a fig from Figueres, Spain

Mediterranean Garden Spain

2007-02-13T17:41:00.001+01:00

Train à Grande Vitesse or TGV

2007-01-08T20:32:00.000+01:00

Train à Grande Vitesse or TGV or even TAV as some will have it will be stopping at Figueres after all. A new railway station will be built in the Culubert area of the city. The area is south of the the castle and east of the hospital and Parc Bosc. The arrival of a high speed rail connection should help in the city grow the local mayor has stated that he would like to see Figueres double in size.

Girona airport which has seen significant development in the last two years is also expected to have it's own direct link to the rail network.

Devil got the best tunes

2006-12-22T21:21:00.000+01:00

David Baddeil the comedian and writer admitted whilst on television that having reached public school, he was all set on being a punk rocker until the day he heard Genesis on the radio and then he was [smitten] hooked. How relieved were his family? How disappointed were they when they found out it was the progressive rock group and not the good book? How pleased is he, that he didn’t share this story with Frank Skinner fellow comedian and former flat mate.

My chauffeur is elegant!

2006-12-11T10:00:00.000+01:00

“Delivery will be 60€, I’m sorry but here in Spain it is unusual for delivery to be included, we have to employ a chauffeur with his own camion and it is expensive. How do you say camion in English?”

“We would call it a Lorry, a Wagon or a Truck.”

“And chauffeur?” he added “what is the English word for a chauffeur?”

“Driver is the usual word although we do use chauffeur it is reserved for a professional driver of a private vehicle. The English do tend to use French words to differentiate between some terms perhaps it is a more elegant way of saying driver.”

“My chauffeur is elegant! I like that; I will remember that for sure!”

On delivery day the house was a hive of activity every room was affected by the ongoing saga of the building works. I was talking to Manel about his team’s progress when we were disturbed by the call of a clearly irritated chauffeur asking for confirmation of his delivery. Delivery confirmed he turned on his heels and walked back along the track to his camion, checking the clearance between the nearby trees and the load he was to deliver as he walked. We heard the camion approaching and could see the grab above the height of the finca’s fences. The grab brushed aside the brush of the overhanging trees effortlessly, and the camion rolled into sight such a big wagon for such a small load.

Manel and I reacted as one shouting out a warning to the chauffeur to stop, because his grab was about to snag the telephone lines of nearby properties. The chauffeur got out of his cab and began cursing the telephone lines his luck and us. He pushed the lines away from the grab and then returned to the cab. We tried to point out a potential problem with a much larger tree bough just ahead of him but he dismissed us he had already seen the obstacle and taken account of it. He was we supposed, the expert a professional driver he was in fact a chauffeur.

The lorry crept passed the overhanging tree limb, the grab once more pushing against the tree and exerting overwhelming force. The tree moaned and groaned the heavy limb creaked and strained as it was pushed aside by the grab. The chauffeur was contemptuous of our alarm and inched forward. Every leaf on the tree was shaking with the force of the contact between the machine and the tree. Then suddenly there was a loud crack as the bough split and twisted away from the grab before springing back to wedge itself between the camion and the grab. The grab crashed down on the trailer.

Chauffeur or not now he had stop now. Climbing from his cab he looked angrier than ever, and after surveying the damage to his vehicle he cursed once more, though this time at the heavy branch that held his camion prisoner. The Chauffeur was unable to move the camion forward or backwards without compounding the problem. Manel and I unloaded the trailer whilst the Chauffeur spat and swore at the trees.

After assessing the problem he asked for a saw, but instead of sawing he began gnawing his way through the still green timber. The more he twisted the saw the more the blade jammed and the more he cursed. Eventually the bough yielded to the saw and he began to sever the connection between tree and branch. Impatiently the chauffeur began kicking out at the offending limb the effect of which was merely to send the branch swinging; he was clearly frustrated and his attack on the timber became more sustained. He became increasingly frantic, pushing, pulling, twisting and turning the broken limb which was creaking and groaning under this assault, although it still hung by what now seemed only a thread. The Chauffeur gave the branch one final hefty shove with his foot, the branch swung violently away and then back at the Chauffeur catching him full in the face. The branch broke away from the tree and fell on top of the Chauffeur knocking him to the floor of his trailer. When he stood up his face was bloodied and his lower teeth seemed to have punctured his bottom lip. Tearfully he cast the tree branch from the trailer, climbed into his cab

and reversed the camion back along the track to the road. Once back on the road he stopped again and examined the damage to his vehicle. The hydraulic pipes which controlled his grab had been severed in the accident, and the grab was out of action.

As for his injuries, his pride had sustained the worst the cuts and bruises would heal in a week or too.

A couple of days later I heard the sound of a chainsaw coming from the front of the house. It was Jose, slicing up the fallen branch. He began loading the logs into a wheelbarrow for the short journey to his house and I could see that little remained of the fallen oak. Time to reach for my trusty saw that is if I was to benefit from this accidental oak!

Everyone can be a Matador!

2006-12-10T16:38:00.000+01:00

Aquí no hay quien viva

2006-11-27T08:07:00.000+01:00

One of the best of the Spanish situation comedy television offerings is Aquí no hay quien viva a show about a group of residents sharing an apartment block in Spain’s capital Madrid. The bizarre situations that arise allow some common themes to carry over from one episode to the next. The programme is a showcase for some very talented actors.

Try and translate the title in any automatic translation and you end up with a rather unfortunate ‘Here there are not some who lives’. I believe the spirit of the meaning is that everybody is represented here, everybody being Spanish characters.

On entering the building you may expect to meet Emilio Delgado the buildings caretaker, though he is always difficult to find. Emilio is often used to link the stories that are unfolding in different parts of the communal building. His attempt to better himself by attending university resulted in an affair with his professor and surprisingly at least to him low grades.

Mariano is Emilio’s father he comes from the University of Life and is contemptuous of those who do not. Describing them as, ‘ignorante de la vida’. He is a schemer and always willing to try anything for easy money, he is dishonest and untrustworthy in a quite comic way; and always fails.

Emilio’s former girlfriend is Belén López she and Emilio often rekindle their relationship despite both pursuing other partners. Belén’s lurches from one job to the next just as she does in her relationships.

Belen’s friend of whom she is quite envious is Lucía Álvarez, a glamorous blonde from a rich background who is always being perused by male admirers.

Joining this community means that you will have to deal with the community president Juan Cuesta.

As ‘El Presidente’ Juan is the residents focus for all things to do with the administration of the building. He is a school teacher. Being the president of a community is an honorary position, and Juan feels proud and even ennobled by his election; despite being continually derided by his fellow occupants. Juan’s nobility does not preclude him from becoming involved in the dodgy dealings that take place daily in the building. He does however fear the consequences of being found out by the authorities, and his nerve will often fail him.

