Of cars, village life and strange bus journeys.

It’s been a very long time since I have posted here. I’ve been quite busy setting up a small internet business in the blogging and publishing line, so writing to this blog faded into the background, I’m afraid.

Suffice to say, problems of a ‘no me lo puedo creer’ nature have continued to bug us, not least in that I never did get back to the UK to work, because we could not afford my air fare! Never mind, I wanted to stay in Spain anyhow, didn’t I?

It would have been nice to have had the choice though, especially as our funds have been at an all time low. Neverthless, hopefully, the internet business will make us just enough money for me to stay here (and have a few extras, like the money for the plane fare to the UK if needed …..). Just have to see how things go ….

But as to those ‘little annoyances’ that have bugged us, well, where do I begin ….?

Our car (still resplendent with duct tape) broke down in October. But it couldn’t have broken down near home, oh no. It broke down (with a large bang and the sound of something breaking irrepairably….) in a town 50k or so away and on the other side of a very long and high group of mountains. Obviously there was no walking home from there ….

Luckily for us we had been visiting my daughter who was on holiday on the coast, so her husband was able to drive us home in his hire car. This was a 3 hour plus round trip for him and we are eternally grateful. Getting back to nuestra casa was also a mixed blessing that day as it turned out, as the village water supply had failed (and remained that way for several days), but that. again, is another story ….

Our car had to be towed to the nearest garage, where it sat, 50k from our home, until we could stump up the money for the repairs (well over 2,000 euros). This entailed getting a bank loan which only just covered those repairs, so we now have our car back, still with duct tape and we are hoping and praying that nothing else goes wrong with it in the near future, because we will not be able to afford it if it does.

We were over a month without our car and in that time we found out just what it is really like living in a fairly remote mountain village. We have two buses a day, but they only go to the city. If we want to catch a bus the other way (which we did, as we had to get to our bank, to get the loan, to get the car back ….), it means walking to the nearby town, 5k along the mountain road.

(Not the road from our village, but very similar ….)

Now I am reasonably fit. Before I moved out here, walking 5k would have been no problem at all (apart from the dodgy state of the road and the hidden bends – see A Tragedy Which Was Waiting to Happen), but walking up and down a mountain road in the heat of the day (the bus left at 1pm), even in October, was pretty hard going. We got half way and took stock. By the time we returned (on the only bus back from the bank) it would be sunset. Did we really want to walk that 5k in the dark? Probably not. So we stumped up the money for a taxi to the bus stop for the next day.

(I suppose we could have used one of these ….)

The next day came and the taxi turned up and took us to the bus stop. The lady taxi driver promised she would pick us up on our return. We arranged the time and off she went. Of course, on our return she was nowhere to be seen (it turned out she had been stuck in a traffic jam miles away). If it had not been for the generosity of one of our neighbours in answering our ’spanglish’ telephone call for help and picking us up, we would have had to make that treck back home whether we wanted to or not.

Needless to say, we didn’t try that again.

It’s strange how much you take a car for granted. But it’s also strange how much of village life and customs you miss out on when you have a car.

During that month, I worked out exactly when the bread lady would come (it appears she does have a routine – it’s just a rather idiosyncratic one). I discovered that our little village shop sells most staples, so I could just about get by here without shopping further afield. Not so my husband, however, as he is allergic to gluten and has to buy special bread and flour if he wants to eat ‘normally’. But there is always the internet I suppose (but we only have one pc left for both of us nowadays – a power outage disabled our trusty but spider-screened laptop – but that’s another story …. all I can say is that as I sit typing this, my monitor is our flat screen tv ….)

The other thing I discovered about our village shop is that you cannot be in a hurry if you shop there. Each customer has a very long conversation with the shop owner whilst purchasing their goods and everyone waiting behind them is simply ignored. I suppose I did pick up some extra spanish while waiting though. And on one of his trips to the shop, my husband found the local emergency water tap (which it turned out was very much needed that month ….)

As to cigarettes, we also discovered that the village shop (and the local bar) sell cigarettes much cheaper than the ones we had been buying (and thinking we were getting a good deal from) in the city. It’s just a matter of getting used to the taste …. that’s all ….

(I love these buses. Do they remind you of bulls too?)

The bus journey to the bank was also an experience. We happened to get the bus the very day part of the new road was finished (for over a year, driving along that road had been a trial to say the least). All the time the road building had been in operation, one of the villages on the route had been completely cut off. That day, the first time for over a year, the bus pulled into the village square…… to be met by a welcoming committee!

I should imagine almost every member of the village was there. They dragged the bus driver off the bus and surrounded him, patting him on the back and cheering him. The bemused bus driver was then made to stand and have his photo taken …. with almost every individual villager. Needless to say, we were there some time!

It’s the little things like this which I love about Spain. People are so open in their feelings and when they are pleased about something they really let you know it!

