Monte Sal

Monte Sal, Salt Mountain, is one of the highest hills in and around Pinoso. Apparently someone pumps fresh water down into the ground where it dissolves the rock salt. They then pump the brine out of the ground and send it, via a pipeline, to the coastal town of Torrevieja for procesing. The picture shows one of the well heads.

Of Madrid and mortality

We went up to Madrid for the weekend with a few of Maggie's teacher pals. We went by train, stayed in cheap digs, drank far too much in expensive bars, took in a couple of exhibitions and generally soaked up a bit of Madrid street life.

Maggie has a real soft spot for Madrid, as she lived there for three years, but I never think of it as one of Europe's outstanding cities. The weather wasn't that great (we were forced to sit out one hail shower in the bar of the restaurant we were just leaving), we were a bit disorganised and tended to drift a bit but we still managed to have a decent enough time.

When I got home an old pal, someone I've more or less lost touch with, had sent me an email to say that his sister had died of a brain tumour. She and I stepped out when we were both younger. Sobering and horrid to think that she will get no older.

Lifesaver

This is a Eurocard. It's one of many telephone calling cards I can buy here in Spain. I think you can get something similar in Tesco's.

By dialling lots of code numbers it's possible to make a phone call using, what I suspect, is voice via internet technology. I have to pay 6€ for the card and from the first time I use it I have up to 800 minutes call time from my own phone or 45 minutes from a call box and 45 days before it expires. In the call box there are no other charges but from my home phone the call also has to be paid for at the equivalent of the lo-cost call rate in the UK.

When the car was broken into, when I first got here, and I had to spend nearly 50 hours on the phone this card saved me a fortune. The best thing about it though is that it allows me to keep in touch with pals back in the UK at a reasonable cost and without all that rigmarole involved with computer based phone calls.

Hallelujah! Christ is risen, pass the beer!

We saw the last of the Easter precessions in Pinoso today. The various groups had all dispensed with the pointy hats and this time the parade was in daylight so the snaps are a bit better.

One excellent thing about Easter Sunday from my point of view is that I've not been drinking alcohol for the whole of Lent (I'm sure one can of Heineken doesn't count!) The aim was to prove to myself that I'm not alcohol dependant. Good job, well done; now to go and see if I can cram 40 days drinking into one!

I'm just popping down the bodega for some wine luv

It perhaps sounds a bit more romantic than heading off for Tesco's or popping down the offy but the truth is that most of our local bodegas are a bit dreary and their general aspect is definitely agricultural industrial.

Take our local bodega, Bodega Brotons, actually in the village of Culebrón. One of the brothers who owns it, Roberto, is usually around and he's very pleasant with us but the bit of the Bodega we go in is quite dark, smells a bit musty and simply has four or five bulk storage tanks and a bunch of industrial shelving for the bottled stuff.

There is usually a pyramid of wine in five litre plastic containers by each of the bulk tanks but if there isn't they will just fill a container through a rubber hose from the tank. Indeed you can save yourself 50 centimos from the price of 5 litres by taking your own conatiner; most of the locals use old water bottles of varying sizes. Five litres of Dormilon, with container, costs a staggering 5.35€. As you might imagine plastic bottles and rubber hoses all help to maintain the mystique of fine wine served in perfect conditions.

That said, most of our visitors really like the Culebrón Merlot and when we tell Spanish people where we live thir first comment is usually "good wine - very strong". Thanks to the demands of the US Military, you can check out what the bodega has on offer, and their English, at www.vinosculebron.com

Our bodega is a bit different to most of the others in that it produces olive oil and lots of people refer to it as an oil press rather than a winery. Within a radius of say five miles there are a couple of bodegas in Maña, the co-operative bodega in Pinoso, one out at Rodriguillo and one out towards Cañada del Trigo. There are lots more in every direction epecially out towards the wine town of Jumilla and of course the predominant scenery around here is vineyards.

It's hard not to think of burning crosses and lynchings

All over Spain Holy Week is celebrated with processions. In general associations, usually called Cofradrias or Hermandades, parade through the streets. Each one has a particular costume and is related to a saint or some such. They walk at a snails pace rocking from foot to foot in time to a drumbeat provided by a cornet and drum band. The groups carry, or wheel, statues of their Saint or Jesus or some other Christian symbol through the streets moving it from somewhere to the local church. The majority wear pointed hats, capuchones, or more correctly capirotes and that's why they look like the KKK. I presume that the mask is to hide their identity and a show of humility.

We have processions every night in Pinoso and the whole town seems to be out to either parade or watch. Fortunately, as with all things Spanish, the Spaniards are irrepresible. So although they shuffle along in a solemn and dignified way they occasionally throw back their face masks to greet their friends as they pass them by. The children are dressed up too down to the babies in the pushchairs and as the procession passes by the participants delve deep inside their robes and pull out handfuls of sweets to hand out to the bystanders.