Isabel a nurse and former hippy is Juans live in girlfriend, when stressed she smokes a water pipe. The other residents call Isabel the herb-girl or grass, Las Hierbas. The children of the combined families are a constant worry for thier parents.

At the video store Paco is the store and bar keeper he is a film buff and fool and is often in the company of the wasters from the community including José Miguel son of the president, he is known as Josemi.

One of the funniest characters is Mauricio Hidalgo always called Mauri. A gay man who is living with his lesbian flat mate Bea, and their child Ezequiel who was conceived by artificial insemination. Mauri’s boyfriend is the community lawyer Fernando. Mauri often finds himself under the watchful gaze of Las Jubiladas a group of three retired women with nothing to do but meddle.

The jubiladas are, Concha always in arrears with her community taxes but always the first to make demands on the president. She constantly refers to him as a thief, shouting ¡chorizo! At him as he skulks away.

Concha’s sidekicks are Marísa and her sister Vicenta. Now into their seventies the sisters are like chalk and cheese; whilst Marisa has remained a wild child, drug using and hard drinking, Vincenta is genial and still a quite naïve virgin who is saving herself and still hopes to find a husband.

There are two men who constantly compete for the affections of Lucia, they are now flatmates and thus able to keep an eye on each other. They are the Architect Roberto and a would be businessman Carlos.

Carlos now owns the video shop and once tried his hand at being community president.

Girona

2006-11-24T15:33:00.000+01:00

The city of Girona is only 35 minutes away from Figueres though parking your car in the city can take twice as long. There are no free parking places in Girona’s centre and all in all you are far better to let the train take the strain.

Parking at Figueres station is 1€ for the day. The trains are frequent and plentiful, and also clean and comfortable. If travelling to the airport at Girona you can expect to pay13€ for a direct bus but less than half that for the train and connecting bus. The short wait at the train station in Girona (the bus station is right outside) will give you the opportunity to sample the hot chocolate drink at the station bar. This is a chocolate drink so thick you could walk on it! It tastes as good as it looks.

If you are intent on sight seeing a day visit is more than enough for Girona. The old quarter around the Basilica is well served by helpful tourist information office staff that has a wealth of maps and advice to dispense. This is a stark contrast to the Figueres office where some of the staff are a little reticent in offering their services.

Shopping in Girona like many cities is slowly gravitating away from the old town to the rather lack lustre shopping malls on the edge of the city. The industrial areas around them look shabby and degraded and in need of a bulldozer.

Gonna get myself connected

2006-11-24T12:29:00.000+01:00

Sometime soon WiFi could solve our Internet connection problems. Ah! Mañana the Spanish equivalent of never never land.

Life in a small village on the edge of a city sharpens your perspective on the divide between town and country dwelling. Those everyday things the norms of modern living are often denied you, utilities like gas, electricity and water supplies can not be taken for granted in rural Spain. The telephone too can remain out of reach. Read the forum pages of any expat web site and they are full of people trying to work around the problems they encounter obtaining a supply of any of those services.

Our own experiences in this area. We waited over eighteen months for someone to move an electric meter twenty yards the cable was already in place, and as usual everybody was waiting for somebody and nobody did it! Still, at least the meter has been moved it took less than half an hour to complete the task; and everybody, somebody and nobody had the good grace to be more than a little embarrassed over the fiasco.

It does get cold here, although according to the local people the winter lasts only three weeks. Heating your home with gas is almost laughable. A Romanian guy delivered my gas bottles; yes that’s right bottled gas in 2006. He could not believe that in this day and age cities like Figueres had no piped gas supply, back in Romania piped gas was the norm in even small towns. Here the pipes are going to be installed in 2007, here in Figueres that is, not in the villages of course not even sometime soon.

The telephone was an essential requirement for Carol, when we bought the house we asked specifically about the phone connection, the working phone was demonstrated for us. On purchase of the property we found that La Señora had taken not only the telephone but also the telephone line, a set of radiators and steps for the swimming pool.

Always intending to buy our own telephone apparatus the telephone equipment was not an immediate concern, the line however was. The village telephone installation was over subscribed and until the system was replaced there was no possibility of having a phone. We could see that our house was wired to the system but we could not be allocated a number. Still a brand new telephone system would surely mean up to date facilities whenever the work was completed.

After several months the work was completed on the new telephone exchange we could in theory obtain a number. Work on the house was continuing, (You can see the photographs of the stages we went through by following link to Spain Villa on this page) and it was at this stage we had the windows and doors replaced.

During the installation of one of those doors the telephone line was severed at the point it entered the house. The line had previously been inserted into a hole in the old wooden door frame and then glued into position, so when the frame was then removed the line was severed. The new fittings were aluminium this meant that the telephone cable would have to be fed through a 9" thick concrete wall, and then joined.

Telefonica’s new exchange is not so new after all. We can not have an ADSL line at the moment not even sometime soon. What was mid twentieth technology is still state of the art in much of rural Spain.

We had to pay for the installation as if it was new connection, Telefonica staff should wear masks! The connection was bodged by drilling through the corner of the masonry and the cable glued to the wall. This of course means that only the paintwork is holding it up.

On the edge of the village is a large factory which will supply paper products to the hotel and catering industry it is a business dependent upon fast communication with its clients and prospective customers. The factory will bring employment to the area and is a welcome development. They can not have their required internet connection.

The mayor has made unsuccessful representations to the telephone company about this absurd situation. The one remaining hope is WiFi (I say YFI they say wee fee)

The cluster of four small villages in our vicinity may one day become a WiFi zone. Ah! Mañana.

El Neng

2006-10-31T19:07:00.000+01:00

Murton village on the A19 near Sunderland boasts a new shopping centre the Dalton Park retail outlet. And here I am in the centre car park just three days after returning to the U.K. for a short visit. I am looking at a car which displays an icon of what maybe the most famous Spaniard of all. More famous than Don Juan and Don Quixote even!
He is El Neng de Castefa.El Neng is a comic character on the Buenefuente television show which is essential viewing for me, whenever I am in Spain which is most of the time.Neng is one of many funny characters created by very talented people on the show. His appeal to world audience is phenomenal. Every refugee arriving by boat from Senegal knows at least two people in Spain Samuel Eto'o the Barcelona striker and El Neng de Castefa. Buenefuente brought them together. The rest is comic history!
In the first show Neng meets his hero Eto'o and asks him to give Neng’s famous salute when he next scores a goal for Barcelona. When Eto'o kept the promise it made the national news. The second clip picks up where the first finished even if your Spanish is poor you should understand what is happening. (Fading away after his dream had come true he is called by God; in true Neng style he refuses after all there is the Champions league to consider here.)
Two of the better sketches from the show have links to Youtube video clips given here.

Part 1

Part 2

True Grit!

