Andalucid

Friendly, feisty, furry: Macduff 1995-2009

 Fourteen years, three countries, two transatlantic crossings, five homes; our beloved Bearded Collie Macduff made his final journey yesterday.

Woven in with our grief and some shock at the speed of events, Fred and I have started to remember the happy times: his first wintry gambol at six months old, sending up silvery puffs of Yorkshire snow against the moonlight...running the length of a long green field to greet his pretty German Shepherd friend, Lady...playing 'Lost in the Woods' with Fred in the oak copse at our home in Winchester, barking for joy when he found him...trotting just ahead of me, my personal trainer on those endless walks through Maryland's Annapolis Park. And here in the Alpujarras, Duffs and Lola with us on a picnic...our sunlit walks to the Castle and the woods...two bushy dog tails waving happily.

Of course it wasn't all good times.  I remember how disappointed we were when Duffs was expelled from Dogwood Acres, his exclusive day school near Annapolis, for excessive barking and because he kept herding up the younger dogs. But this was just a momentary blip on Macduff's popularity clapometer.  Mostly, people and dogs (except Yorkies and other small upstarts) adored him.

Over the past year or so, Duff's walkies became twice as slow and half as long. His sight and hearing had faded, and he had the spectacular bronchial cough of a retired docker.  But he was still snorfling his food with gusto, liked the sun on his back in the morning, breakfast toast crusts with peanut butter and stretching out in the centre of a circle of visitor feet. 

Then yesterday evening his back legs, which had been getting steadily weaker, gave up entirely, and next morning he wouldn't eat or drink. We took him to the 24/7 vet hospital in Granada; we held him and talked to him right to the end, when he sank into a peaceful sleep.  Before we went, I asked for some scissors and cut a small piece of matted fur from his right ear - I never did manage to comb that last bit out and now I can keep it for ever.

Goodbye darling boy. Thank you for 14 years of love and laughter.  We hope you are out right now playing 'Lost', running through endless sunlit woods with your friends.  And that you have roast chicken for supper every night.

All our love....

I can only show a couple of pics on this post, but Fred has put together a beautiful photo memoir for Friends of Macduff. Do take a look, if only to marvel at the size of Duffs' paws when he was three months old! (If this link doesn't connect, just drop me a line and I will send you a new link).

A Blessing in Ronda

I've done it in London and Los Angeles; I've done it in Washington DC and at the entrance to the Acropolis in Athens.  But I never thought I'd be doing it in Ronda.

It all started when Andy Cameron from Ronda Today recommended that Fred and I overnight at Baraka B&B by way of celebrating our wedding anniversary - yes, 18 long bitter years.  He did say the proprietor was Armenian, but I didn't know how Armenian until I called her:

Hi, is that Anahid?

Hi, yes...Arpi....that's an Armenian name.  My sister is called Arpi.

Amazing! What's your family name? My mum was a Sherbetjian. My aunt's family is Ourfalian. (There, now I've done it in Ronda too).

Sherbetjian? You're from Anjar?

Yes, my mum's family are Anjartsi. Do you know them?

Know them? My grandfather and your grandmother were first cousins. This is unbelievable. I thought I was the only Armenian in Andalucia! 

We duly arrived at lovely Baraka (it's an Arab-derived word for blessing) last Friday, to be greeted by lovely Anahid. I think we hugged five times before the Arabic coffee started frothing in the long-handled jezveh.

We were briefly separated when Fred and I went to lunch at Almocabar in Barrio San Francisco (952 87 59 77, closed Tuesdays and August).  It was one of my very few Author Picks for the Lonely Planet Guide last year, and as good as we remembered it. However, if you like a convivial room, don't go on Friday lunchtimes between October and April - it was echoey.  But when you go, do have the tangerine sorbet, which 'tastes like all the tangerines in the world concentrated into one shimmering scoop'. 

In the evening, Andy came over and we all hit the town for some tapas and wine to celebrate this historic occasion. Andy knows Ronda inside out, and he steered us to the best bars with the tastiest tapas (thanks Andy!). Still, I don't think Anahid and I would have noticed if we were at a Burger King, as we only stopped talking long enough to wash down a few boquerones, starting sentences in English and ending them in Armenian.  After a great evening, we clopped back through the narrow cobbled streets to Baraka, just two minutes from the famous Puente Nuevo.

