The relief postie.......and chickens

Remember the postie who got all the blame for the increase in the local property tax? Well, she is off for a few months to have an operation so we are saddled with a relief postie.

Whenever we get relief posties, the mail always gets delivered. Just not the right mail to the right house. So shortly after the mail has arrived all the neighbours go walkabout to deliver the post to the right people.

We have two main doors, one on each street - we live on a corner plot. The postbox is by the front gate. The number of the house is painted on the wall by the front door.

There is no number by the side street door, nor is there a postbox. So the relief postie promptly stuck some mail between the railings on the outside of the door. Very clever sweetheart. Irritated Partner retrieved the mail and then set about delivering it to the correct address. (Naturally it wasn't for us).

He collared Relief Postie next time she was on her rounds and pointed out that we had a postbox on the main street and that our address is not for the side street anyway. She wasn't happy with this. Partly because she hadn't realised it was all our property. She decided to have a go at us about the number.

"There's no number here," she said.

Partner pointed it out to her on the house wall, which was perfectly visible from where they were standing.

"You need to change it," she said. "There are other houses with the same number in this street so you should change yours."

Big mistake.

"I'm not changing my number just for you. This house was built before the others, it was the first house in the street with this number and it has always had this number."

José next door chimed in with his support, saying that all the others were the ones who should be changing not us.

"It's been perfectly all right for other posties, and you're only going to be here for a few months," added Partner.

"And if you have any problems I'll go and speak to your boss."

"You don't know where he is," she said. Childishly and stupidly.

"Yes I do. He is in the office up there at the top of the village. Now largate."

Largate is one of Partner's favourite words when he is annoyed. It is like "Get out of it." Of course like all Spanish words, though, the more venom and vitriol you say it with, the more offensive it becomes. She got the message and stormed off down the street.

On the next encounter she decided we should be putting our name on the mailbox. Why? There wasn't even a mailbox here when we bought the house. The mail invariably got thrown over the gate onto the steps.

"I'm not putting my name on there. Any silly idiot could denuncio me then," said Partner.

A denuncio is when someone reports you for something, say, like having animals on a property without finca rights. Or illegally extending your house. I hasten to add that we do have finca papers and we haven't extended the house. But that doesn't mean someone wouldn't try just for the grief. They can't do it without your name though.

"You don't need the name, you know what the number is," continued Partner. "We're the only two English people in this street so it's hardly difficult."

"Largate." Again. And she stormed off down the street.

Jose decided to have a chat about it after she'd gone.

"Why don't you put your name on?" he asked, somewhat naively.

He got a blasting from Partner as well.

"You never had a post-box until last year, and you've only had the names on for a few months. What are you talking about?" snapped Partner.

"That's right," said Adelina. "You're talking a load of rubbish Jose. We didn't have a postbox for ages. Silly old fool."

Jose went grumbling off inside.

Partner came in to rant at me. Then he consoled himself with the thought that she would have an even harder time if she started arguing with me.

I looked at him.

"I'll tell her I don't speak Spanish."

Las dueñas


Anyway onto the chickens. The ones who have only laid a couple of times in the last six months. After all, they are more than four years old.

"Knock 'em on the head," says Jose and various other Spanish neighbours who can't understand why anyone would keep chickens that don't lay.

"If you don't want to eat them, give them to the dog."

Partner is doing the feeding at the moment. They get a permanent supply of corn, and some greens every day.

He has normally just put the greens in their run without going into their huge shed. So when he went in he was more than a little surprised to find SIX eggs. Five carefully piled up together - amazing they hadn't broken any - and one on its own.

Ok, there are only four here because I had already started cooking two of them


Tea


Eggs stuffed with fresh herbs and capers

I adapted this from an Italian recipe which used pesto. I rarely have any pesto in (nor am I motivated to make it fresh) but I usually have plenty of fresh basil.

Hard boil eggs. Shell, split in half and take out yolks. Mash yolks with some drops of ollive oil, enough to be a smooth paste, but not too much that they are runny or of a mayo consistency.

Add a pinch of salt, some crushed chopped garlic, a couple of teaspoons (or more) of chopped capers, and some chopped parsley and chopped basil.

Fill egg whites with mixture and sprinkle with paprika or cayenne. YUM.

Stuffed eggs


If you are more organised than me and do have jars of pesto, then the original recipe by Paola Gavin is:

6 hard-boiled eggs
3 tablespoons pesto
3 tablespoons mayo
salt and pepper
1 tablespoon capers

Mash the yolks. Blend in the pesto, mayo and salt and pepper to taste. Garnish with the capers.

