When I mentioned to some friends Matt & Clare at my favourite local breakfast haunt Petitou in Peckham that we were looking at a place in Spain Matt said that he had recently recommended the book Driving over Lemons to his daughter. A book that was sitting on the book shelf at home. It reminded me that I had read the books some years ago and thought I’d go back and read them again. I’ve started and they are wonderful and particularly relevant to the new adventure we find ourselves having.
As well as twitter I use Instagram. A lot. My camera was a purchase not long after my father died and was a more expensive one than I would normally buy. But I’ve loved it. Never far from my hand it enables me to snap away. That’s why the pictures of Ian are always of him ahead of me. Firstly he hates pictures and there are very few of us together. Secondly. I am always hanging back snapping away happily. This and that.
A fellow instagrammer commented on some of my recent Andalusia pictures and said that it was like Driving over lemons. That had me smiling. Two mentions of lemons in such a short space of time. I almost gave myself a squeeze with delight. Rather than usually having a face like I’ve been sucking a lemon.
It’s all about the citrus. Oranges and lemons. Lemons and limes.
Andalusia is indeed special. Has beautiful scenery. Mountains. Great light. Long and winding roads where motion sickness pills may be required. Just to get to the bottom of the hill. Zig zag roads. Twisty. The road from Competa to Torrox Costa a roller coaster of a drive. There is Coastline. Beaches. Mountains. Natural parks. People. ( back to the horse rider again). Tapas. Wine. The attitude of don’t do it today if it can wait for a week. Maybe not next week. But a week. You can’t be in a hurry in Spain. Unlike London where we are always rushing. Here there. So it’s a glorious difference and a great adventure to be starting. Part time. Not full. I need no convincing.
The mountains are spectacular surrounding the Andalusia Towns and villages. There was snow on the mountain tops in early March when we were last there. Now its all gone. With bright blue skies. And a moon. Oh and heat and a mosquito. Or two.
The white washed towns and villages hang onto the side of the mountains. Pristine. White. Narrow streets – steep and winding. But making you want to see what’s around the corner. At the top of the steps. Breathless. Both in body. And spirit! Ian ahead of me As usual. Striding to get to the top. Me just striving to get to the top. Eventually.
I have found my Spanish’ Petitou. Casa Paco is situated on the square. Is friendly. Always busy. Now to try and order in Spanish. Or spanglais. I can ask for the bill. For toothpicks. Say hello. Ian is better than me. We both have apps on our phone trying to learn. If you see Ian on the tube. He’s not talking to himself. He’s learning his verbs. If you see me. I probably am.
Just down yet another long and winding road is Torrox Costa and then onto Nerja . Nerja with its restaurants. The beaches. Glorious torquise sea. Rocks. A coastline. Sea air. A slight detour to Frigiliana another white washed town nesltling on the hillside. But more touristy – has tour buses. Tourists. Like us. Except we have driven.
So back to Competa. On a clear day you can see down to the coast a 45 minute drive away. Probably quicker if I am not driving. Slowly. Ignoring my co driver saying. Ooh look at that. Sorry Ian. All I can look at is the road ahead.
These are known as the hanging houses in Competa. There are literally hanging on the cliffl looking pretty moorish lit up at night.
I wonder if i can get a part time job. The goat man with his herd of goats. Who walks them around the town and mountainside. Ian unimpressed with my sound of music rendition of ‘High on a hill with a lonely goat herd’. He hasn’t heard the yodelling bit yet. You smell the goats before you see or hear them. And the man has a whistle that they seem to understand. A bit pied piper to me . The downside for the part time job. That suit. I’m not sure it would suit me.
These plants are lethal. They seem to have taken a dislike for me. Big time. I swear they see me coming and jump out to scratch my arm. Badly. My hand was swollen after getting stabbed by one of these. But they along with the palms are beautiful and majestic.
More great views across the mountains.
I am looking forward to further forays into the surrounding villages. A trip to Granada. To Córdoba. To Malaga old town. A train trip to Sevilla. Oh. There will be pics. Lots of them. But not of me. Maybe of the back of Ian’s head. Of plants. And definetly of a horseman riding by.