What a day! Twice! Yesterday I stopped by Ruth's for a chat and breakfast and we ended up on an all day adventure that included, but was not limited to, driving into a cloud full of many, many sheep, going from sun to freezing wind and rain and back again, circling what must have been a hundred roundabouts (many of which I had to go roundabout twice), one million olive trees, half a million almond trees, miles and miles of roads that would give a dead person a panic attack, hundreds of breathtaking views, and a couple of wolves glimpsed in the distance. It was a full day. I slept well. Got up and didn't exactly do it again, but was lucky enough to have a second day of laughs and exploring this amazing place.
Today we started off at yoga (thanks, Ruth!) and then sailed off into the sunny day. Just when I think I've seen too many stunning views to remember, someone takes me to see some more. We drove down into a huge pine forest park where we were the only people, stopped along the way at the Venta de la Nada (I kid you not, I have a photo of the sign), and ended up in Colmenar at a great bar from which I observed a woman walking down the street in her pajamas and bathrobe to sit with a friend at the bar opposite us (yes, every building is a bar here). I thought it was kind of special, and tried to snap a photo. I was too far away and it looks in the photo as if she's just a pretty woman in a long jacket. Which makes me a really bad photographer, I guess. If you read the post about going into church in Comares your bathrobe count will be 2 now. Two women walking around town in a bathrobe. In Comares it makes more sense because hey, it's a small village, and I'm sure everyone ends up seeing everyone else in a bathrobe eventually. Colmenar, however, is a medium sized town with loads of people who may not even know each other. So I'm giving the second bathrobe a little more attention, even if the first one was purple with white stars, which is very cute.
Tomorrow I still have the car till noon, and will be driving to Malaga alone to turn it in. No co-pilot. If I don't post for a few days, check the hospitals.
Showing posts with label Comares. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Comares. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
This is our big night out
That's the title of an old Kacy Crowley song that is my proof that not everything is on the interwebs. It was a hit in Austin in 1999 and I can't find it to save my life. I'd email her website, but y'all mostly know how I feel about folk singers - the more space between them and me, the better for everyone concerned. It's personal. But what made me think of that song, and songwriters, and how irritating they are, is my wonderful night out on the pueblito with my friend, T. The self-same T. who stubbed his toe last week on the pew in church, leading to our encounter and ensuing friendship with the woman-in-the-purple-bathrobe-with-stars-on-it, aka "looky looky." More on her another day.
T. has been working hard all week, and thought he'd like to go up to the village and check out the little bars. And as I've said before, without a sidekick, I'm just a weirdo, so I was thrilled. So that's how, after a hard day of blogging, instead of going to bed, we put on our jackets, grabbed a couple of flashlights, and set off into the full moon night. Walking here is always an experience (the views just knock you flat), and at night, under the full moon, it was even more spectacular. The moon was so bright we really didn't need the flashlights, but hey, I've taken a couple of nasty falls here due to the pitch darkness, and my assorted bruises now remind me, in chorus, "better safe than sorry, Pancake." It doesn't help that when you fall here, you fall on sharp rocks. I nearly took off the top of one thumb two weeks ago on a rock. But I've already whined about that, I'm sure. Onward! Into the night!!
It's so quiet on the way up I have this fear that my voice can be heard loud and clear in every room of every house in the comarca. The quiet American, I am not. T. is soft spoken, so as we approach the village I stop talking and let him take over. As we scale the final steep incline up to the main plaza (writing "main plaza" makes it sound much bigger than it is) you coulda heard a pin drop. The mayor's restaurant is closed. We'
re getting worried. But the other 3 little bars are open, so, like Goldilocks, we have to figure out which one is just right for tonight. The first bar is too subdued - tables of old men deep in conversations we will never be joining. The second bar is boisterous, and I can see a couple of English beards and bowl cuts laughing away with bright eyes and smiles. The third bar... is sad. A few old men in a darkened room watching something on TV that is definitely not animating anyone. They look down in the dumps. This being an exceedingly small town, we have to make it look like we're just out walking and not peering into bars passing judgement on their potential for the night. So we take a little stroll up and down a few steep, tiled streets of ancient whitewashed buildings and circle back around to bar #2.
