I had the absolute pleasure yesterday of driving my nephew and his charming new wife back to Córdoba train station for their night train to Barcelona.
I don't normally look forward to the drive so very much as it is mostly motorway, but we decided to leave in plenty of time and take in a few of the local villages "off the beaten track".
We drove through Cabra without stopping ... Cabra means Goat in Spanish, and this particular town is one where I have determined to spend more time - the architecture is lovely - there are big open parks with pergolas under which you'll often find outdoor performances going on - and the road that winds down to it competes with a ski resort's access ....
But we went to have sangria and tapas in one of my fairytale destinations here - Zuheros.
About 40 minutes' easy drive away from our Guest House, skirting around the western side of the Sierra Subbética mountains, and absolutely accessible in a small car without wheel insurance (!), this village is a treasure. It is perched in a plunging ravine which splits through the Sierra and would have originally been the basis of inhabitation - an obvious water supply.
The swallows were swooping and chittering, and the crows (my personal favourites), cruising around chattering as the sun made it's way to the horizon and the castle lights came on, throwing everything into the most romantic lighting relief imaginable.
It has views stretching up to the Sierra Norte north of Cordoba with Baena in the middle ground, and the sunset from the castle is out of a fairy story, especially when enjoyed with a jug of freshly made sangria and local cured ham.
After wowing our socks off and taking lots of photos, we left shortly after 8.30pm to take the back road into Cordoba itself and the AVE / Renfe station which took us through several gorgeous villages - but the one that really stunned us was Espejo - Spanish for Mirror - because the light had become that late evening rich royal blue with smatterings of the darkest red as we rounded a corner to find the crescent moon hovering just to the right of a beautifully lit up castle, with a carpet of white houses spreading out at the castle's feet. It was, to quote my nephew's gorgeous Australian wife, "totally awesome".
The train station in Cordoba was a dream to find and had me driving through the "new" area - something I haven't done before and something I am determined to do again - wonderful wide open spaces and some of the most striking fountains I have seen in rural Spain ....
For another time I think.....
Showing posts with label cordoba. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cordoba. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Acorn Antiques in Andalucia
With time on my hands yesterday and a new sculpture in the pipeline, I decided to visit the last remaining old fashioned ironmongers in Rute (ROO-tay). It is an extraordinary shop – similar to Arkwrights in that it will have Fork Handles and Four Candles as well as air conditioning machines and wheel barrows.
I feel, as I enter this homage to the olden days, that I must morph into a mole, because there is not one single light on in the whole shop, and a smell of damp pervades the air. Through the murk you can make out everything from chairs to heaters, watering cans to coffee makers – all dredged in a thick layer of dust.
I cough, call “Hola”, and wait. And, as ever, from around a mountain of tiny boxes housing every size of screw, nail, washer and bolt, comes the owner – a man in his 90s, who has not a hair on his head. And from the mountain of boxes to the counter, all of two steps, I watch him, quivering and shaking, as he takes minutes to cross the gap to greet me.
He gathers himself and looks into my eyes with his own rheumy blue pair.
I tell him that I have come to buy wire – the thinnest possible, and that I am in a bit of a hurry.
He explains to me that he can sell me however many metres I want, while trundling back to a vast pair of wire cutters. I am ordered to follow him so, remaining behind him, we walk, more slowly than the growing speed of an oak tree, to his back rooms, him shaking with a regular, almost soothing monotony, as he goes. He fumbles around for what seems like an age for a light switch, potters on – another light switch – potters on until eventually we arrive in a dusty damp infested room with cement bags and chicken wire.
I’m really beginning to realise that I should never have come here, and yet I am practically having an out of body experience with the surrealness of it all. Here I am, in some dank and dark back room with an extremely elderly man who is no gentleman, but I feel entirely safe as I could walk faster than he could run.
And he shows me his prized wire – huge rolls of oxidized and galvanised totally unsuitable stuff which I won’t be buying – so I thank him and say No, sorry to have taken your time, I need a much finer wire …..
I thought I had my opportunity at that moment to escape, as my eyes fell on the dustiest sewing machine for sale next to a chemical loo and floor rug – but he says No! Come here, I have more … and we walk back, achingly slowly, back to the very place we started where he shows me his thinnest wire – 0.6mm – too thick and galvanised …. But nevertheless presented with a pride you rarely see in shops these days.
And he starts the same conversation we had the last time I went in – you’re not Spanish are you? But not English either … Oh? You are English? Well, you don’t look English, and you don’t speak Spanish like an English person ….
Bye Bye, Mr Acorn Antiques …. Til next time ….
