In and Around Town

We’re on a nodding acquaintance with some of the neighbours now … and a cheerful “Hola, Buenas” usually gets a smile and response.   The traditional greetings  of Buenos Dias and Buenas Tardes – although still used, often get shortened to this more relaxed form, with Buenas acting as  a good catch-all for both.   Similarly, when you thank someone, the reply used to be De nada (it’s nothing – or you’re welcome) … this is frequently reduced to just Nada.  If anyone’s going to strike up a conversation,  it’s usually plump, grandmotherly Señoras who smile and make comments on the weather, the traffic, dogs and children.   Across the street from us is Flamenco Man with his white tradesman van… he can often be heard singing or playing music  Next to him an older couple with a decidedly nasty little Yorkshire Terrier which gets up on the deep window sill – behind the decorative wrought iron grill (reja) – and sits in wait for unsuspecting passersby (or family members). Yelping, snarling and squealing for all its worth.  First time I heard it, I thought the poor thing had been run over by a car and went rushing out.  This morning, while working on my laptop . . . . very, very faintly (the walls are at least a foot thick) I could just barely make out music from next door … was that … Boney M being played?  And their Christmas album yet!  So I tapped along to Mary’s Boy Child and Jingle Bells … followed by Rah, Rah Rasputin. Further along the road is a garage whose walls are covered with the most astounding collection of keyrings – must be hundreds of them – bank notes from different countries, and hats … while hanging from the ceiling, like a forest of miniature stalactites – pens (boligrafos) of every size and description.  Just around the corner was this cute dog sporting a colourful coat – although why in this balmy 25 degrees weather is baffling.  Being on the upper balcony he definitely had a better view of the neighbourhood than his larger companion in the window below.  A lookout.

Unlike Greece – where cats rule supreme . . .  it seems everyone has a dog.  Mostly smaller varieties like Yorkies, Chihuahuas and Jack Russells, but a few Labs and Heinz 57s for good measure.  Of course one doesn’t have to be a sleuth to discover this … the copious fresh deposits are evidence enough!

Have we been here a week already?  The maze of streets (at least on foot) have become comfortable by-ways and shortcuts to the market, bakery or shaded eatery.  This morning we tried Obrador Aldamira on C.Infante de Don Fernando –  (to some, the best bakery in town, but I think it best we do our own survey …just to be sure).  The aroma enveloped us halfway down the street, and who could choose from the dozen or so types of bread and rolls.  With a big smile and no-nonsense braces, the lady behind the counter extolled the virtues and ingredients of each crusty creation … brown, white, 7 grains, local, round, oblong.  But then there were the pasteles (cakes), madalenas (cupcakes) and galettas (cookies), too.  She pointed to each … limón, naranja, manzana, chocolate … and Oreo!  They all looked delicious, but the Orange poundcake won out.  Glen bought another pair of shorts (pantalones cortos) … not at the bakery, obviously!  Then it was on to the Mercado … we wanted some fresh prawns before it closed.  And  something for sandwiches.  The tiny deli counter was stacked with cured sausages of every size and description . . . dark red pepperoni and salami . . . . bright orange chorizo . . .  pale pink luncheon meats with spices or olives … however, one at the back looked outstanding … somewhere between a brawn and salami, strewn with olives, red and green pepper throughout.  That’s the one!  Cien gramos (100g), por favor.  Two stalls over, the prawns glistened on their bed of ice …  black eyes looking at us reproachfully.  Do we want the big or little ones?  Half a kilo, please.  Considering all transactions this morning were done completely in Spanish, I don’t think we did too badly.  We got what we wanted and nobody looked puzzled.  Success.  The deli meat, you ask? … Oh my! …  it more than surpassed all expectations.   

El Torcal https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torcal_de_Antequera is a mere 12km drive from here – perfect for an afternoon visit and a bit of exercise, although how active we’ll be in 28 degree heat, I’m not sure.  The road climbs and switches back through a series of hairpin bends with (sometimes) a flimsy-looking metal guard rail, overlooking a spectacular drop into the valley and on to the sea – unfortunately shrouded in mist again today.  Vast, craggy cliffs on the right loom over the road and the pueblo of Villanueva below.  

The visitor’s centre wasn’t particularly crowded.  There were several cycling tour vans in the parking lot – we’d noticed a few cyclists descending as we drove up.  “Must be fit”, I’d remarked at the time. But on further thought, what if they and their bikes are transported UP the mountain so they can then enjoy the thrill and speed of the trip down.  Just a thought.

The Ruta Verde (green route) was highly recommended. The actual is distance only 1.5 km but shown as taking 40-60 minutes.  You can see why!  A convoluted trail strewn with rocks and boulders –  worn shiny smooth from the ages (and countless feet)  – while towering, impossibly balanced slabs, chunks and stacks form a staggering backdrop.  The merest of earth shudders would surely bring millions of tons crashing down.  A sobering thought.  A flash of green, and there sunning him/herself on a nearby rock was a small, slender lizard (podarcis hispanicus).  Further along three delicate pale mauve crocus clinging to a crevice. Not the saffron variety though.

We took advantage of the Aseos before leaving.  There appear to be different ways of referring to public toilet facilities – depending on what part of the country you happen to be in.  In Barcelona and Valencia one looked for Lavabos, while further south you’ll be needing Aseos.  Not entirely sure of the difference – in people’s homes it’s often to do with whether the room has a bath/shower or just a toilet and handbasin.  But have no fear, if one is desperate and asks for los baños, you’ll be instantly understood and pointed in the right direction.

We have yet to see any evidence of homelessness or vandalism here in Antequera  … even in Valencia and Cordoba there appeared very little.  The streets and plazas are well lit and busy, well into the evening, with people shopping, walking dogs, meeting up or just sitting enjoying the ambience. Local police casually patrol. The equivalent of traffic wardens do a roaring trade though… in their ‘hi-viz’ vests and caps, ticket book in hand.  There seems to be a universal disregard for ‘no parking’ signs! And on one-way streets, residents will happily reverse up so they can park outside their residence. 

I glance down from the kitchen sink … hmm that breadcrumb appears to be moving.  Peering closer – a tiny wee ant, proudly carrying aloft something that’s probably 20 times bigger and heavier than it is.  We scrupulously wipe and sweep up after every meal just to prevent such occurrences, but I guess that crumb escaped notice.

The prawns, smelling purely of the sea … dunked briefly in boiling water and served in a colander alongside bread, butter and a glass of white wine.  Each plump, pink bite worth the wait of unshelling, and popping into the mouth – like candy.  Pure … simple … delicious!  The orange cake was excellent, too.