I do this sometimes you know ...

I go walkabouts ....

I wake up grumpy for no apparent reason, get through the morning rituals that that well known You Tube video of the song Mom exposed, and then as soon as the school day starts, I put on my trainers, tie my hair back in a chaotic mess, grab a small bottle of water and, with keys stuffed down my cleavage, leave the house planning to never return

It's just after 11am and I have been gone nearly 2 hours - I turned left out of the house today instead of the normal right, and speed walked down the hill towards Iznájar. I had determined a day or two ago to strengthen downhill muscles so that I could climb more of the hills and mountains you see, and while I have no problem going up, I fall to pieces coming down...

So once I was at the bottom of the La Celada hill, I was already thinking to myself "How am I ever going to persuade myself back up there?" - you see it is steep most of the way, and then it has a 200m stretch where it is about 1:3 - and I was feeling a bit daunted at the return prospect.

So putting that out of my head, I forged ahead and through the olive groves til I found myself at a tiny babbling brook - the noise was just tinkly and lovely - and I made myself stop there and enjoy it for a moment - if I was never going to return, I might as well take a break there ...

So I crossed the stream and started to walk along a scar of a road hacked out of the side of the mountain - well used and undergrown, and with Iznájar in the distance, I was starting to feel that I may return to my house after all, just making a big loop out of my determination to leave.

Then I saw horses - gambolling 50 yards beneath me at the base of this rocky crag I was discovering - and felt extremely grateful that I had chosen to cross the river rather than walk unbeknownst into this frolicking foray of long strong legs that would undoubtedly have seen me as a chance to play.

On and on - ah - there's my chance to cross the scrub and arrive outside my friend Gonzalo's house - so I stride out across a "field" which looks unthreatening and actually rather beautiful spotted with zillions of wild flowers ...

And the grasses get longer and longer and longer. Before long I am wading up to my thighs in grains, bergamot, vast variegated thistles and goose grass - leaving me covered in tiny sticky seed balls ... and I go the wrong way, turn back, wade up the hill as if through solid treacle, my thighs and bum by now screaming with the effort and then Splat - I lose my footing completely and end up in a heap of ticks, seed heads and goose grass balls ..... !

It did me the world of good ...

My grump was left on the floor, and I stood up, smiled at my trousers now totally covered in goose grass balls, and headed for Gonzalo's house and bashed on the door. No reply, but a 10 minute deballing took place before I stiffly got to my feet and started to head back here.

It's a LONG way .... and my water ran out so I refilled it at the Cuatro Vientos bar (they do brilliant tapas there) and as I rounded the corner I was thinking that I might actually hitch my way home - it was getting warmer, and that 1:3 hill was taunting me somewhat ...

And then I heard it - toot toot - my angel had arrived - Peter, who lives just down the road, scooped me up and drove me, engine howling, all the way up to the top of the hill, cutting my walkabout short by about an hour and a very sore pair of legs ....

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 ….

The Bat Cave - Las Cuevas de Los Murciélagos

Los Cuevos de Los Murciélagos - Zuheros - Córdoba

WOW!

What a day ….

Saturday saw Zack, myself, and his six year old Spanish friend Adrian packing a picnic and heading off to see the famous Caves of the Bats in Zuheros, Córdoba ....... and being a military family girl, we left the house at 12 noon allowing just under two hours to get there, because I know what these mountain roads can be like and I didn´t want vomiting children yowling in the back seat after the first five minutes …

So I checked the map and chose the most direct route (.....when will I learn…) and set off winding our way from La Celada to Priego de Córdoba, one of the most isolated yet central to the Sierra Subbética mountains villages. After trying to remember how I would direct someone through Priego de Córdoba (duly noting down "turn left at the palm tree, right at the second set of lights" at the same time as driving - for which I would probably get banned but here in Spain the worst that will happen is I get tooted at by the drivers behind me for not accelerating at break neck speed through a heavily peopled village) we found ourselves at the road turning that the map suggested ….. and headed straight over the edge of a cliff … !

By which I mean that the tarmac had been SO Badly joined to the main Priego to Alcaudete road that it had created a "ridge" that was several inches higher than the road we needed to take - I honestly thought I was going to lose the undercarriage ... !! Yipes!

Still, not deterred, we carried on - turned right - carried on through amazing scenery, winding around this way and around that way then rounding another bend the sign for Luque - the next village we had to go through - pointed up the mountain track!!! And said 10km beside it!! OH MY GOD!

Smiling to myself while thinking "I HAVE DONE WORSE" and making reassuring Hearty Mother Has Done This Before off we set winding up the dirt road. I was practically kissing the sky for the fact that we have had no rain for several days because the road was clear and dry - if rather lumpy and bumpy - so I started to feel super confident … and then

….Bleugh .

Adrian vomited in the back seat !!

Poor little mite - 6 years old, but managed to find a plastic bag (thank god empty) and yakked up into it! And when I said come on, hop out and walk about a bit, he looked at me as if I was mad !! He was clearly NOT used to anyone giving a monkeys about a bit of sick .... !

So we swapped seats around, put him in the front to take his mind of the lumps and bumps, and soldiered on, getting a bit lost in Luque before finally coming across a sign saying Cuevas de Los Murciélagos! YAY!

So wound our way up the mountain path that clings onto the side of the Zuheros precipice, with breathtaking views, and crows circling with vultures .... and there was the entrance to the Bat Cave …




And this post is TO BE CONTINUED !!!

Cluck Cluck Cluck ... Chicken's Up !

That's it, we've finally gone mad ....

We're getting CHICKENS!

Our neighbours, the wonderful Luisa and Antonio who have housed my baby motorhome ever since we arrived, ate their scrawny featherless apologies for chickens (think boiling fowls) who only laid eggs when the sun turned blue and whose cockerel had no respect for Dawn Chorusing and instead bellyached all night long ... and a week ago filled their chicken run with young pretty fluffy white hens!

And they have agreed to house a further two - which will be Zack's chickens!!

Hey Ho Eggs Here We Go ... :)

Living A Dream Means Listening To The Signs

Part of living any Dream, is to be attentive to what is needed ....

And right now, my son is SO TIRED, he needs a break.

He works several times harder than his class colleagues because he is, of course, doing it all in another language - and so every so often it catches up with him like being hit by a train ...

So we have organised ourselves a last minute break .... just a night or two .... but time out for him to recharge his wee batteries.

It must be done!

Yipes - The Merry-Go-Round is going F-A-S-T!

Wow! The past 24 hours have been a tornado of activity!

Not only have I discovered Ecademy - and I am truly thankful to God and Georgina Lester for rescuing me from Facebook in that regard (save me from asinine requests of "what flavoured rotting cabbage are you) - but I have, since then, joined as a Power Networker and have since been given support and help from across the WORLD. It is an amazing resource for people wanting to UP their profile, improve their business contacts, or in my case GET CORDOBA ON THE MAP and more importantly Casa La Celada and our Bed and Breakfast here!

I have had some wonderful feedback from people giving me their valuable time, advice on how to get matters Humming - check this link out www.ecademy.com/module.php?mod=club&c=5248 - it is my very own and first Club on Ecademy called Spanish Retreats and Holidays - and it is for ANYONE with an interest in Spain, Holidays, Healing and informing others of their own gifts and products.

So I am smiling - even if my eyeballs are hanging out on threads bleeding caused by hours of computer work!

Time to wander up to my glorious roof terrace to remember the view methinks!