Zesty Mumma's Words

A life lived without passion is a life half lived

Archive for the tag “ageing”

09 Sep 2016

Verdant Mountain Peaks and Gravel Pits -What Contrast!

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This weeks blog is the first part of my truly solo journey, dragging my greatly overpacked bags with me. I usually don’t make such a huge mistake with my estimation of what will be needed for a trip, but what can I say, we all screw up at sometime.

I’m heading north to Granada via Malaga by bus, which in Spain is a great cheap way to get around. The buses are modern and clean, with many many services to choose from. They also offer exceptional sightseeing experiences along the way.

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As the gentle hills of the coast give way to the towering peaks of the Sierra Nevada they form a dramatic gateway to the old Arabic fortress city of Granada. The modern day city however, is a melting pot of locals, tourists, artists and a strange phenomenon “German Hippies”. Two nouns I haven’t found synonymous to a large extent in the past, yet here in Granada they exist in great numbers complete with multiple piercings and dreadlocks.

The city is packed on this long weekend but in this case it only adds to the atmosphere. Colour and music fill the streets. Above the city the mountains are ever present and in spite of the heat it isn’t hard to imagine a winter backdrop of snow capped peaks. Sitting atop a smaller hill, watching regally over the chaos below, is the Alhambra ( the old Moorish palace) and its exquisite beauty can not be over estimated. Abundant clear fresh water gushes or tinkles or drips from the sides of the hill resulting in verdant, shady gardens and natural forest. Moorish poets described the Alhambra as “a pearl set against emeralds”.

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When the might of the combined Catalan and Castile Empires of Spain finally rested Granada from the Arabic Moores it caused great sadness. The last Emirate of Granada was so distraught at the loss of his beautiful home he sobbed as the caravan of family and possession’s made its way out of the palace gates. His mother, a woman that could give Cruella Deville a run for her money, was heard to to tell her heart broken son not to “weep like a baby for something he couldn’t hold onto like a man”. Ouch, that’s one tough mother!

Viewing the palace in the late afternoon from a neighbouring hill; the golden haze from the setting sun dripping like melted gold over her ancient turrets while flamenco buskers serenade the on lookers, it was easy to understand how this city could inspire such passion.

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The bus to Alicante, my next destination, didn’t inspire anything but a sore backside but the scenery was still worth the discomfort. Spain is essentially one gigantic rock. I know I have told you all about the romantic olive groves, the hectares and hectares of berries and of course the very very cheap wine Spain produces ( made with them grapes they grow) but to see the terrain as we head to Valencia state is to look upon a gravel pit. Popping up amongst the rocks here and there are the beginnings of the citrus groves this part of Spain is so famous  for.

However, there is a down side to all this agriculture in a country that essentially is desertlike in many areas. In 2011 a massive earthquake struck at a very shallow depth causing devastating deaths, major damage to infrastructure and left 10,000 homeless. A year on from the tragedy and an investigation ruled that the cause was the extraction of ground water, which had been going on for years.

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The scary thing is that the agriculture is still going on and it still doesn’t rain much in Spain.

Tips

  • When booking buses – if you are booking connecting buses that are run by different companies always make sure you have a couple of hours between the connection. In Spain buses run to there own timetable and you need to account for any delays that usually occur.
  • The Alhambra – Makesure you book your ticket to the Nazarid Palaces and Generallife at least a month before you leave, if you are visiting at peak time.
  • It is only about €15 for the ticket to all Alhambra attractions so don’t book on a sight that says it is €35 or €40 as these sites are for guided tours.
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10 Aug 2016

It’s Twistn’ Time, Twisting By The Pool That Is!

Finally my time in Huelva Province has come to an end and I am on the road again, not that I am sad to be moving on but having spent over two months in this relatively peaceful backwater, it is not with out some melancholy and sense of fondness. The two hundred and forty seven kilometre journey to San Pedro De Alcantara takes me from the far western edge of Andalusia to the most Eastern side, the playground for most of Northern Europe, especially Britain. In Australia we have the Gold Coast, the US has Miami but Spain has the Costa Del Sol.

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The road from Sevilla onwards takes a steadily climbing path to the Serrania De Ronda mountain range. Dotted here and there amongst the fields are the remains of castles and fortresses, it never ceases to amaze me how quickly we humans become jaded to the point of being dismissive of something truly magical when there is abundance. I can be just as guilty of this flaw.

Having never planned to come to Spain (that’s a whole other story) I hadn’t done a lot of research about the country. So the fact we were now heading into a mountain range that extends to the coast and  whose higher peaks quite obviously experience at least a smattering of snow in winter, was a total surprise. The mountains themselves are sharp and jagged with a sparse covering of vegetation while the valleys and lower slopes are dotted with the now familiar “Pueblos Blancos” or  white villages.

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Our first stop on the trip was a small village of Sentenil De La Bodegas. Built on a valley floor, it is famous for the house that are built under overhanging cliffs. Having experienced an Andalucian summer I totally understand the genius of this building method, just not so sure about winter but then I suppose there is always a cozy fire to sit by.