2006-10-22T15:24:00.000+02:00

It is 1155am on a warm autumn morning and I have just enough time to deliver my package to Eduardo in the city before the long siesta begins at 1 o’clock. Tomorrow I will be travelling and will not have enough time to meet with up with him.

Starting out on my short journey to Figueres I am immediately faced with a problem, a problem in the shape of my neighbour. Though I have tried to befriend him he seems to have taken an exception to me, and worse still he has even tried to stake a claim to my land.

Our paths cross on an increasingly regular basis and on each of those occasions he stands his ground, forcing me to change direction should I dare to pass him in the calle. Today is no exception, and once again the diminutive one eyed Mexican has fixed me in his gaze. He is the new guy in town; he is determined to make his mark and is certain that he will not allow me to get in his way. The higher ground he occupies gives him another advantage, too far along the camino, I can not go round him I can only face him or retreat.

The Mexican’s smaller stature only serves to emphasise his muscular frame. Even the lameness on his left side does not detract from his confident posture.

I need to pass him for there is no other way out of the pueblo. For what seems like an eternity we are locked in what is rather appropriately known as a Mexican stand-off. I check my watch, it is nearing High Noon.

Only when Margarita calls him away does the unrelenting gaze of his one good eye shift momentarily from me. That moment is enough! And I seize the opportunity, moving towards him purposefully. Margarita calls out to him once more. His one good eye focussed on me as he begrudgingly moved out of my path leaving only just enough room for me to pass.

When I look back I can see that he is heading for my land, maybe he is going to stake a claim!

Ay! Mi Chihuahua!

Temperature gauge

2006-07-23T19:24:00.000+02:00

I now have a more reliable weather forcaster or rather team of forcasters. They are the Geckos who gather each evening around the exterior lights of the Villa. Once the lights are switched on the insects which make up their food supply will be attracted to the light souce and also to the geckos.

The Geckos which look like baby crocadiles, they come and go with the heat. I counted 7 last night and sure enough today the temperature touched 100 degrees!

What on earth is that?

2006-07-21T19:15:00.000+02:00

Spanish market places are a delight. You will be amazed at the variety and quality of the local produce on offer. Wonderful fresh vegatables that somehow seem to miss the tourist menu. The numerous varieties of pulses and dried fruit on offer. On the butchers counter unfamiliar cuts of meat await you, nothing on the pig is wasted not even it´s whistle. Encounter strange and exotic seafood much of it walking around the display if not between your feet.

I suspect that many foreign visitors play the same guessing game of trying to name the creature.

Just remember if it walks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck; then the chinese probably have 40 recipes for it!

Playing the game.

2006-07-21T19:02:00.000+02:00

Women, so we are often told and often by women themselves; are far better at the comminications game than men,why this should be so no one really knows for sure.

I believe that we all have the same sized bag of letters with which to form words from, and just like a game of scrabble it´s how you use them that counts. Women just seem so much more adept at it than men.

In Spain, Españoles play the game just the same as us. A Spanish man when negating a statement or an action will use the word ´no´.A very simple and at the same time powerful word. He will pick up extra points because he simply repeats the word,

¡No! !no¡ !no¡

His female counterpart elaborates the same short phrase so that it becomes!No¡ !nnnnnnnnnn no¡ picking up extra points for all those n´s at the bottom of her letters bag.

Thunderbolt and Lightfoot

2006-07-19T16:05:00.000+02:00

Thunderbolt and Lightfoot are two of the most miserable looking men you could wish to encounter.

Lightfoot is the unofficial sentinal of the village watching all the comings and goings of the inhabitants. I once returned shortly after midnight to find him gone. My god I´ve beaten him! He´s given up watching me. But there he was lurking in the shadows of a cherrytree partialy illuminated by the eiree glow of the streetlighting. One day I´ll do it .............

Thunderbolt as the owner of an ancient bicycle is retained by the Junta to deliver their official correspondence. To say he takes his role seriously is an understatement. It is possible to gauge the contents of your mail without opening it simply by looking at him. A faint smile means bad news, prohibition or censure. A blank expression means goodnews on the otherhand!

Theirs is an unlikly partership. They spend each and every summer evening sweltering in the humid night air watching the comings and goings of the villages. Hardly a word passes between them and still they are team.

And so it came to pass!

2006-07-09T18:51:00.000+02:00

Or rather,

"Passe y control" "Passe y control"
as rather excited Spanish football commentator was advising `La selection de Español´; during their endevours at the 2006 football world cup finals.

Passing movements were described as,

"Ticky taca,ticky taca,ticky taca"

Even the dullest passage of play was enlivend with,

"Futbol passion de multitudes"

An exclamation of,

"Huevos fritos" - fried eggs
must of meant something to his Spanish audience, even if it bemused me!

The all time favourite remains,

"GOl,golgolgolgolgolgolgolgolgolgolgolgolgolgolgolgol, España. Viva futbol,viva futbol,viva futbol"

Motson eat your heart out.

Around and about

2006-05-18T20:57:00.000+02:00

The cement mixer in the foreground marks the begining of the construction of a swimming pool in our neighbours garden. The process will take three months to complete.

The last of the winter snows cap the peaks of the nearby Pyranees.

The birds in the picture are egrets they feed on
grasshoperrs and crickets on the grass lands near us.

Last year Mrs. Gravy and I stalked an egret on our own land. I played the part of the wild life expert teaching Carol how to creep up on the bird, describing it´s life style in the process. She was most impressed and rather excited until she raised the Binoculars and said ,"It´s a carrier bag!"

Deflated is putting it mildly!

views from the house

2006-05-18T20:49:00.000+02:00

Mrs Gravy on the grass cutter. Looks like a lawn from the house but it is full of weeds up close

The fields around us are a rich verdent green with the growth of the spring barley

extra photos Colin

2006-05-18T20:29:00.000+02:00

A fitting End.

2006-03-08T14:58:00.000+01:00

It was for Carol the last day of her short working holiday here in Spain. Her suitcase was packed and she was almost ready to go.

We had the evening to look forward to and had booked a table at the Resturant Mas Pla. Olga and Angel the owners were always welcoming and eager to please.

The local black wine ´vino negre´was appropriate for the meat dishes we would probably choose a steak for me and Carol may have the same but with a salsa on the side. (not a dance but a sauce)

Olga returned to the table and adressed Carol.

"Do you like Wilbur?"
"Wilbur?"
"Si, es con salsa"
"Wilbur is it a fish, pescado?"
"No es carne con sasla, it is the special for today only for you!"
"Thank you, but I´m not sure what it is!"
Olga turned to me and repeated Wilbur several times, becoming more hesitant with each repeated word. As her speech slowed the word Wilbur was fragmented to Wil- bur; and then it clicked,
" Wild Boar!" I exclaimed.
"Si Wil(d)bur" repeated Olga clearly pleased to have got through to us at last.
Carol joined in "Oh yes, I like the sound of that I will have Wild Boar."