It's crowded in the small space, which is a welcome feeling. When you're alone most of the time, being crowded together with happy people is pretty awesome. Shocking news (not) - I'm the only woman in the bar besides the cook. So naturally there is a big deal made of the fact that I must have a place to sit, and of course my friend must also have a stool because, well, he's with a lady. Oh, if they only knew the lady I'm not. But long hair camouflages a world of social deviations, and I perform as if I truly expect to be treated with such cortesÃa. The old man on my right tells T. (you address the man, not the lady) if anyone says anything about his giving away their barstools they'll have to deal with him. Of course I am allowed to laugh, but only looking at T. A lady doesn't laugh with strangers, she needs an intermediary. She may respond to what is said in conversation through her companion, which I do, because I'm not sure he's understood the old man's generous show of caballerÃa and I cue him to laugh.
What happens next is just too perfect. Sure enough we have occupied someone's place, because their beers are in front of us. When they return from the wc or maybe smoking outside (Spain just passed a no smoking law for bars and restaurants), they find us sitting there and they look at T. with a sort of challenging look. That is, until they take note of the fact that he's accompanying a lady. As they take this is in they smile and slide their beers over in front of their new, reduced space at the bar, making eye contact with the first older man who gave their seats away. Their looks say quite clearly, "We're glad you were here to take the situation in hand and show these folks we know how to treat a lady in this town. Right on, brother!" I just look at the floor, like you do, until this exchange is finished.
The rest of the evening was spent chatting, sipping wine, snacking on delicious green olives, followed by a huge plate of calamari. When we stopped ordering things the owner poured us each a glass of local wine. "It's on me," he says, giving me the coy smile of a teenage boy offering to carry my books home from school. He tells me my Spanish is lovely and drifts back to the other end of the bar to attend to his friends. P.s. I'm relating these stories not to impress you with the fact that blue eyes still carry a lot of weight in the world, but I cannot get over the incredible formality used around strange women. I know, I know, I'm strange, but I mean strange as in new to the group. After suffering the attitudes of American men, who seem to have decided women are barnacles, it's wonderful to be treated as if you're the best potential interaction they'll have all day. It's deference with a healthy dose of fascination, and everyone seems to enjoy the play acting. You couldn't pay me enough to live that way, but passing through alternate realities is some good mental floss.
The evening ended strolling (a lost art!) down the mountain the long way, talking about the moon and stars.
T. has been working hard all week, and thought he'd like to go up to the village and check out the little bars. And as I've said before, without a sidekick, I'm just a weirdo, so I was thrilled. So that's how, after a hard day of blogging, instead of going to bed, we put on our jackets, grabbed a couple of flashlights, and set off into the full moon night. Walking here is always an experience (the views just knock you flat), and at night, under the full moon, it was even more spectacular. The moon was so bright we really didn't need the flashlights, but hey, I've taken a couple of nasty falls here due to the pitch darkness, and my assorted bruises now remind me, in chorus, "better safe than sorry, Pancake." It doesn't help that when you fall here, you fall on sharp rocks. I nearly took off the top of one thumb two weeks ago on a rock. But I've already whined about that, I'm sure. Onward! Into the night!!
It's so quiet on the way up I have this fear that my voice can be heard loud and clear in every room of every house in the comarca. The quiet American, I am not. T. is soft spoken, so as we approach the village I stop talking and let him take over. As we scale the final steep incline up to the main plaza (writing "main plaza" makes it sound much bigger than it is) you coulda heard a pin drop. The mayor's restaurant is closed. We'
re getting worried. But the other 3 little bars are open, so, like Goldilocks, we have to figure out which one is just right for tonight. The first bar is too subdued - tables of old men deep in conversations we will never be joining. The second bar is boisterous, and I can see a couple of English beards and bowl cuts laughing away with bright eyes and smiles. The third bar... is sad. A few old men in a darkened room watching something on TV that is definitely not animating anyone. They look down in the dumps. This being an exceedingly small town, we have to make it look like we're just out walking and not peering into bars passing judgement on their potential for the night. So we take a little stroll up and down a few steep, tiled streets of ancient whitewashed buildings and circle back around to bar #2.
It's crowded in the small space, which is a welcome feeling. When you're alone most of the time, being crowded together with happy people is pretty awesome. Shocking news (not) - I'm the only woman in the bar besides the cook. So naturally there is a big deal made of the fact that I must have a place to sit, and of course my friend must also have a stool because, well, he's with a lady. Oh, if they only knew the lady I'm not. But long hair camouflages a world of social deviations, and I perform as if I truly expect to be treated with such cortesÃa. The old man on my right tells T. (you address the man, not the lady) if anyone says anything about his giving away their barstools they'll have to deal with him. Of course I am allowed to laugh, but only looking at T. A lady doesn't laugh with strangers, she needs an intermediary. She may respond to what is said in conversation through her companion, which I do, because I'm not sure he's understood the old man's generous show of caballerÃa and I cue him to laugh.
