Desfiles, cabalgatas y fiestas: una via de vida en España

Processions, parades and fiestas are a way of life in Spain. They live for them and celebrate with a passion.

Our first procession was witnessed in Cadiz, in the week after we arrived in Spain, followed closely by another in our first week living in Antequera. These are processions to the Virgin Mary, and this one in Antequera to La Virgen del Rosario.

Escorted by a band, 32 men hoist a large, and judging by the struggle - presumably heavy, statue onto their shoulders and do a slow march, resting every 100 metres or so, around town stopping at each church - there are many. Each arrival is announced by tolling bells, and throngs of nuns. This is forerunner of much bigger things at Easter.

Christmas here, as the Spanish name, La Navidad, suggests is really, oddly enough, about the birth of the child Christ. Santa Claus, or Papa Noel, is a more recently and commercially introduced figure. But you don't, not in Antequera anyway, see characters dressed up as Papa Noel, or stores with a resident Santa. A custom of hanging an inflatable Santa, or small 'stuffed' one from front of your house is taking off. Kids are, of course buying into him pretty quickly.

Towns, and businesses within towns (organised by the local Ayuntamiento - town council, who in turn usually enter the biggest) compete in Belén competitions - nativity scenes. Some are downright spectacular. Needless to say I have seen more nativity scenes this Christmas than the rest of my life total.





















We saw Belénes in Granada, Cordoba, Malaga all set out in pastorial magnificence, but I like the poetic licence of this one setting the whole Christ birth and surrounding pastoral activities with a backdrop of the Antequera Alcazaba.

Christmas Eve as we call it, but Nochebuena (the good night) in España, is a big time family affair. It is reputed that TVs are actually turned off that night - something I find a little hard to believe! But the norm is a big feast of seafords, fish, and meat and then los dulces ... the sweets: el turrón, el mazapán, y los polvorones. This all takes place at Mum and Dad´s place.

Next day, Christmas, is yet again another family bash with much eating, and la cava ... the champagne.

Next on the fun calendar is 28 December, Santos Inocentes, and the equivalent of our April Fool´s Day. TV and radio stations play practical jokes, and it´s the aim to stick un monigote - a little paper cut-out stick man - on the back of an unsuspecting friend. All harmless stuff - until someone pokes an eye out!

New Year's Eve, El Nochevieja - the old night, is of course another big night. A big celebration is held in la Puerta del Sol (the Sun Gate) in Madrid and broadcast live nationally. Everyone takes their lead from the clock in Puerta del Sol, for with each toll of the bell una uva (a grape) is eaten - doce en total (12). Then washed down with a quaff of cava. The custom is to wear red undies (ropa interior roja) for good luck in the forthcoming year. This is celebrated more likely at friends, but the family tug is still strong.





















On the evening of 5 Jan, the kids get all excited. We witnessed it in Majadaonda, Madrid, with our nephews Reece and Aidan. It's all about Los Reyes Magos - or the Three Wise Kings as we know them. A big street parade is held with lots of floats, bands, jugglars, acrobats etc, and buckets and buckets of sweets and balloons thrown out to the kids. The last three floats have the Three Kings riding aboard. The kids go berserk and scream what present they want brought that night (equivalent to Santa coming to kids back home).

We returned home to discover Antequera had again boxed above its weight and the parade included camels, bears and the Three Kings actually rode the parade on horse back.

The first weekend of February and we celebrated Carnaval in Antequera. A celebration of fun during the last days before Lent, this celebration was pretty much quashed during the austere Franco years. It's now making a big rebirth, especially in Cadiz, and takes place the same time as Rio's Carnaval, New Orleans' Mardi Gras and the other big ones. Antequera, again, did it pretty well. From media dia, kids all start appearing in elaborate fancy dress. About 60% of adults go fancy dress once dark falls.

Antequera celebrates with a parade through town of a giant mollete (the famous bread roll) dressed as a local balomano (handball) player (?). This starts about 11:30. Music is already blazing away from two stages in Plaza San Francisco. At about 12:30 the mollete is set alight, in a great blaze.
























Then molletes, aciete de oliva (olive oil), cola cao (hot chocolate) and café (coffee) is served to all. Then, in that typically Spanish way, there's games for the kids in the Plaza at 1:30am! At 2:00 a fantastic un grupo tambor (a drum band) kicks off. At least 100 drummers and percussionists play at fever pitch for an hour with no break in a spectacle that would go down well at Wellington's Fringe Festval. Fantastic!






















They finished at 3:00am and that was pretty much it for us. The stages continued to host live rock bands.

You know, I could get used to all this

Max
aka Mad.

Antequera - three months on

Expressed simply, I just love Antequera.

