Climbing the walls

Ten years ago I saw the Pet Shop Boys at the old SOS 4.8 Festival in Murcia. I expected them to be terrible but they were just the opposite. They really engaged with the audience. At one point Neil was talking to us. He said how much he and Chris had enjoyed sitting in the Plaza Cardenal Beluga, in front of the Cathedral in Murcia, with a drink and a snack. "It's beautiful, isn't it, that Cathedral?" The home crowd roared its approval. He's right though. Whatever you think of its purpose Murcia Cathedral is quite a building.

Although the current building was started in 1394 the part you notice first, the frontage or facade, is Baroque in style. To my mind Baroque architecture means that it has lots of twiddly bits just like Baroque music is Handel, Monteverdi and Vivaldi. But, I have a duty to my loyal readership (hello Derek!) to be a bit more specific. Wikipedia tells me that Baroque Architecture is a highly decorative and theatrical style. It began in Italy in the early 17th century and gradually spread across Europe. It was originally introduced by the Catholic Church in an attempt to inspire awe in people in the hope of keeping them from falling into the clutches of the Protestant church.

It might be some sort of local allegiance but I think that Murcia Cathedral is my favourite Cathedral in Spain. Burgos is impressive, Cuenca looks nearly British, Jaén looks so solid, Sevilla is just so big and the position of Zaragoza on the side of the Ebro is so imposing but Murcia bears comparison. Santa María, for that's its name, is individualistic, it has a bit of style, a bit of character all its own. I think it's the asymmetry and that huge, solid, immovable tower off to the left that does it.

Back in September 2023 I noticed that scaffolding was going up on the facade and I thought how sad it would be for our house guests during the next few years. Everyone knows that getting a kitchen extension takes ages, and never gets finished on time, so I reckoned the Cathedral would be visually impaired for quite a while. It's true that the modern screens in front of big project scaffolding are usually interesting in themselves but it's clear that Jaime Bort's facade (there were lots of architects involved in reality but Bort is considered the main man) is probably just a mite more impressive. I suspected that the work would take years even though the timetable said a long year. In October one of the photos in my album shows the scaffolding and there's a caption - "The Cathedral in Murcia is having the facade tidied up. They are advertising that there will be visits up the scaffolding. I keep checking their website. I'll be there.".

And indeed I have been. I think it's a clever idea. As well as putting up the scaffolding for the workers to get on with the restoration, the scaffolders put up a second set of scaffolding so that we, the gawping public, can go up and watch the work on the facade. I've done it twice now. To be honest it's not that great a tour, I don't particularly care for the style of the guide, but that doesn't stop it being a worthwhile experience. The guide talks in something close to a monotone and his spiel goes someone like, "On this level we have four saints - he names the saints - he says that one has the face of the man who commissioned the work on the facade, Cardenal Beluga. He names more saints and the archangels. I read somewhere that, sculpture wise, there are twenty saints, three archangels, a guardian angel and the mysteries of the Virgin (heaven knows what they are) on the facade - the guide named them all. The most exciting he gets is when he asks if anyone knows the Patron Saint of Cartagena (Murcia is in the dioceses of Cartagena and the saint in question is San Ginés de la Jara) or, when he points out San Patricio, Saint Patrick, the Patron Saint of Murcia and makes a quip about shamrocks and black beer. There is very little in the way of those titbits of information, or interesting little stories, that are the bits people remember of a visit long after forgetting that both Santa Bárbara Mayor and Menor have their place on the facade. He doesn't say much about the restoration work going on. So far as I could tell the main thing they seem to be doing at the moment is chipping away some mortar that was added in a 19th Century, in a previous smartening up of the building, which was, apparently, a big mistake. 

They're still saying they'll be done in Autumn of this year but, if you fancy having a look yourself before then, you can book it up online on this link. 

P:S. The photo at the top is an old one. The scaffolding is now covered.

Pulpí is not a pet octopus

Have you seen those geode things at the craft markets? They look a lot like a pebble on the outside but inside they're (sort of) hollow with lots of crystals growing into the space.

The crystals that form inside a geode can be all sorts of minerals. I checked on eBay and I could have bought geodes lined with prasiolite, celestine, calcite, pyrite, barytes or chalcedony though far and away the most common is amethyst, the purple coloured quartz.