Angel served his special dish of the day in a cast iron casserole dish, the dark coloured meat was covered in a dark salsa with a few vegatables incorporated in the dish.

"Look ´Gravy´" said Olga.
Both she and Carol laughed at their private joke. They had often talked of Carol´s liking for salsa english style.

Angel was pleased that his special was well received. Carol was contented and Olga could now relax.

Wilbur the wild boar had spent his short life running free in the woods of the Alt Emporda countryside. That was until he was shot by a hunter, he was destined to be the final serving of wild boar dished up on the last day of the hunting season.

Wild? I bet wilbur was furious!

Paitience brings it's own reward.

2006-02-05T22:33:00.000+01:00

The lone fisherman stood on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea, the waters fed here by a tidal river. Quietly he watched and waited, listening to the rhythm of the sea as it ebbed and flowed around him.

Shafts of saffron coloured sunlight pierced an aubergine sky. Gathering clouds washed over the setting sun, cooling the air and signalling that, soon day would once again yield to the night. The rising moon heralded the arrival of a breeze.

Below, tension gripped the river waters surface, a silvered mirror on whose face the sky reflected; whilst evening’s insects danced upon that watery stage. It was a picture of serenity, which was broken only occasionally by the sounds of leaping fish.

The creatures that inhabited the estuary waters had been separated from the sea by the sand deposited on an earlier tide. A safe haven had thus been formed in which they were at liberty to forage and to hunt.

Now the sea was returning to reclaim the estuary for itself, wave after wave in turn washed away the sands from the estuary mouth. The Mediterranean and the river merged. Now the former hunters would themselves become pray to the larger species which were able to navigate once more the deeper waters.

The fisherman smiled, the tide was indeed turning. Maybe his luck would too.

Right under our noses

2006-01-22T20:44:00.000+01:00

Taiwanese scientists have succeeded in breeding luminous pigs.

Food technologists will be able to develop luminous pork scratchings (pork rind), ideal for the movies and other dimly lit entertainment venues.

The luminous skin could be the new fashion must have. Glow in the dark leather wear would be a hit with night club patrons and possibly those in the sex industry!

The pigs could be an eco friendly, but smelly, way to light up ‘el Campo’

Peril!

2006-01-22T17:51:00.000+01:00

Deep division exists between, those who favour the building of a 400 kilovolt power line to supply French nuclear generated electricity to Spain; and those against. The power line ‘Mast Alta Tension’ it is claimed, is required to supply the TGV link between Paris and Barcelona.

Catalan protest groups have rallied under the banner of ‘No MAT’, their supporters have added to the graffiti which adorns many public areas in the region. The meetings have attracted both widespread support and influential speakers. Nearly all end with supper and a dance; quite civilised really.

Barcelona

2006-01-19T22:44:00.000+01:00

Barca's midfield utility player Gabri is being linked to my home town club Middlesbrough F.C. I wonder if he could persuade one or two of his team mates to travel with him; perhaps ETO'O would like a new challenge.

Oh! Aye, I read a book once

2006-01-18T21:09:00.000+01:00

http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/aut/

The big man from Bradford did not wait for an invitation, he took a seat at my table.
I smiled and acknowledged his greeting, before returning to my book.
His curiosity was aroused,
"What are you reading?" he asked
Essays by Michel de Montaigne I replied showing him the cover
"Oh! Aye, I read a book once" he said.
"Really" I replied, showing polite interest though somewhat surprised.
"I can't remember what it was called, but it were a bigun" he added.
I knew then that my reading would have to wait. Instead we would spend yet
another evening discussing the varying amount of chopped green chilies he would add to each of the dishes in his favourite Tandoori restaurant back home.
Sometimes you need a distraction...

One of the problems of living in a foreign land is finding enough reading material. A useful site for online texts in English, is the website of The University of Adelaide Library(see link above).
The site lists authors alphabetically, and allows you to read online or download the book for your own use.

Life's a gas

2006-01-16T22:19:00.000+01:00

The Daily Telegraph are reporting that Repsol are bidding for the Liquid petroleum gas division of Shell.

Obviously they are not expecting 'GasNatural' to connect us country folk up any day soon. The market amounts to 300 million euros per annum.

The writer Malcolm Moore states, "the (bottled) gas is popular in rural areas..."

Oh! No it's not it is a pain in the butt!

He obviously does not have to lug these relics of a bygone age around his own home. BBQ's do not count.

Even my Romanian gas delivery man was astounded at how primitive this system is; in what is supposedly an advanced society.

Don't even mention Broadband Internet! After all it is only the 21st. Century.

Cadaqués

2006-01-15T22:06:00.000+01:00

Bear necessities of Life!

2006-01-15T21:36:00.000+01:00

What was believed to be the last remaining female example of the Pyrenees bear, "Cannelle" (French for cinnamon) was shot by a French hunter a year ago. Though lamented by Mr. Chirac at that time, there has been no further news on the promised re-introduction of the species. The bears are largely vegetarian and would be a sad loss to the mountain habitat; there must be enough space in the vast and rugged terrain.

I spoke to a Danish couple who had spent the summer of that year touring the Spanish Pyranees, of all the fantastic things they had seen the sight of a brown bear approaching their Camper van was the true highlight of their visit.

If the Government are serious about promoting rural and eco tourism the re-introduced bears would be a great symbol of their commitment.

Until then this example in the city of Figueres is as close as you can get!

Figueres Church of Sant Pere

2006-01-12T22:32:00.000+01:00

Feliz Navidad

2006-01-05T09:39:00.000+01:00

Christmas Day in Tenerife. The winter sunshine was perfect a comfortable temperature of 24C. most days.

It was good to see so many familiar faces again, and to exchange our experiences of the last twelve months.

Harry in Thailand (see links) is a book which is in turn a humerous account of the exploits of an old friend who should know much better.

Please give Harry some encouragement by leaving your thoughts on the story so far in the comments field.

My place in the Sun

2006-01-04T21:26:00.000+01:00

My short journey from Girona airport to the house on January 28th. 2005 was filled with quite reasonable expectations of an escape from cold and damp Britain. There was a lot of work to do on the house and there would be considerable disruption, we needed to have all the contractors working as a team to minimize delay and meet our spring deadline.

As the sun set over the mountains, the taxi driver cheerfully told me that on the past two days the temperature had climbed to 20 degrees C. Spring was on the way!

My first task was to drive to Olot and speak to the double glazing company about their pending installation work. Olot is higher than our house and set in a volcanic area surrounded by high terrain. The mountain air was fresh, cool and invigorating. As the sun began to set I started out on my journey home, the car thermometer was reading low. And then it snowed, and how it snowed. The cold mountain air swirled the snow flakes in the car headlamps, as features of the landscape disappeared into the blizzard then so did the road. A forty minute journey took twice as long in the treacherous weather.