The Romans first gave the name Antikira, an ancient place, so it has some history. There are dolmenes, three sites of cave-like rock slab chambers, once burial grounds and storerooms for the riches of tribal leaders dated circa 2,500-2,000 BC.



From Roman days there remains baths and in the enchanting museum there is El Efebo, a rare for its time, bronze statue (and now an Antequeran 'mascot') and pieces of columns, and other Roman artifacts.





























The Moors built La Alcazaba, the fort, which is a visible landmark for kilometres out of town, and overlooks our house (it is in photo below the tower, just off the bottom). Antequera was the first town to be 'taken' by the Christians, and then in a show of strength, they built churches for ... Rome, I guess. There are twenty four magnificent churches and seven convents in Antequera (pop. 40-45,000).




















One, in particular, San Sebastian, is another visible landmark from all around town. Atop a pretty spire, is un angelote (another Antequera mascot), a wind vane reputed to have the bones of Santa Euphemia (a patron of Antequera) in a bag around its neck.


















A third major landmark is actually outside of town, La Pena de los Enamorados, Lover's Rock, which I have written of in an earlier blog [A thing of beauty]. From just above our house we can see all three of these landmarks in one view.

A fourth, but not so widely visible, landmark of town is of course the Plaza de Toro, the bull ring.

We live in el barrio San Juan. What luck! It's a nice little area, but we still get to have both of Antequera's shitholes nearby. Below, is Bar San Juan, opposite Iglesia San Juan, St. John church, were the local clientele can look across at a magnificent tiled picture of the crucifixion and keep an eye on their wives as they go to Friday afternoon, and Sunday morning (oh yes, 9:00am) Mass. Above us, up the hill is La Socorrilla, my already mentioned [El Ciclista de Antequera] post-cycle ride coffee stop. It is on on the beautiful Plaza del Portichuelo , ringed by the lovely Capilla Tribune del Portichuelo (chapel) and Iglesia Santa Maria de Jesus. It is on a tourist walking trail, and the chairs outside sit gloriously in the sun. It's a popular spot for the tourists to stop and take in the ambience, and that lovely Spanish charm. Make no mistake though, inside she's a shithole. But these are tiny, tucked away places and create no problems. It's not tourist season now and it has reverted to a serious, local shithole. I love it. Deb and I are about the only ones who sit outside in the sun, in the lovely plaza, currently. Regularly funeral notices of regulars are posted on the front door, and then a couple of days later she's closed.

But there are plenty of lovely little bars and cafes down in El Centro. And a street of pretty lively late (real late) night action places. El Centro is not the geographic centre of town because of more recent growth. But it means our barrio is very close, even though we sit at one end of town. As a result we are able to walk everywhere - no probems. Also, we only have to walk 250-300 meters to a dirt road that follows a stream down a valley bordered by hills litered with trails for running, walking and mountain biking. It pays to keep an eye out for wild asparagus, and the sneaked views back to town.

















Antequera also has a spectacular golf course (I still don't play.)

But another major attracion is El Torcal, a National Park of spectacular limestone formations. Maybe 15 minutes (at most) from town. From there, high in the Sierra, you can see the Mediterranean.






















But generally, as planned, Deb and I engross ourselves totally in living in Antequera. We have become regulars and friendly with a number of cafe, bar, and shop owners. Even at a supermarket one of las dependientas, shop assistants, Blanca, always waves at us to come to her check out queue. It's cute. They love us. Being Australian and New Zealander, we are different - from the English. We go all out to speak Spanish with them. They like it. They encourage, correct and teach us. We also get this from my cycle club, and Deb from her yoga classes at the gym. We read local papers and learn what events are on: concerts, shows etc. We are now treated as regulars and they speak freely with us and invite us into conversations, and to share a round of drinks. Many English, sadly, keep to themselves and learn little Spanish. Though we have met a handful of nice couples. (We went out with some last night, and I raised a toast to Australia Day. Nice.) Not so many live in Antequera. Usually they colonise small villages and then make their own little England in Spain. There is a village, Mollina, not far, which is already 75% English, and there are 63 new units being built all already sold off plan to English. They build in squares around a pool and include a bar. The occupants only have to speak to other English. A pub in the town centre has bingo Tuesday night, scrabble Wednesday, pool and darts Thursday, and Beef Hot pot special on Friday night. There are gadzillions living on Costa del Sol. Very sad, I think, but I guess they are quite pleased. Then they venture into town, Antequera, to conduct business and some niceties. We are often asked if we can do some translations in shops and cafes for them.

We have joined the Asociación de Vecinos 'San Juan', the neigbourhood association, and have already gone away with them on some of their regular bus trip day outings. It's amusing, the whole day is planned around the food breaks. And drinks. And dancing at lunchtime! They are real fun. Now when one of many little four foot women call out to us we can guess, usually correctly, they are one of the little old dears from the association and the bus trips. They insist on giving us big hugs, and stroking our arms.

