Andalucid Again

What Lies Beneath: The Mercury Mines of Timar

From the busy streets of Orgiva, the deep silence of Timar is around 20 kilometres and a world away.

Winding up the A348 Alpujarran mountain road in the direction of Torviscón, the busy shops and offices, the cars and people threading the streets of Orgiva are soon left behind. The hills sharpen to crags, the road narrows and climbs. Already in this April-in-February weather, the verges are starred with delicate yellow wildflowers, a type of asphodel.

Half an hour or so brings us to the village of Lobras. Of its 120 inhabitants, none are outdoors on this dazzling morning. There are two fine old parish churches here, and traces of its Moorish past. A little further on, and we are in Timar.

I read that the huge mercury mines at Almadén, in Castilla-La Mancha, produced more mercury than any other place on earth over the 2000 years that they were worked. From 1910 to 1936, Timar was also an important centre for mercury mining. Italian and Spanish companies built factories here; the Italians at the edge of the Nieles ravine, the Spanish on the hillside at Cádiar. In its underground labyrinth of galleries, men cursed and sweated and sickened, hacking at the glistening cinnabar (mercury sulfide). Flung the rock into steel cages, which clattered through fiery ovens. Cooling and condensing, reacting with oxygen, the cinnabar released sulphur dioxide and vapour, cooled to liquid, quicksilver, mercury. 

I try to imagine the scene, the flame and fume, the galleries ringing with the clang of iron tools and the shouts of men. On this genial spring day, the only sound is a soft breeze ruffling the leaves of the eucalyptus. Almond blossom from candyfloss trees scents the air with a hint of marzipan. The mighty Moorish fortress on the highest point, El Fuerte (the Strong), is reduced to a single crumbling wall, melting into the mountainside. The mines have left almost no trace.

At the 1937 World’s Fair in Paris, American sculptor Alexander Calder was commissioned to design a streamlined fountain for the Spanish Republican pavilion. In place of water, it flowed with pure Spanish mercury. Calder’s fountain gleams on today, at the Fundació Juan Miró in Barcelona’s museum, its deadly beauty now contained behind thick glass.

You can visit the handsome little ‘Museo Malacata’ in Timar, next to the church square. It showcases the tools and traditions of mercury mining, as well as other local crafts, weaving, silkworm breeding and ceramics. Open by appointment: call (+34) 958 768 107, Monday to Friday, 9.00 am to 2.00 pm. Or outside hours, 679 038 079.

 

Out of Málaga: To Álora and Chorro Gorge

Now that our everyday busyscape is defined by the skylines a city draws, it’s easy to forget the huge vistas Andalucía offers, the paisaje on our doorstep. Just an hour or so drive from central Málaga, out past the airport towards Cártama, Pizarra and Álora to the Embalse El Tajo and the Chorro Gorge, you feel you are moving through immensity.

In the pure light of this January day, all colours are definitive, absolute. White farmhouses in bright green fields vibrate against the deep blue sky, and the acid yellow gantry at the entrance to the El Tajo hydroelectric plant shouts so loud you have to laugh.

En route, Álora looked moody from the motorway, more mundane on foot. Café Alegría in the main Plaza is a good place to stop for a mid-morning coffee and snack, cosy with comfortable ladies who surely have gaggled there since they were brides.

From Álora, you wind up to Bermeja. Soon you can trace (with the eye only unless you are very different from me) the spidery walkways of the Caminito del Rey (the King’s Little Pathway) threading the dizzy drop acros the El Chorro gorge to the dam, the Embalse de Gaitenejo.

Looking right across to all this beauty and drama is Hotel La Garganta, a sprawling ‘Complejo Turístico Rural’. Displayed among the usual rustic tropes – farm implements on rough stone walls, grape arbour over the terrace, chunky furniture and such, are old components from the plant, as reverently shaped to their old purposes as Easter Island figures.

Lunch at La Garganta is one delicious surprise after another: croquettes with kid in a red wine reduction, delicias of goat’s cheese rolled in a Rice Krispie cake coating of frutos secos; a silky-sweet onion soup that could raise you from your sickbed. The portions are for mountain appetites.

The quality and value of everything we ate on that sunny terrace seemed part of the whole abundant day, and on that note, I wish all Andalucid readers a 2015 with many moments of simple wellbeing, vibrant colour and as much sunshine as you could wish to bask in!