A couple of weeks ago we went to see a geode in the now abandoned Mina Rica, Rich Mine, which is in the municipality of Pulpí just on the border between Murcia and Almeria. Between 1840 and 1960 the mine produced iron, lead and a little silver.

This geode is 60 metres underground and it's a little larger than most. In fact it's 8 metres long and just a bit short of 2 metres wide and high. Eight metres is more or less the length of the old London Routemaster RM buses. Inside there are selenite crystals (gypsum to you and me) which are almost transparent. The boast is that you can read a book through the clearest. Most of the crystals are about half a metre but the biggest is over 2 metres long. They are not the largest crystals ever found, that honour belongs to other selenite crystals discovered in an underground cave in Mexico. Those crystals were some 980 metres deep and the space they were in was really hot, too hot for people to bear for more than a few minutes. There was no chance that the cave could be preserved or opened to visitors so it was re-flooded. So Pulpí has the largest crystals that can be visited.

Getting to see the Pulpí crystals required a pre booked appointment and a payment of 22€ per person. For that we got to stroll through the old mine and to have a quick look see inside the geode which we did one at a time; left foot on the rock there, balance on that foot, twist your head to the left and there you are. The guide turned on the lights when you were in place and it was impressive. I stayed longer than most but even then that was probably only around 20 seconds of viewing time.

Oh, and just in case you're wondering the Spanish word for octopus is pulpo - Pulpí, pulpo. How droll.

Getting down

Spain is full of fiestas. Fiesta is an idea that we foreigners living here begin to get a glimmer of but which most of us never quite understand fully. It's not just a street party or a carnival. A proper fiesta is based on traditions, sometimes traditions based on beliefs. Fiestas are a collective expression of a community; it's not about somebody organising something and other people watching. Fiestas are commonplace, often nearly ignored by locals yet usually loaded with symbolism in the clothes, dances, music, songs or other manifestations such as language and bonfires. Recognising, and altering, those symbols is something often passed from generation to generation. Fiestas are periodic and repetitive - with the same basic things happening year after year.

There are, within towns and cities, fiestas and fiestas. Some are only fiestas in name because they were designed by tourist boards or trade associations. They don't fit the spirit of the definition above. They can be big, they can be enormous, but they do not, necessarily, represent the spirit of a community. You'd have to ask a local to be sure but I think that, for instance, San Juan in Alicante is one of those seminal fiestas. If you go and watch the parade it's impressive but the real San Juan is not in watching - it's in participating. In getting into a barraca and eating, drinking and dancing with your friends, in sitting around a bonfire with people you met at school etc. It's one of the reasons I like the Easter celebrations in Spain - the Church may think they're religious events but I think that they are much more an expression of a community. Here in Pinoso I think Santa Catalina is like that, in Valencia the Fallas and in Ciudad Rodrigo the encierro at Carnaval. There are thousands of others. I should say that in these days of mass tourism some of the fiestas may lose some of the spirit of that description. I know a couple of Valencianos who think that Fallas is just one huge commercial inconvenience nowadays aimed at tourists. The Wine Horses in Caravaca struck me as one enormous booze up and people have said the same about the Bando de la Huerta in Murcia.

In fact it was to the Bando de la Huerta that we went yesterday. A bando is usually the sort of thing that the town crier reads out, a proclamation. Town Halls here still pin bandos to their noticeboards. As an example in December last year the town of Yecla issued a bando banning the collection of wild plants, like holly and ivy, connected with Christmas. In this particular case, so Wikipedia tells me, the bando is a programme, often with a critical political message, for the fiesta written in verse. Huerta is the key word here though. The dictionary definition I knew, before living in Murcia, was market garden but it's a lot wider than that - it means the fertile, irrigated land of Murcia (and Valencia). It's the countryside, the agricultural land.  From that quick look at Wikipedia it seems that the Bando was originally a festival organised by rich people to mock the peasants in the countryside with their funny habits and clothes but, nowadays, it's a celebration of the traditions and customs of the countryside and the wealth and harvests that it produces.