The local market is where we do all out friut and veg, fish and meat shopping. A wonderful experience. A local panadería, bakery, has a van that drives the street tooting the horn and the man sells pan, bread, from the back door. Naturally, Deb and I call him the 'pan man'.

Antequera is well located for travel to other Andalucian highlights: Seville, Cordoba, Granada and Malaga, and is a hub for road and rail. Bus services are great. As a result we have done rounds of all these with visitors. Malaga, only an hour away on the autovista is a great place for picking up cheap flights to Europe. Deb and I have made three trips to London, and we go to Berlin for five days next week. We have more trips planned.

We've also made a couple of trips to and from Madrid on the AVE, Alta Velocidad, high speed 350kph train. Check out this for a neat look at the AVE http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QC4YBHoaWfY. Note the olive groves before Antequera Santa Ana station and the hills just after: all my riding territory. I pass the staion a lot, it's 20km from town. Antequera station is now the old one in town. Also note all the new track work, bridges and stations they have just built to put this new service in.

We stayed in un cortijo, a farmhouse, in Monachil, at the base of the Sierra Nevadas, near Granada for Christmas. Rising straight out of town is a nasty, steep, long, hill used last year in the Vuelta de España cycling tour race. Wicked. Christmas Day was glorious, and it snowed boxing day. We went to the mountains the next two days and went skiing. New Year and Los Reyes Magos (The Three Kings, we'd say) were spent in Madrid - Majadahonda to be precise, with bro BOK, Sal, the two boys, and Ashleigh our visiting Aussie niece.

Mid January I spent a week in London, showing Ashleigh around for four days before she flew home. We had a beaut time.

The lifestyle is great: and I'm not just talking not working! 1:30 - 2:00pm is the start of siesta. From 5:00pm to 8:30pm things happen again. Comer, the day's main meal, lunch, is had during this time. Then after work people go for a couple of drinks, cervezitas - some small beers, and eat tapas. At about 11:00pm they might eat larger tapas - raciones. Music doesn't start at bars before 11:00pm. We've had a few 3:00am nights.

We have found a great bar, Manolo, that has live, and good, and a different type of music every Thursday night. It's great, we have a Spanish lesson from 19:30 - 20:30 that night. We then drop into a favourite tiny bar, Casa de Diego, for unas bebidas y tapas, some drinks and snacks (and some more free Spanish lessons from Diego! - Deb baked and nicely packaged some Anzac biscuits for Diego, 'Mrs. Diego', and son Dani for Christmas. They were told the bisuits are a true Australian and NZ item. They gave us crushing hugs and tears welled in their eyes.), we watch a little Spanish TV - man, they go nuts over TV here, (Diego's is also my favourite place to go watch European Championship League football) then at 10:00pm we rock on up to Manolo, some bebidas, some raciones, some música. Sweet, or dulce, should I say?>

And internet and Skype keeps us in touch with family and friends across the world. I can't think of anything I need.

I continue to rack up a lot of kilometres on my bike through countryside of olive groves and white pueblos.

Oooops. Nearly forgot. Antequera is also famous for La Antequerana (the lady of Antequera) - a bakery specialising in a range of biscuits - legendary in Spain. It's also famous for El Mollete - really just a bread roll, but travel through Andalucia and you see Mollette de Antequera advertised everywhere (probably not made in Antequera, but that style of breadroll). They are nice, I guess, but a bread roll just the same - don't let an Antequerano hear me saying that. Traditionally taken with el aciete, olive oil, but not just any olive oil, but Hojiblanca, extra virgen. They tell us here Hojiblanca of Antequera, of course, is famous the world over. What do our Te Horo olive growers say to that?

The Antequera football team rocks along in second place in their piddly competition, but the town's handball team, their pride and joy, sits mid-table of the National First Division league.

Last time I mentioned reading I think I was mid Markus Zusak's The Book Thief (Black Swan, 2007). That was a true joy. Next, I read Season of Migration to the North, by Tayeb Salih (Heinemann, 1969), which I bought from a road-side stall in the market square in Khartoum, The Sudan. It turned out to be a nasty pirate photocopy with photocoping creases down some pages and pages out of order towards the end. That aside, it was an interesting, if not intense read. Intense in that deep, strong, poetic, arabic style of writing I guess. I don't know, I've never before read deep, strong, poetic, arabic style of writing. And interesting because of the mention of places I had recently visited. It showed its time in history when the the train trip north to Wadi Haifa, and the Egyptan border, is described in all its luxury!!!!