The weather we had come to Spain to avoid was all around us. A Siberian winter was unfolding. The snow did not last long the air was freezing but devoid of moisture. The strong Traumontana winds blew for 45 of the first sixty days of 2005, the wind chill of all wind chills. Spring was no longer on the way! February was cold. So cold in fact that I heard of some expats who left Spain and returned home to face an English winter.

I had travelled out alone to arrange for central heating to be fitted prior to decorating and the later furniture shipment. We had spent several months researching the different systems, and wished to install a geo-exchange ground pump to extract energy from the ground of the large agricultural part of the finca. To this end, I had contacted the representatives of Spain on the international bodies responsible for the promotion of renewable energy for advice as well as several large scale commercial engineering organizations.

The rocky nature of the land meant that excavation or drilling was expensive. The companies which all had glossy web presentations, seemed to lack confidence in their own abilities when the specifics of the task were discussed. The heat pump was not viable.

Underfloor heating for a house of 316 m2 was also cost prohibitive, we had to settle for radiators.

The massive disruption caused during the installation had to be seen to be believed 9" of concrete had to be excavated to take the water pipes; and so in the end had to budget to re-tile the whole of the house as well.

One particularly cold afternoon the North African heating engineer ran out into the garden whooping with delight

"It's snowing! It's snowing never in my life have I seen snow" he called to me.

"Really! I returned only one week ago and already I've seen it twice" I replied with slightly less enthusiasm.

Now, as I pack my bags to return to the Spanish Costa Brava after a winter sunshine holiday I am watching nervously as the thermometer keeps falling; and reading of the record number of UK ski and snow board tourists arriving at Girona airport en-route to Andora.

One of them zip a dee doo dah days!

2005-12-21T21:28:00.000+01:00

Song of the south was possibly the movie I enjoyed most as a child. I had become fascinated with the Uncle Remus stories from reading my sister Ann's books. That old Brer Rabbit and his friends were larger than life itself! I still enjoy seeing that opening sequence with the blue birds and Uncle Remus.

The birds of northern Spain have provided much needed company in the course of the last year.

We have had the European roller, Bee eaters, Finches galore, Dipper, Robins , Swallows, Jays, Magpies, and others too numerous to mention.

The rollers put on the early morning show along with the finches. The atmosphere changes in mid morning with the arrival of the birds of prey, a variety of hawks hunting the smaller birds.

The kitchen fitter from Figueres, we had employed on our home, was amazed to see four eagles riding the thermal currents above the finca, a familiar sight to ourselves.

On another occaision, I watched in amazement when a flight of swallows rose into the air high above Ordis to drive away a golden eagle.

Working in the finca is always a pleasure surrounded by these colourful creatures.

Everybody sing along now.............

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
My, oh my what a wonderful day!
Plenty of sunshine heading my way
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay

Mister Bluebird on my shoulder
It's the truth, it's actch'll
Ev'rything is satisfactch'll
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Wonderful feeling, wonderful day!

Text

2005-12-21T15:11:00.000+01:00

The movie 'The Twin Towers', part of the 'Lord of the Rings' was shown on Spanish television and provided an opportunity for me to test my theory. My theory that it was possible to learn the language in an enjoyable way.

This after all was a story I was familiar with from both the book and the movie. Well known characters from the story would speak perfect Spanish, as I read the corresponding text from the subtitles below thereby reinforcing my learning of the language; simple but brilliant!

I had equipped my new language lab with all the essentials, a wide-screen T.V. with remote control, copious amounts of ice cold beer, and a variety of junk food to snack on. Oh! And the not quite so important pencil and paper, dictionary etc. This would be the deluxe learning package; maybe I should patent my new method.

The story unfolded as expected and I tried to follow the Spanish text, though this was often interrupted by pop up ads for forthcoming football matches and other programmes. Still that provided an opportunity for further refreshments to be enjoyed.

As the movie continued the text seemed to be quite succinct compared to the actors spoken words; paraphrasing important dialogue possibly kept the flow but lost the subtlety of the script.

Later as I watched a scene involving the hobbits Sam and Frodo, the discrepancies were more apparent.

Frodo Spoken Spanish, 'yakity yak yakity yak yakity yakity yakity yak: yakity yak yakity yak yakity yak yakity yak Sam'

Frodo text version 'Sam'.

The further into the movie I watched the worse it got, I formed the opinion that the sub title writer was watching another channel, flicking backwards and forwards on his remote control with little interest in the story. My experiment had failed!

Dali by moonlight

2005-11-15T21:01:00.000+01:00

The Dali Theatre Museum has been open to visitors throughout August for nighttime visits. The moonlight and floodlights add to the drama of the theatre building. The cool night air and absence of large crowds or queues make it a much more pleasant experience.

The contents are interesting but as with all artists the more significant of his works are spread far and wide around the world.

Sortie

2005-11-12T01:51:00.000+01:00

Horse and deer flies are two of the nastiest biting insects I have come across.

Don't let those big blue green eyes fool you, the flies eyes not mine, these insects are out to hurt you. Look at the mouth end! It is comprised of a pair of machete like inscisors which rip apart your flesh in an instant causing the blood to flow and allowing the fly to gorge itself.

It is reported that deer flies are the most likely to bite humans but they seem to be in direct competition with the horse flies in these parts. To make matters worse the pests hunt in packs, at times this summer they hunted in squadrons.

The Flies must die! this has been my motto throughout the hot dry summer but the only sure fire way of killing them is to swat them or to ensnare them in a chemical trap.

In windy conditions they lie low around swimming pools and patio areas, conserving energy for future blood sucking raids.

It was on one such windy day that I worked happily away in the garden, shovelling ton after ton of soil and rubble. All was well, the soil heaps were diminishing and one small corner of the garden was emerging from the unpromising land.

As I wheeled my wheelbarrow, along paths broad and narrow, I noticed that the cooling breeze was fading away. I was not the only creature to observe this, crickets and butterflies again took to the wing the swallows too.

Nearby and more sinister by far the flies were stirring.

Wing commander to fly squadron ready for take off…off we go

heading towards the stables and we will approach the target from the rear.

Hold that formation keep it tight.

Target five meters ahead, there he is the barrow boy

We’re coming out of the sun, he can’t see us ok everybody here we go strike! strike! strike!

Argh! The pain in my right shoulder as the first fly bit, I let the barrow fall Argh! A second bite then a third and a fourth, as I tried to swat the attackers away a fifth bite to my shoulder marked then end of that particular attack. My shoulder was sore and already the flesh was swelling, reacting to the bites.

Wing commander to fly squadron, ok everybody back to base! Job well done

A Fig from Figueres

2005-11-11T21:20:00.000+01:00

A fig from Figueres

Late summer salads in Spain are often adorned by fresh figs, a superb accompaniment to the fine cured ham of the peninsular.

