15/2003 - DIY Fruitbats
4th March 2004 - Orgiva
!Buenos Dias todo el mundo!
We have been at Orgiva for three weeks now - for Rollingfruitbats this is dangerously close to getting static, and if it wasn't for commitments in other locations, with dates attached, we would certainly be here for a lot longer. The place itself is like a magnet for us both, and we have had such an amazing time since we've been here that we've become even more seriously addicted than we were before this visit!
We've met some great people - on the Camping, in the town, people who live here or are just visiting; we've been out and about exploring the area; we've had visitors from Blighty; we've (both) worked hard (but especially Dave); we've increased our Spanish vocab phenomenally, especially in the builder's merchant / hardware / DIY department; we've eaten out more in this time than the rest of the trip to date; we've picked, eaten and/or squeezed more oranges than Mrs Sainsbury could dream of; we've learned the olive equivalent of winnowing, getting the olives ready for pressing; we've eaten vast quantities of the best broad beans and lettuces in Andalucia (thanks, Paco!); babysat (puppysat?!) the wriggliest little Sausage dog youngster; encountered more lively Carnaval extravaganzas, and experienced an astonishing range of Alpujarran weather. Oh, and for good measure Jeni even had a quasi-work event, a very Spanish 'meeting' (a four hour lunch!) with three people who work for an organisation of Disabled people down in Motril, half an hour away down on the coast - interpretation courtesy of Star.
So, this is our excuse for having become somewhat lax in our Bulletin-ing. We have to confess too that the Boggle Challenge has also suffered in this wild whirl of activity, though normal service in both areas is gradually being resumed as our time at Orgiva comes to an end (for now) and we try to think about new and different routines as we return to the road.
What of Proyecto Trabajo (Project Work)? Well this was a chance for Dave to get to know ALL the ferreterias and associated shops in and around Orgiva. It's funny, the one word Dave remembered (without prompting) from previous trips to Spain was 'ferreteria' - hardware, DIY, ironmonger type shops - and he sussed out just about every one in town (mind you, that's a total of about 4 so don't get too alarmed). One day we took Paco, Star's elderly next door neighbour, into town as we encountered him setting off from his house for the walk into Orgiva (surely a 50 minute hike from there, even using cut-through footpaths?). After we'd done our respective business in town, met up with Paco again and set off back to Tijola, we did just one more stop at the best ferreteria for yet more bits and bobs - Paco's eyes lit up as we stopped outside and he told Dave he was going in with him. Even with Dave's little bit of Spanish and Paco's lack of English they communicated perfectly - yes, definitely the best and cheapest ferreteria in town they agreed! They were as one, and Jeni, sitting in the car waiting for them, thought she'd lost them both forever!
Star also took us down back alleys to find the preferred place for paint and, armed with a few key words and phrases from her, we also negotiated our way round the local carpentry shed, specialising in making doors, windows and shutters, and managed to buy the right size and type of planks for shelving. Quite an education. There's definitely a niche for someone to set up Spanish classes majoring in house renovation, since there are an awful lot of Brits doing it in Spain!
Then came one of the best bits. Star had arranged the loan of what was meant to be a tower scaffold with Antonio, a local builder who did lots of work on her sister's house and is now building a house for her other sister. Not only, you see, were there shelves for Dave to put up, bits of electrical work to be done and other odds and ends indoors, but what was most needful was painting the outside of the house. On the appointed morning, your determined Fruitbats were up at some ungodly hour (it wasn't even light of course), breakfasted, in the car and driving over to meet Antonio on his current site as the sun came picturesquely over the hills just before 8am. In fact, we felt rather smug as Antonio had asked Star to tell us to arrive by 8am at the latest as he wanted to get on with his working day (he's legendary for his incredibly hard work), and didn't we just get there 15 minutes before him? Oh yes.