I'd love to hear from you at: [email protected], so please drop me a line and let me know you are still out there - I'm still here!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wet, woofy, wonderful: White Christmas in Cartajima

Outside, the wind howled and rain fell as if determined to make up for months of dry weather. Inside, Fred and I were playing Killer Scrabble in front of the big fire with two delightful families from San Francisco. A plate of freshly-baked mince pies had just appeared from the kitchen and dinner was not far away. Perfect.

Hotel Los Castanos stands opposite the ayuntamiento, right in the middle of Cartajima, one of the seven tiny pueblos blancos that make up the Alto Genal, north of San Pedro de Alcantara and about 10km south of Ronda, in Western Málaga. This region, the Serranía de Ronda, encompasses the Sierra de las Nieves, beloved of walkers, birdwatchers and at one time, bandits.

Di and John Beach gave us a warm welcome and our room was luxurious, huge and cosy, no mean feat on a wet December day. I decided to try our jacuzzi bath with results depicted above. As you see I am slowly sinking under foamy walls of Molton Brown's Warming Eucalyptus - what a way to go!

Christmas lunch was classic, delicious and nothing was missing except The Pud. Another plate of mince pies went some way to consoling me however. Throughout our stay, nothing was too much trouble for Di, John and Catherine. We genuinely felt that their casa was our casa.

To add to the fun, we were introduced to Di's Coton de Tolear canines, Kenny and Leo. They were white! They were fluffy! And they were like adorable Christmas teddies!

So. Warm welcome...big fire...friendly fellow guests...freshly baked mince pies....perfect Christmas dinner....board games involving words...fluffy white jacuzzi experience...fluffy white dogs. It all added up to the White Christmas I was Dreaming Of.

I hope your festive season has some or all of what you were Dreaming Of too. We wish you a very happy and hopeful New Year! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Talk about a Málaga weekend

“Says 24 degrees centigrade…”
“Mmm, lovely blue sky and that fresh breeze…”
“Let’s walk through the Paseo del Parque to the harbour, and Muelle Uno.”

“Look at the sun shining through the hibiscus and look, the reddest roses ever, hundreds of them.”
“That smell, oh yes, it’s an Indian Jasmine tree.”
“There’s a parakeet. See it? That flash of lime green?”
“I love this Zen pool, just overflowing with ripples.”

“Coffee at Gallo Rojo?”
“If there’s a seat in the shade.”
“Dos cafés con leche, por favor, y un agua sin gas.”

Look! Those lovely little girls in frothy white. Of course, it’s the first weekend in May, all those Communions. And their mothers, dressed to kill. Wicked scarlet satin tiny jacket and scarlet heels to match. Everyone looks so happy!”
“¡Que guapa, que chulo tu traje!”
“Gracias…”

“Let’s go to La Moraga for a tapa.”
“OK, here, this table looking out on the beach.”
“These are the best coquinas I have ever eaten, so fresh and delicate.”
“Dos copas de Rueda, por favor.”

“OK, coffee and lemon sorbet at Galopain on the way home?”
“Why not?”
“Best coffee in town, Galopain.”
“Isn’t Málaga lovely?”
“It is. It is.”

Crucifixion, coffee and cake

It’s Friday night and I’m sitting with Fred at Puerta Oscura, an elegant cocktail bar of Edwardian cushiness in old town Málaga (C/Molino Lario 5).   In front of me, coffee and a delicate piece of torrija, a traditional Easter treat made with a mediaeval disregard for carb count. I’m ready to take my first bite, but can’t quite pick up my fork.

In the alcove opposite me, Mary the mother of Jesus sits with John. This is a woman who hasn’t slept in many nights, haggard, puffy-eyed, bowed with grief. John is holding her hand, but it’s clear he’s run out of things to say.

Opposite them, Mary Magdalene is slumped against a block, auburn hair tangled, eyes red from weeping.  Behind her, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea wait, grim-faced, to collect Christ’s body for burial.

Here is the supporting cast of the Crucifixion as you’ve never seen it before, far from the impassive doll-faced Madonna and Jesus figures paraded everywhere during Holy Week. Their grief is so raw, you'll do anything to avoid eye contact.