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We arrived at Sentenil via a narrow country road that wound its way through quaint fincas filled with olive groves and black pigs that feast on acorns, whose meat Spanish farmers cure to produce the famous Spanish Hamon. So quiet and idyllic the journey I was unprepared for what awaited us. Being a little insulated in Huelva from the influx of tourist to Spain at this time of the year it was a steep learning curve when we arrived in Sentenil. Parking in every village in Spain is difficult on a normal day, the narrow streets were never meant for the 21st century. The fact that it is summer, only about fifty kilometres from one of the biggest tourist destinations in Europe and a Sunday made it impossible, so we parked at the entrance to the village and walked down the hill. I really shouldn’t have had the second drink with lunch cause the trip back up wasn’t pretty!

Under the overhanging rocks the temperature drops dramatically, a great protection in the August sun. The actual name of the village comes from a Castillian word meaning “seven times” and refers to the fact that it took  the Catholic Spanish seven sieges to defeat the Moors and capture the village, the cliffs being so effective as a defence.

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The dramatic mountains of this range are matched by one village in particular, Ronda, the home of modern bull fighting in Spain. Precariously perched on top of a narrow ravine, the houses appear to be teetering on the edge. This is also a Mecca for tourists and any thought that you may be able to experience the glorious vistas should be dispelled, “it just ain’t gonna happen my friend”.

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The “New Bridge” at Ronda spans the El Tajo canyon and is the draw card for most of the tourists. It is very impressive from which ever angle you look and definitely worth the trip. However, I am reliably informed that the rest of the year is nearly devoid of sightseers and with many better photo ops.  Ronda too has a Moorish background and suffered greatly during the Spanish Inquisition. Interestly, to escape the persecution many Arabs escaped to the Huelva area and began new lives there.

Like most mountain towns the air in Ronda is clear and I can imagine crisp in winter, though not quite so in August. There are many amazing restaurants that sit on the edge of the gorge but unlike other tourist destinations are very reasonably priced.

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Taking the main road once again we continue rising up into the Siera as it winds around the mountain sides before the decent down to the coast.  I was struck by just how close the mountains are to the sea, with a clear view of the Rock of Gibralter and Jebel Musa, a mountain in Morroco. The closeness to sea reminds me very much of the kiakoura on New Zealand’s South Island but that is where the similarity ends.

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The Rock of Gibralter with Jebel Musa, Morocco to the left.

The Costa Del Sol is Australias Gold Coast, Miami in the United State or any of the other amazing beach destinations around the world that have been loved, in many ways, almost to death. Not that it is unpleasant, just filled with resorts, housing estates and shops for kilometre upon kilometre but the Mediterranean is blue and it has no sharks so I am looking forward to that.

So in the words of the inimitable Mark Knoffler  in “Twisting by the Pool”

We’re going on a holiday now
Gonna take a villa, a small chalet
On the Costa del Magnifico.       (That’s code for Costa del sol)
Where the cost of living is so low
Yeah, we’re gonna be so neat
Dance to the Eurobeat
Yeah, we’re gonna be so cool
Twisting by the pool

See ya next week.

 

 

 

 

 

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02 Aug 2016
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Step out of Your Comfort Zone and feel Alive

Learning to drive  a car for most people comes during teenage years and offers your first taste of freedom from parental constraints. I however didn’t get my licence till I was thirty two! Living in a coastal village it was easy to get myself around town on my bicycle; work, shops, beach, everywhere. Friends still remind me of the massive amount of grocery bags that could often be seen dangling from the handle bars.

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Even when my children were born I still had no motivation to get my licence. “Why do I need it, I can walk with the pram, it’s good excersise,” I told myself. Not until we moved to a rural property did it quickly became apparent that me getting my licence was indeed a necessity.  Now many years later and thousand of kilometres of driving under my belt it is unthinkable for me to imagine living in a world without my licence.

Then I came to Spain two months ago and couldn’t possibly imagined driving around the countryside. As I’m sure most are aware, like the Americas, European countries (except the United Kingdom) all drive on the right hand side of the road and therefore so does Spain. For those of us that learnt to drive in the 30% of countries that do so on the left, the thought of even attempting to make the switch is inconceivable.  I even get confused when  I am asked to give directions, I inevitably choose right when I mean left and visa versa. The thought of me hurtling down a Spanish motorway at 120 km an hour was never on the cards, but then the weather got hot!

When I say hot I mean baking oven, burnt to a crisp, hard to breath and not only did my friends husband have to work but my friend had answered a question wrong when renewing her Australian licence online. The Australian government, ever scarred of fraudsters and illegal immigrants, doesn’t give you any chances and refused to allow my friend to complete her renewal online. This left us unable to go for a swim without Victor. In an act of extreme desperation Selena asks me about five weeks ago if I wanted to drive. I thought she was joking at first but she was deadly serious. I was quite impressed with her courage I must say but the fact the beach is actual only ten minutes, four right hand turns and one left hand away might have had something to do with it.  My confidence however, was not so easily strengthened.

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Which brings me back to the reasons I didn’t drive till I was thirty two, basically I was scarred. I know I said all that other stuff about not being necessary etc, but the honest ” face yourself in the mirror” truth be told was; I was scarred. When I first turned out of our street on the road that took us Mazagon I felt like I did in those days when I was learning to drive. Nothing is natural, you have to be reminding yourself constantly of what you should be doing. I even developed my own mantra, ” keep Selena in the gutter” which translates ” the passenger is alway on the right”.  It felt like the car was driving you not the other way around.

