Seven Links

I had a message on Facebook today. From one of my friends. Not someone I know personally, but a fellow blogger with whom I've exchanged comments and a few emails. You can sort of tell when you've found someone it's nice to know. And Karen, based in Turkey, is one of those people. On her lovely blog, Being Koy, beautifully written, full of wonderful photos, she has recently nominated five other bloggers, including me, to take part in the Seven Links Project, which was started recently by Katie at Trip Base.

The aim (in Katie’s words) “is to unite bloggers (from all sectors) in a joint endeavour to share lessons learned and create a bank of long but not forgotten blog posts that deserve to see the light of day again”. 

Those of you who have read my blog over the past year or so will know that I have often claimed to be a bit butterfly-minded, not a great one for reflecting, rather excessively extroverted - lucky for me I am such a quick typist, otherwise I might not have the concentration required to actually finish a post before finding something else to distract me. Unlike Karen's, my own Blackpool-rock message says 'What next?'

So, I've spent the day procrastinating in a rather haphazard manner, in amongst recovering from my first hangover in many, many years - celebrating our joint birthdays last night with some lovely Spanish friends on our new roof terrace - and then later today, watching 'Amadeus' again, on TV and luckily in English. And I'm digressing! I have to follow these three simple rules:

1. The Blogger is nominated to take part by another blogger
2. He/she publishes their 7 links on their own blog. One link for each category.
3. He/she nominates up to five more bloggers to take part.

So, without further ado, here goes - a bit of reflection on my own posts thus far, one for each of the given categories. 

My most beautiful post
I don't know that I've written this yet... but I love the photographs and the memories created on the day we went into the countryside just a few minutes outside Alcala la Real - entitle Sensory Overload. The photographs of the poppies are lovely and I think I managed to capture the range of gorgeous countryside plus the pleasure we had as a family exploring it together. And I've only just noticed that there are hardly any words - so does this count? Regardless of how many other people look at this post, it remains very special and this is why blogging is important to me.

My most popular post     

I'm going to cheat a bit with this one, because the post that has had the most hits of all is the one entitled My Facebook Wordcloud. It has had so many hits because of the popular words it contains. However, I think I will claim The Last Post as the most popular as more people stayed and read this and there are also more comments, including one from an old friend who I haven't actually seen for probably more than thirty years. I have Facebook and blogging to thank for that. Big hugs, Alan!

My most controversial post 

I haven't written anything controversial - yet! I say this based on the fact that I have attracted no unusual comments or attention from anywhere - and haven't been looking for them either. I feel I should apologise, but I won't and instead would like to include here a post I did about Bloody Volvo Drivers - which possibly could offend some folks.... 

My most helpful post   

I don't know if it has been helpful, but I wrote about my father and the effects he suffered following a stroke in It Makes You Think - FAST  and I'd really like to think that by promoting knowledge about the symptoms of a stroke, maybe even one person might benefit somewhere, somehow.

A post whose success surprises me   

I was initially quite surprised at the number of hits achieved by my description of our week at Violet's Cave in Bacor Olivar but I realise now just how many people are using the internet to find holiday accommodation - and caves are quite popular. This is one of my most frequented pages, which is lovely as I couldn't praise the cave house highly enough. Violet is now a friend via Facebook and several other people have been in touch with me about both the cave house and the village. I have learnt that the title of a post can make a huge difference to the number of hits you get and if a place name is included, then you will attract a wide audience.

A post I feel didn’t get the attention it deserved 

Gosh, this is an impossible one to answer. I confess that I enjoyed writing one post very much and although it had its fair share of visits, it was one I'd have liked more people to read - if only to try and share the fun and enjoyment we had ourselves during the time I describe. Conquered - or the Famous Five do Southwold.