So The Lads - Antonio, his two co-workers and Dave - loaded the scaffolding onto a van and off we all beetled in convoy through the heart-stoppingly beautiful morning light to the house. Well, call me naïve, says Jeni, but when someone says tower scaffold (or even 'torre andamio' if we're going native), I think of a nice solid square tower, with platforms at various heights and probably on (lockable) wheels for ease of repositioning. Is that what we got? No, folks of course not, how could Jeni have been so wrong? What Antonio y amigos put up was a few sections of regular scaffold with slightly rusty double metal planks somewhere just under roof height. And for good measure, since it was swaying a bit at the top, a length of baling twine was found and used to lash it to the outside electric cables for stability! (Or could it have been for additional warmth, Dave wondered?!)
You may also recall from the previous Bulletin that this is a rather narrow section of road (remember the trouble with the Lorry's back-end swing?!) so did we get any fluorescent markers, flags or anything to warn approaching motorists? Did we heck! Dave, being well schooled in Health and Safety, decided to attach the hazard warning triangles from our hire car to either end of the scaffold, so he had at least a fleeting chance of not being knocked into next week by the passing school minibus or farm vehicles which hurtled past (barely slowing) every so often. Several people subsequently commented on the curious warning triangles - obviously of great novelty value!
So there was the alleged torre andamio and Dave was ready to roll. Except the roller didn't seem to be very effective. Far from it. Here we had the roughest of rough-cast concrete to be painted with 'pintura plastica', the white plasticized paint that is now almost always used for Spanish houses. No more the thin, easy-to-apply whitewash. Thick and gloopy? Definitely. A consistency somewhat akin to Jeni's Mum's most robust porridge. Try working that into the million tiny holes, crevices and divots in the rough-cast concrete whilst tottering about on the top of some very Spanish scaffolding! This is the kind of activity that some hang-'em-and-flog-'em Home Secretaries might like to consider as the more severe end of the Community Service Order scale. But Dave personfully gave it his best shot and gradually worked his way along the first half of the building from the position of the first planks. So far so good, although he knew that it would need a second coat.
Carlos y Carmen, the next door neighbours, wandered past every so often, gazing up, shaking their heads sympathetically 'Mucho trabajo, mucho trabajo'. Yes, certainly it was going to be a lot of work, but Dave was up for it, and, if the truth be known, having a ball. Meanwhile, Jeni was repainting the walls of the little balcony (considerably smoother but still hard going) and staining the planks to en-rusticate the shelves. So a good day's work by the time we clocked out, hosed down and made our way to Star's for supper, where Paco was sitting in the kitchen with a glass of wine, having turned up with huge bags of freshly picked broad beans for our supper. Star's other sister, Kate, and brother-in-law Walter had also arrived from England for a few days, so we all sat round the kitchen table shelling broad beans, quaffing vino tinto as Star rustled up delicious food and translated Paco's stories, Star's daughter popped in and out to entertain us with snatches of rap in Spanish with a Jamaican accent, Henry the Big Dog sat with his head in Dave's lap having his ears scratched and Daisy Bat Dog lay and gazed adoringly up at Star. Sometimes life can be quite magical, can't it?!
And then what happens? The weather breaks. We woke next day to the sound of heavy rain on VeeJay's roof, to see the hills shrouded in heavy cloud. There's an expression in Spanish, 'Bad weather, happy faces' and certainly for local people having their first rain in three months was great. For those balanced on the already dodgy scaffold attempting to wield brushes full of gloopy paint, it was definitely not a welcome metereological development. So Dave continued with some of the inside tasks until the sun parted the clouds (at least down in the valley), the rain stopped and it looked like there would be a decent interval in which to make another assault on the outside painting. However, what this involved first of all, was shifting the metal planking down a couple of rungs to get at the next 'slice' of wall. Not that easy when everything was wet and slippery and the planks, which hooked over each end of the scaffold, were half solid with rust. Somehow, Dave managed to effect the manoeuvre and he cracked on with turning the grey concrete white.
