After what can only be described as an eventful trip to Spain house-dog-and-cat-sitting over Christmas and New Year, it was finally time to return to the UK. Geoff and Pam’s house is in a stunning position with views up the Jalón valley (a.k.a. Vall de Pop) and, after over five weeks living in it looking after their menagerie, we had come to regard it as home. It is fair to say that neither Carol nor I wanted to leave. It’s always pleasing to make new friends and we now feel have two new ones in Geoff and Pam. If we get the chance, I’m sure we will accept their kind invitation to return to use their apartment as a holiday base should we wish. We do wish. 🙂

Our travel day dawned grey and overcast with some drizzle once again in the Jalón valley, which softened the blow for us.  However, as we drove out of the valley towards the coast to hit the autopista for Alicante airport, the skies looked much brighter. It really is amazing how localized the weather can be in this area of Spain; just crossing into the next valley the weather can change. By the time we reached Alicante, there was just some wispy high cloud and the sun was shining. Turn around Geoff – take us back!

The easyJet check-in had been open for a while but, amazingly, we seemed to be in boarding group A. Before joining the rush for seats, though, we had plenty of time for a last Spanish coffee and a trip to the so-called duty free shop. Having become quite fond of a Spanish brandy called “103”, I wanted to take a couple of bottles back with us. Duty free price: €9.50. Typical Spanish supermarket price: €8.25. Courtesy of the world’s terrorists, of course, one can not now buy booze in local shops to take on a flight, unless one is prepared to risk its being broken in hold baggage by over-zealous baggage handlers. It’s a captive market. Nonetheless, courtesy of our outrageous tax levels, it isn’t possible to buy even a bottle (750 ml) of a decent brandy for £10 in the UK, far less a litre, so it’s still a good deal.

All over Spain one sees silhouettes of black bulls. I did wonder if it was a Valenciana symbol but it seems to be a country-wide icon. Quite natural, I suppose, given the Spanish love of bullfighting. They adorn the countryside and many Spanish cars sport a bull silhouette on the back. (Actually, you can see the black bull silhouette on the brandy bottle pictured above.) As a final treat, while rummaging around the duty-free shop, Carol managed to find a very fine bull silhouette for our caravan, Billy, toaccompany his growing collection of French stickers. Billy may not actually have been to Spain but his occupants have and he will be very pleased with his new acquisition.

It’ll be time to start planning this year’s activities, now, to help us through the remaining winter gloom.

[If anyone is interested in renting Geoff and Pam Richardson’s beautifully appointed apartment in Lliber, Spain, details and contact information can be found at: http://www.casadelosocasos.co.uk.]

Technorati Tags: travel,Spain,103 brandy,Jalon,Lliber,Vall de Pop

[Oops, I forgot to post this one.]

House, dog and cat sitting duties came to an end with Geoff and Pam’s return yesterday, despite the technological trauma of automatically locking car doors during the airport run. Today, the rightful owners are firmly back in the driving seat. Well, that is, Geoff was firmly back in the driving seat once he had remembered that, unlike Australia, the driving seat is on the left of the car in Spain. 🙂

Since the entire menagerie survived our ministrations and are now successfully in the care of those who know them best, it seems appropriate finally to introduce them. First, the ladies …

The two golden retrievers are Sherry (left) and Chandon (right). Apparently, The original idea was to name them Moet and Chandon but Geoff refused to stand in the street shouting, “Moet!”. [Wise man, Geoff.] Both are 12 years old and getting on a bit for retrievers. Sherry remains quite sprightly but Chandon suffers noticeably from an arthritic rear end. They both like lots of attention and are prepared to eat almost anything, apparently without pausing to taste it. It seems that they do manage to taste things though since they were unanimous in their joint rejection of a raw spinach leaf which they both spat out after two or three sucks. Not the same spinach leaf, I hasten to add – I wouldn’t do that to them. 🙂 Chandon seemed particularly keen to relieve me of half a raw lemon one day as I was cooking but I decided it might upset her stomach.

And now, the lads …

The cats, being more independent, were less work – until, that is, Jake (left – the black and white one sporting a ruff and kasbah trousers) decides to wake us up at 3:20 in the morning to be let out. Having seen to Jake and returned to bed, Bailey (the black half Persian below) then meows to be let out at 3:45 in the morning. I say “morning” but, let’s face it, by most people’s reckoning, anytime between 3:00 AM and 4:00 AM constitutes the middle of the night. Meanwhile, Chester (right – the ginger one), calmly sleeps through it all. The only time Chester doesn’t appear completely calm is when he is attempting to make passionate advances to a furry cushion. Chester and Jake are about 13 years old and Bailey is about 10.