Due to the Iberian drought the yield from this year’s fig harvest was low. The shallow rooted fig trees were denied rain water until late September; the few fruits that survived the hordes of insect pests were small but full of flavour.

I attempted to dry the figs in a domestic oven set to the minimum temperature; the process took the best part of two days to complete. Once dried, I stored them in an airtight container with the layers separated by paper towel to absorb any remaining moisture. After a period of two weeks I found that mould was growing on some of the fruit and had to discard that batch.

A second batch was prepared in the same way but stayed fresher longer. The figs survived a flight to England were they were devoured by my wife Carol.

Mmm! I wonder...

2005-10-14T16:30:00.000+02:00

While spending the night watching the recent Tropical Storm Vince doing its worst, I couldn't help but wonder about the weather.

As thunder claps exploded over the land with a deafening roar and lightning tore at the clouds above; I decided to count the seconds between the two weather phenomenon to establish how much distance there was between the storm. Suddenly the whole landscape was illuminated by a series of lightening flashes and was accompanied the deafening boom of thunder overhead. Street lights in the surrounding villages went out for a moment, no sooner were they re-lit than the storm blew them out again. Vince is here! There is no distance between us.

After long minutes of intense storm activity the period between thunder bolts and lightning flashes lengthened a little, I began to count ....

And then it struck me! The thought not the lightning. At home the measurement was 1 second to mile, but here in continental Europe they measured distance in kilometers; here maybe 1 second equals 1 kilometer rather than a mile. Perhaps they have metric weather?

Climate change!

2005-10-12T02:26:00.000+02:00

The changeable nature of the worlds weather has become an obsession for media commentators around the world. Spain is no exception, exceptional weather has been this years norm.

In little over a year I have experienced the hottest summer, the coldest winter and the most prolonged period of drought in the last 120 years. When the drought finally ended the rains brought by tropical storm Vince brought chaos and wide spread damage to the Costa Brava coastal region; 272 liters of rain fell per m2 in a period of 48 hours.

With resevoirs at 35% capacity everyone wanted the rains to come, but with so much in such a short period of time the flood water washed away crops and roads, and did little to alleviate the water shortage.

Salon de Bal

2005-07-12T02:52:00.000+02:00

Social dancing is thriving in the northern towns and villages of Girona. Posters can often be seen on prominent display for a coming Salon de Bal to be held at the local social centre. Dance classes are available at several venues around the city, all in all it would seem to be a popular past time.

Today I received this photograph from my mother showing, a slightly younger version of me receiving an award; from the International Dancing Masters Association for ballroom and modern sequence dancing.

I am therefore equipped to set the dance floor alight at the next Salon. Maybe not a Gigilo but certainly a Jig.

Should I display my credentials? Perhaps I could wear my medals, or would it be more discrete just to leave the certificates lying around?

The boys from the Blackstuff!

2005-07-11T21:58:00.000+02:00

“Do you speak a little English?” Said the Irishman at the door.

“Yes, I am English”

“Well if you can manage a little English we should be fine”

“Would you be interested in a little tarmacadum? for the road there”

“I was wandering when you would show up” I laughed, “unfortunately it’s not my road, it belongs to the town”

“It’s not yours but surely it’s part of the land!”

“It looks that way but it isn’t.” I continued, “I know that the mayor is looking at road works at the moment why don’t you go to the town hall and offer to tender for the work”

“They tend to be fond of the paperwork at the town hall, that all takes time.”

“What about dese fellas down here” he said indicating the Huerta at the bottom of the nearby field

“The house is owned by an elderly Catalan couple who don’t speak English. However that’s were the town hall are considering the road works; but you need to go through the system.”

“I could just have a quick word with them down there about the road; we don’t need to worry about the paperwork.”

“How come you are in this neck of the woods” I asked.

“Oh we come through this area every year about now, just doing the farms like” he replied before adding “I’m looking for an old English car if you‘ve got one, don’t mind if it’s a ringer.”

He gave me the number of a mobile he was currently using, to contact him if I found any work for him.

“Who shall I ask for?” I enquired.

He seemed to be considering this, as he wrote 'JoHn' on the piece of paper.

It was as if he was writing his name for the first time.

Round the mulberry Bush

2005-07-11T21:24:00.000+02:00

It turns out that the three trees which provide some much needed shade on the patio are mulberries. Very sweet and subtle in flavour. I have frozen 6 kg of the fruit for use in deserts and ice creams, for every berry I pick another fifty are dislodged and fall to the ground.

The berries are so sweet, that when bruised they release there sugary juices, coating everything that comes into contact with them. The ground is covered with spoiled fruit and in turn the fruit is covered in insects. The fruit is attracting a lot of interest from the neighborhood birds. There are those birds which feed directly on the fruit; and others like the bee eaters who feed on the insects that feed on the fallen fruit.

Everyone walking into the house leaves a trail of rotten fruit behind. This is a tree which should be planted away from the house.

Life

2005-07-10T15:29:00.000+02:00

The sheep are growing fast now. They arrive in a cloud of dust stirred by their 2000 feet. In there wake, the cattle egrets feed on the grasshoppers and crickets they have disturbed.

In the finca I can see that two ewes are looking distressed. They are either side of the boundry tape seperating our land from the adjoining field. Francisco is sat on a wall in the shade with the two sheepdogs at his feet; he is across the field from the two ewes and waves to me. As I walk towards the distressed animals intending to lower the boundry tape and reunite them, I notice that the ewe in the field has afterbirth hanging from her rear end. Lying very still in the barley stubble is a small lamb. The lamb is exposed to the baking sun and showing no sign of life. I wave to Francisco to attract his attention, he waves back at me as if in greeting. Beckoning more urgently results in Fransisco crossing the field towards me. He looked upon the lamb without concern and told me that had been born within the last hour and would be ok. It was he said, the sixth lamb to be born in the last two days. He took the tiny animal by its rear legs and dangled it over his shoulder ride for the long journey home.

As the two dogs rounded up the straying sheep I remarked that the herd were looking well.

' Sí bueno, pero en un más mes, de muerto!' as he spoke he drew his right hand across his throat in a cutting motion.

The sheep we watered each day, which grazed on our land amongst the rosemary and mint were nearer their life journeys end.

Besalú

2005-07-06T01:54:00.000+02:00

Besalú

This is the 12th. Century roman bridge spanning the river Fluvià.
A toll was raised from the mediaeval travellers who crossed the bridge.
Recently a Mikva a form of ritual Jewish Bath House has been recognised and restored.

New broom

2005-07-05T16:29:00.000+02:00

One of the great joys of house renovation is dust, it permeates the air of every room in the house; covering each and every surface several times a day with a film of debris. The polished granite worktops and tiled surfaces intended to make life easier have instead become showcases for the builders waste.