So this slow, steady and muscle-punishing process went on for a couple of days, dodging the heavy showers. There was a moment when Dave came indoors complaining to Jeni that it was now snowing. She assured him that the snow was still confined to the high hills and that he might just wish to clean the flecks of white pintura plastica off his glasses ... ! So the first half of the house was done, not entirely to Dave's satisfaction as it would need a second coat, but it was definitely coming along. Now, he said, he'd just need to shift the scaffold along to the next bit. Quite reasonably, Jeni thinks, she suggested that we might pop along to where Antonio was working and ask him if he could spare one of the lads for half an hour to give Dave a hand - she even offered to write the script and deliver it in Spanish (at least, it would be pigeon Spanish, but would hopefully convey the message). No, no, that wouldn't be necessary, Dave assured her, he could manage.
This particular piece of agony could occupy several pages, but to protect your delicate sensibilities we'll just encapsulate a particularly poignant moment for you. This is the point where Dave is astride a 15 foot high slippery wet side of scaffolding, attempting to hammer the hook holding the metal plank onto a secure pole, whilst Jeni is hanging over the wall halfway up the open external stairway, resolutely grasping another section of (extremely heavy) scaffolding to stop it falling, whilst simultaneously sobbing 'You're too young to die!' (or at least something very similar and nauseating!). Meanwhile, down below, the small tractor and trailer barrels past the scaffolding for the fourth time that day as it shoots through with another load of freshly pulled leeks and spring onions and three of the women who have been working down in the fields. It brushes the scaffold as it passes, adding an additional frisson to the already disturbing situation, and trails a pungent oniony aroma and the rain-dampened clatter of the women's conversation (which Jeni swears was incredulous exclamations at the antics of the two mad English folk). This, please believe us, is no exaggeration.
There is no doubt in Jeni's mind that Dave's (admittedly successful) attempts at single-handedly moving the scaffold that had taken four men to erect, will go down in the annals of Tijola history. They will be telling this until the beautiful mountains sink to the sparkly sea. 'The boy' as Jeni's Mum once famously said of Dave, 'is quite mad'. (Only SHE meant it as a compliment!)
Anyroadup, despite the best endeavours of the unexpectedly prolonged spring rain, and later in the week, another quite bad case of wind, the front of the house did at least get one coat of paint. And only one of the hazard warning triangles got mashed to a pulp in the process. Happily, Dave did not suffer a similar fate. None of the regularly passing vehicles - residents' cars, the tractor, school bus, the voluble chicken-seller's van or post mini-bus - seemed any the worse for wear after squeezing past the scaffolding for those few days, and the episode must have given them all something to talk about for a while.
Meanwhile, back on the social side of life ...
But, hey, that's probably enough for now. Let's leave some other stories for the next episode.
Love to you all and take care,
Jeni y Dave The Determined
xx
p.s. You are such a fab lot of correspondents, answering so many of life's philosophical questions that we pose from time to time. Nicky emailed us some explanations of 'autochthonous' (remember that one from the plant life on the shark rock at Calpe?) ['formed in its present location. Antonym of allochthonous. Material, particularly within sediments and sedimentary rocks, that has formed or grown in situ and has not been transported.'] Thanks to Nicky, when Jeni came across the term again in Gerald Brenan's 'South From Granada' which she's been reading, it all made sense. This is a classic book about the Alpujarras in the 1920s and 1930s and he talks about how 'roads built for the motorists put an end to the autochthonous life of the villages, and with that to the remnants of a culture that went back to classical times'. Oooh, she felt really learned when she read that and understood it!
Addendum 12th March:
We've discovered during our months here, that Spanish people are fabulous at public celebrations, fiestas and general collective jollifications. We send this latest Bulletin having discovered they are also amazing at collective demonstrations of grief, having just returned from a simple but moving gathering down in Vilanova town hall square at 7pm today. It seems that all over Spain, not only was there 15 minutes of silence at midday, but everyone gathered in their towns and cities at 7pm as a demonstration of solidarity with the victims of this week's awful bombings in Madrid. The country is definitely in shock, of course.
We wanted to add this just so you knew we weren't ignoring the real events of the world, and hope you don't think us flippant for continuing with the Fruitbat view of life …