Dining Among Exp-Pats

October 30, 2009

Well, don't think I was exaggerating about the funnel web spiders in this part of Andalusia (see first blog entry "A Noisy Start"). You know, the big and aggressive ones? So, what's the first thing we find on the hike down by the Rio Horganza this afternoon? A bloody great funnel web spider .... well, at least, its web. That means it was there in the funnel, coiled ready to leap at our throats. In the vegetation by the side of the hill. I crept by quietly, but my stomach was turning. What if ...? Sometimes it's good to remain blissfully ignorant, but now I know, and I didn't want to.

The hike down from Jimena de la Frontera into the river valley of the Rio Hozgarganta was largely familiar to us from previous trips, and the route through the Nature Reserve offers great swimming in the river.



But not this year - the river is basically dried out, the last rain being March, and even then there was just a couple of days' rainfall. And that was it for the entire year. Still, we got to hike along the river bed, and saw a dead snake.

The hike, though not particularly demanding, was adventurous in a "small risk-taker" sort of way - it has often seemed to be that way on our walks in Andalusia, One reason is the barking, crazed dogs that many households and farmers keep. Jesus. And yet not one has ever bitten us -just frightened the life out of us. And to prove it here is a photo of a typical path just below the castle walls, unfortunately showing not one savage beast, not even one timid lapdog, either. But the photograph is beautiful, nonetheless:



Then there are the bulls which are a feature of every hike here. And where would a hike in Andalusia be without a horse in every field, around every turn in the path, walking down the street unaccompanied, hanging out at the doorways of terraced houses in the villages?



For no reason other than the incongruence of the situation, we were a little surprised to be met on the path by two well-groomed Siamese cats - mother and kitten, I suppose - that were hanging out on a hippy-style farm next the route. Here is a photo of the cutely dilapidated building, more of a hugely elaborate outhouse, really:



The cats had azure-blue eyes, a friendly attitude and a commanding manner when demanding food - just like, well, cats everywhere. This video clip shows the hypnotic power of their eyes - no small wonder we paid them their due tribute in food morsels as Guardians of the Path:

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The sun set over the hills, the sky was a deep evening red, and it would have been hard to wish for more. Except "un zumo de naranja natural", natural squeezed orange juice made from the oranges that we all associate with Spain, and which were available in all the bars and restaurant on the last trips, but were nowhere to be had this time. I'll forgive them their trespass against me, but they'd better get it sorted by the next visit.

My wife went for a swim in the small outdoor pool on the upper terrace of the hotel in the pitch black of night, and I videoed her bravery (I used a hand-held torch to pick her out of the darkness).



In the evening we went out into the small town looking for a restaurant, and were virtually seized and seated at the Pastor 2 on the village square by the rotund and jovial owner - a great salesman, very cheery, very chatty, and we ate fish and prawns and omelet and watched the kids playing in the square. Many English expats live here, and their kids have all probably grown up in this town - I observed continental European hand gestures being given by kids with blond hair. The adults were not tourists, and we asked ourselves how we could sense this so easily, without hearing whether they spoke Spanish.

Well, the answer is pretty clear: they were eating out late. Full stop. Their tans seemed to have been acquired over months or years, with no lobster-red burned skin on show. And they were sprawled out lazily at their tables, eating unhurriedly rather than sitting upright and over-worrying about the menu and how to behave. Above all, they were drinking wine in moderation, with their kids at the table. Simply put - they were not totally pissed.

I wonder what they do here, how they earn their living, why here, did they come after seeing the endless tv programs called "Living in the Sun" and similar? Do they love it here, or are they stuck here (perhaps as they no longer have a job or house back in the UK)? There are a million Brits living in Spain, most on the coast. That's quite an impressive statistic. I wonder how the locals view it? Angry that house prices rose as a result? Happy for the business? It might well be a successful mix, but I have read that Brits in Spain have their own separate economy and not a lot of money filters back into the Spanish system.

And now we have ended up spending much of the evening just hanging out on the village square at the restaurant, in the warm breeze, dinner long finished, just watching people. A great pastime!

The bar owner goes from table to table, chatting, joking, patting the customers on the back - a truly natural salesman, and we enjoyed the show. I made my wife waylay him as he headed back in to the restaurant and interrogate him as to the lifestyle of villagers and expats.



He asked us to wait a moment, took some dishes back to the kitchen, and came back to give us full account, sitting down at our table with a lighted cigarette he never got to smoke. Each time he finished explaining something to us he made as if to walk away, only to turn round and sit back down again to start a new reply. But in sum, he claims that villagers have been hit hard by the recession, and restaurant owners are experiencing this in the sense that people are eating out less, ordering only one dish and watching tv more. The expats are doctors, they run companies and are generally doing ok, as are the hotels where the English come to stay. Curious.

Click here for my Flickr photos of Andalusia