Cock of the roost

A Sunday drive

Two weeks ago we set off for a drive and got no further than the river bed just down the street. More info click here for those of you who haven't read it on Just Land Rovers.

Anyway, today we had a proper trip. Into the hills.

In our search for the perfect finca with idyllic olive groves and almond trees we have explored the hills behind us more than once.

We went to Riogordo a couple of times. Beautiful place, with lots of rolling olive groves. We liked it but the second time we went we realised it was miles away from anywhere. And it seemed a bit chilly.

Then we discovered Canillas de Aceituno. It is only about 25 km from the coast, but very nice and high. It has beautiful views, and a lovely feel about it. From Canillas you can go walking in the hills, but it is sheltered and faces south. It has never been cold in Canillas when we have been, even in winter, although it is always a few degrees cooler than where we live on the coast. We thought this might be nice too. Not that we could find any reasonable properties that just happened to be for sale.

We still like to go up there. And after my embarrassing vertigo attack on Christmas Day I thought it was time I got my head around heights again. So onwards and upwards we went to Canillas today.

At 649m above sea level it nestles in the foothills of the Sierra de Tejeda, and is one of the starting points to climb the mighty Maroma. Technically Maroma is partly in Granada and partly in Málaga province, but it is known as the highest mountain in Málaga. Er, no, we didn't climb Maroma today (2,065m).

The pueblo under the protection of the sierra


Canillas has a long and colourful history going back to pre-historic times. But like everywhere else in La Axarquía, the most influential civilisation was that of the Muslim kingdom, when it was part of Al-Andalus. The pueblo's prosperity - and apparently its name - dates from this period when it was a centre for the Moorish silk industry. (The Arabic word Azeytuni refers to silk).

This is very confusing to idiots like me who thought the name - Aceituno - referred to the countless olive trees around there, especially as there is a local olive oil factory. (The Spanish for olive is aceituna. However, one source I consulted seems to think that the name is derived from the arabic word for olive - az-zaytun). The factory was doing a roaring trade today, and we couldn't be bothered to join the huge queue.

Olive trees right in the village


La Axarquía is not very touristy (Goody). Apart from the coastal resorts, there really isn't much development here but there are five tourist routes that you can drive to get to know most of the region. Canillas is the start of the Ruta Mudéjar - the route of the Moorish architecture. Either side of the main street, the town still has the basic lay-out dating from the Muslim old town.

The church was built in Gothic-Mudéjar style in the C16 on the site of the old mosque, and then reformed in the nineteenth century.

The church of Our Lady of the Rosary


Flower-filled street in the old town


One of the few Arabic remains - an old well

Incidentally this property has been for sale for years, but obviously no-one fancies an old Arab well in their house.

In the era of Muslim rule there was also a castle, but now all that remains is a square of the same name on the site.

Plaza de Castillo


A corner of the Plaza de Castillo


After the reconquest, its history included the establishment of a community of franciscan monks in the seventeenth century, a period of local banditry in the 1840s, years of hunger and a cholera epidemic from 1865-1878, followed by the commercial production of timber and the sale of ice from the mountains behind.

In the 20th century, the pueblo took a republican stance. In 1911, a group of republican workers declared a republic - resulting in a number of deaths and injuries (see New York times here). With the start of the Civil War in Spain, Canillas remained in the republican zone, although it was later occupied by Spanish Nationalist and Italian fascist troops.

The area supported the Spanish Maquis, who continued to oppose the Franco dictatorship, but by the 1960s many families were emigrating to escape from the political regime and to seek a better life.

It currently has a population of 2,336 (2007), less than half the number of inhabitants when the republic was declared in 1911. Of the population now, 364 are foreigners - with the main nationality being British. In 2006, there were 441 telephone lines, and only five ADSL lines.

People here are not rich though, with the average household income only up to 7,200€. Although this is an old figure (2003), it is unlikely to have gone up hugely. Agriculture still features in the economy of the area, with the main crops being tomatoes, avocados, and olives. Now, like elsewhere in Andalucía, the main industry in the area is in construction. But for how much longer, given the current slow-down in the building boom?

Anyway, enough of the history and geography lessons. Here are some more pictures of modern-day Canillas.

Approaching the centre of the pueblo on Avenida Andalucía

What is now Bar Sociedad was the venue for the creation of the Society of Friends of the Pueblo and of Culture, between 1912 and 1924.

Plaza de la Constitución -
even the main square is not immune from new-build


Picking acelgas for lunch


Enjoying the sun - the older ones


Enjoying the sun - the younger ones


Some of the last remaining plots of ground in the village - but for how long?



The houses on the right are new, and the big promotional sign for Pueblo Andaluz doesn't bode well.