After a relatively short time I ventured further a field, Zara, Sfera and many other Spanish clothing brands decided it was time for sales and we weren’t missing out on that. Then a couple of weeks ago we drove to Sevilla (about an hour away) to visit yet another group of Roman ruins. This time I had to travel on the motorway, which I would like to point out has a speed limit of one hundred and twenty kilometres an hour, ten kilometres faster than  Australia. Since that day driving on the right has suddenly become second nature and I am pretty chuffed with myself.

I even drove a friends car in Portugal, which has a very old, narrow and poorly maintained road system, when the friend I was with wasn’t feeling well. The fact she quickly recovered after I took the wheel could’ve had something to do with the fact I have a heavy lead foot and she suddenly realised that I had only been driving on the right for a matter of weeks.

When I chose to take this Solo holiday  I did so for a variety of reason, one in particular was the opportunity to put myself into uncomfortable situations and find answers. Truly driving on the right hand side of the road was one of those situations for me and surprise surprise, I found I could not only do it but do it comfortably. The thing about human nature is that it is easy just living our life in our usual routine and we have a measure of happiness. However, if we choose to push ourself, step outside the everyday, suddenly you feel alive. Each little achievement makes the blood flow and gives you confidence.image

That was my pep talk for the week, now for Portugal. To say Portugal is special is an understatement. I have been across the border a few times during my stay in Palos and noticed that inspite of the similarities with Spain it is also quite different. This trip took me a little further along the south coast to the exquisite Praia de Marinha. This section of the coast and hinterland is called the Algave. It features not only amazing beaches but the remains of lairs of Portuguese smugglers and pirates from a world long disappeared. These bandits notoriously laid in wait for Spanish galleons returning from American, laden with gold and other cargo

Southern Portugal has many resorts  for Northern Europeans but if you venture beyond this artificial world you find the rustic lifestyles of the people is still very authentic and simplistic. My only regret is I didn’t find any surf to photograph for my son and friends but that is further round on the west coast.  I really only scratched the surface of that beautiful country and what I saw I loved, this is definitely a return destination!

Tips

  •  Never leave your home country without an international licence – you just don’t  know when you will need it.
  • Step outside your comfort zone, you just might surprise yourself!
  • Try Portuguese flame grilled Tuna- it’s like no Tuna steak you have ever tried before!

 

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18 Jul 2016

The King and Queen of Merida Invite you to take Journey Back In Time!

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As I am sure most of you realise I am an Australian and this is an important fact in understanding of this weeks blog. In Australia we have very little architecture that is over 150 years old. In fact on the Sunshine Coast where I live the majority of the buildings are actually under 30 years. Yes you read correctly, under 30 years old. To say we are a young country in architectural terms is an understatement to say the least. So if any of you Europeans out there feel my prattling on about Roman ruins is a little “ho hum” then I hope the facts I have just shared explains my position. It is simply mind blowing to me that the amazing designs and workmanship of humans living a minimum of 2000 years ago still exist and functions in our modern world.

Which brings me to my tourist destination of the week – Merida, Badajoz Provence, Extremadura Region.

Merida is simply amazing!

A relatively small city of approximately 60,000 residents, it sits quietly in a lovely rural area that produces grain crops and wine. Lying in a south westerly direction approximately three hours from Madrid, it is easily accessible by both road and rail. What I had originally planned to do was stop in Merida on my way to Sevilla and I have now come to realise was actually the best idea, oh well you live and learn and I got there anyway!

Why is Merida amazing, simply put it is the sheer number of buildings and structures that not only exist but in some cases are still functioning, such was the skill of the Romans, much of which is an easy walk from one site to another. As with the other historic towns I have visited these sites are generally situated in or around the original heart of the city.

We begin our walk on the edge of the city centre and head to a path that follows the Rio Guadiana. My first taste of the Roman ruins that Merida has in abundance is the Acueducto de los Milagros or Miraculous Aquaduct. Tall and proud it stands in the middle of a public park, with an actual walking track running under one of the arches. This in itself miraculous, no guard rail to keep you a safe distance away no hordes of tourists. In fact the day we were there I only saw one other tourist taking in its beauty.

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The next stop the Roman Bridge, built in 25BC, over the Guadiana River is a marvel to this day, thanks mainly to incredible Roman workmanship but also to conservation efforts by the subsequent invaiders, the Visigoths and Moors to name a couple. This bridge still retains 60 of its original 62 arches and is today a foot bridge for residents and tourists but was still in use for vehicles up to 1993 and was in fact the main access route into town. At 700 mtrs in length it is the longest Roman Bridge in the world one of the most beautiful.

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The overlapping of conquering nations truly epitomises Spain’s cultural heritage, it’s sometimes hard to tell when one period of rule ends and the next begins. At the enterance to the bridge stands the Alcazabar (Arab fort) that the Moors seemly built in every major town they at one time controlled. In the shade around the northern wall we found tables and chairs set under pencil pines and other trees, with only two other customers it was peaceful and cool. The food was rustic and extremely tasty and perfect way to break our sightseeing for an hour. I chose a nice meal of chicken, salad and homemade chips for €6.00 but I could of had goat stew or partridge pie for approximately the same price.

