Andalucid

Feeling Fiestive

My hairdresser says I have to make an appointment; we're practically parking in Orgiva; at the Regüerta, Manolo is looking thinner and more harassed than ever, and my elderly neighbourly ladies (who all made appointments) are swanning around town with candy-floss hair overdo's.  Our sixth San Juan fiesta in Lanjarón was as much noisy fun as its predecessors.

The fiesta - ours is dedicated to Lanjarón's famous mineral water and jamón serrano - opened on 19 June as the Durcal majorettes (national champion twirlers no less) stepped out towards the Plaza. At midnight, the Fiesta Queens and 'Mister' were crowned with solemn rituals stretching back to 1980, and the Orquestra Milenio accompanied the first of several verbenas - open-air dances where women could show off their frothy flamenco frocks, and men could show off.

Saturday, as always, the big fancy dress parade, La Pública, rolled through town on a wave of noise and free tinto de verano.  And if some of the costumes seemed rather cobbled together, insiders knew why: the handsome young tailor who strolled into town and undertook to create the costumes for at least four different groups, strolled out again last week with all their money and some big rolls of material. He's now being hunted down like a pantomime dog by the Guardia's best minds.

Brazilian-themed marching bands and Caribbean orchestras, break dance and sevillanas, flamenco and salsa.  Andy and Lucas in concert with their support band, the Demented. Then for an hour after midnight on San Juan Eve, the 23rd June, the streets once again flowed shin-deep with water as revellers ran a gauntlet of hoses and buckets from Hotel España to the town hall plaza.  That's a lot of nautical miles. I went up on the roof terrace with some vino to enjoy the screaming, and was treated to my annual glimpse of bare bums as a French family crouched behind their car to change out of dripping clothes.

Best of all was the long walk through town, greeting friends every few paces, stopping for drinks, the familiar faces behind the familiar counters, the three-generation ice cream sundae worship at the Heladeria, grandparents and prams and toddlers and police all weaving around each other, the miniature train nipping at everyone's heels, and good-natured chaos under a flavoury cloud of roasting chicken.

This weekend marked ten years since we left England, and though I do miss many things about my old home,  fiesta always renews my gratitude for community: the fragile, priceless ingredient I have found here as nowhere else, as essential to our quality of life as pure water and deep garnet ham.

Devotion and Doughnuts: Corpus Christi in Lanjarón

Temperatures are soaring, there's Andalucia-coloured bunting everywhere and forests of flowers and plants being carted around town. It's just days before Lanjarón's biggest annual party, the San Juan Fiestas del Agua y del Jamón.(You can see the events program on this link). But before that week of mild frenzy begins, there's my favourite celebration of the year, Corpus Christi.

Spain has been celebrating 'the body of Christ' with lavish rituals and props since 1317. I read about elaborate parades and spectacles in cities like Toledo, Sevilla and Valencia: the religious processions there are accompanied by 'evil bogeymen, circus animals, dancing choirboys and devils'. And while there's no shortage of candidates for these roles in our town, they don't come out specially on this day.

No, in Lanjarón, we go big on plants. In barrio and placetas, the neighbours have clubbed together to bring or buy shiny rubber plants, doll-pink carnations and vermilion gladioli.  The women arrange these around their particular 'imágen', a beautiful, often valuable small statue of la Virgen, El Crísto, a huge Bible bound in gold and scarlet, or an elaborate cross. The men rig up dazzling sodium lights in trees and on balconies. As darkness falls, women young and old take their seats outside on green or white plastic chairs and settle in for an all-night vigil, while excited kids run or cycle rings around them.  At paseo hour, locals, young people back from college or jobs in Granada or beyond, and tourists stroll through town, detouring to admire each brightly lit courtyard and catch up with family and friends.

When we lived in Barrio Hondillo, Fred and I were invited to 'do' Corpus Christi each year with the other residents. Everyone brought out food and drink to cover the picnic tables.  At midnight, grannies in serious aprons appeared with vats of boiling oil and started frying buñuelos (doughnuts) and serving thick chocolate. Our dog Macduff still has fond memories of being stuffed with doughnuts by his fans, before sprawling to sleep in the middle of the courtyard, finally waddling indoors with me at six in the morning. Perro bueno...

This year was as lovely as ever. The Hermita de San Roque across from La Caixa bank has flung open its doors for only the second time in the year. Flowers cover every surface. On the fine faded rug, a plump cherub with gilded wings lies on its back with its adorable plaster feet waving in the air. Near the kebab shop serving teenagers another kind of sustenance, the monstrance (usually an elaborate cross that holds consecrated bread) is made entirely from plastic packing chips.

