Travel Writing Awards Entry
By Lauren Crawley
WHEN will I get there? The question was beginning to repeat itself to the rhythm of my pounding heart as the taxi taking me to the Spanish countryside hotel, where I will be spending the next six months working, snaked its way upwards along the mountain roads. It seemed we had left civilization behind at the motorway exit as we made our way from Malaga airport. Together with the feelings of anxiety and apprehension that are always there tagging along on your first day at a new job, I was fraught with the fear that I hadn’t uttered a word of Spanish, the language I had studied for only two years, during my previous six months in Chambéry, France.
I exchanged pleasantries with the taxi driver, conversation stunted as I toyed with conjugations in my head and peppered my Spanish with French words, a habit which would take me weeks to shake off!
Almost an hour later, I arrived at the hotel. The scenery I witnessed on the journey up was nothing short of breathtaking, the landscape was a lush green as a result of some unusually healthy rainfall. You would never have guessed, it was February and the sun was shining with all the intensity of a midsummer’s morning.
El Torcal
This area of Spain is faced with a drought situation which is escalating year upon year and this year it is set to be the worst in twelve years. The slightest hint of rain is enough to excite the locals here.
I stepped nervously from the taxi to be greeted by the staff of the hotel, all 9 of them eagerly awaiting my arrival, whose hard work ensures the success of this beautiful 9 bedroom Andalusian cortijo nesting in the foothills of the magnificent El Torcal natural park and beautifully embraced by the surrounding mountains, resulting in awe-inspiring 360° panoramic views.
These friendly faces welcoming me would become my friends and family over the next six months and with a deep breath I urged myself to see this as home.
I was given the guided tour after I’d unpacked my suitcase which contained everything I needed to create a home from home. Reme the housekeeper, whose role at the hotel is mother hen; always offering her wise words of advice and making sure everyone is eating enough, showed me around and introduced me to everyone individually.
A room with a view
I spent the rest of the day relaxing and preparing for my first day.
Two weeks after my first day, Veronica the sweet, friendly waitress with whom I worked regularly invited me out for coffee in the pueblo.
The nearest bar, in fact the nearest anything, being 5km away, dictates that a car is essential and the hotel provided me with a battered Seat Cordoba estate, a little different from what I was used to but as it turned out, it means that I blend in effortlessly with the locals!
The quaint village of Villanueva de la Concepción is everything you would hope and expect a Spanish pueblo to be.
Rows of whitewashed houses along tiny streets lined with sweet orange blossom trees, groups of ancient men with faces like tan leather, putting the world to rights gathered on the local benches, a local supermarket and of course, more bars than the average city in the UK!
Veronica and I get along fantastically despite the fact that our worlds couldn’t be more unalike. She is 19 years old, has been married for 3 years and she has a 2 year old daughter, such is life in the campo.
I walked nervously up to her house and knocked on the door. It was one thing working together on familiar territory but another being in someone’s home. Inside live four generations of the same family, women rule the roost, creating a homely haven while the men work endless physical hours in the fields.
I joined Veronica, her husband and her daughter for their usual afternoon outing; to the local tapas bar, ‘Meson Bar Torfa’, we went. It was a Sunday at 2 pm and the bar was packed to capacity. Outside was the peace and tranquillity of the pueblo; you could hear a pin drop. Inside was a smoked filled bar, overflowing with laughter, discussion, eating and drinking.
I suddenly felt very out of place and slightly intimidated as the crowds of men, whose weathered skin and battered hands are the tell tale signs that although the pace of life is slow it is far from and easy one, turned towards the blonde in the doorway, sticking out like a sore thumb tagging along with the family. A feeling I am often faced with when not in the cities. Unsurprisingly, everybody in there knows everybody else and I was soon introduced and as quickly as people identified me as a stranger they were warming to me and asking me the usual questions posed to a foreigner who turns up in the incarnation of a typical Spanish village. We were soon joined by two of Veronica’s sisters, their respective husbands and her brother and they carried on chatting between them as though I wasn’t even there. I was in fact delighted by this; I could listen and learn and shy away from contributing when I was clearly out of my depth. The usual things were discussed, work, the weather, family, friends… We’re all not so different after all!