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Resuming our wandering we passed the remaining ruins on the way to the prize. The Temple of Diana, Portico del Foro and other historic sites, all however, pale into relative insignificance in comparison to the King of Merida, the Roman Ampitheatre. The Ampitheatre in particular demands your imagination to picture not only the crowds cheering gladiators but the slaughter of man and beast. It is a powerful place and a prime example of what is good and bad about mankind.

An interesting but sad side point for me was the realisation that bull rings of Spain were actually throw backs to these Roman sports. For me the round shape was the give away and when I researched it I found this was in fact the case, present day bullfighting is a continuation of entertainment popular in Rome.

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The highlight for me however, was the grace and beauty of the Queen of Merida, the Roman Theatre, which stands regally next to the ampitheatre and serves in contrast as an reminder of what height of culture and art the Romans achieved. On the day of my visit a theatre performance was scheduled for that evening only 2041 years after the first performance in 25BC.

Merida is beautiful clean town that has obviously taken to heart the message of the poster below.

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It reads in English ” educate your owner”. I personally think it should also say ” I can’t do it on my own”

In closing I just want to say if you don’t ever go to another Roman historic site, go to Merida, everywhere else cannot compare.

Tips

  • Try making your trip in either spring or Autumn. The heat of summer is the only thing that will marr your visit. I used a parasol all day but I still felt like I could almost get heat stroke by the time I finished at the theatre.
  • On the same note make sure you carry a huge bottle of water. There is age eat fountain at the entrance but no other water for the rest of visit around both the Ampitheatre and Roman Theatre.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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12 Jul 2016

What do Christopher Columbus and Berries Have in Common, You’ll be Surprised!

The actual town I have based myself in for most of my stay in Spain is called Palos De La Frontera, which apparently is the berry capital of the world. If you take a look on google maps and change the setting to satellite what you notice is fields on fields of white. Before you start thinking that you are witnessing some sort of new hybrid berry crop let me tell that it is actually field on field of plastic covered green houses, mono culture at its zenith.

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Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries ( sounding a tad like Forrest Gumps friend Bubba at this moment I’m sure  – “pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup” etc) but the queen is definitely the strawberry. Just in case an uneducated person like myself failed to recognise this fact we have a giant strawberry planted in the middle of the roundabout not 250mtrs from my house. Coming from the land of big things (think big pineapple, big cow, big prawn, big banana and oh so many more biggn’s) you might think I’m not impressed, well you couldn’t be further from the truth. The fact that they chose to put a mammoth strawberry in the middle of the roundabout instead of the other most important connection to Palos De La Frontera, the one and only Christopher Columbus, shows the importance of the industry to the town.

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Palos, much to my surprise when I arrived is the place of Columbus first voyage to the Americas. In fact many of the sailors on the expedition were pressed into service from Palos and the two smaller caravels ( La Niña and Pinto) were owned by the Pinzon brothers from Moguer, the next village down the road. They set sail from the Palos dock near the Monastery of La Rabida on 3rd August 1492 and change the world forever.

The village, while playing a huge roll in the  exploration of the globe is often forgotten entirely in any discussion of Columbus’s journeys. On the plus side it remains a sleepy village to this day. The white washed houses with terracotta roofs externally are probably very similar to the homes occupied by the residents of that time. Its one moment of fame over Palos settled back into obscurity and the never ending sun of southern Spain. Far more cataclysmic to the history of the town, even more than Columbus and berries was the 1755 Lisbon earthquake. This devistating natural ddisasters destroyedmost of Lisbon and changed the geography of the coastline of southern Spain so much that Palos is now an inland town on a river rather than a sea port.

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Back to the present day and how is my Spanish going I hear you ask?  Gracias, for asking, it’s ok. I managed to buy shampoo and conditioner by my self the other day and have perfected the purchase of “cafe Americano”. That’s a long black a bit larger than a Spanish black coffee but still only about 150mls and not the humungous sizes drank in Australia and the US. Thankfully that’s how I drink my coffee so it is “perfecto” ( just slipping in a bit more Spanish to impress you) for me.

The Spanish food however is taking a little more time to get used to and trust me I’m not a person who is scared to try new things. There are a few secrets about Spanish cooking that surprised me completely and  I think I should tell you. The first is that other than garlic and salt they don’t use herbs and spices very much and they definitely hate chilli. Another secret is the lack of vegetables used, most dishes lean heavily on meat, however they do incorporate legumes and rice into many dishes. Generally if you ask for “ensalada” or salad it will consist of tomatoes lettuce and onion, sometimes tuna as well. Very different to the extravagant creations from home

The Spanish however have a love affair with potatoes which rivals that of the Irish, bet you didn’t know that. They have no hesitation with eating potatoes for breakfast, lunch and tea; and as a snack in between. There is no shame in chowing down on Tortilla (potato and egg pie) for breakfast, potato salad swimming in mayonnaise for lunch and chips with tapas in the evening.  I have seen the light and been released, my long suppressed yearning for potatoes has been fed and I feel fine. No fear of the dreaded carbohydrate in Spain, no  irrational all consuming phobia about bread either. One thing I have noticed, the Spanish for the most part don’t eat much western styled fast food, don’t get me wrong it’s here just not as much. Also the bars that people mostly eat at prepare there own food and don’t buy in frozen pre prepared. Surprise, surprise Spanish women don’t have big butts!