We got a couple more hours of chat in before, during and after breakfast, then left to come back to Lanjarón. As no true Armenian ever runs out of stuff to say, I know we've got years of tireless conversation ahead of us.

Oh, and here's a picture of me and Fred celebrating. No, of course I'm not gnashing my teeth - that's a smile!

A Last Taste of Summer: Frediterranean Tart

Before I start this post, can I just say something about the ongoing strong reactions to my previous posts about Tony and Lil's Reigning Cats and Dogs refuge. I will be visiting Tony and Lil to see the refuge for myself, and I've also accepted Andy and Carol's invitation to hear their point of view. So look out for a post about my visits soon.

With the dark evenings almost here, I thought I'd end the summer on a flavour high, by sharing Fred's recipe for a colourful, fragrant Mediterranean Tart, which I have rechristened just because it fits. It's based in part on a recipe by Scottish chef, Alex Mackay, and it's perfect eaten out of doors on a sunny afternoon, with a crisp green salad and a glass of misty-cold Rueda or fruity Rioja.

FREDITERRANEAN TART (Serves six, or four greedy people, with a green salad)

Pastry:
(A pack of bought puff pastry will line a shallow-rimmed baking sheet measuring 30 x 25 x 1cm (12 x 10 x 1/2 inch) )

Filling:
2 x medium aubergines, thinly sliced
1 x large red pepper, sliced

4 large or 6 medium firm tomatoes, thickly sliced
3 x medium red onions, peeled and thinly sliced
4 x cloves of garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
65ml (2 1/2 fluid oz) olive oil
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
12 x anchovy fillets in oil
As many black olives as you like, halved and...stoned
200g (7oz) goats' cheese (soft for slicing or firm for crumbling)

A handful of basil leaves
salt to taste

METHOD
Take the pastry out a couple of hours in advance to thaw it. 

Cover the bottom of a large frying pan with olive oil and fry the aubergine slices (you can dip these in flour first if you like) until golden brown. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on kitchen paper.

Slice the peppers and remove the seeds, then cut in thick strips and put in a large pan.  Halve and slice the onions and add to the peppers, along with the garlic, oil, sugar, cayenne pepper, a teaspoon of salt and 150ml (5 fl oz) water. Cover and sweat for 10 minutes (not you, the vegetables) stirring occasionally. Remove the lid and cook for another 5 minutes, until almost all the liquid has evaporated.  Set aside.

Preheat the oven to 200ºC, 400ºF or Gas Mark 6.

Slice the tomatoes across in thick slices.  Fry quickly in a little olive oil until just tender and set aside.

Roll out the pastry to fit the baking sheet (I smurge the regulation two sheets together in the middle with a slight overlap, and take the long sides over the rim of the baking sheet)

Layer the filling over the pastry: aubergine slices first, followed by the tomato slices, then fill in with the pepper and onion mixture. Keep the filling within half an inch of the edge so that the pastry can puff!

Scatter over the anchovies, olive halves and goats' cheese.

Bake for 20-25 minutes.  Remove from the oven and scatter over the basil leaves.  Serve hot or warm with Andalucian sunshine poured over.

¡buen provecho!

For more of Fred's mouthwatering White Bowl portraits of Spanish ingredients and other foodie still lifes, please visit his White Bowl exhibit on Flickr. I'll be happy to give you information about framing and prices for his limited edition prints, and we can send matted signed copies securely to the UK and other destinations.

Reigning Cats & Dogs - A statement in support

We have read with amazement some of the ungenerous responses to Lil and Tony’s extraordinary and brave efforts to help animals in this area. Surely the answer is to raise funds that would enable them to more adequately house their animals and minimise any nuisance? The most important thing in the meantime is that these animals are loved and fed, even if they at present necessarily live in a confined area.

Having recently visited their place we are aware, as indeed are Tony and Lil themselves, that their arrangements are less than perfect but with adequate funding many improvements could be made. Nothing would please them better.