The post I am most proud of  

Again, I am going to cheat a bit. I've enjoyed doing all my posts - pride isn't quite the word I'd use to describe how I feel, though. I think that I provided a lot of information about Simancas, a lovely village in Valladolid, in the Seven Severed Hands post and I was pleased to remember my story about Ireland but I guess that the one I am most proud of is the very first one. If I hadn't made that first step, I would have missed out on what is now a most important part of my life - so Starting Out - however tentative it is, how uninspired it is - is the one I am most proud of. I do like beginnings!

And the bloggers I would like to nominate are:

Andy Simcox's Blog - Andy was a colleague and friend of mine and he started blogging just a few weeks or so before me and it was he who encouraged me to get on with my own. All round good chap with a lovely family and a very reflective style.

ChickenBlog - Natalie was born to blog! She is wonderful, eclectic, thoughtful and writes with love and passion. I adore her blog and really do feel as though I know her and her very special family.

HATTAT - a fascinating blog by Jane and Lance, who have a wonderful homes in Brighton and Budapest and never fail to produce an extraordinary and interesting post.

K{IR}STEN -  whose name is not Kristen! Another kindred spirit blogger, found through our mutual interests and whose life I now feel part of. Excellent photos too.

And how could I resist including Menopausal Musings - whose blog is actually full of the most beautiful images and lovely thoughts - no real sign of difficult hormones at all!

And apologies to many other bloggers who I would love to nominate, but five is all I am allowed. I think this is a lovely idea and whilst it's been quite challenging, I have very much appreciated the time spent doing it. Thank you again, Karen.

My teenage boy

Mateo is 13 today. Not old - not by a long way - but growing up.

Four hours and thirteen years ago, following a difficult birth where Mateo was whisked off to the special care unit before I'd had time to touch him and I had to go into theatre (not the acting kind!) I was allowed to see my new baby - named Mateo Lawrence - for the first time. He was in an incubator, topped up with antibiotics to fight the Strep. B virus we'd picked up during our three days in hospital awaiting his arrival. His eyes were closed and he was lying facing me. I spoke to him for the first time in the real world - and his eyes flew open and he looked straight at me. He knew me.

And if it were three hundred years ago, it would still bring tears to my eyes! We have our moments, Mateo and I, but we still know each other when we look each other in the eye.

I wish him a very happy birthday. My unique, complex, deep and beautiful son.

Happy Birthday Mateo.

All work, no play...

...is not our style. It's not really Spanish style either.

Today, we left the boxes and headed off to the lovely summer pool that opens for just three months a year, here in Alcala la Real.

We all had a lovely swim - Romy and Ruy staying in for around 2 hours - whilst Cesar, Mateo and I sunned ourselves and read books.

Not a lot of people at the pool. But strangely, for Andalucia, it closes at 7pm. I haven't worked that out yet. There is still a lot for me to learn...


Elsewhere in Spain, Pamplona, to be exact, today marked the first of nine manic days of fiesta for San Fermin. This is a very famous fiesta where people run through the streets - accompanied by bulls - usually wine-soaked, but more fuelled by testosterone than alcohol, I suspect.

A man is thrown into the air during the Chupinazo to mark the start at noon of the San Fermin Festival 

Photograph: Pedro Armestre/AFP/Getty Images

Today saw lots of wine being sprayed around, drunk and wasted. The streets were absolutely packed with people from the world over. This is Spain at its partying 'best'!

The bull running starts tomorrow, quite early and Cesar is planning to get up to watch it on the television. I might join him, I might not.

And that is something else I have yet to work out - the complex relationship between Spaniards and bulls - this may take some time as one thing I know is that it's very complex.

Settling In

Day three and the majority of boxes are unpacked. There's still a very large suitcase to be tackled but today was not the day.

Three nights of lovely, peaceful sleep - should have left me feeling wonderful but seems to have made me crave more. I'm still so tired; we've worked so hard over the past week. I think it will take a while for us to feel fully relaxed and normal again.