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My tourist destination of the week is Córdoba, a beautiful inland city  of about 350,000 and has the second largest urban area in the world deemed world heritage by UNESCO. Córdoba was at one time the capital of the Roman region of  Hispania Ulteria and later the capital of the Moorish state Al-Andalus. The many existing examples of architecture, including the remnants of its Jewish history make this a must see destination.

Tips

  •  enjoy your holiday  – eat freshly prepared food, not processed food and don’t worry about theories that have only been around for a relatively short time.

 

 

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21 Jun 2016
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“Puedo Usar El Servicios Por Favor” – Ladies You Need to Remember this in Spain!

The yellow sun baked country of Huelva stretches before you on the motorway trip from Seville. It is a scene unchanged in many ways from the time of Don Quijote; rolling hills dotted with whitewashed villages, olive and citrus groves and abandoned haciendas.

The soil is old soil, washed and drained by rains and droughts through the milleniums to become  a sandy loam that cracks and crumbles with your touch, not unlike Australia.  The summer grass, quickly drying in the ever present, baking sun, shows no variance in colour from dirt in which it grows.  Native trees ( that’s if you don’t count the olive) seems to be limited, with the main example a type of conifer that takes the shape of a slightly flattened lollipop. This natural topiary I am told can also be quite tall but the ones I am seeing aren’t.

I will be based in Huelva province for the next couple of months and the main city only  10km’s away. From a distance Huelva city resembles an industrial boil on the delicate ecological skin of the earth. Huge silos and smoking chimneys dominate your sight. Set at the delta of the Rio Tinto river it is also a major port and the closest to the trade routes of the Atlantic Ocean. The vast river flats a haven in days gone by for multitudes of wading birds.

Multi storey apartment blocks which are the other dominant feature of the urban landscape, show signs of aging in the relentless Spanish sun without the benefit of the cosmetic surgery ever present in more affluent tourist areas. Did I mention that Huelva is the most untouristy place in the whole of Spain ( and there isn’t many of them). They even demolished their only surviving Roman dwelling some years ago to build a carpark!

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Huelva has one welcoming and totally unexpected surprise for this Australian traveller, Gum or Eucalyptus trees ( to everyone else in the world). I’m not talking about one or two, I’m mean forests of them. They are everywhere, beside river banks, around paddocks. Up in the hills there are huge plantations, which have resulted in self seeding populations almost rivalling the farmed variety. Originally  grown for wood pulp to feed the voracious appetite of the paper mills, they have spread to such an extend that they are a real threat to native flora. I reckon let a few koalas loose and you have an instant tourist industry, food for thought for those in power in Huelva, don’t you think?

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I read that around the world there is a love hate relationship with gums. They are on one hand lauded for there quick growing, usefulness and on the other hand despised as water guzzling ( they can drain a swamp as quick as look at it) , native vegetation stranglers (the Eucalyptus oil gets into the soil and inhibits all other plants). All I can say is Huelva Provence is little Australia!

I know that I have just spoken disparagingly about Huelva City and now I will make amends. The proverbial ugly duckling comes close to becoming a swan when you actually enter into its heart, nothing as spactacular as the old Jewish Quarter of Seville but nice enough. Narrow cobble stone lanes, black wrought iron and the occasional geranium lined balcony.

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Two friends of mine

The predominantly Spanish population of Huelva coexists with a generous number of Africans, some from Spanish speaking Equatorial Guinea, others speaking French from Malle, Senegal and Cameroon; still others speaking English from Gambia, Nigeria and Ghana all in the elusive search for better economic conditions. Unfortunating because they are here illegally they have no papers and the only work they can get is fruit picking. Hot, hard and long, most are forced to live in Charbolas ( make shift huts in camps that line the bush between farms made of cardboard, old wooden pallets and plastic sheeting) without proper sanitation or garbage disposal and yet they provide a work force that has allowed the huge berry industry in Huelva to flourish.

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There are also European escaping, not from poor economies but rather poor weather. They inhabit mostly the coastal areas and the large urbanisations that exist in Spain. Then there is the English; I noticed at the beach the other day a crumbled watchtower from approximately 1500. I could imagine some lonely, Spanish sailor watching night after night for the menacing English frigates that might appear. Five hundred or so years later all I can say is they shouldn’t have bothered cause they came anyway!

At Mazagon the  river flows into the Atlantic. A small coastal town where in winter you could literally let off a shot gun off in the Main Street without a chance of hitting anyone. In summer the story is completely different. The population explodes for a relatively brief period before reverting to its ghost town existance.

Spain has one big problem and the numerous pieces of tissue I saw blown the around low dunes on the 100 mtr or so boardwalk to the beach shows how bad it is. They have almost NO public toilets. On my first dip in the Atlantic since I was a child there were a couple of hundred beach goers at Mazagon beach and the only public toilet that the council provided ( believe me when I say that the fact there were some to begin with is very unusual) were locked.  Apparently they are only opened for special occasions, like the school summer holidays and they weren’t scheduled for another two weeks!