At the Coviran grocery on the corner of Hondillo, they've pulled out all the stops as they do every year in a pious outpouring of red fabric. The banner covers the entire shopfront including the door, and is pinned with artificial white roses. On a table below, a miniature church is full of worshippers, startling in tartan bonnets.  The priest looks a little préocupado, and no wonder; he is presiding over a wedding and a first communion for several angelic young people.

Our old neighbours greet us warmly and we stop to chat, but I wonder why it seems so quiet. It's definitely poca gente compared to the bustle of previous years. Locals who work or live away aren't travelling back so much this year, Irene tells me.  I shouldn't be surprised, as times are tough here, according to informative online news site Typically Spanish.  

Nevertheless, for me and Fred, Corpus Christi is a celebration about living here. For tonight, who cares about the loony revving his car in and out of the garage opposite eight times a day? Or the motos, the cement trucks, the endless construction? (Someone forgot to tell the builders here about El Crisis). The sometimes offhand service and the few people who stare straight through you, the invisible extranjero. I hoard up images of smiles and hugs, of collection plates and precious ornaments left unattended and undisturbed, of three generations slurping banana ice-cream at the Heladeria.

By the way, if you'd like some glimpses of our familiar Lanjarón faces, Fred, official photographer for Andalucid, just captured a few on a trip through town with me earlier this week. Meet our bank manager, catwalk-elegant Cristál who works at the corner shop, Jose-Luis, lordly in lime green, and his lovely wife Yolanda, proprietress of the flamenco gear shop. It was part of a worldwide photo challenge organised by Darren Prowse at Problogger.  And such is his pulling power that these faces have had 1500 views since yesterday! More faces to come, and maybe stories too.

Another small-town summer has just begun in Lanjarón, and although I will be moaning about the heat until mid-September, I'm starting to see that there's a lot to love.

What do you love or hate about summer in the Alpujarras? Comment and let me know!

Mme. Carrière Found in Secret Spanish Garden

'I'm growing old-fashioned roses, come over and see them,' said Marianne.  That was four-and-a-half years ago when she sold me the deep pink damascene Rose de Resht now blooming madly on our front porch. We're thinking of adopting a new rose or two, so Fred and I shoulder cameras, notebooks, bug revoltant and hats for our expedition  into Lanjarón bush country.

Up the Path of the Numberless Espígas (the grass spears every dog owner is picking up and pickin g out right now), down one Aztec ruin of concrete steps and up another, we tread down sweet herbs across a field to a tawny stone cortijo set in a green madness of growing things. I had always envisaged politely trimmed plants in neat rows, but Marianne's secret garden gushes up from the earth in fountains of leaf and flower.

Back in Denmark, Marianne Dylsing was a midwife and homemaker with a spare-time partiality for roses that eventually grew into a passion. She was inspired by Danish rose-princes Valdemar Petersen and Thorben Tim.  'I visited Tim's famous gardens not far from Copenhagen and met him.  When I was leaving I told him: "Your gardens need weeding, they're a mess!" By 1996, she was working for him full time. 

 Much travelled Marianne (she has also lived in Nicaragua and Israel) came to Andalucia on the trail of yet another rose gardener, loved Lanjarón, and moved here in 2004. From a tangle of weeds and builder's rubble, and with the help of her obliging landlord, Antonio, she has created a series of bowers or garden rooms.  I take my nose on a stroll through her 'sense garden'.  Roses, lavender, mint and rosemary entwine with deep purple sage flowers and their velvety leaves, against a curtain of valerian and lemon balm. An almond tree bends gracefully in one corner, with lemon, pear and orange trees to keep it company.  In the far corner, glassy pink and white cherries weigh down their branches.

How does Marianne's rose garden grow? In the past, she has brought plants over from Denmark, but a recently established nursery garden with native cuttings looks promising. She pots bare-rooted plants in ordinary compost until she can choose a good, part-shaded site in the heavy clay soil roses love. In spring, when they start to green up, she feeds them yummy well-rotted goat manure, then deep waters every few days when they are in the ground (pots get watered every day).  Apart from 'a little chat and a morning shower', spring and summer care is largely deadheading and pest control. Fungi like rust or blackspot are removed as quickly as possible and not recycled into compost. 'Many varieties will bloom again in the autumn, with more intense scent and colour than before,' says Marianne. In winter, the rosebushes are pruned back hard.

I ask Marianne which is her favourite rose. She points to a many-petalled climber, a white rose that has just had a thought about turning pink. Mme. Alfred Carrière leans langorously over the fence in front of the cortijo like an escapee from the Chelsea Flower Show. 