We would specifically point out the following:

We have talked to many Spanish residents as part of research that we carried out in order to discover contributions that we foreigners could make in Orgiva and the surrounding area. One of the chief concerns of local Spanish people was to solve the problem of stray animals which they see as a foreigner problem.

In this area Lil and Tony’s offer the only real option and the best thing that we can do is to help them improve what they are doing. If any of the contributors to this exchange can offer constructive and practical support instead of carping criticism it would be welcome.

Several neighbours of Lil and Tony are fully supportive of their work.

As far as funds allow they get the animals neutered so the population does not increase through procreation. Most of the animals that they look after have either been taken to them or they have in some way been rescued by Lil or Tony. They would otherwise have been abandoned (often by foreigners), have died of starvation, died from injuries having been run over on the roads, or have been taken away and killed in Granada.

Wherever possible Lil and Tony find new owners for the cats and dogs who can give them proper homes. They would welcome enquiries.

They treat any health problems that arise and pay vets bills in spite of having little income. They have a neighbour who keeps goats which create their own flea and smell problems.

 

Regarding the horses and mules, these poor animals have been given to Lil and Tony when they are literally on their last legs, old and ill. In fact one old mule found wandering on the roads and was brought to Lil and Tony by a Guardia Civil. Of course they eventually die.

 

Shujata and David

Ambienza Abierto

Olive ciabatta has been a long time coming to Lanjaron, but it's here at last, sharing a menu with oatmeal and fresh fruit, bacon and cream cheese bagels, and pasta with a feta, sundried tomato and pine nut sauce. Ambienza, the café-bar that's been taking shape since summer 2005, unfurled its first brown paper tablecover last week - a plain but poignant victory banner for a long campaign fought with patience, determination and good humour.

Martin McNally and Astra Barton came to Lanjarón in 2005. They had a dream: to transform a shabby warehouse overlooking the town's new variante (bypass) into a modern family home and internet café. The vision slowly took shape as allegations, acts of God and the ayuntamiento (local authority) tested them at every turn. At least they had a couple of house moves and baby Zak, who came along in 2008, to distract them.

There was the time the scaffolding company casually asked for a €160,000 deposit...the freak hailstorm that hit Granada hours after huge pits had been dug in front of the café for new foundations.....the day they went to collect their long-awaited opening licence, only to find that a hostile neighbour had filed a complaint, setting them back another four months. In the end, even the UK magazine for which we were serialising the Ambienza story folded, while Martin and Astra kept going.

Anyway, all that's history now. In fact, after my second watermelon smoothie with vodka, it seemed as though Ambienza had always been here, with Astra and her team in their smart black baseball caps and aprons, the bubbling fountain in the courtyard, the pastas and pestos and pastries and panini.

"Soon we'll be overweight and broke, and you'll be responsible," I tell Astra as sternly as I can through a mouthful of filo pastry with feta cheese. She just smiles her inscrutable Astra smile. "Carrot cake or chocolate brownie?" she asks.

Ambienza is at C/Señor de la Expiración, 31, opposite the bypass at the Orgiva end of town. You can call them on 958 771381 (they offer a takeaway service too) but don't worry unduly as the carrot cake is pretty much always available. Just come and work your way through the menu on the mist-cooled sun terrace. See you there!

Five Fab Things About Summer in Lanjarón

1. Planting luscious scarlet and cream hibiscus and feather-dustery callistemon in pots on our rooftop terrace, while Macduff sternly supervises.

2. Searing coffee, icy water, a cigarette and Psychologies magazine in Spanish after a swim in the Hotel Andalucia pool. My sixth year squinting at dazzling white apartments against the burning blue sky.

3. Late-night cinnamon and lemon leche merengada ice cream (thanks for the delicious writing, Olive Me) plus coffee and brandies at the Heladeria. With big family ice cream parties going on all around you and the rest of Lanjarón parading past on their sundae paseo.

4. Dancing to Kwaanza's retro reggae in the Parque Salado at midnight. Looking up to see a row of helmet-hair Spanish grannies sitting patiently on plastic chairs waiting for The Birdie Song to start.

5. Sleeping on cool blue and white cotton sheets under the big fan.

What are your favourite things about summer in Andalucía?

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!