Which brings me back to Huelva city and the Africans. When the seasonal picking work runs out they are forced to do one of two things, other than travel to another part of the country which is hard if you have a family with kids. The first is to out right beg in the city. This option is usually only taken up by women and the occasional Romanian. A nice thing about the Spanish is that most seem to understand that they without social security the women are reliant on their donations and are generally willing to drop a few cents into the tin. One great thing about Huelva is that you can live quite cheaply, not the Hilton by any means but safe and dry. €100 a week will give you a room in a shared apartment and enough money to feed yourself and a child.

The African men however have actually developed a whole industry for the time of the year when there is no picking to be done. They sell tissues at the traffic lights. Why you ask, because as I said before there are few public toilets so you are forced to ask at a bar to use their toilet. Thankfully they are usually kind enough to let you, but often fail to provide toilet roll!

Tips

  • Always carry a packet of tissues – you know why
  • memorise this phrase ladies – “puedo usar el sevicios por favor ” – you know what it means!

 

 

 

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13 Jun 2016

How To Make It To SevilleWithout A Complete Meltdown – A Sangria or Two Helps

 

The air is surprising when I wheel my bags out into the street on my first day in Spain, clear and cool but with the hint of what is to come. Like a tap you turn on that first runs cold but slowly you feel warm water mixing with the cool, till finally all you have is hot.

My 500mtr walk to the metro is not uncomfortable, with the help of a couple of passerby’s, a little English and a bit of sign language, what I already knew was confirmed (the metro was straight down the street). I really didn’t need to ask I think it was more just for reassurance.

Once I had taken the escalator to the first level of the Metro it was another thing, no ticket office, no one to try and speak to, only machines, but thankfully a large map and three really lovely Canadian boys. You really don’t want me to bore you with the details of how I manage to hold on to all my bags, get my money out and pay for my ticket, lets just say it was hard. Getting through the turnstiles was just as difficult but thankfully Spanish men are really helpful as well.

Intercity trains are run by Renfe, which is situated at  Atoche, the largest of Madrid’s stations, the old terminal having been transformed into a tropical covered garden.  It was easy to find the customer service to enquire about tickets, but as it turned out, not quite so to buy one. After being directed to an office and a machine that spat out tickets notifying you of your place in the queue,  I realise in horror that my ticket said A244 when the LED display notifying the next customer to be served was only saying A103. With a single customer service representative working I quickly realised my dream of getting to Seville by lunch time was out the window.

During the next hour and a half I noted with perverse glee the many travellers that walked into the office and looked around in confusion, only to be told by another customer about the machine. Once they’d taken their ticket I waited for the inevitable series of reactions. Firstly a quick glance down at their number, then a corresponding glance at the flashing display for the current ticket to be called, followed by one of two actions when they realised how long the wait would be. The first was horrified disbelief, really entertaining. The best however, were the people that nervously scanned the seated customers with a half smile on their lips, certain that someone was playing a huge joke on them and they were about to “get punked”.

To be honest I’m really not that sure there wasn’t some comedy show being secretly filmed for Spanish television cause here is the rub, when I finally arrived at the glorious moment of my ticket being called, feeling like I had won the lottery, I was told ” sorry but this office is for pre booked tickets, you have to go to another ticket office to purchase tickets for travel today!”

All I want to say is I arrived in Seville at 4.30, took me longer than it should have, cost more than it would if I had booked and paid before I left Australia and it is my own fault. Train travel in Spain is actually brilliant, fast and clean and once you get the hang of it, very easy.

Seville is a seriously beautiful city, particularly the old Jewish quarter, which really is the only place to stay. There are far too many awesome sites to visit that I won’t mention them here, just google images and research them, totally worth it. The train station was relatively close to my hotel according to the map, so once again McDonalds, their black tea and free wi fi was greatly appreciated. I sat down drank my tea, had a wrap and sent a few messages to assure friends and family that I was still alive.  Unfortunately the last message to my son finally depleted my iPad battery and I realised with horror that my phone had died as well. Aargh!

I almost crumbled into pure panic at that moment because I hadn’t written the address of my pension down on paper and had no  idea of the name. However, just before I opened my mouth to scream I realised I had actually printed out the booking form, handing it to a taxi driver I sank with relief into the seat. Again as much as it pains my to say it, without a charged phone to follow google maps, there was no way I would have found the hotel if I had taken the bus. The taxi took me straight there and only cost €8. The narrow rabbit warren of streets and lanes in the old city was too hard to navigate on your own.

I had chosen La Montorena because of the position and price of course but also because of the mosaic lined foyer and roof top terrace and it turned out to be a good one. My single room was a shoe box but the bed was fine and the small bathroom opposite was mainly used by me alone. Again it may only have been €26 a night but the cleanliness was remarkable.

As I mentioned before but my trip to Spain is an extended one, nearly three three months in total then a month in England, so my bags are heavy. The narrow marble staircase up to the first and second floors made it impossible to drag up my huge rolling backpack. I had actually anticipated this and packed everything I thought I might need for the weekend into my  overnight bag, so I store the big one downstairs.

Seville was my first taste of the heat of summer in southern Spain and it is strong, but being dry it is bearable at the same time, not the sticky ever present humidity of the tropics. Walking around the scenic sites is therefore a mostly comfortable experience. Bars are abundant, food is cheap and beverages (alcohol included) is even cheaper so once the heat drains you a little it is easy to recover your strength. Sangria in particular is an effective medicine.