Then onto some writings on Spain. I read ¡Guerra! (which translates as War!) by Jason Webster (Black Swan, 2007). It was a fascinating enough story mixing his trip across Spain investigating the story for the book, and about the Civil War - prompted by a neighbouring farm lady showing him the site of a forgotten mass grave. A bit shallow though (the story, not the grave!).

A much better read is Ghosts of Spain: travels through a country's hidden past by Giles Tremlett (Faber and Faber, 2006). Much more insightful - about the Spanish Civil War, the Franco years, and the current Spanish psyche.

I realised we are now closer to four months here. Time flies when having fun. But that, really, is our only concern. How quickly this will pass. Enjoy while we can.

Max
aka Mad

El Ciclista de Antequera

In this posting you will read of some of my rides and riding in and around Antequera, joining a club, and an announcement of a big future planned ride.

It is said by some: "That two out of three ain't bad".

I don't know. I'll let you decide for yourselves.

After a delay receiving our belongings, I enthusiastically re-assembled Deb's and my mountain bikes, and my road bike. I have to say I was really looking forward to the road bike. All looked pretty good.

For my first ride on the trusty Avanti Corsa - it's red, all the fast bikes are red, I headed out of town on a pretty much flat course into the countryside and Bobadilla Pueblo. Through this quaint village, and onto the new Antequera - Santa Ana rail station (where we first arrived) waiting for the new super fast AVE trains coming in December. The batteries in my bike computer look like they have crapped out, at least that's all I am hoping it to be. So I don't have a true measure of distance ridden, just guess work from road signs. Anyway, it is suddenly becoming very cloudy and rain looks ominous. As I head to Humilladero I think the weather is turning shite, so I turn around, and at that instance it decides to bucket down on me. I ride back to Antequera in pouring rain. The first day I ride a bike, it rains for the first time since we got here. Sods law.

That's not so bad, it's only rain and it's not cold. But ... Antequera is chock full of cobblestone streets, and some short and steep hills getting to our place. The roads are now nothing short of treacherous. As I try to ride the first leg of the uphill to home the back wheel just starts to spin.

As I attempt to go up and around a corner, I'm down. Now, try to stand up on wet slippery cobblestones in cycling shoes. 'Muy dificíl' as we say in Spain. So it's shoes off, and in socks I walk/push up the hill and then ride back down to our house on the other side. One last problem. How do you stop this thing on slippery wet cobblestones going down?! But that, however, is ride one.

Ride two wasn't a real ride. I just went out to test the new batteries in the computer, and seek out some 'dry routes' for getting home, not that I needed them then. Almost as soon as I got home the previous day, the sunshine came out, yet again. Oh and one other thing. Until now, having been walking everywhere I had to pay attention to, and work out, the one-way street systems that make up this town's layout. And they are also very narrow. And yet another thing: remembering to ride on the right-hand side of the road, especially when turning from one-way streets into two-way. Something you get the hang of very quickly.












Ride three. A doozy. I head south and into the Sierra de Chimenea (the Fireplace - or chimney, both work, Mountains). Quickly into the rural, and just as quickly notice the incline. Rather ominously a roadside sign announces Carratera de Montaña. Hmmm. Does that mean highway to the mountains, through the mountains, or mountainous highway? It gets quite tough going with some pretty grunty climbs straight away. This looks bad. Pretty soon, after a couple of bends, I'm looking at this near straight piece of road that just goes on forever into the sky, heading to mountain tops. It's murder. In the year after the Ironman I only rode my bike twice; they've been packed away for eight months, I'm not ready for this! The pedals just push back through my quads. My lungs scream. I'm in small ring, lowest gear, going nowhere fast. I'm making a dick of myself here. And of course, when I reach the end of the straight - it's a false crest. Onwards.













Then the zig-zags start. Why am I doing this? What looks like the crest is coming up and a sign announces Boca del Asno - Mouth of the Donkey!

I feel like I'm kissing the other end of a donkey! It's a lookout. But the road turns sharply (another zig or was it a zag?) to the right and heads on up the ridge that dropped back down to donkey's breath. After a short recovery stop at Boca, I take off again. But this is just way too tough. And when another set of steep zig-zags start again, I cry off. Call me whimp if you want, I couldn't care - then. But the return was fanatstic. At one point I hit 73.2kph before grabbing handfuls of brake, and sweeping around a hairpin. Just quietly, I shat myself. Guess it means I broke the 40kph speed limit. Hope Deb doesn't read this post; she gets twitchy about that sort of thing. (You'll notice in the pictures the horrible blue skies we have to put up with around here.)