Marianne has plants for sale, and can design a secret garden for you too, if you ask nicely.  Email her at l@rosa.as. When we leave, she picks me a bouquet of lavender, lemon balm, valerian and sage, and tiny rosebuds, icing-pink.  'Come back in the autumn for your rosebush,it's too hot to plant now,' she says.  I turn around to thank her, but she has disappeared into the green.

Rebuilding History: Molino Benizalte, Orgiva

On a dazzling May morning, the massive stone walls of 17th century Molino
Benizalte ('mill of the son of the oil family') promise deep shade inside.  We walk through a neat walled garden drowsing in the sun, and enter the cathedral calm of the former olive mill, which was still operating well into the 1950s.

'Hi, welcome to the Molino!' The hush is shattered as Sebastian Blakeley strides towards us, radiating his very own sustainable energy.  Dressed in his trademark was-white teeshirt, jeans and building- encrusted boots, Sebastian is on coffee break from supervising construction at David and Shujata Dry's lovely Barrio Luque development in nearby Orgiva.

Sebastian and his partner Pamela Lassalle bought the Molino in March 2005. Wasn't he daunted by the sheer scale of the restoration?

'No!' he booms. 'I'd already restored a 13th century house in Tuscany, and I was looking for a new challenge.' Plus, the Mill worked its spell on him:  'I'd seen loads of other places and almost given up looking in the area. But as soon as I walked in here, I had a clear vision of how it could be,' says the former furniture designer and cabinetmaker. (His clever, graceful designs for tables and chairs are modern classics).

Guided by his 'fear and loathing of cement' and a passionate commitment to green building principles,  Sebastian and his team set to work using local materials and traditional methods. Lime, quarried nearby, was traditionally used in this region as mortar, whitewash and insulation. Hemp fibre bricks provide excellent insulation and sustainable timber soars upwards to support the roof space. The 'cajones de tapial' construction of the walls, brick skeleton 'boxes' packed with compressed earth and stone, is thought to date back to Roman times.

Already, the Molino is coming back to life as a uniquely atmospheric celebration venue and centre for the arts. And Sebastian has turned the former stables/pig pens into a charming home for the Blakeley menagerie. But with three young children and their future to consider, Sebastian and Pamela have decided to put the Molino up for sale, even as work continues. 'We've drawn up detailed plans for the Molino as a superb retreat hotel with 22 bedrooms,' says Sebastian, leaping about to show us how the space would be divided.

You can take a look at the Molino and marvel at its vital statistics online. (Just scroll down past the Luque development details on David and Shujata's site). But the pictures don't quite capture the mystery or the beauty of the Mill and its setting, looking south to the dark hills of the Sierra Lujar. Come one summer evening as the sun is setting, to hear some jazz, blues or baroque music; see new art; experience real flamenco made even more dramatic in this magical setting. The Molino Benizalte will surely weave its spell on you too.

Above and Beyond: Lanjarón Trails

Streams and waterfalls, towering pines, herby hedgerows and wildflowers in surreal colours: half-an-hour's walk from our home off Lanjaron's busiest street is the Parque Natural Sierra Nevada, and Fred and I have become walking testaments to its beauty.

Our old Beardie hung up his hiking boots some time ago (I mean Macduff. Fred is not an old Beardie, though admittedly he is in his 60's and has a beard). But Lola is in spaniel heaven, wading streams and fording oceans of long grass. She comes up smelling one day of rosemary, the next of goat droppings. 

We can't find our favourite route on any of the maps we have. But we're keen to share with you....so here goes:

You can access this route two ways:

Head out of Lanjarón towards Granada, past the Balneario. Just before the Frenaso restaurant, turn right. Stay on the main track uphill.

About five to ten minutes later at a fork, you'll see a cement and tile sign indicating Escorta to the left and Tello to the right. Go left and ever upwards and you'll eventually come to a high meadow with poetry-inspiring views.

 Alternatively, take the Tello road for another five minutes, until you come to a sign indicating the Sendero Sulayr (some 12 kilometres away) and another tile sign to Tello (left) and Almendral (right).

Go right here on what we call the North Circular, up past a wrecked blue Jeep. At the end of the dirt track you'll see an ancient stone path heading downwards off to the right. It looks like a streambed - and probably is in wet weather. But it is worth the careful descent, laced with waterfalls and enamelled with wildflowers. One species looks like a deep lilac menorah candlestick (try to imagine this). Can anyone tell me what it is?