This extraordinary tableau, ‘Duelo y Tristeza’ (‘Pain and Grief’) is the work of three Spanish sculptors, made in the 1980s, in a hyper-realistic style. Juan Manuel Parra, Álvaro Abrines and Juan Vega glower at me from the pages of the Easter Week guide, young, bearded, possibly reproving.

But the three young men next to me have just settled to their gin and tonics. People stroll in to look at the figures, then stay to order drinks. There’s a buzz of voices, a clatter of cutlery.  I think about how life, devotion and death often blur together in Spain, about the bleeding Jesus posters in the windows of jamonerías and dry cleaners and everywhere else at this time of year. I pick up my fork and plunge it into the creamy heart of the torrija.  It tastes divine.

It's official: Elle loves Málaga

The travel gurus at Spanish Elle have turned their gaze on Málaga, and they're liking our city a lot. A brief article in the online magazine raves about new galleries, a 'radiant' marina, beaches with buzz and endless tapas options.

Málaga used to be on the way to somewhere else, usually somewhere along the Costa del Sol. But over the past few years it's become a leisure and culture destination in its own right. With the recent addition of the Carmen-Thyssen gallery and the shiny new Automobile Museum, there's plenty to seduce you away from the beach and marina playground at Muelle Uno.

In fact, winter (though most sunny days the temperature tops 20ºC) is a good time to see the great indoors in this city, and to visit its very own 'Alhambra', the palace-fortress of the Alcazaba, set on the hill above the Roman ruins (enter through ticket office to one side).

We went early in January on a brilliant sunny morning, clambering up old stone steps to be surprised by patio courtyards with exuberant fountains or silent ponds, towers with arches carved like lace, and sudden, breathtaking views of the city and the glittering sea.

At this time of year, you can even find yourself for a few moments quite alone, dreaming yourself back into that mythic past when the sea touched the very walls and whispers of passion and ambition were captured in the listening shadows...

Thanks as ever to Fred for the photos - I hope you'll visit and tell me what you think of the citadel - and the city!

 

 

 

It's a doll's life at Malaga's Botanical Gardens

If you go down to the Málaga Botanical Gardens today, you're sure of a big surprise. If you go down to the...etc, you'll never believe your eyes...

A team of clever and industrious elves has created recreated dozens of charming scenes echoing old photographs of the Marqueses de Loring family at play in their handsome country house 'palácio' in the late 19th century. The stars of the show are the Barbie and Ken dolls, over a hundred of them. Exquisitely dressed in handmade costumes, perfect down to the last button and frill, taking tea, riding out to pay calls, having a lazy summer lunch in the Wisteria Arbour...the little girl in everyone will be absolutely fascinated.

This magical exhibition will vanish into thin air on January 6th, so if you can possibly make it, I recommend you go.

The house is set in the dreamy, leafy Botanical Gardens, 4km north of Málaga centre. (The Málaga Tour Bus goes there from the Bus Station, and the No. 12 bus stops outside the gate).

Fred and I went on Boxing Day. Bright sunshine sifted through hundreds of palm trees and gilded the tropical plants. There's even a super café for quiche-y lunches and salads. It might look like a garden shed, but the owner prepares all the food herself, and it's excellent.

I'll sign off by wishing you all the best for 2013. May all your problems be doll-sized, and may you too find joy in unexpected places.  ¡Feliz Año Nuevo!

 

 

Málaga is Christmas in 'calor'

This morning in Málaga we strolled through the winding gardens of the Paseo del Parque. We saw parakeets gathering twigs, sudden flurries of acid green against the deep blue sky. The sun shining through the leaves of the lady palms. Through the foliage, glimpses of big white ships in the harbour at Muelle Uno.

We've seen visitors from the blue-eyed lands in cropped shorts and vests, walking past pillow-haired Málagueña matrons encased in fur. The pharmacy thermometers showing 25ºC.

We’ve visited the belén of the Diputación de Málaga, complete with tiny village bakery where the oven glows and the blacksmith is hammering jerkily at his forge. We’ve seen Fabergé-pink paté ducklings at our favourite deli, nestling among hundreds of cheeses, patés, cold meats and stuffed dates.

We’ve ‘done’ the Vegas-bright Christmas lights walk along Calle Larios, threading through noisy, happy crowds gaping at the man on stilts/clowns/living statues, levitating gurus.