Low cost accommodation can have a bad reputation for many reason, noisy young travellers for one thing. Not that they weren’t present at La Montorena but they weren’t that noisy. These days however, you are just as likely to find older travellers, just like yourself, they love to talk and the roof top terrace was the perfect place meet the other guests.  I met a lovely Danish couple who had just arrived and were making a return visit. There is a definite comoraderie that you don’t get in resorts and upmarket hotels,  maybe a sense of shared experience!

Tips

  • Work out your metro train trip prior to taking it – mine involve taking 3 different train lines to the main station which I do think is weird when I was actually on the airport line to begin with but hey it’s Spain. And write it down – you will not remember!
  • Book and pay for your intercity train ticket before you leave home – you do not want to star in Spanish Candid Camera!
  • Buy a power  converter also before you leave home – we rely so much on technology today you CANNOT be stuck without your device, that is unless you want to have a nervous breakdown!
  • cafe/bars are cheap but even cheaper is grocery stores, the small corner store variety no exception. So if you are really trying to live cheaply  a knife, rice wafers, avocado, tomato and some smoked salmon under a roof top cabana, with a €2.99 2011 bottle of red is fabulous ( just make sure the wafers you buy don’t have some sickly sweet creamy substance inside because you couldn’t read the label otherwise your eating with your fingers)

 

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07 Jun 2016

From Lunar Landscapes to Patchwork Quilt Cultivation

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Never, never, never book a long haul flight from Australia to Europe without at least one night stopover somewhere, that is unless you have the luck of travelling first class and that probably isn’t likely for most of us. This is my first piece of advice, it just isn’t worth the stress on your body.

Flying out of Brisbane at 5.00 am having not slept for twenty four hours seemed Like a good idea. My reasoning being that I would be able to sleep longer  and better on the flight if I was tired, but no this didn’t happen! I did manage an hour or so as we flew over Australia, then woke up only to find we were still hadn’t  even left the Northern Territory. It was then another hour till we exited via the coast of Western Australia.

You cannot help but be impressed by the enormous oasis in the middle of the desert that is Dubai and the airport a fitting match. Dubai Airport is enormous, so big that it takes a train to move you speedily for some distance to your departure gate. Like many of the other man made structures that appear in that part of the world it is a vast spiralling monument to those in power at the time of construction.

Peering down on the gulf states from thirty two thousand feet as we headed out of Dubai exposes the true expanse of the lunar landscape. No trees, water or seemingly vegetation of any sort (I know there really is some I just can’t see it ). I can’t help thinking in wonder at the resilience of the people that have called the region home for much of human history. Tankers, too numerous to even mention, steam back and forward, filling man’s insatiable appetite for petroleum products.

I handled the long, long trip from Australia to Dubai quite well really but the next leg of my trip however, was a different story. About half way over the Mediterranean I was ready to jump out of the plane. Again, not that it was a bad trip, it was just doing my head in being cooped up, too, too long! Even the magnificence of eastern Spain from the air wasn’t enough to totally dispel this feeling, and magnificent it is! A patchwork of gigantic proportions, laid out as intricately as any of their famous mosaic murals; fields under cultivation producing varying colours and textures, with small nutmeg kernel hills popping up here and there dotty the tableau.

Madrid Barajas Airport is a giant mausoleum on this Friday evening at 8.00 pm but later discovered that we had actually arrived at the newest and as yet under utilised runway. This also turned out to be another very fast, few kilometre train trip away from the main airport, it being much busier and just a little scarier.

There is a smell in the air that I can’t explain, I won’t call it a scent because that would elude to something pleasant. Not that it was offensive either, although I think it could be, if a little stronger. My nostrils tingled but realised that I better get used to it since it wasn’t  going away anytime soon!

My hotel booking was supposed to be very close to the airport, walking distance even, but I quickly felt like someone standing on one side of a raging river needing to get to the other side without a bridge.  After twenty three and a half hours travelling and a couple of failed attempts to find a shuttle bus I opted for a taxi. What I would have found if I had researched the transportation options better was that the train from the airport would take me one stop and  cost under €2.00. I then had to only walk 500 mtrs in a straight line to my hotel instead of costing €20.00 by taxi. Then again, as I said I’d had it and all I wanted to do was arrive at my hotel.

There have only been two times in my life where I have been genuinely happy to find a McDonalds (I haven’t and never will be a regular consumer of fast food) and both occasions involved an overwhelming desire for a cup of tea. The first after a long and uncomfortable bus trip from the middle of Laos to Bangkok, a city that never seems to close, except for a two hour window between about 4.00 and 6.00 in the morning, unhappily coinciding with our bus arrival. The only thing open in the whole of Khao San Rd was Uncle Ronald’s restaurant and those Giant  arches gleamed like the gold of El Dorado and made my heart happy as I sipped my “Lipton”.

The second was my exhausted 9.00pm Friday night arrival at the Hostel Aeropuerto, made even more euphoric by the unexpected discovering of the same gleaming arches directly across the road, calling me to my pot of gold (a cup of black tea and a garden salad), bliss!