Right now, Cesar is wandering around the house, drill in hand - drilling things, I guess.
Romy is in the little plaza opposite the house, seen in the picture at the top of the page, and I can hear other children shouting and calling her name, which is lovely.

The boys are watching a favourite programme on our newly connected TV - The Penguins of Madagascar - we all love this series; a spring off from the film 'Madagascar' but a lot funnier!


And I have been making fig jam - lots of it.

We went to look at a house on Sunday and there was a glut of figs in the garden, which the very nice owner said we should pick and take away with us.
The house was beautiful - the nicest I have seen so far - but Cesar was really unhappy with the fact that it was in a bit of a corner, overlooked at the front and built up very high at the back. I had hardly noticed these things but he felt claustrophobic. We are think we must go back for another look soon as it's strange we had such a different reaction to a property. Usually we like the same sort of thing.... one of us is out of kilter here. I can't say which one of us it is but I am worried that if we go back and each feels the same way again, we might have a bit of a problem!

Coming back to this house - we are committing to rent it for a while and it's beginning to take on a much more homely aspect.


Good points - as well as more peaceful and planted firmly on the ground - include a lovely roof terrace, from which we get a lovely view of La Mota - currently undergoing some restoration work, hence the crane:

 
And this is the view of the little plaza from our bedroom window, with the cheerful plants on display at No. 20 across the road. The man there plays the piano accordion. I say play in the vaguest possible sense of the word, you understand. It adds character and atmosphere to the place - a sort of bizarre and outlandish and somewhat dizzying manner. Think Les Negresses Verte crossed with Les Dawson, if that's possible. And if you don't know who Les Dawson is, you may consider yourself lucky - especially if you check out the YouTube video below.
(Though if you're from the UK, you might, like me, have a little bit of a soft spot for this most miserable, rubber-faced comedian, with whom so many of us grew up.)

 

Yes, we are settling in.  In fact, I'm not even going to mention the bad points - although there have been a few, which we are dealing with - the good ones by far out-weigh them.

Tomorrow, we're off to investigate the town swimming pool - and hopefully too, the oven will arrive at some point. (I know, probably whilst we're at the swimming pool!) 

And then I can set about baking a birthday cake for Mateo - who will be 13 on Saturday. 

We're planning a special birthday-day out. I'll let you know.

A brief note from 'Bolivia'

Here we are, several boxes packed and unpacked again - and although there are still a large number that have not been opened, we're beginning to see a bit of floor space here in Calle Bolivia.


We can see La Mota from our roof terrace and hear the grillos chirping in the darkness and see trees and flowers in the square from our bedroom window.

And despite being only a five minute walk away from our previous home - the dreaded fifth floor apartment - it feels like we've moved from a town to a village. The odd car passing; people and families walking back and forth; the ubiquitous motorbike - and then peace and silence.

The children have had picnics on the terrace that leads from Romy's room; they've each laid out their rooms to their own taste (Ruy's is organised, everything in place, clothes away; Romy and Mateo are still in a state of chaos) - and although their beds are on the floor (still no nuts and bolts to put the bases together!) they have all slept two long, deep sleeps since the move on Friday and are the better for it. As for getting my own bed back - well, words cannot describe the pleasure of sinking into the depths of a memory foam mattress - one that obviously remembers me well! 'Bliss' will have to do!

I am highly amused by taking out the rubbish. Here in Spain, there are big communal rubbish bins - for plastic, glass, paper and household stuff - and on a regular basis, one of us will poddle off loaded with what needs throwing out. Before, the boys usually went down the five floors and out to the main street to get rid; now, we have to go either to Chile or Uruguay to reach the bins....as a result of the street names around here!

And Telefonica came this very morning - Sunday - to reconnect us to our telephone and internet line.
We are very nearly sorted; very nearly!



Pictures will follow - when I relocate my camera....it's here somewhere!

From Andalucia to South America...