There must be something in the macho code signed up to by most Spanish males, which prevents builders from purchasing sweeping brushes. No matter the scale of the company, none of them will come prepared with the brushes and shovels needed to clear away the inevitable debris, they create. Instead they will utilise domestic dust pans to shovel away tons of broken concrete and tiles. I have run out of hiding places for brushes and dust pans, and accepted the inevitability of shopping weekly for such items.

I am not yet at ease with the design of Spanish sweeping brush; their handles are always 90° to the brush head, and it is impossible to apply any force behind such a brush head. And therein lays the problem, a whole new technique is required.

If you spend any time in a busy Tapas bar, you will eventually become aware that the customers are slowly disappearing in a sea of their own litter. Food morsels, napkins, cigarette buts, small animals and children can be identified amongst the debris. Some customers loose sight of their feet for several hours in the process of dining.

Periodically the Camerera/o (waiter/bar staff) will emerge from behind the bar to tackle the growing pile of litter. Using one of those rather delicate continental brushes each scrap of the offending litter is deftly flicked into the dust pan, leaving not a trace. These bars should, I now believe, display warnings to the effect that customers should not try this at home.

When you next tackle the builders debris, emboldened by the technique of the Camerera you have patiently studied and emulated you find that the mountain of dust and debris that moments ago lay before you has miraculously disappeared without trace. Success at last! It’s obviously all in the wrist action.

Turn around however, and you will find that the pile of debris, having flown though the air and over your dust pan has reformed behind you.

Oh! well its back to the bar for further studies.

Dog's best friend?

2005-07-04T02:06:00.000+02:00

Yorkshire terriers are in danger of becoming the Catalan version of the poodle. They are the fashion accessory of the moment for middle aged residents of the country.

Small in stature the dogs were originally bred from other robust terrier breeds, to catch vermin down the coal mines of Yorkshire. You can understand how a miner descending into the bowels of the earth would rather carrier a diminutive terrier than one of its bigger cousins.

Quick to spot a rat, fearless and affectionate, that is the terriers and not the miners;(though come to think of it that could also describe the straight talking miners of northern Britain), the dogs grew in popularity and were soon established as a breed in their own right. That was when their problems started. Everybody who owns the increasingly shrinking Yorkshire terriers feels obliged to pick them up. The tough little terrier is now a lap dog.

The dogs still have personality but are losing the essence of their breed becoming more toy than terrier. Maybe it is not too late, if all the owners would put the dogs on the ground and treat them like dogs; then they would be healthier for it. In a few generations the Tyke could be more like its oldself.

http://ayup.co.uk/yorkshire/

Castell Sant Ferran

2005-07-03T21:54:00.000+02:00

The lovies have descended on Figueres for the filming of scenes for the movie, 'Tirant lo blank'

'Tirant lo blank' is a fifteenth century epic adventure story, written by Joanot Martorell a knight and author beleived to have lived in Valencia between 1413 and 1465. The book gives an insight into his views of 15th Century life. Conveiniently re-shaping history to fit.

Tirant lo blancas was described by Cervantes curate in Don Quixote as,

'by right of its style it is the best book in the world. Here knights eat and sleep, and die in their beds, and make their wills before dying, and a great deal more of which there is nothing in all the other books. Nevertheless, I say he who wrote it, for deliberately composing such fooleries, deserves to be sent to the galleys for life.'

Don Quixote later refers to 'the never sufficiently praised Tirante el Blanco.'

The book was written a hundred years before Cevantes put pen to paper.

'The knightly estate excels in such degree that it would be highly revered, if knights pursued the ends for which it was created.'

The translation into english ISBN: 0517623161

In the year of Cervantes 400th anniversary this book makes an interesting read.

Back to the present...

The castle of Saint Fernando of Figueres has been converted into a Turkish stronghold for the movie.

The local thespians mainly long haired and weird beard types, are suddenly fashionable again and desperate for roles as extras in the movie.

The web site of the castle can be found at,

http://ww2.grn.es/santferranfigueres/

Organic gardening

2005-06-30T02:11:00.000+02:00

Late spring days to those of early fall, witness the passing of the Shepherds and their flocks of up 500 sheep. Accompanied generally by two Catalan sheepdogs - Gos d'Atura Català, though often these days, the dogs may be mongrol. The shepherds walk up to 20 kilometers per day, guiding their charges as they forage on the grass and weeds which sprout between barley harvests, or along the hedgerow. In their wake they leave a carpet of droppings which look like someone spilt a tin of giant sized caviar. Older gardeners swear by sheep droppings as fertilizer for tomatoes. Mayby I should follow in their wake with by brush and pan

We invited Francisco one of the shepherds to graze his flock on our land. We thought that in return for the free grass they would take care of the weeds for us; and fertilize the land with their droppings as they walked.

Francisco explained that the sheep could not graze on the land because of the pinchon , a yellow coloured flower on a mass of prickles. So we had the arduous job of hand weeding the pinchon, to make matters worse we are unable to burn the weed because of the fire risk.

Although these very particular sheep would not co-operate by eating our weeds, they eat all of our potted plants and seedlings. Including my prize Ginger plants.

The prospect of 14,000m2 of hand weeding was a nightmare. So we purchased a McCullough strimmer; and hoped that by cutting the weeds down before they reached the flowering stage we would prevent seed formation and ease the burden for subsequent years.

We faced two further problems; though the strimmer was excellent for cutting through the weeds, amongst those weeds were large field stones. The sort of stone used to build ancient chuches and settlements. Each stone had to be dug out with a pick or mattock, collected and then barrowed away and there were literally tons of them, it must rain stones here. The stones will be used to construct garden features in the near future, although it appears we may have enough to build a small basilica.

The second problem we faced whilst cutting the pinchon, was that they seemed to harbor the worlds collection of caragols or snails. If like me you find the thought of eating them abhorrent then strimming is not for you. By the end of any period of strimming your clothes are covered with debris from the snails. Try it without a face mask and you will find that your eyes become magnets for the shells, whilst the soft parts find their way into your mouth. You can tell a happy strimmer, by counting the number of dead snails on their teeth.

Tolkeinitis

2005-06-27T22:14:00.000+02:00

Wearing boots all day whilst working the land takes it's toll on the lower limbs. So the change to sandals is a cooling, refreshing and pleasant experience.

Or at least it was until I noticed I have grown Hobbit's feet. This has come as a shock to me. My feet were always on the large side (size 10), but they were extremely suitable for dancing.

But now look at them they hug the ground like clams, and would rival those owned by any ship of the desert. If I notice the toes becoming any hairier then I will call for medical intervention.

Musta.

2005-06-27T21:42:00.000+02:00

The paleta has taken his siesta, as always, on the stroke of one o'clock. Tiling the floors of the entire house and two full bathrooms is heavy work, and with the weather becoming increasingly hot and humid he feels the strain. Each day after his meal he tends to need to lie down and rest his back, often sleeping for the entire two hours of the siesta, before returning to his task.