The group ordered dish after dish, as soon as one was finished another took its place. New to the tapas experience I said I will try anything, and so they came and so I did. Even Alba at two years old, peeled and tucked into her prawns, winkles and mussels. I explained that you would never see a two year old back home eating shellfish and they couldn’t believe it, so I went on to say that back home there is no such thing as tapas. Word soon spread and within minutes all eyes were on me wanting explanation of what on earth we do if we can’t tapear with friends. I explained we go to a local pub or bar where we can hardly hear ourselves think above the music, drink as quickly as we can before moving on to the next place, never staying put for more than the time it takes to guzzle down a drink. They all burst out laughing… they thought I was joking, if only!
I have learnt more from my regular outings with Veronica, her friends and family than I ever could from any amount of reading. This is Spanish village life at its purest, most civilized and I am honoured to be invited to share a part of it.
The time came of course to venture further afield. The hotel is gifted with a central location; the cities of Granada, Seville, Cordoba and Malaga are all within 1-2 hours.
My first port of call was the Feria de Abril in Seville.
After hearing so many locals bursting with pride and passion as they tell me about Andalusia’s copious array of fiestas and ferias, I had to see one for myself. I drove there taking two of my friends who live in Malaga.
The feria is well-known as a private affair. Tourists would not be made unwelcome, but at they same time they are far from encouraged. So we were worried about fitting in, with the fear of looking like tourists.
As it turned out we needn’t have worried, for one day only we were invisible. The centre of Seville was eerily deserted, so we enjoyed a few hassle – free hours soaking up the sights of Seville, the incredible, pristine gardens and the huge, impressive Giralda.
Gardens in Seville
The fair takes place in the outskirts of the city across the river and is made up of hundreds of private member-only casetas (tents). Inside these casetas people eat, drink, dance sevillano flamenco, chat and laugh 24 hours a day for the seven days of the fair. Incredibly every woman and child is dressed to the nines in extravagantly coloured flamenco dresses and the men and boys dressed in their finest caballero gear. Hundreds of beautiful Andlausian horses pull elaborate carts along the streets and the wealthy families of Seville experience being royalty for a day. I have never in my life experienced anything like it. It was like stepping back in time, to how one would imagine Spain hundreds of years ago, I can only describe the whole experience as magical, and I was only an observer, I have never seen so many hundreds of people looking so ecstatic and delighted; an unadulterated representation of the Andalusian party spirit. For one week they just let themselves go and the result is both breathtaking and exhilarating. The finale to the week is a spectacular firework display and of course the following day is a city-wide holiday called the resacca (hangover!).
On one of my days off, I drove to Granada alone, to experience the much talked about beauty of the Alhambra, where the Spanish Muslim past comes to life.
Alhambra, Granada
Words fail me to do justice to the overwhelming beauty of the palace and its gardens, similarly I visited Cordoba at my first opportunity, to witness the Mezquita, cathedral and other monuments paying homage to Andalusia’s elaborate Arab past.
Mequita, Cordoba
I could never have imagined to what extent this year would be the rewarding and culturally enriching experience it has been, and by putting pen to paper I realised how many small events, too insignificant to even write down, have touched me to the core and will stay with me forever.
Linguistically, I get my sense of pride and achievement from the successful phone call which wouldn’t have been so successful before. . The words learnt in two years of university became sentences, conversations and the foundations for solid friendships building solid friendships which I hope will remain long after I leave in September.
I have come to realise however, that my linguistic progress would mean nothing without the cultural experiences that come with it.
It’s not the bullfights I have been to, the flamenco troupes I have tapped my feet along to and the horse-shows I have seen, I get my kicks, challenges and rewards day after day from trips to the shops, the hairdressers and chatting over a coffee with the people I meet.
Almost everyone I have met in last two months has invited me for a coffee; sensitive to the fact that I am alone in the heart of the Spanish countryside. The Andalusian people’s ceaseless hospitality never fails to touch and astound me the cultural quirks learnt from the only people who can tell it like it is, without even realising they are, warm my heart and never fail to make me smile.
I can’t deny that I have at times been lonely and frustrated when sometimes as hard as I try I just can’t say what I want to, but have been lucky. Those around me, by their very nature, open hearts and homes have welcomed me with kindness and I will take back home with me experiences that will stay with me forever and in a strange way I have never ever felt so at home and at peace in a place that isn’t really home.