So there you have it. Two out of three and not quite what was planned

But in the weeks since I have quickly gone much further a field with rides of 85-95 kilometres. I have also joined Club Ciclista El Torcal de Antequera. I have only had the two club rides so far, but they seem like a good bunch. We struggle through conversations. I say "¡si!" a lot, and smile. But you don't have to talk to enjoy a ride with a bunch. There's a good number of jokers of my age (OBs - old bastards) with years of cycling behind them. It's a real lifestyle thing here. (Not so many runners though.) There's the same old banter as everywhere: "No estoy en forma - I'm not fit" as a tummy is patted, having just minced you up a hill. I've heard it all before, some things never change. But there's a handful of older jokers who really know how to spin those pedals. They mix it with the best. One, Pepé, is 72 year old! You look around, he's always there and we truly scoot along (at speeds I haven't been used to) as a pack at times. Anyway, as it turns out, Pepé lives just above us and being the cunning old shit he is, having ridden for years, he shows me the tricks for avoiding the steep cobblestones home. Good man.

There very well may be one or two among you say "Ah-haa, Mad. You've got your Spanish wrong. Wouldn't it be El Ciclisto?" But no. Spanish like all languages has its irregularities just to frustrate the learner. It's one of those words that takes the feminine form even if the one in question is male (but cyclists are in the best company as there is also el artista, el poeta, el futbolista.) So you have El Ciclista, a male cyclist, La Ciclista - a female cyclist, Los Ciclistas - group of male cyclists, Las Ciclistas - group of female cyclists, and of course Los Ciclistas for a mixed group of men and women. That's the Spanish lesson for now. Next lesson; the many and varied ways you can say 'cycling'.

I'm no quitter. And I plan another attack on Carratera de Montaña. I study some maps and figure I could go on a loop around another way. And perhaps ride out, and around the Sierra. But aware that if I am to come back down my first mountain there could very well be a climb up the other side as well - kind of logical really. Maybe it's not so bad on the other side. Maybe.

I head off out on another road, out past the Parque del Lobo - The Wolf Park(!). I turn off onto another road that will take me to La Joya. And straight away there it is again: Carratera de Montaña. And will you look at this sign. ¡Mi Dios! The zig-zags are in a warning triangle, it's 7.5km of them, and the road is only 4 metres wide. I get the feeling I'm not going to cheat the good old Sierra de Chimenea in a hurry. The sign is just up from the road junction and is at the start of a gentle climb which pretty quickly picks up in gradient and heads off up to a bend, where the road disappears out of sight. And that would be lucky to be a kilometre and a half away. What is the other six kilometres like?

Well I haven't earned the name Mad for nothing. What do you think they would be like? I have never, I repeat, not - ever, ridden anything as steep, for as long, anywhere around Wellington where I have done most of my riding. But there was, of course, the Tibet trip. But that was mountain bikes on dirt roads and it's different. Man this was something else again. Somehow I popped out up over the top, knackered. I tried to enjoy olive laden hillsides. And the village of La Joya was just drop dead gorgeous, after a nice downhill ride into it.

I rode onto Villanueva de la Concepción across a series of gentle ups and downs. Stopping for un café in the sunshine (this is the way to ride, I tell you) I couldn't help but notice the road out of town in front of me rising up through some houses, and then turning away completely out of sight. The road heads towards El Torcal, at the top of where I was trying to ride on my first assault of Carratera de Montaña. It's a National Park with a spectacular rock formation landscape. It lends its name to many enterprises in Antequera, not least my cycling club. But no surprises here: One; the road turned to the left and immediately commenced a diabolically steep climb, and Two; there was the good old Carratera de Montaña sign again.

This side of the mountain is just ... I don't know. Speechless. I didn't know whether to weep, scream out, get off my bike and throw it away, or what. But I did realise we don't own a car in Spain, so Deb couldn't come and save me. Sorry, I wasn't in the mood to photograph. Only one thing to do. Grind like crazy. You get there, you always do. I was also remembering the great ride down on the other side.

I ride across the top, trying to regain some composure. And off, down the hill. Almost immediately a set of excitement-packed zig-zags emerge. Yahoo. They are fun. When I come out the other side I recognise the spot I rode up to on the first attempt. Man, I was that close! Away, this is unreal. I just know one day I will be that bit too cocky and will come unstuck. But in the meantime ... Very quickly, I'm back into Antequera.

As I ride past, this sign always reminds me of that Paul Kelly line '... and I can order sandwiches in seven differant languages, and...' ('Every Fucking City'. Roll on Summer EP: EMI Australia). I haven't seen ice, or frost, here yet - not by a long shot. But this hill from a signpost at the bottom, to a signpost at the top is 4.5km on the button (the frost sign is part way up). I can ride it, it's kind of steep but rideable, very constant with no flattening off sections, as a good training hill in just under 20 minutes. Six repetitions, ride up - ride down, and do it again another five times gives you just under two hours hill riding. A nice workout. The downhill back is great - lot's of sweepers. Then, it's only a short ride back home.












