Peace on earth and in Almeria

I went to Lubrin market with my shopping trolley today and met Pablo in the bar Tasca; basically, wherever I go, there he is. I suppose unsurprisingly, since there are only about 3 places to go in Lubrin. I felt the usual sense of regret driving down the hill; I would really rather stay up there, but I had to get catfood. Of course, there wasn't any in the Spar, or none the cats would eat, so I had to grit my teeth and drive the extra 20 minutes to Vera, but at least I met Pablo. I told him I was thinking of renting a little office space in town, where I could put broadband. This was Sue's idea: she said other people would use it, especially if we had coffee and also the old Tourist Information office was empty and the Ayuntiamento would likely welcome it being occupied. Pablo seemed pretty keen on the idea, as always, one of his cousins is the owner of the building and he said he would ask. Meanwhile we had an interesting conversation with the various old men in the bar about thyme, tomillo, but not tomilla, a female version with larger flowers, or something of that kind, until another chap came in, who Pablo introduced as his brother. Again.
"Es buena gente," he told me, as usual. Everyone is, I pointed out, and he laughed and agreed with me. There are no bad people here, he said, firmly, and all the old men nodded sagely.


In Vera, I trolled round Mercadona buying weird things like ironing water, which I never bought at home. My consumer instinct has been diverted but like an underground river, it must out, even if it means deciding between rose and lavender flavour ironing water - plus "sabores del mar" cat food and then went back. I still cannot quite believe the drive home. My drive home used to be alright, once you got onto the Shoreham road, through a pretty valley, but it is nothing like the miracle of my drive now. It starts in citrus groves, with oranges and lemons lying on the ground, and then opens into the mountains, completely lonely, with only one house, apparently always closed, on the drive up. Strangely, it looks rather like Scotland, only dry - vast moorlands with the hills in a ring round the road, till you hit the upper valley and Rambla Alhibe, where Pepe's bar is. The first time we drove up, I thought we must have gone the wrong way; in the dark, it feels like the back of beyond or, as the man on the industrial estate said the other day "donde Cristo perdío el gorro," where Christ lost his cap, I think, which means, roughly the same thing. We saw two large chamois, or deer, the other day, on the slopes, and there must be herds, but usually nothing moves. Beyond Rambla Alhibe, it climbs round the hill again, quite steep and nerve-wracking until you are used to it and have to compete with your husband to see if you can do it in less than 8 minutes. Then you reach the upper plateau, and it opens into the almond orchards, some olives, and the rather tumbledown houses of Los Dioses, then Los Herreras. It is, as my neighbours say, very tranquilo, like peace on earth. I used to think of peace on earth when I went into the Shoreham valley after Sevenoaks, with all its flipping roundabouts and Tesco, but it is nothing like up here, where space is enormous, and you could wander for miles on a track without finding anyone or anything much, except maybe Antonio's goat farm. Well, it is a long way to the shops, but that's the point. Also, the bread van comes up on Friday, and fish and frozen stuff every other Tuesday, so if I were efficient I wouldn't even have to get in the car.

However, tomorrow I am off to Madrid for a couple of days, to see Sylvia and collect the children. It will be strange, and I feel an odd foot-dragging, even though I do want to see Sylvia, my best Spanish friend, and go to a bookshop. Though amazingly, I found one in Vera that sold some good Spanish stuff: I got a Carlos Ruiz whatever his name is who wrote the Sombra del Viento which I read last year, and more interestingly, Heat magazine, which I was concerned about missing. Having said that, when I picked it up with glee I suddenly felt uncertain about whether I wanted it. The English headlines somehow looked flat and boring, like the old life, and anyway, how much do I need to keep up with Kerry Katona? Maybe she is not so funny when you don't come into work and have a bitch about her? I don't suppose anyone knows who she is in Spain, and certainly there is no Iceland. Well, I got Hola, which has a main feature about Princess Stephanie of Monaco's daughter, and somehow seemed more attractive, with minor royalty looking tanned in nice sequinned evening dresses, rather than pasty English people who used to be on Big Brother being sick with no knickers on in a taxi, but I did get Heat too, just to check, but have not opened it yet. I also bought El País, the first paper I have picked up in weeks, although I have listened to Radio National de España a lot; most of the radio headlines are about fires, road accidents, Liza Minelli singing in Malaga and the rubbish strike in Almuñacar which means I am thankfully none the wiser about world events, except for the Tour de France and a Liverpool football match of some kind. I have also not opened El País yet, though I looked at the front: maybe later. When I read it in the UK, I noticed how little, excellently, there was about the US; far more about South America e.g. Mexican elections, which you hardly read about in the UK media, except maybe on about page 20 of the FT after a lot of columns about hedge fund regulations, etc, etc.

I was going to bed early to prepare for my five hour drive (must not go over 120 km/hour, or overtake any lorries according to husband's instructions) but Juan Mañas was due to come round to talk to me about the building work. He said, maybe 9 or 10, which might have meant 11, so I felt bound to stay up till now, nearly 12, which is probably safe; now he will not come either till I call him again to ask him, or until he thinks of it, maybe next week some time, or when I am out somewhere. Peace, or what?