We've been around this area for ages and it's the first time that we've been free to go. We didn't stay long and we didn't participate. We just watched some of the parade and we were even a bit late in arriving to see all of that. Apparently Pinoso had a group in the parade and we missed them for instance. One of the reasons we were a bit late was that we couldn't find anywhere to park. The city centre was closed off, cars were parked, and double parked, everywhere. Obviously everyone wanted to get in on the act. Outside all of the bars there were piles and piles of men and women drinking and talking and wearing waistcoats and "traditional" dress. Very odd to see young men with modern haircuts, piercings and tattoos consulting their mobile phones, beer in hand, wearing zaragüelles, a type of big, baggy, white boxer shorts and often alpargatas, the shoes we Brits call espadrilles. In a way that's where the fiesta was. In just the same way that it was in the Floridablanca gardens where a barraca, a sort of temporary HQ set up by a peña, one of the neighbourhood or interest groups that participate in the fiestas, was in full swing and oblivious to the passing parade as they served traditional and typical Murcian food and where there would be folk music, displays of bygone days and the like. We could see the fiesta around us, everywhere but we didn't really get involved.

Just to say that the Wikipedia article about the Bando is about 10 pages of A4 long so there is lots more to know about this event if you're interested. Bear in mind too that the Bando is just one of several events happening in Murcia this week as a part of the Spring Festival.

In the Garden of Earthly Delights

El Jardin de la Seda. The Silk Garden, is an unremarkable public green space in Murcia. It has quite a lot of standard model ducks and some of those red faced Muscovy jobs. Joggers and walkers, some in track suits and others disguised in ordinary street clothes, do their stuff. Dog walkers with dogs large and small, some of them keen on battle. There's even the tall chimney left over from the silk factory that gives its name to the garden.

It had been raining. In fact half an hour before we got there it had been pelting down and we had been forced to seek shelter from the storm in a handy bar in the Plaza Circular. I'd even maintained a WhatsApp conversation with Victor, our potential guide, as to whether the walk would go ahead. It's been raining on and off for a couple of weeks now. Last week I posted a photo of a dismal beer festival spoiled by the rain. An old friend in Cambridge saw the photo and commented; "I have made friends with a Spanish woman who now lives in the UK and she says that sometimes in Spain, people don't take their children to school if its raining!" That's why I thought to check with Victor.

Simple idea. This bloke has a company and a doctorate in something botany related. He organises guided tours here and there to look at plants and trees and whatever else botanists are interested in. He's organised a series of walks around various of the green spaces in Murcia and we booked in for the one yesterday evening. It was very good; from ancient palm trees which lived alongside dinosaurs to how to spot sweet and bitter acorns from the shape of the small oak tree, called an encina, typical of large areas of Spain. Oh, and the next time we see a bougainvillea together you'll be amazed by my little known fact about their flowers. The price of the walk was novel too. The Reverse Ticket Office; pay what you think the walk is worth. A real shame that there were only three of us.

Corvera Airport

Years ago we very nearly bought a house in the Murcian town of Caravaca de la Cruz. It was a new flat and it looked nice. The last time I saw the building it looked decidedly scruffy. Our purchase was thwarted by a misspelled email address. The property had already been sold when we turned up in the agent's office.

One of the selling points of that flat was the new airport at Murcia. It was billed to be opening very soon and Caravaca would be only a short motorway journey away. I don't remember the year exactly but it was around 2002.

On Monday the last passenger flights used the airport at San Javier, near Cartagena, the one the airlines call Murcia. The day after the new Murcia airport, at Corvera, just over the Puerto de la Cadena from Murcia City, opened for business. The first flight was a Ryanair out of East Midlands.

We'd have had to wait quite a while for all the problems to be ironed out.

Song of the mines

One of the problems with things starting late is that one never knows how late. Last night, well earlier today too, we went to see the final of probably the most famous flamenco competition in Spain, Cante de las Minas, in La Unión near Cartagena in Murcia. The competition has an overall winner and lots of other prizes based around the elements of singing, dancing, guitar and, new to us, other instruments. We've been to semi finals before and to concerts of established stars during the festival but this was the first time that we'd done the final.