Although not much more than 100 metres away from home, up a short, sharp hill, is the Plaza Portachuelo on which is Bar La Socorrilla (say sock-core-ree-yah) and it's outside tables and chairs sit beautifully in the sun. I have made a habit of stopping at the end of rides, calling up Deb, and having un café con leche - a coffee with milk. Life is just dandy.

But, here is the big bit of news. I have had my entry into L'Étape du Tour Mondovélo 2008 - the stage of the Tour de France that is opened for a public ride - accepted. In (July) 2008 it will be what is to be the 10th stage of the Tour, and will be the 165 kms from Pau to Hautacam. The very same route as designed for cycling's elite. The most significant point of the route will be the Col du Tourmalet (2,115m), the biggest summit of the Pyrénées with 39.5km of 1,500 metres mountain climb (average 7.5%) and the finish at Hautacam after a 15.2km (1,000m) climb at an average of 7.2%. But that means there is a 36 km downhill as well!! I believe they will again allow 9,000 entants in 2008. In 2006 of the 7,548 actual starters, only 5,477 finished within the time limit.

So ... I better get stuck into that Carratera de Montaña.

Max
aka Mad

A thing of beauty

In Plaza Castilla, Antequera, there is a beautiful and strong looking statue:























On a plaque at its base is the following inscription:

VIENDO IMPOSIBLE SV AMOR
CEÑIDOS EN FVERTE ABRAZO
SE ARROJAROS LOS AMANTES
DESDE LO ALTO DE LA PEÑA
Lorenzo Valla (1445)

Allowing for the Roman-icised Vs replacing Us, and the poetic language used, I believe the following translation pretty much captures the essence:

Since love was to be impossible,
as one in a strong embrace
the lovers threw themselves
from atop of the rock

There is a free, English language, magazine 'Local Connections', available in the Costa del Sol district. In the regular 'Out & About in Antequera' column, of Edition 37, Aug-Sep 2007, Liz Partridge has written a piece titled Legends of Antequera. It goes:

The story begins sometime during the conquest of Antequera, when a young man, believed to be a christian, was captured and taken to Granada. There, he worked as a slave for a family of Moors in a beautiful house with a garden. But busy both in the house and in the city, it was sometime before he saw the daughter of his master. One day, as he was working in the garden, she came out walking with her maid. He politely urged her to take shelter from the sun under the pergola. She was instantly taken by his way of speaking and his good manners, while he fell in love with this gentle maiden. Dismissing her maid on some pretence, she was able to continue her discourse with the young man. They were irresistibly attracted to one another and, while discussing how they could possibly be together, decided to escape at the first opportunity, ignoring the obvious danger that entailed.





















One night, while her parents were sleeping, they slipped out of the house and fled in the direction of the Rock. There, they rested awhile talking of what their life would be like together. Suddenly, they heard the sound of horses approaching at great speed and were horrified to see her father and his men drawing nearer.

The only refuge, under the circumstances, was the summit of the Rock, where they climbed breathlessly. Her father and his men dismounted and followed on foot. The maiden's father ordered her to return to her family and his men urged her to throw herself at his feet and beg forgiveness. The young man, hearing this , turned to her and said, "Go down, ask for his mercy and he will surely forgive you. As for me, I can no longer live." "Love of my soul," she replied, "if you die, then we will die together." Then, with their love declared, they embraced and threw themselves off the Rock, to their death.

There are various interpretations of this legend though they all end in the demise of the lovers. In one, it is said that the couple were found still entwined and were buried together. Another tells how, in the fall, they became separated and remained where they lay amongst inaccessible rocks. [I like the first version better - I reckon it is in keeping with the sentiment of the statue inscription.] Meanwhile, the Rock retains its mystery and its appearance of a face seeking the stars.





















I am known far and wide as an old romantic, so I won't spoil that reputation by drawing any attention to the distance between Granada and the Rock outside Antequera. And I assume if she was to throw herself at her father's feet pleading forgiveness, she'd come down from the Rock first. No? Hey, it's a lovely story.

It's a lovely statue.

Max
aka Mad

Living the dream

Well. Spain.

We spent the first weekend in Spain with my bro, BOK, and family at Majadahonda, Madrid. So nice to be with family again; so nice to be in domestic comforts. On Saturday night, we went and watched BOK race in a Street Mile run, he picked up third place.

We caught the train to what we thought might be a good place to establish ourselves: Antequera. Why? Easy access to lots of top Spanish destinations; nice size: not too big, not to small - 50,000 people; on good transport routes; banks, shops and all the necessary services, and a web site said 85% of tourists are Spanish. As we rode the taxi into town, from the spanking new Santa Ana rail station, built for the new AVE fast trains, we knew immediately. This will do. A gorgeous looking town. Nothing since has made us think differently.