Office parties sitting at long tables outside, pleasantly and politely p……ed. singing happy formless villancicos, (Tuqui Tuqui Tuquituqui, Tuquituqui Tu qui Ta, apúrate mi burrito, vamos a ver a Jesús…). Almonds roasting, chestnuts roasting, incense adding a darker note. Classical quartets, carolling kids…the Three Kings Santa Grotto... everybody seems to be walking, talking, laughing and eating.

In a week or two, we can go back to worrying about the austerity measures and the electricity bills, the whiffy drains and ‘Se Alquila’ (‘For Rent’) signs in empty shopfronts. But while Xmas lasts, for as long as it lasts…Happy Malagueños to all our readers!

 

Malaga y mal agua

's a week since we moved into our new flat in Málaga. We're starting to carve paths through the cardboard forest, and the phrase "where (the hell) is my _______" doesn't begin every single sentence, just every other. I expect next time we turn up at Ikea - we've managed four times this week so far - they will form a guard of honour and present us with a complimentary blue bag.

We escape into the city when we can, and discover yet another place to spend money and calories. There's Lepanto, the big white café on Calle Larios....Café Canasta, opposite the market, with proper French patisserie....the market itself, stuffed with delicious meat, fish and veggie things, and a Moroccan 'quarter' that is like having the whole of Granada's Albaycin in one shop. Readers, there is a café that exists only to dispense cupcakes! We promise to sample all the best of Málaga and report back in future blogs.

Our piso is perfecto, or would be if we had hot water coming out of the taps, but since last Thursday we have been refining the kettle/Pyrex measuring jug shower system.  Probably we smell a bit by now but our real friends will kindly overlook this.

The problem is that Gas Natural Fenosa can't or won't connect us to the supply with a new meter or contador. Apparently the computer isn't talking to the engineer, or the other way round. I asked our brilliant agent, Javier, (Javier Ruiz Montero - I recommend him to anybody who wants to move here), what next?  "On Monday," he said "we are going to call the police and issue a denuncio."  (criminal complaint, i.e. sue the b--------s).

I said I was incredulous to hear that it had come to this. "That's Spain," he said. He sounded weary.

Anyway, exhausted, delighted and slightly grubby, We Are Here and it's a friendly, foody city that's already starting to feel like home.

PS: It's my burfday so we're off to Souvi Tapería near the Cathedral for a tapas or two...maybe a candle on the calamari. Feliz cumpleaños-to-me, felizcumpleaños-to-me...

PPS: Yes the water is 'mal', tastes awful- we're wistful for the waters of Lanjarón and I have had to buy a bottle of the stuff.

PPPS: The new Andalucid banner features a wall detail from the nearby Convento Maria de la Consolación y Lagrimas.

 

 

 

 

 

Seduced by the city by the sea

On my velvet chair in the velvet darkness of Sala 2, I am trying not to make wow sounds too loudly as Fred and I exchange glances through our ludicrous 3-D specs.  We’re watching a documovie (moviementary?), Werner Herzog’s 'Cave of Forgotten Dreams'. The gossamer drawings on the walls of the Chauvet caves, made more than 30,000 years ago by people like us, hover close enough to trace with my fingers. Dazed and delighted, we stumble out of the Albeniz cinema into the warm Málaga night. 

A week later, we’re in much the same state, and caves are the cause again.  That is, our new shelter-to-be in a quiet residential street just 15 minutes stroll from all that the city has to share with us.

Our week of househunting was stressful but also magical: yoga and early-morning coffee on my friend’s little terrace, looking across wooded hillsides to city rooftops; viewing apartments dull, dire or diminutive; fleeing the city's heat and glare for an afternoon siesta and returning to welcome the evening sea breeze; happy red and yellow-streaked people filling Plaza de la Constitución as their Euro cup runnethed over; mussels poached in partridge stock and served in a sardine tin at Dani Garcia’s Manzanilla Bar; night-time walks wreathed with madly perfumed galan de noche.

Now back at Los Piedaos, with its generous flora and beloved furry fauna that we will have to leave behind, I wonder if we are doing the right thing.  Probably end up mad, sad, fat and broke (horse? bolted?) but it’s too late now - we’re answering the siren call of the city by the sea.

Where do you live now, and where would you like to have your cave if you revived your ‘forgotten dream’?  Wherever you are, I hope you’re enjoying your summer...write and let me know.