What happens next is just too perfect. Sure enough we have occupied someone's place, because their beers are in front of us. When they return from the wc or maybe smoking outside (Spain just passed a no smoking law for bars and restaurants), they find us sitting there and they look at T. with a sort of challenging look. That is, until they take note of the fact that he's accompanying a lady. As they take this is in they smile and slide their beers over in front of their new, reduced space at the bar, making eye contact with the first older man who gave their seats away. Their looks say quite clearly, "We're glad you were here to take the situation in hand and show these folks we know how to treat a lady in this town. Right on, brother!" I just look at the floor, like you do, until this exchange is finished.
The rest of the evening was spent chatting, sipping wine, snacking on delicious green olives, followed by a huge plate of calamari. When we stopped ordering things the owner poured us each a glass of local wine. "It's on me," he says, giving me the coy smile of a teenage boy offering to carry my books home from school. He tells me my Spanish is lovely and drifts back to the other end of the bar to attend to his friends. P.s. I'm relating these stories not to impress you with the fact that blue eyes still carry a lot of weight in the world, but I cannot get over the incredible formality used around strange women. I know, I know, I'm strange, but I mean strange as in new to the group. After suffering the attitudes of American men, who seem to have decided women are barnacles, it's wonderful to be treated as if you're the best potential interaction they'll have all day. It's deference with a healthy dose of fascination, and everyone seems to enjoy the play acting. You couldn't pay me enough to live that way, but passing through alternate realities is some good mental floss.
The evening ended strolling (a lost art!) down the mountain the long way, talking about the moon and stars.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
What's new up here between Comares and Ventorros
Life has been busy up here on the mountain - I now have a neighbor and a housemate, and they have needs, and questions, and they want to chat. Of course they're up here to work so I see them in spurts when they come down desperate for conversation or just company and then when they feel like they can work again they go back to their cells - I mean, rooms. One is a poet and the other is a computer guy who wants to write more. Both lovely, both in Spain for long periods and up here to concentrate. No one told them I'm up here with the equally important mission of distracting them! Without them, you see, I can't really go much of anywhere, except for a walk, which I do. But if I want to go socialize in a tiny village I need a sidekick. So far I've gotten to have a couple of adventures with them as my social flying buttresses.
And I can go to Ruth's, in Ventorros. Ruth is the yoga teacher - today we had a yoga date and did a bunch of yoga, had lunch, and then I went to her afternoon yoga nidra class. It was someone's private class but she invited me to stay and you really have to be a fool to say no to yoga nidra. For the first time I didn't sleep at all! Made it all the way through, followed all the instructions - which made me realize why I'd always opted to fall asleep - it's kind of like work, yoga nidra. Especially if you are sleepy :) My classmate was a wonderful older English man who is just a peach - so sweet I could've died.
After all that yoga we walked back up here and had a few laughs over the petrified almond I found on the hillside. So far everyone I've told that I found a petrified almond thinks that "petrified" is the funniest thing they've ever heard. I guess Brits use "fossilized." I keep forgetting, and keep getting laughs. But then of course she was impressed with the actual petrified almond, because it is clearly a very impressive item. Ask anyone who's seen it.
I've been reading Graham Greene so much I get convinced I'm living in another time and place. But all of his times and places have to do with war, deep questions of ethics, and human limitations. My place right now is on this mountainside, covered each passing day in more and more wild thyme and lavender, punctuated by olive and blossoming almond trees, where really nothing serious whatsoever is presently going on nor shall go on anytime soon. Up here it's all about time. And it's on our side.
