My fifth Christmas in Spain. I thought that must be wrong, but it’s not. Four and a half years since I bought my house, three and a half years since I retired and moved here full-time. Such a short time, yet it feels like forever. Continue reading
The theory proves itself right, time after time after time.
Like-minded people, practising languages together. Continue reading
It wasn’t the best of days. But as the stranger who helped me said, “You can tell a lot about a person by how they react to difficult situations.” He should know – he had watched two or three people every day drive into the same bollard I had driven into. He had waited with some of them, too, for the tow-truck, though some (he said) were so rude that he didn’t bother. Continue reading
The kind barman first reminded me I was in la provincia de Granada, so my preferred milky coffee was not un café nube but una leche manchada. He then reminded me to take care driving the last 15 kilometres. True, visibility was not great but it didn’t feel as though his warning was necessary. That was at about 1200 metres. Continue reading
First thing I did wrong was that I asked for un cafe nube doble en vaso. My usual milky coffee. Nope – I was in Orgiva in Granada province, now, so must remember to ask for una leche manchada doble en vaso. La dueña was ancient, and widowed (guessing by the black widows’ weeds) and corrected me politely. Continue reading
It’s different on the other side. It’s still Andalucía, but it’s just out of Málaga province and into Granada. And everything is different. Continue reading
I seem to have become a stalker. Not the really really scary sort, I hope, but a bit of a stalker nonetheless. Continue reading