One of the features of the Pinoso set up is a group called Centuria Romana who base their costume on the Roman soldiers from the film The Robe. They parade solemnly with the rest but when the parade gets to the town square they suddenly become all showbiz and do a bit of formation marching.

Is this one OK Claire?

When we were in Altea with our chums I took a fair few photos. Claire said I wasn't to put any horrid photos of her on the Blog. Claire's not the one in shorts, that's Maggie. John is the one with the hat.

Jesus plays to the crowd

Maggie and I went to stay with our friends John and Claire Morrison at their house just outside Altea for the Palm Sunday weekend. We had a really pleasant weekend doing nothing in particular but we did pop into Altea to watch the Domingo de Ramos procession.

There are two churches in Altea, one down on the seafront and the other at the top of the hill around which the old town is built. The Palm Sunday procession set out from the church on the coast and made its way up the hill. There were some sort of "altar boys" leading the way followed by a few priests, a band, Jesus riding on a donkey, a bundle of people in costume and lots of ordianary people carrying palms and olive branches. The great and the good (shiny suits and designer frocks) brought up the rear. The band wore Arab type clothing and played a repetitive little dance number to help keep the volume up. They could hardly be heard above the crowd.

Jesus looked dead happy, he waved, he smiled to the crowd, he pouted and posed for photos.

Going to the Dentist

Dental care, extraction apart, is not a part of the Spanish social security system. Because it costs money to go to the dentist we haven't done it since we got here. That means it is something like 18 months since anyone has peered into my mouth. Today though someone wearing latex gloves and a face mask sucked spittle out of my mouth and then charged me 50€ for the pleasure.

With Maggie working down near the coast we went to a dentist that some of her pals had recommended, close to her work, in a place called Gran Alacant. Gran Alacant is basically a housing estate for foreigners. It was just like tens of dental surgeries I've been to in the UK. The magazines on the table were old and in English. The dentist wasn't ready for us at the appointed time, the receptionist, like everyone else associated with the practice, wore a white coat and was brusque without being unpleasant. There were posters of teeth and leaflets for mouthwash. A small child screamed as we waited, though Maggie assured me it was because the lad had fallen off the swings outside and had been brought in to see the doctor rather than the dentist.

Anyway, surprisingly, the dentist said my teeth, and Maggie's, were OK and to come back in 6 months.

A view over the beach

We've lived, as distinct from owned, our house in Culebrón for just a year now. Before that we lived in the seaside town of Santa Pola. One of the chaps we met there was an Armenian called Masis who had paid some smuggler $2,500 to fly him into Paris from where he made his way, illegally to Spain.

Masis had a tough time of it without papers. He could only get badly paid, cash in hand jobs with no type of benefit. He worked each and every day. One week he wasn't paid and when he dared to ask his boss for the money he was thrown from a moving car. He presumed he had been sacked.

At the time of his dismissal he was subletting a flat from a South American who rented the two bedroom flat to four completely unrelated men. When his landlord moved a couple of prostitutes in as well Masis decided it was time to up sticks. Things were not going well. Homeless and jobless he lived by doing any work he could and by selling most of his remaining stuff.

It got worse, and it's a long and complicated story, but Masis eventually found someone who might be willing to employ his son who has particular computer skills. In time the son was brought to Spain on a legitimate contract and Masis suddenly had an income again.

Masis was also able to take advantage of an amnesty by the Spanish Government on illegal immigrants and start the process of applying for proper papers.

We went to see him the other night. His situation is still far from perfect but father and son are doing OK and climbing the slippery slope to a better life. They have a two bedroom flat to themselves with a wonderful view over the Med and both of them seem to be fit and well. They treated us to some Armenian home cooking and a bucketload of vodka.

It looks as though there may yet be a happy ending.

An MG and a run in the sun

Maggie and I went out with the old car today on a picnic organised by the car club of which I'm a member - El Club del 600 y Clasicos de Orihuela y Vieja Baja (snappy little title eh?)

We met in Orihuela and a collection of about 20 to 25 cars of various pedigrees and nationalities headed off down the motorway at a steady 80kph. The SEAT 600s had trouble maintaining this speed, the two leading MGBs had trouble going quite so slowly. We were the third MGB in the queue and we tried to mitigate the speed of the leaders and gee up the followers. Our destination was the small town of Aledo whose claim to fame is an ancient arab lookout tower. When we got there we all obediently looked at the tower and then got on with the real business of any Spanish event - eating and talking.

It was a good do, we ate well and quite a few people made a special effort to talk to us. The weather was tremendous; perfect picnic weather. Hot and sunny. The car ran perfectly.

The scarves are nice aren't they?