Or take the Sulayr/Tello road which rises gently uphill into the Parque Natural, taking in pine forest, waterfalls and this wet winter's legacy, an amazing abundance of wildflowers. Keep following signs for Tellos and you're on the right track. This road carries on to the spectacular 300km Sendero de Gran Recorrido Sulayr which circles the highest peaks of the Sierra Nevada (if you have two weeks to spare!). At long-established Spanish Highs, outdoor expert Richard and his team organise Sulayr walking trips to suit your schedule, as well as trekking, mountaineering and skiing.

We made it as far as the Instituto de Miel, with its long avenue of hives. That was a gentle uphill walk of about an hour and a half door to hive (with a picnic stop). There are several other tracks you can turn off and explore.  A few are dead ends, but all are breathtaking. The air gets sweeter and softer the farther you go. And go soon, before it gets too hot!

Thankfully, there are several accurate maps and guides to this part of the Alpujarras. Hunt down Editorial Alpina's Sierra Nevada, La Alpujarra (1:40,000) and Editorial Penibética's Sierra Nevada (1:50,000) Walking, skiing and biking routes are described, both Spanish and English booklets are available.

For more great Alpujarran routes by a real expert, check out 34 Alpujarras Walks by Charles Davis. (Discovery Walking Guides).

And for

Lots of other wonderful things grow in Lanjarón - not least Sue and Pete's self-sufficiency 'School', (see Sue's website) Sue, an eminently qualified environmentalist and self-sufficiency expert, will be holding a series of one-day Herb Walks/Cooking with Herbs experiences through the early summer. We will be going on one and report back soon.

 Happy hunting!

Insider Insight: 10 Great Things To Do (Chew?) In Granada for Spring 2009

Everyone has their favourite Granada destinations, but here's a round-up of Fred's and my current Reasons to Go to Granada.  Yes, most of them have to do with food, because, well, it's us.

1. Wander through the romantically dishevelled gardens of the Carmen de los Martires (Paseo de los  Martires) in the Realejo (below the Alhambra, to the south). Go before the tourist season gets intense - unlike the Alhambra, admission is free and you won't be shuffling along behind 800 happy-snapping tourists.

2. Take a stately tour of 16th-century Monasterio de San Jerónimo (Calle Rector Lopez Argueta, 9) about 500m west of the Cathedral. At this time of year you often get whole rooms to yourself where you can go all mediaeval, and the formal gardens will restore the sense of inner order that Granada's busy streeets can often take away.

3. Visit the home of composer Manuel de Falla, near the Centro Cultural of the same name in the Paseo de los Martires.  An earnest young guide takes you through the beautifully preserved 19th century country house, dwelling on the most startling objects with a dreamlike intensity.

4. Eat probably the world's most calorific breakfast of churros (doughnuts) dunked in hot chocolate and see Granada go by from upstairs at handsome Art Nouveau Café Futbol (Plaza Mariana Pineda 6, opposite Tourist Office).

5. Standing room only most lunchtimes and evenings at cosy, buzzy Bar Pacurri (Calle Gracia, 21), with regulars from the nearby art college and local galleries, and ever-changing art and photography on display.  Seriously good wines and substantial tapas can mean a substantial bill, but the atmosphere is special.

6. Whether your nightcap tastes run to ice-cream or Cointreau, end your weekend tapas evening at Cafe Bohémia (Calle Santa Teresa, 3) where a handsome young blond plays wistful tunes on the piano and the walls are covered with film posters and memorabilia.

7. Brave the ciggie smoke and sweat it out with the finest flamenco fans in town; you can catch real flamenco at the tiny dance hideaway I posted about last year, El Eshavira.  Hunt it down most Thursdays and Sundays around midnight at Postigo de la Cuna 2.

8. Get deep-down clean and serene at the best of Granada's two hammams or Arab baths (Calle San Miguel Alta, 41). Have a bath, have an aromatherapy massage, then go...

9. ...and have tea and syrup-drenched baklava pastries at traditional teteria Kasbah (Calle Caldereria Nueva 4) in Granada's old Arab quarter, the Albayzin.  You'll feel like a proper sultana.

10. Walk off the pastries along the rose-lined avenues of the Parque Federico Garcia Lorca (Calle Virgen Blanca, near Neptuno Parking). Here too is the eponymous poet's summer home, beautifully preserved as an early 20th century villa.

Enjoy! And let me hear from you in the comments box below: what's your favourite reason to go to Granada? Did you try any of our Top 10 destinations and what's your verdict? 

Ooh. I'm on Twitter.  As usual it starts out simple enough, but after an hour on the website, I am dizzy and cross-eyed trying to figure out all the options.  I think I should re-christen it Fritter as I watch my life minutes trickle by. Anyway, why not join Twitter too? Then we can send 140-character inanities to each other at any time of day or night!