Looking up our Cuesta towards Chapelle Tribune de Portachuelo
















Within 24 hours we had found a fantastic place to rent. But possession would be in a fortnight, so we headed to Cádiz, Costa del Luz: a lovely place despite its tourist appeal. Half a dozen very large cruise ships visited port during our stay. But ... sun, sand, sea and warm as.

While there the Cadiz Film Festival was on. We found out the second to last night. The Jonathon Demi film, Neil Young: A Heart of Gold was showing. So there we went. Ten o'clock at night, open air, under the stars, warm, couple of cervezas, wacko! After the movie, they had a local blues artist perform: Felix Slim - Happy Skinny we called him. Very entertaining. Lovely night. Feeling pretty good.



Looking down our Cuesta towards Iglesia San Juan. That's treinta y ocho second on the right, the taller one.



Back to Antequera to sign our rental lease, and with a week to go we headed down to Málaga: Costa del Sol. The name suggests Spain's Sunshine Coast. But I didn't feel at home. Unlike Queensland's Sunshine Coast, the beach at Málaga is pretty ordinary. But there's stacks of shops. And we are talking here about two people approaching seven months since packing up and leaving 217 Wilton Rd, and still without our shipped goods, and still in clothes worn through Africa. I treated myself to a new pair of trousers, a couple of shirts, and new underwear. That evening I went to dinner feeling like a million dollars (Euros?) - must have been the new undies!

As you know, the Brits are all over Costa del Sol. As a result, you can easily pick up the English newspapers. And a good thing too - as a result I found this fantastic little article in The Sunday Times (September 30, 2007) written by Matthew Campbell, titled 'Book now for the flight to nowhere':

An Indian entrepreneur has given a new twist to the concept of low-cost airlines. The passengers boarding his Airbus 300 in Delhi do not expect to go anywhere because it never takes off. All they want is the chance to know what it is like to sit on a plane, listen to announcements and be waited on by stewardesses bustling up and down the aisle.
In a country where over 99% of the population have never experienced air travel, the 'virtual journeys' of Bahadur Chand Gupta, a retired Indian Airlines engineer, have proved a roaring success.
As on ordinary aircraft, customers buckle themselves in and watch safety demonstrations. But when they look out the window, the landscape never changes.
Even if 'Captain' Gupta wanted to get of the ground, the plane would not go far: it only has one wing and a large part of the tail is missing. (Gupta bought the plane from an insurance company, removed the Indian Airlines logo, and painted the Gupta name.)
None of that bothers Gupta as he sits at the controls in his cockpit. His regular announcements include,"
Passengers are looked after by a crew of six, including Gupta's wife, who goes up and down the aisle with her drinks trolley, serving meals in airline trays. As for the passengers, Gupta charges about 2 pound each for passengers taking the 'journey', they are too poor to afford a real airline ticket and most have only ever seen the interior of an aircraft in films ...
Jasmine, a young teacher, had been longing to go on a plane. "It is much
more beautiful than I ever imagined," she said.

Times up! We are into our new home:




























It's fantastic. Everything we could of dreamed of: a white town; castle; churches, and now a lovely house with a to-die-for courtyard. We had visions of a basement flat! We are now living that dream. I must have known something. I even packed my art block, pencils and water colours when we left. As they hadn't arrived yet I actually went to the Antequera version of a $2 shop and bought some kids paints, and an art block. It's amazing what you can draw with the Bic pencil as well.

The house is owned by Brits, and has British satellite TV installed. As a result, we get to watch the good old Wellington/Kiwi boys Flight of the Conchords.

Getting our belongings from Customs was a real test. Incredibly, in a piece of clever timing, our stuff arrived in Barcelona two weeks before we touched down in Madrid. There have been the usual combinations of language difficulty and not fully understanding local procedures, not to mention the cretin we have had to deal with (being illegal immigrants hasn't helped the cause). Then, after four weeks, when it was cleared, we were informed delivery would be in 48-72 hours. A week later we still waited. The shipping agent then admits the transport company has lost our stuff! The new found patience and art of just accepting things that I discovered in Africa held me out through the customs clearance. But oddly, it wasn't replaced by anger, rage or any other nasty emotion. Just plain straight disappointment. All has been going swimmingly well. Will just have to work through this one. But it's now all but eight months of living with just a backpack of worldly possessions. If we has set of to travel nine months, you'd be prepared, it's just that when your expectations are raised ...

But we have managed to get stuck into the normal everyday stuff: rental lease, phone line installed, buy a cell phone (replacing one stolen in Ethiopia, mine is in the post somewhere (?) from Nairobi ... ummm), open bank account, set up water and power accounts. Blah, blah, blah. Life goes on. And the weather has been 25 degrees plus, each day, with only two or three days of feather like clouds. And not a breath of wind.

