La Joya-ful New Year

Coming back to Lanjarón to find all the big hotels boarded up for winter was depressing.  I'd gotten quite used to paying around €15 for two coffees and a cookie in London and at least all the cafés stay open all year. But the day after we got back, Fred and I walked into town under a triple-rinsed blue sky.  In the market we bought monkfish and clams from Juani to make a great Moro casserole.  We stopped off for the most powerful cafe con léche in town at nearby churreria Café Melilla.  At Carmen's Fruteria, we used root vegetables to beat our way through the shopping-bags-on-wheels brigade.  Then we lugged our bags back past the knitting shop, past Sebastian's fascinating, overstuffed hardware store, past the pastry shop with its Miss Havisham window display of cakes that have become old friends over the past four years.  Suddenly I realised I was happy to be back...

"Feel free to overdress," said the New Year's Eve party invitation from the L.O.S.T. in Spain team (Lindsay, Orla, Sheila, Tony), and almost everyone did.  Even Fred, the Howard Hughes of Calle Huelva, donned a suit and waistcoat and got in the mood.  He looked impressive, though the giant vat of prawn and pasta salad he was carrying to the party spoiled some of the effect.  I felt cold and croaky, so I compromised by dressing up my top half with anything glittery that came to hand, but wearing big boots under my skirt. You can do that sort of thing in Lanjarón.

When we got to La Joya, even the gardens were wearing evening gowns of coloured light.  In the winter-proofed Corral, vaguely familiar men and women stood around outshining the Christmas tree.  All the women suddenly had Shiny Hair - gleaming bobs and shoulder length layers of silk that made them all look like U.S. senators' wives.  And underneath the hairdos were Shoulders, more bare shoulders than in the whole of The Gladiator, but prettier.  All the men looked like James Bond.  Who would have imagined that black tie outfits lurked in so many expat wardrobes?  

Lanjaron chic tends towards fleecy things and jeans in winter, teeshirts and shorts all summer, the kind of clothes you can mix cement in.   Now here was Jan in scarlet silk , Lindsay in black velvet with a sweetheart neckline, Sheelagh in slinky navy jersey with a cutout back, Hildy elegant as a gold-topped cane in black wool and silk. Best of all, Lindsay's mum Agnes in a black velvet suit with cream silk ruffles.  When we were singing Auld Lang Syne, she seized Bernie's arm and flung him around in what I took to be a Highland Reel.  She is a tiny, 88-year old powerhouse, and Bernie must have realised he was powerless to resist.

Two woodstoves radiated almost as much warmth as the hosts.  Everyone bought their signature party dish and after a couple of drinks, my plateful of curry, nudging prawn-pasta salad and coronation chicken, with a slice of goat's cheese and onion tart and some highly-populated rice on a bed of tiramisu seemed just perfect. Glasses were refilled and plates whisked away as if by unseen hands, (I did drink quite a lot), and suddenly 2007 was over.

At midnight, I gobbled up my twelve grapes as Spanish tradition dictates, though I could never time the mastication to match each stroke of the booming clock.  As a result, it seems I will be rich for five months of the year, then have to busk in the streets of Orgiva for the next seven.  But warmth and plenty and friends and laughter are not a bad way to start 2008, and the party underlined what a great community we have here in Lanjarón, both Spanish and English.  Lindsay and Orla, Sheila and Tony, take a bow.  You help make this a great place to be. 

Fred and I want to wish all Andalucid readers a peaceful, prosperous 2008, wherever you are.  Maybe we'll see you in Lanjarón next Spring?

All the best, Arpi

Comments

[Dave]

Glad to have you back!!

Hope you have a wonderful 2008