Semana S-s-santa

 Lanjarón staged its traditional 'Crossing' on Wednesday, heralding four days of ceremonial and the start of a new holiday season.  This is - I can't believe it - the sixth year that Fred and I have joined the crowds lining the main street from La Caixa bank to the ayuntamiento, the Town Hall, and beyond.

It's turned really cold today; on Wednesday night I was wearing a coat and my hands were numb! I remember our first or second Crossing.  We'd had days of rain and cool weather, then the very day of the ceremony, Spring arrived.  We walked down the road in summer shirts after nine o'clock and all the bars had their doors propped open. April can be as changeable here as in England.

Earlier in the day I was chatting to some friends about the Crossing.  Fernando Rubio and his wife Dori reminisced about their childhood Easters and about different attitudes to Church ritual today.  Fernando said that although the ceremony itself was at least 200 years old, it languished for some decades during the last century - there was such dire poverty here - and was only revived about 40 years ago, when the Ayuntamiento voted some funds to restore the artefacts and pay key people to organise the spectacle.  I told him I was surprised at how many young people took an enthusiastic part these days, whether in the band or the procession.  He replied that while some of them do feel a personal spiritual connection with 'la Virgen', they mostly don't respect the Church as an institution or comply with the solemnity advocated by the town's official Semana Santa handbook.

 I can confirm the solemnity bit, as I woke several times last night to some wild flamenco-style party going on one street away.  The last burst of drumming and shrieking was at 5.30 am.  Oh well, maybe they were celebrating the Resurrection in advance of Sunday...

If you'd like to read my short article about the Lanjarón ceremony, just click on to
The Guardian Weekly's Global Edition.  It should be there for a week or so.

Only 36 hours to go! As usual, I'll be breaking my annual four-month chocolate fast on Easter Sunday and will love everybody as soon as the phenethylamine raises my serotonin levels to the roof.  

Have a great Easter break....

If you'd like to know more about the best of the Easter ceremonial in Andalucia, click here for Andalucia.com's round-up.And thanks as ever to Fred for the pics that accompany this post. You can see more Lanjarón Easter shots on his Flickr site. (Just click on the garlic image in the left-hand column of the blog).

Señor de la Exasperación

So I'm just putting the finishing touches to a degree assignment that has to be in tomorrow, when the doorbell dings.  My dear friend Alex has arrived from London to take a break at her finca near Lanjarón.  She has brought a new old friend with her from her inexhaustible supply of eccentric Englishmen.  Alex tries to talk to me while John tries to talk to her and me together. I reply in half-sentences, but it's OK because no-one's listening to anyone anyway.  I get them up to the roof and give them liquids to keep them busy. 

 Meanwhile, naughty spaniel Lola slips out and goes into town, probably in search of Friday night takeaway. Fred, just coming out of a long day of work, laces up his hiking boots and stomps off in search of our princess. I see Alex and John off with a cheery wave, all the time watching Fred walk back to the house empty-handed.

We take off into Lanjarón with the sad cargo of Lola's empty lead and split up to look for her.  It's the solemn feast of El Señor de la Expiración. (The pìcture shows the Orgiva celebrations). The whole town is stepping over the roadworks towards the church.  Cannon and firecracker explosions seem to rock the very buildings, and I jump so often I have to pretend I'm skipping.  I wait for the townsfolk to fall to the ground screaming, but nobody even blinks.  Various neighbours stop me in the street, lay a hand on my arm, report sightings of Lola - (Carmela, our vegetable vecina, has alerted friends). 

I get home to find Lola happy and excited after a minimal telling off and far too many cuddles. She is sent to bed without any supper except her usual full bowl.

 

I take Macduff for his walk.  On the way, Carmela presents me with a lettuce as beautiful as a newly-opened rose, and graceful purple lirios, irises - a gift. I can't turn back now I've got 13-year old Duffs up the hill, so I cradle the lettuce, the irises and the poop scoop and we carry on.  As we go round the corner, the cannons go off again and we walk into a flock of goats heading into town for the weekend.  Three of the goats detach themselves and head towards us.  I lunge at them with the lettuce/iris/poopscoop combo.  They know not to mess with that and take off at a trot. We get home without any more adventures.

All of which is just to give you a snapshot of a typical untypical hour or two in Lanjarón - exasperation and affection woven closely together and usually affection wins.

Don't you love Fred's latest in his White Bowl series? It wasn't posed specially, but simply found in the natural environment of our kitchen. I thought the stapled teabag was particularly poignant. We are going to call it La Cuenca del Crisis, and are happy to discuss commissions from thrifty art lovers.

Have a good week/month/time elapsing before my next blog!