Driving Over Figs

A totally original title that I thought of all by myself and is no way linked to ‘Driving Over Lemons’ (Chris Stewart’s wonderful insight into life in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada)! Alright I admit it - but a little plagiarism never hurt anyone and on arriving at our holiday ‘Cortijo’, driving down the path we did nothing but drive over figs – pop – pop – pop they went as they announced our arrival

El Cortijo 

This was our farmhouse for the week, ready-made, no involvement in the conversion, the blood, sweat and tears that had been used to turn it from an Andalucian rustic abode into a luxury house with pool and views of mesmerising beauty.  All of us, on clocking the view for the first time from our terrace, exuded a ‘WOW’!  Each day to wake up and lie in bed watching the sunrise race its first light across the foothills below us is a privilege that I will cherish for a very long time.

Andalucia in late spring is a time of majesty. Despite the rising heat of the sun that thrusts you into a sedate, slower, mañana attitude, the place is alive with life, colour and splendour.  There is the hustle and bustle of the insects as they dance to the tune of the opening flowers; the very flowers that shout “look at me for I am beautiful” as they share their own magic.  The seas of red poppies waving hypnotically in the wind, the Cytisus (broom) using that same wind to spread its fragrance from its vibrant yellow show, the purple-blue hue of the Thistle, the trackside Cactus opening it’s ochre buds, the Meadow Salsify (Jack-go-to-bed) enjoying its moment in the sun, all complementing the olive groves that disappear over the mountains and far away in a vision of never ending braided hair.  On top of all this was the Jasmine, the sweet, sweet, Jasmine that covered our farmhouse terrace – our senses were under assault.

We could sit on the terrace post our sojourn of touristing or swim in the pool and relish the beauty of the peace. Armed with a drink of choice – cup of tea, iced tea, coffee, beer, wine or even an indulgent ‘mojito’ with lashings of mint from the herb garden, you could unwind, relax and watch and listen to the peace. But define peace!

As we idled our time away we would look at the mountains and marvel at the azure blue of the sky being reflected in Lake Iznajar down below, the fingers of smoke wistfully rising and meandering lazily into the sky only to amount to nothing, occasionally giving you a scented burnt offering.  Sshhhhhhhhh – listen – Cuck – oo – Cuck – oo – Cuck – oo! Look over there – is that an Eagle? There’s two, three, four – must be on their migration.  The Hoopoes purposefully exploring the olive groves as opposed to the flit of the nesting swallows.  The distant hum of a farmyard, a tractor, a rooster crowing for all his might, barking dogs and then as the afternoon languidly draws into evening the cicada chorus would begin. So actually if you listened and watched there really wasn’t any peace and quiet, it was a moving metropolis of wildlife and fauna that could ensure you wasted hours not thinking about any of the humdrum worries of life.

Each evening we would barbeque and dine al fresco, raise our glasses and not only toast our good fortune but also the sunsets, those ruddy red rainbow sunsets that glowed through your entire being. This was our late night viewing and when we turned the channel over an hour later we raised our glasses once more to the star dome of the Andalucian sky.

We were all very lucky.

Pueblo Blancos

When you close your eyes and think of Spain – what is the image in your mind? The red and yellow of their national flag or maybe the beauty and mystique of a flamenco dancer? For me, it is the wonder of the white hilltop villages – from afar very similar but when close up, so individual. The people with the faces that tell stories of a thousand years, there are children and old people but an illusion of nothing in between.  The fierce pride they have of their own home and space, the women cleaning their dusty doorsteps which is akin to painting the Forth Road Bridge in miniature! The beauty of the potted flowers and their colours against the starkness of the bright white; and of course the Moorish architecture that leads you to the centre of the village that is the church and square.  I don’t think I will ever tire of looking around these villages, savouring a beer and the free tapas and watching the world happen – because sometimes it doesn’t even go by!

El Barbeque

This is a commercial break from the waxing lyrical and romanticising of a forty something!

Every man, it’s the hunter within, can do an outstanding barbeque but the pièce de résistance is the accompaniment.  So I thought I would give you one of my favourites, especially as we move into barbeque season (although we did start ours in January this year!).

This comes courtesy of Chris Stewart  – well, actually, the peasants and farmers of Andalucian yesteryear……….

Papas a lo Pobre (Poor man’s potatoes)

“Pedro dazzled me with his artistry in the preparation of his staple fare – first he put a deep frying pan, hideously greasy and blackened, onto a tripod over the flames (you can use a clean pan and an oven if you wish) and into it poured what I judged to be 2 coffee cupfuls of olive oil! Then with his pocket knife he hacked up a couple of onions, without being too delicate in the matter of peeling them.  As they fizzled gladly in the oil he pulled to pieces a whole head of garlic and tossed the lot into the pan.

“Don’t you peel the cloves?” I asked

“Lord no! If you don’t peel them they don’t burn and they keep their flavour better! Less work too!”

He then took a bucket in which were potatoes hygienically swimming in water; these he had peeled.  Squatting over the fire, sweat pouring from his huge body, he chopped them roughly into great coarse chips (sweat is not an essential ingredient!), straight into the spitting oil.  When the pan was brimful he stirred it about a bit with a stick (feel free to use a wooden spoon) and added some twigs to the fire for a better blaze.  In a basket hanging from a pole were green and red peppers. Taking five or six small ones, he again tossed them in whole.

“Right that can look after itself for a bit”

(Please note the bits in brackets are my words)

You can now serve this dish with a barbeque meat of your choice, salad, olives, crusty bread and naturally lashings of a fine Rioja – although Pedro would baulk at this and choose a coarse brown costa wine of his own making and just eat them as they are!

YUM!

El Alhambra

The Sabika hill sits like a garland on Granada’s bow

In which the stars would be entwined

And the Alhambra (Allah preserve it)

Is the ruby set above that garland

Ibn Zamrak, vizier to Muhammed V (1362-91)

We were in the vicinity of Granada so were compelled to visit the regions capital city, Granada and one of the most sensual creations in the world and indeed the greatest treasure of Moorish Spain – The Alhambra.

With its large reddish walls it sits on the hill over looking the city it has captivated for seven centuries. The fort provided its own name, Al Qal’ a al-Hamra, in Arabic means literally the “red fort”.

If you are ever presented with the opportunity to visit, then Granada and its fort are a must. I could write volumes about the experience from the architecture of the closed in streets of the Albaicin quarter to the vast grandeur of the fort above; from the traders plying their wares from Morocco to the Moorish opulence of the castle on high.  Simply outstanding – buy your tickets in advance is sound advice, as only 8000 visitors a day are allowed to marvel at the beauty of the near, against the back drop of the snow capped mountains of the Sierra Nevada.  Truly – seeing is believing…………………..

Four women and a bloke go on holiday

Well that is it – another chapter complete – a truly magnificent and relaxing holiday with my wonderful Mum, my two beautiful daughters and my gorgeous wife, another thousand memories to put into the bank of life to re visit again and again and again.

If I could have one wish though it would be……………

I wish women would talk about football more often!

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