Outside on the balcony the Paleta can feel the effects of a welcome and cooling breeze, blowing gently across the Mediterranean sea.

A battered transistor radio, permanently tuned to radio Tangier, plays the music of his homeland. Eating traditional food he sips at his mint tea, and sings along with the melodies of a far away land. Mustapha is enjoying a Moroccan moment!

2005-06-01T15:17:00.000+02:00

Ladder Snake

Night of the sorrowful countenance

2005-06-01T14:36:00.000+02:00

Tuesday had been another long day. As well as working on the land I had also moved a lot of rubble from the construction work Exhausted though I felt, it was now 3:30am and I had been unable to sleep.

With the bathrooms still out of commission I had to return to the darkness of the underworld.

Emboldened by the previous night’s success in my skirmishes with the Terminator, I called out to the toad as I reached for the light switch,

‘If you are down here there is going to be trouble’

The light flickered on and there in the middle of the floor was the toad.

‘Right you’ve asked for it’ said I, reaching for my cardboard shield.

I moved towards the creature, but as I neared my quarry it began to uncoil. Toads do not uncoil not even Terminators. No this must be a snake, a snake oh no now we've got snakes in the house.

A snake but what type of snake? Not a grass snake no the colouring was more like an adder… but they are poisonous, that much I knew. I decided to photograph the snake in case the doctor should need it for identification when searching for the correct antivenin.

I photographed the coiled snake and the camera flash light roused the resting creature, which slithered across the floor looking for a new hiding place. With my cardboard shield at the ready I scoured the underworld for a new weapon. I took up a sweeping brush and advanced on the snake. Using the brush like a lance I pushed the snake towards the door, while shielding myself with the cardboard. Soon I had the upper hand my superior weaponry was proving to be decisive. With the snake pinned back with the broom I lowered the cardboard shield to open the door; at that the snake made a lunge at the broom’s bristles jaws open wide. Then, were my eyes deceiving me? It started to disappear into the brush but emerged through the bristles and the back of the brush towards my hand.

I dropped my lance and shield and retreated. It seemed as Falstaff once put it that,

‘The better part of valour is discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life.’

The snake moved away, at once I seized upon my weapons and with renewed energy rejoined the battle this time ready for any serpent trickery. The snake was soon subdued. I trapped it between my lance and shield and removed it from the underworld.

The snake slithered away into the night. Adieu then my worthy adversary!

6a.m. wide awake. I decide to check the under build in case the snake has returned.

No there is no sign of the snake. But wait what is that moving in the shadows… it was the Terminator toad! Another battle but this time my quarry was soon beaten. My skills honed in combat with the snake were too much for Terminator.

As the toad ambled towards the long grass beyond the underworld I called out to him,

“You had better watch out there is a snake out there!”

I swear the toad stopped and changed direction, glancing back towards me he didn’t have to say anything, I knew he’d be back.

Between a rock and a hard place.

2005-06-01T01:59:00.000+02:00

The Finca has a surface area of 14,000 m2. It is weed infested and consists largely of clay, much neglected it has been compacted by the constant traversing of horses.

a fig from figueres

2005-05-31T22:46:00.000+02:00

Figueres lives under the magical influence of surrealism.

This is the home of Salvidor Dali. http://www.figueresciutat.com

Capital of the Alt EmpordÃ ,in the province of Girona, in the Catalunya region of Spain.

The north Eastern corner of Mediterraneann Spain.

This will be our new home.

Without doubt it will be an adventure for us, we hope it may prove to be an adventure for you. Come back and view our progress or lack of it as we strive to establish our place in the sun.

2005-05-31T14:27:00.000+02:00

Terminator

Amphibians with attitude

2005-05-31T14:10:00.000+02:00

With the house undergoing major renovation we have lost the use of both bathrooms; and are having to use a rudimentary affair in the under-build of the house. Functional though it is this bathroom is usually avoided. Not only is decrepit, it is often visited by toads who limbo under the garage door.

Unlike the garden frogs who hop away when disturbed, the local toads seem to have adopted a different attitude. These toads are in no hurry they don’t jump, they amble, looking back over their shoulder as they do so as if to say, ‘I’ll be back’. like some kind of an insect terminator

Monday night and before going to bed I decided to pay a visit to the bathroom. Sure enough there was the toad, surly as ever. But with the aid of a piece of cardboard, which proved to be an effective shield, I ushered the toad out of the back door and into the night. I watched as he shuffled away glancing back towards me with that familiar look of the terminator toad.

2am and I needed to go to bathroom. Down three flights of stairs I descended to the darkness of what was fast becoming more of the underworld than the under-build.

The light switches are strategically placed so the you must enter the realm of darkness before you can benefit from light. Under my right foot I felt something soft, ‘Oh no not the toad’! With the light on I was relieved to find it was only a piece of lagging from the pipe work. After all toads are desirable for their pest control qualities, though you don’t really want them in the house.

Then I saw it, I could’t believe it, sitting in the shower tray was the terminator toad.
‘Out!’ I said, using the cardboard as a shield once more to remove the toad via the same door.

As the toad ambled away I called after it, ‘And don’t come back’.
The toad hesitated for a moment, before looking back over it’s shoulder the way terminators do as if to say,

‘Oh, I’ll be back’

What’s in a name?

2005-05-30T22:34:00.000+02:00

The restaurant was quiet that Thursday evening. The waiter a tall and pleasant young man greeted us in Spanish before moving effortlessly into English. He told us about his experiences whilst working in Wales in an effort to practice his language skills.

On a nearby table four men were discussing travel arrangements back to the UK. Two of them would prefer to travel by micro light following the Mediterranean coast, whilst the others would ride high powered motorcycles; tracking their progress. It seemed, from their conversation that riding through the Pyrenees was deemed to be rather more arduous than flying over them.

The food was good, as was the service. We had enjoyed our evening and expressed our satisfaction to the waiter when he returned.

Having engaged the waiter in conversation. The young man told us about the advantages of having both German and Spanish parents. He was naturally bi-lingual.

Before adding;

“I was raised here in Spain, so my parents decided I should have a Spanish name to make life easier at school for me”

Very sensible of them we acknowledged.

So what did they call you? we asked, guessing Miguel, Antonio…

“Fernando” he replied

Neither of us spoke though instinctively knew what the other was thinking.

The waiter spoke, “Apparently many years ago there was a song”.

An ironic smile played across his face as he offered a slight bow before turning and walking away.

Parents …priceless!

Der Boot Dokter

2005-05-30T22:30:00.000+02:00

On the road to Roses from Figueres you see a large warehouse bearing the legend

Der Boot Doktor

cobblers on a grand scale I thought, but I was wrong it was a repair shop for the boating fraternity of Empuriabrava.