So, a 10.00 p.m. start and we reckoned on about three hours for the event. We abandoned food in a bar because the service had been so terrible it left us with insufficient time to finish up and get into the hall for ten. We knew the start would be delayed, the usual for theatre and music is about twenty minutes, but you can't be sure. Some things do start on time. It's not common but they do.

Twenty minutes would have been good. The event got underway properly at about 10.30. People were still coming in from the street, at least we supposed they were, because the ushers were guiding them to their seats, at 11.30. Presumably they had decided against rushing their dinners. There was a constant procession of people moving around the concert hall going to and fro. Changing positions, moving to an unoccupied seat, having a chat with their neighbour - in nothing that could be described as hushed tones. Our chairs were hard and we had a terrible view. We should have joined the throng and walked around but we are British, and the original announcements had asked us to remain in our seats, so we did.

The programme showed 19 different performances from the various finalists. The singers and musicians did three or maybe four tunes in one go but the dancers did just one dance before going offstage. They came back to do a second number when they had recovered from their exertions and changed their clothes. By about 1.40 a.m. there were still six performances to go so, after a bit more than three hours, we were two thirds through. Maybe another long hour to go. Then of course there would be the judging time and the presentation ceremony. The YouTube video shows that it took twenty five minutes for the prize giving so I reckon that they must have gone on till at least four and maybe five in the morning. We weren't there. We were long gone. When we left we were offered a re-entry stamp which probably explains some of the constant movement. People, as bored as us, going outside to get a beer or a fag and then coming back. In our case though we weren't exactly local. We were an hour and a half from home so we said no to the stamp. As it was we didn't get back home till a little while before 3.30 a.m. by which time my contact lenses were really hurting. Fortunately the overall winner was a woman we saw sing rather than one of the people we missed. I didn't care much for her singing though.

Now I like Flamenco - well sort of, for a while and with a following wind. When I tell people about our experiences at La Unión I usually say that the first half an hour is great, that the second half hour is nice but the seat is beginning to get hard. By something like ninety minutes in there's that moving from cheek to cheek half hour to abate the pain and there always seems to be a problem with my watch running slowly. At about the two hour mark an unnecessary visit to the toilet to restart the circulation is always good. But finally it ends and you get to talk about the bits you liked.

I have a short attention span. It's one of the reasons I like festivals better than single band concerts - short sets, no encores and the possibility of moving from stage to stage. I'm really pleased that the newer albums, the LPs of old, are back to being about forty minutes long after that obsession with putting twenty or more tracks on each CD simply because the technology made it possible. I still remember with horror watching the Rolling Stones, in Barcelona I think, and they just went on and on and on until I'd lost the will to live. I was reminded of that last night!

Too much of a good thing

When I turned up for work this morning there was nobody there. The school was closed. Nobody bothered to tell me but it gave me the surprise bonus of being able to get to the Wine Horse Festival, Caballos del Vino, in Caravaca de la Cruz. There are all sorts of Fiestas but if we agree that a Fiesta is some sort of street based celebration open to the general public then I have been to a lot of fiesta type events recently. More specifically in the last week or so. A bit back there was Easter where we saw various processions in Pinoso, Tobarra and in Murcia. Then we went to the Moors and Christians in Banyeres de Mariola, the Romeria to San Pancracio in Sax and more Moors and Christians in Onil.

Easter in Spain I described a few posts ago so I'll skip straight to Moors and Christians which is loosely based on the triumph of the Christians over the North African invaders/rulers. In most places, as the name suggests, there are two main bands; The Moors, the North Africans, and the Christians, the eventually successful Spaniards. Generally the Moors get the better costumes. Sometimes there are Smugglers and sometimes Students. I don't know why and I'm too lazy to find out. Moors and Christians vary a lot. Sometimes there are big floats and lots of camels and horses. In other places the various troops march shoulder to shoulder keeping strict time to the music. We've seen one, I forget where, where the costumes included 18th Century soldiers uniform for lots of the participating groups. In the two and a half I've seen in the last few days the various groups haven't been particularly marshall. Some of them have vaguely marched, kept in step, but many more have simply gone for a stroll with a drink, usually a spirit and mixer, in hand. The strollers have been supported by members of the same group firing off arquebuses - those old fashioned blunderbuss type guns.

