunch.
On my next visit I bagged an appointment for 8.15 am. two days into the future. Result!

As I sat in the waiting area (after checking myself in on the interactive TV screen) I had lots of time (45 minutes) to read all the interesting posters and instructions that are blu-tacked to every available wall space.

It took me a bit of time to work out 
'DON'T BE A CHLAM-IDIOT!' though.

As I was sitting there, losing the will to live, my thoughts drifted back to the 'good old days' when a visit to the doctor's meant sitting for hours in a humid, smoky room (it was usually raining and everyone was wet and/or smoking cigarettes) trying to work out who was before you as there were no appointments and the seating was random. There was usually a lot of coughing, mainly from the gang of likely lads hoping to get a few days off work 'on the sick'. Any lucky winner would strut out of the surgery, grinning broadly and waving his 'sick note'.
Those were the days! 

                   Doctor's waiting room, Oldham 1959

The Band That Never Was

I don't think I've mentioned this before in this venereal organ but I have two pianos (one of them is electric and in Álora), 4 guitars, a banjo, 5 mouth organs, a bugle and a flute in the loft. 
I'm not trying to sell them. Not all of them work properly or I might be open to offers.
Owning musical instruments does not make you a musician, just like owning 5 or more Spanish language course books does not make you fluent in Spanish or owning an Olympic-size swimming pool makes you an Olympic swimmer.

I dabble a bit on the piano and guitar when I'm in the mood.
Imagine my delight and surprise, then, when I was invited in September by two other owners of instruments to join them and play some songs.
The drummer lives a few houses down from us in Calle Benito Suarez and my electric piano is portable, so our first 'practice' was in his house. (Beer provided.)

I was introduced to the piano by a man called Brian Ingram who played in the pubs round Oldham under stage names of 'Rockin' Brian and Brian 'Teddy Boy' Lewis. (If you follow the link he's about 10 minutes in.) I believe he's still performing although the last time I saw him he was running a successful Tattoo Parlour in Ashton-under-Lyne.
Brian's piano style was violently percussive along the lines of Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis and his singing 'voice' was more of a loud snarl. He assured me that it took very little skill and no musical knowledge at all to master the technique and by the end of half an hour I could bang out 'Great Balls of Fire' like a good 'un. Since that day I've never looked forwards.

 

                                  Jerry Lee Lewis.

Anyway, Terry and Arthur (not their real names, which have been changed to protect the innocent) were keen to get going on some 'tunes'. Terry is a big Hollies fan and knew the chords to some of their songs. Unfortunately none of us could sing as high as Graham Nash and seeing as how the Hollies relied heavily on two or three part harmonies we were handicapped from the 'get go' as we musos put it. 

                    The Hollies (Graham Nash in the front) 

The same went for Beatles songs although we did manage to get through 'The Ballad of John and Yoko' which isn't noted for its high notes nor its harmonies. I had to do all the singing. Sadly, no recording was made of this session. It was cut short by a text I received from Mastercard telling me my credit card had been robbed to the 'tune' (!) of 8,000 pounds.
Our second practice went quite well as I just banged out all the Rock and Roll and Blues tunes I know in easy keys and they played along.
I think 'Arthur' the drummer was getting a bit fed up with helping me to carry my heavy piano up the street to his house and back or perhaps we had necked all his beer. Anyway he got an offer from another band and that was that.
It was good while it lasted. Well, it was fun.

I never made it to the big time, but I have started to taste what fame tastes like. Two, yes Two people have approached me to ask if I am THE 'Man in Álora'!!!
It's not got to the stage, yet, when I can't go out for fear of being mobbed by people wanting my autograph and trying to rip off pieces of my clothing, but who knows? 

Pie News 

Comillas. A beautiful town west of Santander.
There were no pies to be found.
It means 'footpath'.

A Mrs. Sánchez home made Game Pie.
It tastes even better than it looks.


 








¡Feliz año nuevo! (Happy New Year)

Juanito Sánchez
December 29th. 2019

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