Well, Avenida Andalucia to Calle Bolivia, that is. We're on the move this week.
Cesar has already brought a big van full of our things, including our very own beds - hurray - from Leon. And apart from realising that our house in England was more spacious than we gave it credit for, we've managed to pucker most of our stuff into this newly rented house in a quieter area of town. It feels cooler too - fewer cars passing by and up a slight hill. It's not perfect but we think it will be better.

And we're in an area named for the countries of Central and South America ....

 ....more or less! Because tucked in amongst all these streets (and I didn't photograph Mexico, Cuba or Paraguay) I found this one....

I'm pretty sure this is just a geographical mistake. Heavens, they don't even speak Spanish in Canada!
But it amuses me.
Maybe it's because it looks like a Spanish word - lots of words end in 'ada'... maybe.

I'd love to hear why you think it's included.

38 Degrees

I love sunny days.
I like the feel of sunshine on my skin. I like warm summer days.

Today has been sunny; lots of sunshine - but I have hugged shadows as I walked out briefly this morning to buy bread. The canopy and the persianas have been well and truly pulled down. The recently purchased fan has been whirring all day.

And the hardest, the most difficult thing for me to do, after years of living the summer in England - having the windows firmly closed against the sun's searching rays.

At home, when the temperatures rose, all that was needed was to open doors and windows and let a little air current cool things down inside - freshen the hot and heavy indoors air by stirring it up a little. Here - absolutely to the contrary to all the fibres of my upbringing - we have to keep the windows closed as the air outside is much hotter than the air inside. 38 degrees hot to be precise.

It pains me - I have an inner struggle everytime I pass a window. I want to throw them open and cool things down but it doesn't work like that here. I know it's the same for other ex-pats out here - we've discussed the overwhelming temptation to keep doors open - only they can't resist. They open their doors and windows and set local tongues wagging, heads shaking and create much tutting and sighing amongst concerned neighbours.

Cesar keeps me on the straight and narrow.
And our house stays relatively cool.

The nacimiento

This evening, at around 8pm, after staying in most of the day - out of the heat and away from a viciously hot sun - we decided to visit the 'nacimiento' (source) of the river San Juan, which is just outside Castillo de Locubin, of the cherry festival fame. We'd heard it was a nice place though not developed much for visitors but when we arrived, although many people were leaving, it was still busy and full of families who'd clearly been there most of the day.

Pools of chilly, crystalline water

The place was stunning; large pools of the clearest, coldest water, bubbling up directly from the mountain source behind it. Lots of trees for shade and places to just sit and 'chill' - it wasn't exactly chilly but once I'd dipped my feet for a few seconds, the 'coolth' began to spread up my body - I could feel the effect of cooled blood. And a few seconds longer and the extreme coldness of the water began to bite, really bite!






Not that this prevented both Romy and Ruy (told you they were brave!) who both went in without much hesitation and eventually came out quite pink with cold.

I tell you - it was really, really cold!

Ruy's first tentative entry - we eventually had to insist he got out!

Super cool

 

As the night started to fall, bats began swooping low over the water and most folk packed up and went home, apart from the group of friends playing guitar and an old couple who were filling up bottle after bottle of water - it tastes delicious, they told us - and they were taking it as it came into the pools, not where we'd been dunking our feet, so perhaps it was.






After rubbing a bit of warmth back into the younger ones and persuading them not to go back in again - that we would come back another day, we ate paraguayos - which is a flat peach-like fruit that's unique to the Spanish mainland, Andalucia in particular - and the kids played 'pooh sticks' and climbed the trees.

Watching and waiting.

Then we had to wait a bit longer for Ruy's shoe to float across the pool towards us after Romy had knocked it in by accident at the other side. It took quite a while but it eventually it drifted near enough for us to pull it out and make our way home.



By which time, the temperature here in Alcala had dropped to a manageable 28 degrees and with this, a cooler breeze.

And we could open all the windows - and with an effect that was worth waiting til 10.30 in the evening for - that pleasant 'fresh air' feeling.