The Wine Horses is tied in to the Moors and Christians in a way. The usual story is that when the Castle of Caravaca de la Cruz was besieged by the Moors, in around 1250, the defenders ran out of water when their cisterns were exhausted. A group of Knights Templar loaded up some fast horses with wine skins and sped into the castle taking the besiegers by surprise and relieving the defender's thirsts. There are lots of events to make up the festival but the biggest one, up for World Heritage status, is a vague re-enactment of the Templar charge with four blokes, all men as I could see, running alongside an impeccably turned out horse wearing a fancy decorated coat, taking turns to do timed runs up the approach ramp to the castle. There are thousands, and I mean thousands of people on the approach ramp and lots of them have been drinking for a long time by the time the horses start to run. The crowd parts to let the horses through, well that's the idea any way. One bloke hauled me out of the way as I tried, vainly, to get a photo that wasn't too blurred and so badly framed as to be useless. He was quite cross with me. "It might have run you down," he kept saying to the degree that, eventually, I pointed out that it hadn't though. People bumping into me as they fled the horses made it difficult enough to take snaps without somebody saving me as well!

I have to say that the one I probably liked best though was the Romeria. This is the one where some statue of a Saint or a Virgin gets taken from one church to another little church. Sometimes the statues go in carts but usually they go on the backs of the faithful. The last couple we've been to have involved the carrying part followed by a Catholic mass but most people seem to just take it as an opportunity to go for a picnic in the countryside. Lots and lots, and I mean lots, wandering along dusty tracks hauling cool boxes and picnic tables just seems so Spanish and a great way to pass a day.

With a bit of luck though we won't have the opportunity to get to any more fiestas in the next couple of weeks. You can have too much of a good thing.

Driving home the other way

Now that I work in Cieza my route to work has changed. It's about about 60 kms each way and the journey time - that is the time from when, with seat belt fastened and radio playing I accelerate away from our front gate to the moment I park up outside my workplace - is about 45 minutes. Even with my primitive arithmetical skills I can work out that means I average just 80kph or 50mph.

On the way to Cieza from Culebrón the left from our track onto the main CV83 would be an illegal manoeuvre involving crossing a solid white line and hatched areas. Should the car around the corner be Guardia Civil that would be a 300€ fine and goodness knows how many points off the spotless 15 of my licence. Would I do that or would I be more likely to make the legal right turn, cross into the village, turn around in front of Eduardo's and rejoin the CV83 heading out towards Pinoso? The choice, as that voice on Blind Date used to say, is yours.

Towards Pinoso then, at the roundabout just before the town off to the right skirting the industrial estate and the open land where the bullocks are chased around by the local lads at Fiesta time in August. I've wondered about stopping a couple of times to take a snap up the hillside there because with the morning sunshine the houses on the hillside in the Santa Catalina area look very colourful and jolly. Left at the next roundabout then and skirting the North of Pinoso before clearing the town and heading out towards Jumilla. Careful of the speed limit through Casas Ibañez - lots of stories there about speed traps - and across the border into the Murcia Region. Off to the right the Sierra del Carche and its 1372 metre peak. All along the road small hamlets, cultivated land - lots of vines and olives and almonds - a modern bodega and quite a lot of fallow or maybe unusable land.

The road is relatively straight with almost no traffic and the car tends to settle at something comfortable. It would be easy to find myself exceeding the 90kph open road speed limit. There are a few bends just before and past the failed Venta Viña P Restaurant and Los Olmos, the very strangely located kart racing track, hotel and restaurant complex. After a while the road straightens and drops with a great view out to the Sierra de Sopalmo - a big wall of hills and, in the distance, the A33 motorway.