My Tips

  •  Never book a long haul flight from Australia without an over night stop over.
  • Always research transportation option – including key words if not in English speaking countries e.g tickets – billetes (Spanish)
  • Sometimes it’s just worth it to pay a little extra to get where you are going
  • As much as it pains my to say it but MacDonalds can be a saviour.
  • Hostel Aeropuerto – immaculately clean, great staff,  comfortable, only €30 single room or €35 double
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30 Nov 2015

Gardening – Monica Style

Monica, a seventy seven year old who just happens to be my mother, is unique in oh so many ways. Up until two months ago when she had knee replacement surgery she was still playing tennis three times a week, riding and walking kilometres a day as well. There is so much more I can tell you about her exercise obsession, needless to say though you now see why a knee replacement was necessary.  As you will see not all excersise was welcomed by my mother.

When our family home was sold fourteen years ago Monica chose to down size and purchased a unit. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms plenty of room for all the kids, grandkids and great grandkids to visit. Like many retirees of her generation she had absolutely had enough of gardening.  Our particular property was approximately half an acre in size and other than the percentage of land used by the house and shed, most of it was lush green lawn. All of which was mown by Monica, in her gum boots and lycra leggings. She could be observed most weeks pushing that lawn mower up and down the length of the yard cause she couldn’t bare to have a blade of grass out of place.

When Monica finally moved into her new unit the first thing she did was rip out any blade of grass or garden that existed in her long “L” shaped court yard, replacing the offending greenery with terracotta paving stones. No living thing was spared, never more was she going to be tied to the upkeep of a garden and the regular mowing it required.

There was however one aspect of gardening that she did actually like,  Monica really loved her strawberry plants and thanks to the horses that lived in the paddock beside our house, were the biggest, juiciest and sweetest strawberries that anyone had ever tried. Monica perfected the art of composting horse poo so that the stimulating effect on the strawberry plants had to be seen to be believed. There was no match for her strawberries, they were legendary.lawn-mower_17497_600x450.jpg

When she took her one year old lawn mower back to the shop for repairs, they mower mechanic was stunned at the poor condition of the machine. He had never seen a lawn mower disintegrate the way hers had or as quickly. He said he simply didn’t have an explanation for the state the mower was in.

He may not have know how it had happened but my mother certainly did. She never actually admitted to the mechanic but every week she ran over piles of manure collected from the paddock. Back and forth, breaking up every last nugget of horse poo gold to spread on her beloved strawberry plants.

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30 Apr 2015

Giant Wood Fungus and Earthquakes, There Is A Link !

Do you like maps? I love to pore over them, firing my imagination to a journey of discovery. I’m sure that’s how Dr Livingstone felt when he peered at early maps of darkest Africa dreaming of what he would find. The first time I saw the Banks Peninsular on a map I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, for all intents and purposes you would swear you were looking at a giant wood fungus. So mesmerised by its appearance was that I couldn’t get the image out of my mind for weeks.

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Where is the Banks Peninsular you might ask and directly east of Christchurch would be the answer? The northern face is easily accessible to the city but that wasn’t always the case. A tunnel dug by the sweat and tears of hardworking men, with out the benefit of modern engineering equipment changed that, bringing you out to the harbour and the town of Lyttleton. It was built by the English in their very English brick and mortar style that was exported to so many lands whether suitable or not. This fact almost lead to Lyttleton’s down fall in the earthquake of 2011, sitting precariously on the hills that tower over the aqua blue water of the harbour the whole town nearly tumbled into the water. In spite of this, however, Lyttleton is well worth a visit with the imaginative use of containers, as in other parts of Christchurch, helping to open the town to locals and visitors very soon after the quake.

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Having seen the Northern side of the peninsular on my first visit, I was drawn to explore the southern side, purely because of the intriguing shape on the map. The Road to Akaroa follows the circumference of the southern edge of my giant fungus. This beautiful little town started life as a French colony, notable established as far away from the English on the other side as possible.

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What you see when you drive around the base of the peninsula heading for matches exactly to the topography displayed on that map that I had been so obsessed with. You might think “isn’t that always the case”? Well know not really, sometimes the urban environment obscures the natural or sometimes the feature just doesn’t stand out. This absolutely not the case with the banks peninsular. Remembering that this is earthquake territory may help when I say that the sides of the peninsular look as if a giant has picked it up with two hands and flicked it, the way an ordinary human might pick up a floor rug, with the resulting waves of Fabric settling back down in a series of folds. This is seriously amazing countryside and the fact that under the peninsular actually lay two volcanoes made it even more so.

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Driving over the last hill, which I will warn you is actually more of a mountain, the decent into Akaroa is mind blowing. Words do not adequately describe the vista and the town itself no less so. Tourists have definitely discovered Akaroa and now due to problems in the Lyttleton Harbour it is also the destination for cruise ships. However an afternoon of wandering around the town, not just the shops is great. I will go back to Akaroa, but stay longer and take the opportunity to go kayaking around the bay.

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Our accommodation at Halfmoon Cottage sits snuggly at the Head of Barry’s Bay, one of the many little bays formed by the unusual geology. The old house draws you with its warmth and nestles into a rambling, verdant garden seemly producing every vegetable or fruit that grows in New Zealand. We enjoyed the late afternoon sun in the secluded garden and early evening in conversation with other like minded travellers who also appreciated the peace of our location.

Tips and Extras

*  Make sure you stay more than 1 night, so much to explore

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