It's frustrating for Deb trying to do her uni study using an internet cafe.

Oh, and we have had our first visitors as well. Deb's mum and sister arrived. Tracey had taken Barbara on a trip from London, to Rome, Venice, Barcelona, and Antequera. Tracey stayed a couple of days, but mother-in-law, dear, stayed on. I'm going to get a medal for this one. Deb will take her back to London.We made it to Spain only two weeks before they arrived, and moved into the house two days before they got to Antequera themselves. Slick, huh? In the first few weeks we were able to get around to visiting places we hadn't seen on previous visits to Spain, but showing Barbara around to the 'big' sites meant that doubling up was inevitable.

We have been to see the local team play football in the Third Division, GroupIX against Granada74. It was no Real Madrid v Barcelona, I tell you. I did overcome language barriers to learn the support chant though:
An-te-quera! clap, clap, clap-clap. An-te-quera! clap, clap, clap-clap.

Though, my Spanish continues to struggle. There's a funny little man, (between you and me - a little, how do they say, - simple, I believe), who rings the doorbell each Thursday afternoon and opens up with a sales pitch at one thousand miles an hour. He is selling two local newspapers. One is priced at 1Euro-fifty, the other 75 cents. But for 1.50 I get both, and what looks like a raffle ticket or something. He points at a page in the paper. He appears to not notice that I cannot engage one single bit in his banter, or that I have not the faintest idea what is going on(except I have two newspapers obviously), he gives me a big smile, a wave and takes off. I look forward to seeing him again next Thursday.

However, I visited the barber, the old peluquero as we say around here, was able to order what I wanted, talk about the weather, the local football, the Premier League (Spanish), my trip through Africa, and that I'm now living in Antequera. Not bad. Usual bloke's haircut conversation.

But 'believe' I have found some Spanish classes. And some art classes - something I have promised myself for years. So, the two things I assigned myself to do in Spain: Learn better Spanish, improve my art skills. Hey, and you thought I was just going to lark around.

I'm not even going to mention the Rugby World Cup.

I mentioned I was reading Karen Blixen's Out of Africa (1937, Penguin) as we arrived in Spain. I sometimes got tripped up when reading this book. Often poetic turns of phrase demanded you stop, re-read, even re-read again. 'The vault of the nocturnal sky swung back over our heads as we sat on, new constellations of stars came up from the east. The smoke from the fire in the cold air carried long sparks with it, the fresh firewood smelt sour.' Just a randomly picked choice of many. But it's a book of its time. This paragraph, to me, captures so much. The era in which it was written, a poet at work, and charming images.

Charcoal burning is a pleasant job. There is undoubtedly something intoxicating about it, and it is known that charcoal burners see things in a different light from other people, they are given to poetry and taradiddle, and wood demons come and keep them company. Charcoal is a beautiful thing to turn out, when your kiln is burnt and opened up, and the contents spread on the ground. Smooth as silk, matter defecated, freed of weight, and made imperishable, the dark experienced little mummy of the wood.

And that word. Probably what we would call 'old-fashioned' now. I didn't have my dictionary when I read it - it didn't matter. Context gives ample meaning. Wonderful. Onomatopoeic.

All the bookshops in Spain, no matter how small, are carrying the book La Ladróna de los Libros. When in Malaga, I visited the grand Liberitería Luces, which surprisingly had a reasonable English section (not bad! It's Spain after all). And there it was , Aussie author Markus Zusak's The Book Thief (2007, Black Swan). Bought it. The only problem (small) is that the Spanish title has given away a clue as to the thief's identity. But the book actually introduces you very early on, - and it's on the cover! No matter. Apparently it has picked up several awards already, explaining the wide sales around town, but traveling through Africa this is all news to me. It's one of those, as the reviewers like to say, unputdownables. I shan't tell you anymore.

You've gathered: I quite liked Out of Africa. Before I let it go I have to share one more nice little piece from it, with you. It cheers me up a bit. Bit pissed about our belongings.

One evening, as we were going to play cards, the English traveller told us about [his earlier travels to] Mexico and how a very old Spanish lady, who lived on a lonely farm in the mountains, when she heard of the arrival of a stranger, had sent for him and ordered him to give her the news of the world. 'Well, men fly now, Madame,' he said to her.
'Yes, I have heard of that,' said she, 'and I have many arguments with my priest about it. Now you can enlighten us, sir. Do men fly with their legs drawn up under them like the sparrows, or stretched out behind them, like the storks?'

Think I'll call the office, and phone in sick tomorrow. Yuk yuk. Sorry, rubbing it in.

Max
aka Mad