More Antequera

Everything felt fresh after the rain … the sun was out but a cool breeze made it a little chilly for coffee al fresco first thing … although it warmed up nicely by mid morning.  Despite cereal and fruit for breakfast we were feeling quite ravenous by about 1:30.   A stroll down to the Municipal Market where there are outside tables shaded by umbrellas or trees and served by the market’s cafeteria or restaurants across the street.  It’s quite something to see the cameraros/cameraras balancing plates of food and expertly weaving their way between cars … most drivers politely give them right-of-way. We ordered from the cafeteria … the paper tablecloths, affixed with clips, have a QR code to download onto your phone for the menu.  While waiting for our order, the waiter brought bread, a dish of wonderfully flavourful green olives and individual pots of olive oil and vinegar for the dipping of bread.  Out came our plate of breaded and delicately fried chunks of fresh cod  with a dish of tomato compote (jam) … ketchup doesn’t even get a look in against this stuff. The sweetness of the ‘jam’ a perfect foil for the slight saltiness of the cod.   Then a Kaleidoscopic bowl of mixed salad… vibrant shredded beets and carrots jostled with buttery yellow corn, cherry tomatoes, lettuce, hard boiled egg slices and the best tasting flaked tuna.

Time for a walk, me thinks. Through the downtown area, window-shopping along the way.  One ferreteria caught Glen’s eye  -“they seem to have everything BUT ferrets!” – and it was tru … the windows were artistically displaying everything from tools and plumbing connections to kitchenware and the latest model of toilet.  The sign said abierto . . . but the inside was definitely darkened and looked closed.  Perhaps the owner was having a siesta. 

School was out . . . this one must have been a particularly high end private escuela, as many of the parents were lined up in cars – half draped over the sidewalk – obviously on the ‘school run’.  One enormous Porsche SUV took up half the road as well. How on earth do they get around these streets in that!

Suddenly, around the corner came a huge, gleaming tour bus … then another … and another.  There must have been a dozen in all … all colours, all companies.  Presumably some kind of package tour – probably traversing from Malaga to Cordoba – but why that big of a convoy, I have no idea.  Perhaps just to say they had been to Antequera. There must have been about 500 or 600 passengers altogether, and those buses had to make a 90 degree turn right there.

Onwards up the hill to the Alcazaba . . .  perched high on the hill opposite our apartment.  Two main towers, a church, the remains of a 12th century Mosque, and excavations of Roman baths with an astoundingly well-preserved mosaic floor.  We tuned into a history of the place, in English, through our phones.  One of the women was English, the other Spanish . . .  but when we heard the man’s voice, we turned to each other and simultaneously exclaimed “That’s Rupert!” Our landlord.  He has an unmistakable voice.  

There was piped music throughout the gardens, quietly playing a fusion of classical guitar and Arabic … quite evocative.  And pleasantly, the castle was not highly touristy … allowing one to poke around at will.  The views from both towers were stupendous . . . you can certainly see the importance of Antequera’s location centuries ago.  With 360 degree vistas, there wouldn’t be surprise attacks from any direction … Malaga …. Seville … Cordoba … Cádiz.  The gigantic bell in one of the towers was impressive – and still sported a substantial-looking stone striker on one side.  “Wonder if it still works”, I pondered . . .  “No … There’d be warning signs around”, replied Glen … “you’d be deafened standing this close”.  Not two minutes later … BONG, BONG, BONG, BONG  … four o’clock.  It was loud enough inside as I descended the stone steps, but Glen was outside just one floor down and said the fillings in his teeth rattled.

Our entry ticket (a bargain at €3 for seniors) included the church – Real Colegiate de Santa Maria la Mayor.  Beautifully simple with amazing red marble floors and altar – the columns and canopy exquisitely carved from wood.  Entering, you are greeted by a statue of  a Tarasca – a multi-headed creature – half woman, half serpent, with golden claws.  Quite stunning.  Through one elaborate archway – access to the holy W/C …. albeit down a winding stairway into the darkened bowels(!) of the building (please turn off lights when you’re finished).

There was to be a benefit concert the following day – for the Cruz Roja (Red Cross) and technicians were busy outside setting up the stage with sound and lighting.  María Peláe, a local Andalucian singer who incorporates both political commentary and a flamenco influence into her music.  We looked into obtaining tickets but it appears we weren’t the only ones finding it impossible to navigate the website.  No matter, I imagine from our vantage point directly across, we’ll be able to hear some of the concert.

Saturday morning seemed a good day to tackle the washing machine (we were starting to run out of things). Rupert had left clear instructions – good!  The machine looked like a standard-sized (for Europe) front-loading model, but the drum inside appeared to have been sat on and reduced to half size.  Still, it was more than adequate for us.  Two short cycles of 15 minutes and all our clean clothes were draped and pegged on the airer … flapping in the breeze and sun.  Everything was dry in no time.

Leftovers for lunch and then a drive south of town . . .  through shady olive groves and farmer’s fields . . .  the dark red soil recently ploughed into soft-ball sized clods.  On the roadside tall clumps of wild fennel – its seeds not yet dried . . .  and multiple small, trailing plants – something in the cucumber family? . . .  pale yellow star-shaped flowers and clusters of furry green fruits like oversized grapes.  The pretty pueblo of Bobadillo with its now defunct olive oil factory but new cement plant.  On their way to a wedding – a young family crossed the street… husband smart in a dark suit .. wife in a gorgeous flowing turquoise flowered gown …young boy in crisply ironed shorts, shirt and bow tie – hair combed into place (wonder how long that will last) . . . and small girl in a pastel, flounced traditional frock.  Back in town we found a far easier route to the house PLUS a more accessible parking spot – a street away, yes …  but with room for TWO cars to pass without breathing in.

By now the wind had picked up to gale force and continued through the night.  Don’t know how the concert goers fared … it must have been howling up there.  On the menu tonight – pork tenderloin rubbed with olive oil, seasoned and rolled in oregano and dried cilantro.  Roasted on the stove (between two heavy frying pans) … in a saucepan a sort of ratatouille with onions, mushrooms, red peppers, fresh green beans (those long, wide ones) and tomatoes – a good dash of cayenne and oregano with a splash of dry sherry … and microwave baked potatoes.  For dessert some store-bought traditional flans . . . not quite like homemade, but surprisingly good.

Despite the solid walls it’s definitely going to be earplugs tonight. 

Next morning — Aha!, so that was the loud ‘crump’ in the night . .  .  a fairly solid wicker coffee table on the upper deck knocked over and thrown 8 feet away.  No damage though.

Sunday  exactly at noon all the bells across the city rang out … some exuberantly – others more sedately  … tolling  in unison as people spilled out into the streets after church.  Dogs of every size yipped, howled and barked their participation (drowning out the rooster), and pigeons, which up until then had been snoozing contentedly in church rafters, suddenly wheeled into the clear air before circling a couple of times and re-alighting … settling ruffled feathers.  A day for family gatherings … food … ice creams and sweets.  Shops shut tight.

The leftover pork and finely diced veggies with rice and spices made for a very passable meal . . .  not a paella by any means … but more than OK.