I feel, as I enter this homage to the olden days, that I must morph into a mole, because there is not one single light on in the whole shop, and a smell of damp pervades the air. Through the murk you can make out everything from chairs to heaters, watering cans to coffee makers – all dredged in a thick layer of dust.
I cough, call “Hola”, and wait. And, as ever, from around a mountain of tiny boxes housing every size of screw, nail, washer and bolt, comes the owner – a man in his 90s, who has not a hair on his head. And from the mountain of boxes to the counter, all of two steps, I watch him, quivering and shaking, as he takes minutes to cross the gap to greet me.
He gathers himself and looks into my eyes with his own rheumy blue pair.
I tell him that I have come to buy wire – the thinnest possible, and that I am in a bit of a hurry.
He explains to me that he can sell me however many metres I want, while trundling back to a vast pair of wire cutters. I am ordered to follow him so, remaining behind him, we walk, more slowly than the growing speed of an oak tree, to his back rooms, him shaking with a regular, almost soothing monotony, as he goes. He fumbles around for what seems like an age for a light switch, potters on – another light switch – potters on until eventually we arrive in a dusty damp infested room with cement bags and chicken wire.
I’m really beginning to realise that I should never have come here, and yet I am practically having an out of body experience with the surrealness of it all. Here I am, in some dank and dark back room with an extremely elderly man who is no gentleman, but I feel entirely safe as I could walk faster than he could run.
And he shows me his prized wire – huge rolls of oxidized and galvanised totally unsuitable stuff which I won’t be buying – so I thank him and say No, sorry to have taken your time, I need a much finer wire …..
I thought I had my opportunity at that moment to escape, as my eyes fell on the dustiest sewing machine for sale next to a chemical loo and floor rug – but he says No! Come here, I have more … and we walk back, achingly slowly, back to the very place we started where he shows me his thinnest wire – 0.6mm – too thick and galvanised …. But nevertheless presented with a pride you rarely see in shops these days.
And he starts the same conversation we had the last time I went in – you’re not Spanish are you? But not English either … Oh? You are English? Well, you don’t look English, and you don’t speak Spanish like an English person ….
Bye Bye, Mr Acorn Antiques …. Til next time ….
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Websites and getting Optimised
The more I read and study on the Internet, the more I begin to understand that there are many forms of getting "noticed". Be it submitting articles (of which I have done several on Moving to Spain and registering a UK vehicle in Spain to name just a couple), but there is also this Bogey Word called Web Site Optimisation!
YIPES! What a MINEFIELD.
I have friends who don't live here in Córdoba, and who DON'T run a Bed & Breakfast (there - a perfect example of optimising - Córdoba and Bed & Breakfast are two really important words for us, but I can't sit here repeating them over and over, and use the example to prove a point) - who do have websites offering services, and who have their website details or connected details filling up page one of Google!
IT'S VERY ANNOYING!
So, I am now spending several hours each day writing articles, and working on this issue of Optimising. I am writing about Pamper Weekends, or the fact that I personally love to be pampered. I am writing about being a single parent, and the pitfalls and joys of such a life. I am joining forums and clubs that have relevant members - others with a bed & breakfast perhaps, or are running their own successful businesses. Needless to say, none of them have ever heard of La Celada, or Iznájar for that matter . But I hope, that with time and my efforts, they SOON WILL!
YIPES! What a MINEFIELD.
I have friends who don't live here in Córdoba, and who DON'T run a Bed & Breakfast (there - a perfect example of optimising - Córdoba and Bed & Breakfast are two really important words for us, but I can't sit here repeating them over and over, and use the example to prove a point) - who do have websites offering services, and who have their website details or connected details filling up page one of Google!
IT'S VERY ANNOYING!
So, I am now spending several hours each day writing articles, and working on this issue of Optimising. I am writing about Pamper Weekends, or the fact that I personally love to be pampered. I am writing about being a single parent, and the pitfalls and joys of such a life. I am joining forums and clubs that have relevant members - others with a bed & breakfast perhaps, or are running their own successful businesses. Needless to say, none of them have ever heard of La Celada, or Iznájar for that matter . But I hope, that with time and my efforts, they SOON WILL!
Cordoba Heat, Glorious Me Time
What an experience. As I lie on my sumptuous roof terrace, in only my bikini, Life In Spain Is GOOD. It is Sunday, a lazy day. Zack is staying with his best friend for the weekend, and I am resisting the temptation to work, be it finishing staining doors, window frames, cooking or painting - nothing except this little moment to Blog It. I am instead lapping up the gorgeous heat in January, and enjoying being AMANDA - no-one's wife, no-one's mother, no-one's required other for a few hours. What a treasure of time that is.
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