John doesn't believe me when I tell him I've been up to the village frequently, because I haven't met the "looky looky" lady. He swears it is impossible to get all the way to the supermarket without being intercepted by her with her "looky looky!" She sells oranges, limes, lemons, dried figs, local honey, almonds, avocados, fig loaf, etc. Soap. The stuff they grow and make up here. So yesterday, I went up to the supermarket with my new housemate to show him the village. Of course we stopped by the church, which is stunning. First of all it's bright, with whitewashed interior walls and the only dark is the dark brown of the vegas that run across the ceilings. The altar is a spectacular shade of green (so refreshing after the gaudy gold and dark wood and stone everywhere else). There are fresh flowers everywhere and the place is spotless. Beautiful statues of the usual suspects, but they're well lit, and consequently much less depressed looking than the same characters in the bigger institutions. And in Comares, there was an old woman in church (among a handful of elderly folk) dressed in a purple bathrobe with white stars all over it - she looked like a small virgen de Guadalupe. As we exited the church (after T. made a huge racket by stubbing his toe on one of the pews), the Guadalupe got up and followed us out. And just when I thought we're gonna get nailed for sightseeing in church during her morning prayers, she says, "looky looky! Come my house! Vendo fruta y almendras!" We were totally cornered. I tried to get out of it, but she got us to go back to her house and actually her stuff was great so we bought a ton and T. even went back today and got more.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Winter is over! I will now unfurl my hunched up shoulders and walk upright once more.
Thank god for the end of winter. Living in a big, stone house on the side of a mountain with four space heaters is uncomfortable. It was physically impossible to relax my shoulders for about 4 weeks - but yesterday and today I actually perspired while out walking, and it's 9pm and I've only just put on the thick wool socks which were previously only removed for washing. Nor do I need to wander around wrapped in a wool blanket anymore. Okay. I'm done with my relief dance.
I went to Sevilla last week for a few days, which was amazing. I did not know, for example, that Sevilla was the only port through which any and all goods from America went through for a couple of centuries. Or that bullfighting (boo) originated in Sevilla, or that the cathedral there is the 3rd largest in the world. Lastly, I did not know that the Archives of the Indies were there - an archive of over 80 million pages of documents sent between Spain and the New World. Unreal - and they let you go inside! That was a highlight for me. And the Alcazar, for which there are no words, unless you're Kahlil Gibran or some such eloquent poet. An enormous fort/palace dating from the days the Arabs ruled this part of Spain, and renovated and added on to for centuries by many rulers. I'm just going to say it - Arab design is SO MUCH PRETTIER than European design. There is absolutely no comparison between the styles - Arab design uses the negative space of the room, the entrance, the SKY - incorporating every aspect so harmoniously you really start to think you're in heaven. I remember that from when I went to Algeria in 1991 to visit Naman - their RUINS were more graceful than anything I'd ever seen. Turkish ruins, in Algiers, I believe. And tile should be a mandatory building material - makes everything not only gorgeous, but clean.
In Sevilla they also have a handful of vegetarians...which means a couple of vegetarian restaurants...I ate at one in the Plaza Alameda, that was fairly simple but the preparation of simple dishes was very, very good. The next day I ended up at the one that's only open Thurs-Sat. Wow. What a treat - very European, very beautiful, and quite healthy. It was one of those meals where you're glad you're alone so you don't have to hide the lust with which you eat. A pastel de verdura y papa in two sauces (one deep red, the other yellow (saffron?)). No morsel was safe at my table. It was nice that the chef/owner and the waiter seemed to be friends with everyone in there - I love places like that, that thrive even with weird hours because their clientele is so supportive. Dreamy.
I also got to go to the movies! I went to opening night of 'Primos' - a romantic comedy. It was that or Of Gods and Men (too serious for a solo traveler on holiday in Sevilla!). One thing that struck me was that the rating recommended this movie as inappropriate for children under the age of 7. Not one+seven (seventeen), but seven. The movie included a ton of vulgarity (blow job jokes are king, here), drug and alcohol abuse, a brothel. I didn't see any 8 year olds, but I do wonder what they're thinking making the distinction between 7 and 8. One is clearly a small child, and the other...is clearly a small child who can make jokes about bj's. I liked the movie - good moral to it and funny actors. Of course, as usual, only the men are allowed to be funny - women are either the butt of the joke or only appear in scenes with romance. Ah, world, please do get over your fucking self. Now! Why do people think women are some other species? We go through everything everyone else does, incuding war (usually as the victims of crimes society won't discuss because it's too harsh for women to talk about, even though we're the ones on the receiving end of almost all male sickness and vileness. I'm not trying to blow your mind, just reminding you how weird and stupid it is).
Had a great time at the youth hostel there - shared a room with a couple of French college students and there were a ton of long term people there who live in Sevilla at least part of the year. Fun place. I have to say that the youth hostel thing is good for me - I get a little anxious that I'm too old for these kids, and then I end up meeting a bunch of people and having a ball with them. Only at 10pm they go out, and I go to bed!