And I think it is things like this which keep us going here and reasonably happy with our lot. We have had other ‘little annoyances’ (the non-flame retardant fireplace which we can’t use unti it is fixed, our living room wall which is still peeling, the hole in our bedroom wall which we need to fix before winter really sets in – left by the ‘project manager’ who arranged the fitting of our air con unit. Then was Scavenger and her phantom pregnancy, ‘problems’ with the local electricity supply [see above], the strange things still happening with the village water supply …..), but overall, we are still pleased to be here in Spain.

As usual, we are just waiting for the day when things go really well ……

The Sound of ‘Tranquility’

I awoke with a start this morning. A strident noise was piercing my eardrums. It was the sound of a car horn, a very loud car horn, blasting up the street. The ‘Bread Lady’ was early today.

The Bread lady drives a smallish white van. Every day except Sundays she arrives at the village some time between 7.30am and noon. There doesn’t appear to be a set time (although I suppose that is it ….). The Bread Lady parks her van at the bottom of each street. Then she blasts the horn continuously for a minute or so. If no one comes to see her she gives the horn a few more long blasts, but they usually do. In fact, even between distributing her bread to customers she still gives the horn the odd blast …… just in case anyone didn’t hear the first time.

I have yet to buy bread from The Bread Lady, being a ’sliced bread person’ myself  (and all comments on my favourite Spanish loaf have already been made, thank you…)

But the bread does look nice, and my neighbours have asked me on a couple of occasions “quieres pan?”, but so far I have answered “No, gracias. Ahora no.” Because I have been up to my eyes in decorating at the time. But I must buy some bread from the Bread Lady soon.

Most of the Bread Lady’s customers have set orders which she will deliver daily; selling the odd loaf or two to a passer by is just a bonus to her. So if I like the bread (and I no doubt will) I will be expected to order it. The trouble is, as her ‘delivery time’ is somewhat unpredictable, her customers cannot really wait around by one of her ‘pitches’ until she arrives. Hence the blasting of the horn.

If you are a regular customer and you do not answer the Bread Lady’s ‘call’, then she will give your bread to one of your neighbours, or, if your house is close to one of her ‘pitches’, she will leave your bread outside your door. Now this second option does not really appeal to me: there are too many village dogs wandering around, not to mention the moscas …. The woman in the house at the bottom of our street is often out when the Bread Lady calls, so she has her own solution. She has hung a string bag to the street light fixed to her house. The Bread Lady simply deposits her bread in there. The bread is never wrapped however, and if not collected within a short time must warm up nicely in the sun. Moscas are quite partial to the aroma of warm bread …… I wouldn’t fancy eating it. I haven’t yet taken a photo of the ‘bread bag’, but I found another similar ‘bread holder’ at Flickr. This one was discovered in a street in Barcelona. Seems it’s a pretty common way to collect your daily bread!

The Bread Lady isn’t the only person who delivers her wares to the village on a regular basis. We also have the ‘Frozen Food Man’, who delivers several times a week. The horn on the Frozen Food Man’s van is not quite as loud as the one belonging to the Bread Lady, but it plays a jangly little tune …. over and over again. The Frozen Food Man is more adventerous than the Bread Lady; he drives up and down the village streets, blasting his horn as he goes. It can grate a little after a while ……

There is also the ‘Gas Man’ of course, who delivers bottled gas a couple of times a week. He has a large truck, but he tries to pull in closer up the village streets. Gas bottles can be bloody heavy to carry up hill! The Gas Man has his own way of letting customers (which in this case is almost everyone in the village) know he is around (or will be around ….) First he drives along the road at the bottom of the village, sounding the vehicle’s extremely loud horn. He stops at the side of the road, gives a few more long blasts on the horn …… and drives off towards the next village. No one struggles down the street with gas bottles at this point as they know the routine. After thirty minutes or so, the Gas Man returns (having played out the first part of this routine in the next village on his route). He sounds his horn as he drives along and then drives up the streets as far as he can (in the case of our street, that means that he parks just down the street from our house ……with a truck full of gas bottles ……)

Then the Gas Man sounds his horn again (only a couple of times thank god!) and waits a while …… Gas bottles are very large, so unless you are running hot water and central heating from gas (and it’s not to be advised, as those bottles are so heavy), you won’t need to exchange your gas bottle that often (and everyone has a spare in any case). So often the Gas Man’s sales are few, but, because he provides an essential service, he comes round twice a week, rain or shine …… blasting away at his horn.

As I write this, another delivery man has arrived. His van horn is similar to the Bread Lady’s and he is blasting away with complete abandon. I haven’t looked to see what the man is selling yet, but he is another regular here. And this one is not at all shy. He supplements the horn with dialogue, yelling and almost yodelling at the top of his voice. I must find out what he’s saying one day ……

This cacophony of ‘delivery van noise’ occurs here most days in one form or another and can go on up until about 1pm. If the traders are running late, it will carry on into the siesta period.

The estate agents talk of our village as ‘tranquil’. Obviously they always visit here in the late afternoon ……