Almond trees on the slopes outside the village


Sources: Ayuntamiento de Canillas de Aceituno, El Portal de la Axarquía, Instituto de Estadística de Andalucía, New York Times

Royal Gun Salute - Gibraltar - 6 Feb 2008

I wouldn't have known but today is the 56th anniversary of the accession to the throne of Queen Elizabeth II.

The reason I found out was because I invariably get my hands on an excellent monthly Calendar of Events published by the Gibraltar Tourist Board.

At noon, there was going to be a 21-gun salute fired from the Naval Base. To be accurate, according to the Gib media, Her Majesty's Naval Base. How cool to have your own naval base. I would like that.

Anyway, I duly got myself a pass and wandered down to Liz's naval base. The naval base has some interesting industrial architecture and I so wanted to take some pix.

I decided it wasn't the best idea. I didn't fancy being carted off by the police and saying good-bye to my short-lived Gib residency. I did ask if I would be able to take pix of the guns. The police officer looked horrified.

When I got to the gun area, there was a guy with a HUGE Nikon. He hadn't asked anyone if he could take pix. Apart from asking his mate who he had come with. Who was busy inside networking and just happened to be one of the invited guests who got a front-row seat.

I decided to collar one of the nice men in uniform. They looked surprised I was even asking. "Of course," said one of them. And then I was dismissed.

I really need a proper video camera. I caught a tiny bit on the digicam - and the batteries promptly started flashing.

So here are my pix.

From left to right, guns 4, 3, 2 and 1. Guns 2, 3, and 4 each fired five rounds. Gun one fired 6 rounds.

The salute was fired by the Headquarter Company (Thomson's Battery) of the Royal Gibraltar Regiment and the Inspecting Officer for the salute was the Mayor of Gibraltar, the Hon Clive Beltran.

The Royal Gibraltar Regiment marches on to take up position


Waiting for the inspection


The inspection by the Hon Clive Beltran


Ready to load


Gun 4 waiting orders


Firing gun 4


Gun 4


Guns 2 and 1


The Royal Gibraltar Regiment marches off


One remaining soldier waits to be relieved


The same soldier, standing in front of number 2 gun, complete with debris


A few pix from this evening.

The Tower where we stood to view the salute. I took this from across the water (obviously not in the dockyard any more - I had to hand in my pass) at the marina.

The Tower building in the Naval Base


To get a decent shot I had to stand on the wall of a flower bed, and then noticed this beautiful hibiscus.

Hibiscus


Finally, a capstan winch and succulent garden bed which had just been tidied up today with new mulch. It was en route to the marina and I thought it was an interesting finish to today's heritage post.

The inscription says that the capstan winch was salvaged from HM Naval Dockyard by members of the Ship's Company of the Royal Naval Reserve Unit, HMS Calpe. It commemorates the units' existence in Gib from 1965-1993.

Capstan winch and garden

Musings ...... and some flowers

I packed my trusty overnight bag as usual and wandered down to the bus stop to go to Málaga.

The main road buses are coach-type buses, that are used for long distance journeys, with luggage stored underneath. Overall, I think the drivers are pretty good, and usually pleasant. What never fails to fascinate me is their amazing accuracy. It obviously alleviates the boredom of being a bus driver, but whenever they pull up to the bus stop, they stop exactly at your feet. It is no good jumping back or moving up and down because that spoils the game. If you stay on the spot where they have seen you, they will pull in, and the door will be immediately in front of you. And I mean immediately. When the door opens your first step is right onto the bus. I think that is sooo clever, and that's why I don't move out of the way now like a frightened chicken.

The bus fare is 1.90€. It tends to go up at the beginning of the year though so I was expecting to pay extra. I had a 2€ coin ready.

It had gone up one centimo to 1.91€. I ask you. It's not even worth it. The bus driver didn't think so either and gave me ten cents change.

Contrast this with the local service from the village into town, where the bus fare was somewhere around 80 or 90 cents and suddenly went up to a whopping 1.30€ (ie at least 50%). Not only that, they cut the buses back. Now, of course, as the buses run less frequently and cost more money, they are being used less. For a couple of oldies who live solely out of a pension that is a big rise. One of our younger neighbours was saying that less and less people were using the local bus service. That will give the council a great opportunity to axe it completely. I can always walk down to the main road and get the (cheaper) highway bus service. Or I can walk or cycle into town. But not everyone has that choice.

I should have mentioned that the increase in local fares co-incided with the inauguration of the new tram service. The one that is vastly over-budget. They are also now constructing phase two. More money needed. Where does the tram service run? Between the county town and its seaside resort. Does my village benefit from the tram? No. I think trams are A Good Idea. But not at the expense of local services to villages. I am not even particularly cynical about the local council.