Up to now I've been heading basically East but somewhere around here I want to start heading South on the A33 which runs down to Murcia City. Until quite recently I would have used one of the  trunk roads, the National or N344 to make that journey but, in 2012 the first 30kms or so of the Motorway, the Autovía, A33 between Blanca and close to Jumilla was opened having cost some 122 million euros. Eventually the A33 will connect motorways coming out of Andalucia and Murcia with motorways in Alicante which will make all sorts of routes faster but will principally create an inland route to cut the corner on the way up to France. There is a snag though. Although the Pinoso road is the principal East West road in the area the road builders, in their wisdom, chose not to add direct access to the motorway. Instead I have to drive a few kilometres on the old, and now very quiet, ex main road or I can cut the corner and go through the village of Encebras. I like the Encebras route despite the 20kph speed limit, which I obviously keep to, because there is the vague chance of seeing somone on foot. I did pass a tractor the other day but otherwise no vehicles so far. And Encebras has street lighting which always strikes me as bizarre for a village that can have no more than 50 inhabitants.

I do about 18kms on the motorway. Nice black tarmac and clear white lines with very little traffic. So far the journey has taken about 20 minutes. The motorway bit takes another ten minutes or so. Suddenly there's a built up area just off the motorway, the village built around the old, 1868, railway station for Blanca. It's 10km to Blanca but there's Spanish railways for you. Apparently 800 people live in Estación de Blanca but all I notice really are the Blancasol agricultural co-op and the bar where the Guardia Civil park up for a mid morning coffee. It's quite a strange road layout to get onto the RM402 which connects the motorway I've just come off with the motorway I want to join, the A30, heading out of Murcia for Albacete and on to Madrid. There is a marked change too from countryside to messy urban in this bit of Murcia and that means much more traffic.

I have to take a bit of a left turn across traffic which is quite an unusual operation on a free flowing Spanish road. It's much more common to send you right into a little semicircle to allow you to turn left by crossing traffic from a stop sign. The junction is marked by a strange, single, abandoned block of green and white flats built in the middle of nowhere. The junction also has unexpected adverse camber and leads into a another slip road which is both the exit and entry to the A30. That can be fun at times. Some eight kilometres heading back North now, off on the Cieza turn, a couple of roundabouts and into the entrance to the town. Bonica Cieza it says on a big sign just there, a very Murcian way to suggest that the town is pretty. Certainly the local inhabitants seem to stick up for it and what I've seen looks nice enough. Down past the park and a big sort of esplanade which is always full of people out for a bit of a stroll in the evening, full twist around a roundabout and then a right turn onto the bit of wasteland that surrounds the school where I do my English teaching. Then it's just a case of parking up and avoiding any large shards of glass from any newly broken beer bottles from the night before.

The route home isn't an exact repeat but my guess is that you've taken as much as you can now so let's pretend it is.

In the city

Pinoso doesn't have traffic lights and parking is free. In Culebrón we don't have much tarmac let alone street names.

Yesterday I went for a job interview in Murcia. I hadn't been looking for a new job it's just that a job website I'm signed up to sends me offers matched against keywords. From time to time I apply for something that looks interesting. Like being a tourist guide. But jobs are in short supply in Spain at the moment and I never get any sort of response. There's no effort to applying though, just push a button and my CV wings its way to wherever. I never bother with a covering letter. I'm not expecting to get an interview so I don't put any effort into the process. There was effort in writing the original CV of course and every now and then I update it but it's low maintenance.

So the surprise was that the firm came straight back to me after one of these occasional button pushes. It was for English teaching of course. The only job where my faltering Spanish is not a handicap. The advantage to me in changing jobs is mainly financial. I am, technically, self employed and taking advantage of a reduced rate, for startup businesses, of Seguridad Social which is a lot like the UK's National Insurance. Even then, by UK standards, this reduced rate is startlingly high. It's a fixed minimum and I'm paying 153€ per month at the moment which will go up to around 210€ in November and six months later it will reach its final level of 263€. Quite a whack out of my part time earnings; 30% of my gross and if I add in my tax the total in stoppages is something like 38%. The new job offered a simple, straightforward contract. I would become an employee again.

The interview was fine. They offered me a job. After a lot of indecision and a lot of sums about diesel costs, hours worked and stoppages paid I said yes. The job wasn't actually in Murcia as I expected but in a much smaller town called Cieza. I think I will be working principally as a language assistant to youngsters doing vocational courses which sounds both interesting and organised.