Bailey likes to ask for people-food but rarely actually eats it. Bailey does not like cameras, at least he didn’t after my flash gun fired while photographing Jake. Subsequently, as soon as I appeared armed with my camera, Bailey took off like a scalded cat, as it were. Hence the reason I do not have a portrait-style picture of Bailey. In this picture, he is completely ignoring a table full of octopus and prawns people-food, true to form.

Finally, I can’t resist a second picture of Jake in one of his regular poses drinking water from the kitchen tap. If only he could learn how to turn the tap on and off.

They may not miss us but I’m sure we will miss them, just a little.

Technorati Tags: dogs,cats,travel,Spain

More rain today. It didn’t really matter ‘cos we were off to Valencia airport after a few chores to collect Geoff and Pam on their return trip from Australia via England. Their flight was due at 3:15 PM so, allowing time for a fuel stop on the 1hr 15 minute drive, we thought we’d leave at 1:45 PM.

Being the tidy people that we sometimes are, we thought we’d clear out the bins and call in at the basura (rubbish containers) on our way off the development. Carol declared that the rubbish was too heavy for her to lift into the basura but she would do the recycling stuff – largely empty wine bottles 🙂 – while I took care of the heavy rubbish. “Fine”, I said.

I drew up near the basuras, parking rakishly across the track. (I must have seen too many episodes of Kojak as a child.) Leaving the car running, Carol and I leapt out, she to do the recycling, me to deposit the rubbish. I returned to the car first and slammed the tailgate shut on the now empty boot. We had both shut our respective doors. I returned to the driver’s door ready to shoot off to the airport via the BP station in Benissa only to discover that the blasted car had chosen this particular cold and rainy day to suffer one of its occasional glitches. It had chosen this time-critical trip to the airport to bloody well lock itself! The doors were firmly locked, we were both outside, the keys were in the ignition, the engine was running and the car was blocking the track. Brilliant! Arghhhh! Why now?

Mercifully we were not far from home – about a quarter of a mile. I thought I remembered seeing a spare car key in a kitchen cupboard, along with a lot of other rarely-needed keys. Risking a second heart attack, the first having occurred with my realization that we were locked out of a running car blocking the track, I jogged as best I could uphill back to the house. The dogs were a little confused about my being back so soon but they remained calm and let me in to search for the key. I found it eventually and was soon puffing and wheezing, jogging back downhill to the still running, still locked car across the still blocked track.

The key worked and we were soon off to Benissa to fill up with petrol. The obliging pump attendant filled the tank, I paid my €38 and we were off to the autopista heading for Valencia airport. The fuel light was on and the fuel gauge read “empty”! Curious. Let’s hope that nothing else breaks down.

We were a little later than I would have liked but we got to Valencia airport without further mishap, parked, and Geoff and Pam, their flight on time, appeared through the arrivals hall about five minutes later. Our parking bill was a mere 15¢.

I had spent the morning making a Coq au Vin for the weary travellers’ evening meal. After a somewhat traumatic day fighting one of Henry Ford’s modern contraptions, it went down very well with a vino or four. 🙂

Technorati Tags: travel,Spain

Today was absolute pants again vis-a-vis the weather. The Locals are, we are told, saying that this is the worst winter for 40 years. Apparently, though, they tend to relate everything to a 40-year period. It didn’t particularly matter because we had a few cleaning and tidying chores to do in preparation for the owners’ return tomorrow.

So, to brighten an otherwise sunless day, I thought I’d post a few more pictures from Villajoyosa to show some of the more inventive colours on show.

The day did end on a bright note, albeit in the rain: we had a splendid evening with Chris, Yvonne and, of course, Scamp (el perrito), complete with Chris’s famous seafood pasta. And very good it was, too. 🙂

Technorati Tags: Villajoyosa,Spain,travel

Sun! Since Christmas week, we seem to be getting one sunny day a week and it looks like this is it for this week.

We made the most of it with a visit, about 30 minutes down the autopista,  to Villajoyosa (Spanish) or La Vila Joiosa (Valenciana). At least those two names look as if they are related and should be a little less confusing to unsuspecting tourists.

Villajoyosa is notable for its brightly and, it has to be said, inventively coloured houses. Some of the colours used are colours that, as sole examples standing against more normally white-painted houses, would jar horribly. However, since whole sections of the buildings are brightly and individually painted, everything seems to blend into a colourful harmony.