Back to my trip. In Málaga I asked for a ticket to La Linea. Expecting another price increase. This was equally silly. Another centimo, from 10.30€ to 10.31€. How utterly bizarre.

I sat aimlessly on the bus. (I am normally aimless anyway, but even more so on buses). It wasn't busy. That was good. It had been cloudy when I set off - also good as that meant I wasn't standing at the bus stop in hot sun - but once past Marbella it was glorious weather so I dozed a bit in the nice warm sun through the glass. Oh, I should say though, not a good idea to sit on the seat in front of the emergency door as you get a whacking great draught. Plugged it with jacket and bag.

Arrived in GibFlat. Picked up more post than we have had in total since we have been there, including a reminder - plus penalties - for rates. Er, we've never had those bills. Bah! There were a couple of cards for Pippadog though so that cheered me up.

I ordered a pizza. It was vile. I usually pick off the cheese and give it to the dog. The base was soft. That didn't leave much. The chillies were nice, but there weren't enough of them and I had forgotten to bring some from the finca.

The next day I hot-footed it down to the veg shop and the supermarket. Things looked up. I sorted the rates out. Even the washing machine that seemed to be sulking at me AGAIN has managed to finish its cycle (must have been an air lock).

So city life in the flat is cool again. But my two lives are so different and it actually takes a while to adjust again.

Anyway the other day on the finca I took some flower pix of our winter? spring? flowers. I love the snowdrops and crocuses I use to have in the UK but it's also nice to have bougainvillea, jasmine, plumbago, and carnations flowering - outside. Oh, and stocks and strawberries too.

Bougainvillea. One of my favourite exotic flowers.
I failed to grow it inside in the UK, and I don't seem to have
much more success here in Spain..


The last of the summer jasmine. It always coincides with
the start of the short-flowering winter jasmine


Winter jasmine. Waiting for the summer jasmine to finish
before it flowers


The last of the plumbago, still flowering in winter


Carnation - I have finally learnt how to propagate these


Stocks, they used to be double, now reverted to single


Strawberry flowers, and tiny strawbs forming

What the council giveth, the council taketh away

The postie came today. She hollered Partner's name. We have a perfectly good postbox that cost a ridiculous amount of euros (50 or something) but they like to give it you personally.

Actually she had to give this to Partner personally. It was from the provincial tax office. It turned out it was notification that the local property tax had increased so the Hacienda has to formally make sure you have received this, ie registered mail.

The postie was panicking. She had already told us that the tax had increased, and so far on her round she was getting a lot of grief. Is the postie responsible for a property tax increase?

Then she panicked because she had to get some form of ID from us to go on the certificate. This all took at least ten minutes standing at the gate and running in and out for passports and bits of ID.

To British readers - the property tax is the equivalent of rates, or council tax.

It is low here. But it has increased a whopping 35%. Or to put it a different way, it has gone up by 50€ or so. I told you it wasn't much.

We used to have to pay a separate tax for rubbish collection. The local green party/left wing alliance - Izquierda Unida - challenged this tax, and the council has had to withdraw it. So the council is lacking a certain amount of income.

Now, here is an easy one. About how much do you think the rubbish tax was? Not hard was it. Around 50€.

We're all waiting for the day when they pay us back for the illegal rubbish taxes that we have already paid. But naturally before the council can do that, they need to get more money in first.

Well, that's our take on it anyway.

Going shopping

If anyone hasn't worked this out yet, I do not like going to the supermarket.

So the other day we had one of those conversations where we argued discussed who had gone last, and therefore whose turn it was to go now.

Naturally I pulled the winning card out. I can't possibly carry 2 x 2 litre bottles of a water, a six pack of sparkling mineral water (in glass bottles), a six pack of tonic water....And I added helpfully, "You don't like the bread from the village shop."

So off he went. Up the track, across the river, and off to the boring old hypermarket.

Fortunately it was relatively empty. They have some new tills now. The sort where they can serve two people at once. Having dealt with Reluctant Shopping Partner, the cashier then went onto the next customer.

"Pasa por aquí," she said. "Tiene Travel?"

The short dumpy Spanish woman with dark dyed hair looked at her bemused. (Partner and the cashier both knew she was Spanish because she looked exactly like all the women in our village, who have all been cloned).

Partner twigged. "She wants to serve you. Move up to the till. And do you have the supermarket loyalty card?"

"Oh, thanks," said the short dumpy non-Spaniard with dark dyed hair. "I hadn't a clue what she was saying."