So, back to the point.  I had to go to Murcia. I don't mind driving anywhere but one of the joys of rural Spain, and lots of it is rural, is the roads. They are not busy. But Murcia City isn't rural - it's a real city. The centre is encircled by a giggle gaggle of intersecting motorways and out of town shopping centres. Once onto the ordinary streets it's roundabouts, traffic lights, five lanes of traffic, cars jockeying for position, bus lanes etc. Normal town stuff but always a bit of a change after Pinoso.

The interview was in the centre of town and I parked in an underground car park. When I drove out to come home it was lunchtime. I had the SatNav thingy on which tells me how many metres it is to the next rounadout or junction. It took me 20 minutes to cover the 700 metres that got me onto a relatively free flowing road heading out of town. I have a similar story about Victoria Station to the Wellington Arch but that story involves a Routemaster bus and over an hour.

Anyway, I drove over to Cieza just to have a look. I parked in the main street without any problem and without any payment. The town seemed nicer than I remebered, a bit prettier. The drive home along the N344, bits of the almost deserted A33 motorway and the RM427/CV83 was a pleasure. Not a traffic light or a bus lane in sight.

It was nice in town, the hustle and bustle, all those shops and people. I went to see a temporary Goya exhibition. We don't get a lot of Goya in Pinoso but, on balance, I quite like small town life. And I'm not far from plenty of 200,000 plus cities should the need for a bit of traffic overcome me.

Stone built

Culebrón is a part of Pinoso. Pinoso is a part of the province of Alicante but Pinoso, like Ciudad Juárez and Tijuana, is a frontier town. There are no adverts for Viagra here but there are different languages and different holidays. Even if it's only with Abanilla, Jumilla and Yecla there is definitely a border, the border with Murcia Region.

We have plenty of hills of our own in Alicante. Looking North from our front garden we have the Sierra de Salinas (1238m/4061ft) and the Sierra de Xirivell (810m/2657ft) is to the South. Indeed the garden itself is at about 605m/1984ft but over the border, into Murcia, the Sierra del Carche is higher still at 1372 metres or 4,500 feet. Maggie has tried to get us to the top a couple of times before but today we finally made it. To the very top, to the geodesic point. Admittedly we didn't walk, we went in a little four by four, but we got to the top.

It was pretty crowded and very cosmopolitan at the top of el Carche. There was a Swiss man with Argentinian, Mexican and Belgian clients for his parascending "course." Down the road a chap, probably Ukranian, was assembling his hang glider before hurling himself into the void. There were two Spanish cyclists and I think the chap on the scrambling bike was Spanish too. Then there were four Britons.

On the way up we stopped off at a Pozo de Nieve, a snow cave built in the XVIIth Century. Before the advent of fridges and ice making machines people built these big holes in the ground, lined them with stone walls, well over a metre thick, and used them to store ice. The one we saw today apparently goes down twelve metres though, as the conical roof has now caved in, it's a little shallower than it was. It sounds as though ice was big business at the end of the XVIIIth Century. For instance, Valencia, the city, used two million kilos of the stuff each year. The ice was used mainly for medical procedures, principally to bring down fevers. Ice was even exported from the port of Alicante to Ibiza and the North of Africa.

The caves worked like this. In Spring, when it was reckoned no more snow would fall on the high mountains, men would climb to the high slopes, dig up the snow and take it to one of the pozos where it was compacted to form ice. It must have been cold, hard work without modern tools or fabrics and wearing esparto sandals! When the well was full they would cover the ice with earth, vegetation and timber. In summer the men would return to the ice wells, cut the ice into blocks and transport it, by night, on the backs of mules and donkeys, to the nearest large town where it was sold.  I heard something on the radio about sthe research done on this commercialisation of ice and snow caves. The researchers explained how, in some places, there were chains of snow caves which allowed the hauliers to work in relays and so move the ice more quickly down to lower ground.

Whilst we are on stone constructions I thought I'd mention cucos which are stone built sheds. They were built principally as shelters for shepherds and herders moving livestock along the cañadas, the drovers pathes, that criss cross Spain. The cañadas were introduced by legislation written in the reign of Alfonso X in the XIIIth Century so the cucos have been around a long time too.