The use of colours on the buildings at Villajoyosa is said to have had an historic purpose rather than being a way to express one’s individuality, or simply to upset the neighbours. 🙂 Villajoyosa is an old fishing port and the colours supposedly helped fishermen returning in bad weather to pick out their own houses. I imagine that this means they landed any catches on the beach in front of their house.

“Juan, there’s my heliotrope house!”

“Maybe so, Pedro, but we’re off to the harbour to land this load of fish and octopus.”

That wouldn’t work, would it?

We arrived and, not being afraid of a walk back to the heart of things, found a parking spot on the edge of town, then set off in search of garish buildings. On our way down to the front, we also discovered some roads that rivalled the famous Lombard Street in San Francisco in its claim to be the world’s twistiest street. The habit of using bright colours may have started with fishermens’ houses on the front but it has clearly spread. Side streets now contain some very colourful examples.

After wandering around Villajoyosa and using quite a few pixels trying to capture the colourful nature of the place, a latish fish lunch began calling. Villajoyosa may have been colourful but we hadn’t spotted any enticing open fish restaurants on the front so we decided to scoot back up the autopista to Calp/Calpe, which is on the way back towards Jalón/Xaló, which does have many inviting fish restaurants surrounding its harbour. Carol, Steve and Rosemary had enjoyed a warm, sunny lunch here during my rush back to England just before Christmas. Now it was my turn.

It was cool and sunny but we still sat outside and a very good menu del diá, regardless. The free plate of chiparones (baby squid – and I mean real baby squid, unlike the baby eels) were excellent. Two glasses of sangria, chiparones, battered artichokes and generous helpings of merluza a la plancha (grilled hake) together with a bottle of very reasonable vino blanco, all for €10.50 per person, including tip. Marvelous!

Technorati Tags: Villajoyosa,Spain,travel

Directions and road signs in this part of Spain can be mightily confusing to those unaware of the two conflicting languages. The first-time visitor could easily drive around for some time looking for signs to Javea (pronounced with a guttural “j”, roughly “Khhhavia”) whilst studiously ignoring some other unpronounceable place called Xabia (pronounced with a guttural “x”, roughly “Khhhavia”). Be that as it may, they are, in fact, the same place, the second name being in the Valenciana language. This town is also a classic example of the relatively common interchangeability in various world tongues of “b” and “v”. I have, for example, seen Indian restaurant menus selling variously “vindaloo” and “bindaloo”. But I digress …

The day was dry but unscintillating so we decided to head for Javea/Xabia. Being reasonably well-versed in jays, exes, bees and vees, we managed to follow the correct signs and ended up in Javea/Xabia without mishap.

We tried the southernmost side of the town first but that looked much too much like Clacton in the sun, though the sun, today, was sporadic at best. Admittedly, Clacton probably does not have a business called Austriaco, with an associated Cafe Wien, though I can’t help but think that it would be greatly improved were it to have such an establishment. Be that as it may, we soon headed for the northern, harbour-end of town.

All was well here – the cafes were doing some brisk business and there was still a Tiffany jewellers which Carol had spotted on a previous visit. Economic downturn – what economic downturn? As we were wandering along to the harbour itself we heard what sounded like church bells. Looking in the direction of the sound, we saw nothing that resembled a church. We did, however, spot a concrete construction that seemed to be the source. We wandered around a few back streets and saw that a spaceship from the planet Zog seemed to have landed cheek by jowl with a dense collection of Spanish shops, houses and apartments. Several Zogians seemed to have been welcomed with a red carpet.

This did, indeed, turn out to be the source of the bells which seemed to be signalling the end of a service as the congregation was now leaving. The church is Nuestra Señora Del  Loreta and its architecture, though a distinct clash with everything in the immediate surroundings, was fascinating to behold. We have since discovered that it is supposed to represent the bows of a ship forcing their way through waves. I think I can see the resemblance, though I’d never have come up with that interpretation myself. We just had time to look inside and get a few pictures of some very effective lighting before the power was turned off. Just look at the shadows cast of Christ on the cross. Like other churches here, quite a bit of effort seems to be put into a nativity scene, too.

Not a stunning day but a reasonably stunning church.

We three kings of orient are,
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.

(He remembered, carefully avoiding any schoolboy smutty alternative lyrics.)

Along with Santa, many houses in Spain over the “holiday period” are decorated with effigies of the three kings climbing ropes to deliver their presents. Whilst Christmas and Santa may be more traditional for us northern Europeans, January 5th and 6th are, I believe, traditionally the main seasonal celebration for the Spanish. The Spanish children, however, have spotted that their northern European friends get presents on Christmas Day so now, both are celebrated.