"They normally speak English," she added.

"No, they don't," argued Partner. "Emma speaks English, and a few of the others can say numbers and please and thank you."

"Well, it's so difficult. Why don't they all speak English?"

Aaaaaaaagh. No wonder people get racked off with the British. Two weeks holiday on the Costa del Sol, you shouldn't need perfect Spanish. But this woman has been here the same number of years as us, more or less.

"Would you expect someone in a shop in the UK to speak fluent French, German, Polish, or Rumanian?" said Partner, warming to his theme. "Why don't you speak Spanish?"

"I have no interest in speaking Spanish," she declared loftily. "I live here because of the sun."

People like that really piss me off. How rude.

She was obviously a BWM (Brit with money). Her trolley was heaving with spirits and wine, expensive food, frozen food. Nothing else. It cost her well over 100€. In comparison Partner spent around 40€ of which 20€ was for a 5 litre bottle of extra virgin olive oil. The rest of it was staples, bread, pasta, rice (OK that was organic and he bought two), a couple of six packs of beer and a bottle of wine.

I condescended to go out to the veg man in the afternoon when he turned up. Now this is my style of shopping. Man comes to door and I wander out to peruse goods. Said goods are cheap and fresh.

Actually Partner was sitting on the terrace. The veg man drew up and sounded his horn. "GO BOY GO," I shouted, thinking about the dog rather than Partner. He ran out so he could be first in the queue. I followed a few minutes later. It was one of the rare occasions we had beaten next-doors. This meant we had first pick at everything (we fight over the fresh peas).

So for 15€ I bought 2½ kilos of peas, a kilo of broad beans, 2 or 3 kgs of potatoes, some carrots, some white turnips, celery, cucumbers, artichokes, green peppers, and radishes. I got a huge bunch of parsley too, but that's free anyway. The veg man doesn't speak English, but I think it's worth learning a little Spanish to get all that for 15€.

Lemons - and gardening

José has got bored with giving us half a dozen huge lemons at once.

The other morning Partner walked out and found a bag on the terrace. There must have been 20 lemons in there.

We have had this problem before. Instead of giving us a steady trickle of lemons, it's all or nothing. Am I being critical about free lemons? No, obviously not.

But giving me a load all of a sudden that I can't possibly use in a six months of Sundays is not clever.

We have had plastic crates piled high with lemons, and they go off before I can use them.

Sometimes José decides to pick a load off the tree all at once. And I mean A LOAD. Like why not pick half a dozen at once? Consistently.

Other times he decides to wait for them to fall on the floor. And picks them up. So they are bruised, and start to go mouldy and make the others mouldy too.

I can't really talk as my lemon tree is having a bad year so I am grateful for any lemons.

Apparently his family don't want the lemons. That, IMHO, is because they are far too busy eating nasty sweeties and burgers, and sugared yoghurt and other absolute garbage. Each to their own, though. But Partner did say, "Nada más limones ahora. Luego sí."

José is obviously going good at the moment. I asked him about planting chillies a few days ago and he said "Now, now." Actually, he said "Ya, ya."

But did I get round to doing it? Of course not, too busy doing nothing.

Today he collared me. Not about chillies though. He hasn't lived next-door to me to know that unless he appears with plants I am highly unlikely to do anything.

So he produced the coleus plantlets. Pointed out which plant pot I should use, how much compost to put in the pot, wasn't sure about the dubious provenance of my very chic British stuff, and gave me some of his. After the coleus it was onto the basil (albahaca).

Nice tidy plants in their new pots in the shade


This is not large-leaved Italian stuff to stick on your mozzarella and tomato salad. No, this is tiny leaved fragrant basil grown purely for scent. Apart from in my house where it does get used for cooking. There were clearly no chillli plantlets coming from José so I chucked a few seeds in a pot from a dried chilli hanging up and we will see what happens. A good morning. I like to play in the garden.

Last year's gloriously out of control basil plant -
But those flowers will make great seeds


And José so likes to tell me what to do. Although he is always secretly disappointed that he has to deal with me. He can't understand why Partner doesn't do the growing stuff. Here in Spain, women do the cleaning and the dross jobs. Men do the clever creative things. Dream on José but thanks for the plants and the lemons, as ever.

And just to finish. I did an alcachofa (artichoke) recipe a while back and thought I should have posted a piccy of the choke inside, and then the choke taken out. You can leave them in when the artichokes are young and there is hardly any choke, but when they are older you will end up with a mouthful of disgusting fur. At your peril.

Furry stuff to cut out on the left, and de-furred on the right
Maybe I should take this again in better light