Arriving home. Saying it aloud makes it more real. Preparing for my first visitors. The wi-fi works (wouldn’t get any visitors without that – my friends are a high-tech bunch demanding good connectivity!). And there’s Spanish tv in the lounge, and English tv in my bedroom. Maybe I need to get Jose back to swap the cables round?
Arriving home. Hot water is working, the fridge is full of juice and the freezer is full of ice. Top up the tea bag pot with tea bags brought from England. The one thing everyone smuggles out here!
Arriving home, but still in a hire car. The mark of a visitor. All being well, I’ll get my own little Spanish car tomorrow or Tuesday. I’ll park it precariously on the narrow hill along with those of my neighbours. An ancient Seat Ibiza, scratched, with a sticker supporting Málaga football club, and something involving feathers and beads hanging from the mirror. Spanish newspaper on the back seat. The mark of a resident. It’ll blend in. It’s a local’s car, without the giveaway rental company’s sticker in the window.
Arriving home. Throwing open the shutters, opening my bedroom windows to that amazing mountain view – hidden now in the dark evening but ready to emerge in the morning. Not as hot as August, thank goodness. It’s Sunday night – some sounds from the street, not a lot. Sleep will come easily tonight.
© Tamara Essex 2012