Many towns and villages seem to stage a Three Kings procession but we’d been told that Deniá put on a good show so we chose that as our destination to watch the festivities. One of Deniá’s appeals was that their Three Kings supposedly arrived by boat to begin their procession at the harbour. Carol had tracked down the tourist office and been given details of when and where the fun would happen and we were looking forward to witnessing a Spanish tradition in the company of Chris and Yvonne who had also expressed an interest, especially as they had volunteered to drive and, more critically, park.

The four of us set off just before 5:00 PM for the 30 minute drive. As we drove along the front, parking spots were, of course, already full and a few crowds were beginning to gather. However, Chris found a free space in a side street and we sauntered back to await the arrival of the Three Kings.

At about 6:30 PM, a brightly lit catamaran slowly made its way into the harbour and eventually delivered Melchior, Balthazar and Gaspar safely to Deniá, to the evident unbridled delight of the local children, and it seemed, some of the adults, too. Although a modern catamaran might have seemed very out of place, the costumes were excellent with brightly coloured robes and, where appropriate, black face paint.

I’d been expecting three guys dressed as kings to make their way up the main street in Deniá to the town square but the actual scale of this surprised me. We were treated to a full-blown carnival procession with each of the kings riding a very brightly decorated carnival float, groups of dancers, bands of musicians [aside: I hesitate to describe any noise emanating from a bagpipe as music; what are they doing in Spain?], horse riders and donkeys laden down with brightly wrapped boxes. As the procession made its way along the route, the kings, together with a couple of assistants each, were continually flinging fistfuls of sweets into the crowd with the people sparing no effort to retrieve them before others. It was quite a scrum.

I was trying to shoot photographs blind, over the heads of the crowd while Carol, much more sensibly, found a step behind the crowd in a shop doorway and did much better with a bit of space. It was a little manic at times and the crowds were larger than we usually like but it was a terrific spectacle which we all enjoyed – well worth witnessing.

We returned home for a later snack than usual at about 8:30 PM.

Technorati Tags: travel,Spain,Denia,Twelfth Night,Three Kings

I’ve heard of a Spanish Festoon – it’s a splendidly colourful butterfly. Unfortunately, I’ve never actually managed to see a Spanish Festoon so sighting one remains an ambition. I haven’t ever heard of a Spanish Monsoon but we seem to be in the grips of one. Unlike the Spanish Festoon, I wish I hadn’t actually experienced the Spanish Monsoon. The rain that had begun yesterday at lunchtime had continued unabated overnight, drumming on the roof of our borrowed house and disturbing one of the dogs to such an extent that it insisted on sleeping in our bedroom. The rain persisted with varying degrees of ferocity throughout this morning, saturating the countryside and dampening our spirits.

On a brighter note, two of our friends from Taunton, Barry and Irene, had been staying a little way south of us at a camp site in La Manga over Christmas and New Year and were beginning their journey back north today. Not wishing to miss such a fine opportunity to catch up with them, we had invited them to break their journey and join us for a paella party followed by bed and breakfast to sleep it off. Since their experiences of the camp sites in this neighbourhood were less than exciting, our accommodation for the night may also be a welcome change for them. Barry and Irene’s arrival at midday today was met by the rain which still stubbornly refused to cease.

Finally, after suitable reunions, a relaxing lunch and more than 24 hours of continuous precipitation, our Spanish monsoon finally seemed to relent, get fed up with the Jalon valley and wander off somewhere else. Free at last. Braving deep puddles in the tracks through the vineyards, we broke out of our rain-enforced prison and walked into Jalon to give Barry and Irene a guided tour. Of course, being a Sunday, Jalon was effectively shut but they’d get to see something of what has been our home town for the last month.

We chose to avoid the worst of the puddles on the homeward journey by sticking to the road and coming back through Lliber, pausing in a local bar for a coffee before returning to get the paella underway. Irene seemed particularly keen to watch how it was made, as if the way I do it should be held up as a shining example, indeed. An appreciative audience always helps make the effort worthwhile though it does tend to increase the pressure not to screw up. Fortunately, they seemed to enjoy eating it as well as watching its preparation.

Good company, reasonable food an sufficient vino made a very pleasant end to what had been an otherwise depressingly saturated day.

Under slowly gathering clouds, we bravely drove out of the valley thinking that we might take a trip down the coast. However, once we actually left the valley it became apparent that elsewhere the clouds had already completed their gathering. It just wasn’t worth the fuel to go anywhere so we hit the “abort” button and simply went to a supermarket to get supplies for the rest of the weekend.

While England basks in sunshine, albeit cold, we are feeling completely cheated by the weather. The picture speaks for itself, I think.