It's a franchise

Murcia City has changed a lot over the years. It feels citylike now - it hustles and bustles. The first time I went there I thought it was a dusty hole. If I tell you I arrived in a friend's Lada Niva you'll realise just how long ago that was.

We were there yesterday and we wanted something to eat. The place is alive with tapas bars and trendy looking eateries. I quite fancied a place called Tiquismiquis (which means something like fusspot) or maybe Moshi Moshi (I don't speak Japanese so I don't know what that means) but by the time I'd found a bank machine we'd passed those places by and we were footsore so we went to a Lizarran instead.

Lizarran is a franchise. They have little tapas, generally bread mounted snacks, stored inside cooled display cases. each tapa has a toothpick driven through it. You bung a few tapa on your plate and when you're settled a server asks you about drinks. When the place is realtively busy they usually come around with additional hot tapas. Other things are available for order too but basically the fare is tapas on sticks. When you're done they count up the number and style of toothpicks on your plate and charge you accordingly. It's hardly cordon bleu but it's usually pretty acceptable and it's easy.

We considered 100 Montaditos as well. Cien Montaditos is also a franchise. In there you choose a table and in the centre of the table is a pen and a list of the montaditos which are basically mini rolls or sandwiches. You mark how many of which you want on the list and hand it in at the bar. They fill the drinks order straight away and give you a shout when your montaditos are done. Cien Montaditos is also usually pretty acceptable and it's easy.

Searching, as ever, for a blog entry it struck me that both were franchises. I did a bit of Googling and I was amazed how many everyday Spanish businesses are, in fact, franchises. It's not just the opticians, dentists, fast food chains, parcel carriers and quick jobs on the car businesses. One of the big supermarkets, Día, is a franchise and there is apparently a bread shop with over sixty varieties of bread - never seen one of those but it sounds good. There's another one that sounds like an equivalent of Wetherspoons with dirt cheap beer; never seen that either or I would still be there. But my favourite on the currently booming franchise list has to be a language school. If I were to work there maybe I could have a uniform and a zero hours contract like those people who work in the burger bars.

Two sheds Jackson and landscapes

I was thinking, as I drove between La Unión and Culebrón, about what I could see out of the car. I decided it was family and friends. You get what you're given. Blood's thicker than water and all that. History and culture from hand to hand and gene to gene over the generations. Alfred and the cakes, 1066, Glorious Goodwood, Cornish cream teas, feet and inches, Ant and Dec. Your friends on the other hand you get to choose. No blood ties, no original shared history. Something you manufacture between yourselves. I watched the dusty, brown grey, scrubby lunar landscape, the almond groves and the vineyards pass by. I looked at the bright blue sky and I thought how lovely it all looked. In the beginning, when I first got to Alicante and Murcia I thought it looked desolate. The sort of place that John Wayne ate beans.

Maggie and I had a great time in my old MGB car driving around the Cotswolds. I thought the Cotswolds were amazing. When we saw Calendar Girls, when it was new and first at the cinema here dubbed into Spanish, I looked at those North Yorkshire landscapes and thought how stunning it all looked

I was reading a piece that turned up on the English language feed to my mobile phone so it was either El País in English or more likely the Spanish pages of the Guardian. The author was a Brit writing from Spain. He said that some survey had shown that expats living in sunny climes were less happy than people living in the British climate. He suggested that British refugees to Spain were likely to be a bit curmudgeonly anyway because most were dissatisfied and were looking for something better. His main thesis though was that what was great as a break for a couple of weeks didn't really match up in the long term. He likened it to some chap who celebrates Christmas every day. I didn't agree with him.

On Sunday evening at about 9.30 I went to get some cash from the bank machine in the main part of town. La Unión is not a pretty town. The chewing gum plastered onto the flagstones looked particularly disgusting and I worried that one of the several footballs being kicked around by small groups of young lads would get me in the head. I turned left into the High Street, I was in shirt sleeves, the town was lively with people. A churros and chocolate van was doing good trade.The comparison with Huntingdon High Street crossed my mind. I often enjoyed a swift pint in the George before the weekend was over during the Huntingdon years. I was rather pleased with myself for being in La Unión.

It's not a comparison. It's a bonus. I got lucky with my family. Some of my friends I've known for over 40 years.