Sevilla was great, too, as a walking city - it's big (very) but you can walk almost everywhere, as it's flat and the sidewalks are decent. Another thing I love in Spain - the crosswalks are in a much smarter place than they are in the U.S. In the States, we put the crosswalks mainly at the corner, which is dangerous - here, they're maybe 20 feet from the corner, so there's much better visibility for people making a right on red, etc. So simple, so much better for peds and drivers alike. They also have rental bikes everywhere, that you can get a monthly subscription for and grab one whenever you need one, paying by the half hour you use them. And not expensive - probably runs a person about the same as a bus pass. Awesome...and there are separate bike paths and pedestrian paths, so cyclists aren't mowing down peds all the time.
That's some of my trip to Sevilla :)
I went to Sevilla last week for a few days, which was amazing. I did not know, for example, that Sevilla was the only port through which any and all goods from America went through for a couple of centuries. Or that bullfighting (boo) originated in Sevilla, or that the cathedral there is the 3rd largest in the world. Lastly, I did not know that the Archives of the Indies were there - an archive of over 80 million pages of documents sent between Spain and the New World. Unreal - and they let you go inside! That was a highlight for me. And the Alcazar, for which there are no words, unless you're Kahlil Gibran or some such eloquent poet. An enormous fort/palace dating from the days the Arabs ruled this part of Spain, and renovated and added on to for centuries by many rulers. I'm just going to say it - Arab design is SO MUCH PRETTIER than European design. There is absolutely no comparison between the styles - Arab design uses the negative space of the room, the entrance, the SKY - incorporating every aspect so harmoniously you really start to think you're in heaven. I remember that from when I went to Algeria in 1991 to visit Naman - their RUINS were more graceful than anything I'd ever seen. Turkish ruins, in Algiers, I believe. And tile should be a mandatory building material - makes everything not only gorgeous, but clean.
In Sevilla they also have a handful of vegetarians...which means a couple of vegetarian restaurants...I ate at one in the Plaza Alameda, that was fairly simple but the preparation of simple dishes was very, very good. The next day I ended up at the one that's only open Thurs-Sat. Wow. What a treat - very European, very beautiful, and quite healthy. It was one of those meals where you're glad you're alone so you don't have to hide the lust with which you eat. A pastel de verdura y papa in two sauces (one deep red, the other yellow (saffron?)). No morsel was safe at my table. It was nice that the chef/owner and the waiter seemed to be friends with everyone in there - I love places like that, that thrive even with weird hours because their clientele is so supportive. Dreamy.
I also got to go to the movies! I went to opening night of 'Primos' - a romantic comedy. It was that or Of Gods and Men (too serious for a solo traveler on holiday in Sevilla!). One thing that struck me was that the rating recommended this movie as inappropriate for children under the age of 7. Not one+seven (seventeen), but seven. The movie included a ton of vulgarity (blow job jokes are king, here), drug and alcohol abuse, a brothel. I didn't see any 8 year olds, but I do wonder what they're thinking making the distinction between 7 and 8. One is clearly a small child, and the other...is clearly a small child who can make jokes about bj's. I liked the movie - good moral to it and funny actors. Of course, as usual, only the men are allowed to be funny - women are either the butt of the joke or only appear in scenes with romance. Ah, world, please do get over your fucking self. Now! Why do people think women are some other species? We go through everything everyone else does, incuding war (usually as the victims of crimes society won't discuss because it's too harsh for women to talk about, even though we're the ones on the receiving end of almost all male sickness and vileness. I'm not trying to blow your mind, just reminding you how weird and stupid it is).
Had a great time at the youth hostel there - shared a room with a couple of French college students and there were a ton of long term people there who live in Sevilla at least part of the year. Fun place. I have to say that the youth hostel thing is good for me - I get a little anxious that I'm too old for these kids, and then I end up meeting a bunch of people and having a ball with them. Only at 10pm they go out, and I go to bed!
Sevilla was great, too, as a walking city - it's big (very) but you can walk almost everywhere, as it's flat and the sidewalks are decent. Another thing I love in Spain - the crosswalks are in a much smarter place than they are in the U.S. In the States, we put the crosswalks mainly at the corner, which is dangerous - here, they're maybe 20 feet from the corner, so there's much better visibility for people making a right on red, etc. So simple, so much better for peds and drivers alike. They also have rental bikes everywhere, that you can get a monthly subscription for and grab one whenever you need one, paying by the half hour you use them. And not expensive - probably runs a person about the same as a bus pass. Awesome...and there are separate bike paths and pedestrian paths, so cyclists aren't mowing down peds all the time.
That's some of my trip to Sevilla :)
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