Bigoted

After a steep climb east out of San Enrique, a great view to warm the hearts of patriotic British friends and raise the hackles of ardent internationalist friends from various countries ... a little piece of England parked on the Iberian Peninsula ... just across the water, a little piece of Spain, parked in Africa ... Ceuta ... viewed from the moon these boundaries don't exist at all, apparently (I've never been) .... and for observant readers, England and Britain are not the same ...

Anyway, en route to the view, this scruffy little house for sale ... surrounded by some rather grand villas ... fenced like a prison and called Bigote ... which means moustache in Spanish, but feel free to imagine an amusing use for the place ... in the interests of peace and harmony, I decline to comment ...

Hola vacas!

Settled into solitude after some serious enquiry and energised to set off early for a longer walk ... over the hill to Secadero ... contemplating fears of cows, passing those grazing at the top ... and statistically it is wise to be aware, since in Britain it is not unknown for walkers to be attacked and even killed ... maybe by mothers concerned for calves, sometimes spooked by canine companions, less often by charging bulls perhaps ... and these Spanish ones have big horns ... and the difference between awareness and fear is the key maybe ... its frequency operating beyond species language barriers ...

... so, past the herd and relaxed into gentler thoughts, around the corner of the wooded track, face to face with two fine bovine creatures ambling up ... close ... we assess the situation ... my surprise settles to a cheery introduction in Spanish ... friendly confidence being the chosen strategy ... they don't stop to chat, turn round and stroll down the lane, find a passing place, park there and watch me pass ... I thank them and wish them adios and start musing whether the collective consciousness of cows includes the knowledge of what humans do to them ... in the abbatoir, the Bull Ring, the kitchen ... the factories where the flesh of mammalian relatives is separated from any ancient link with hunting and survival in inhospitable climates ... mixed with some chemical concoction to further conceal its cowness ... Big Mac anyone?

At Secadero in time for the 9 am bus to Guadiaro and a chat with Francisco at the stop ... freedom, doctors, football all covered in a few minutes' scrambled Spanglish ... a wander round to the Correos to collect the Post, then blogging and breakfast at the Lemon Bar ... an expanded early routine ... possibly inspired by Claire's consistent theme of expansion and contraction ...

A rather hot walk across the autovia bridge, musing on redesigning walking routes hereabouts. .. since public policy people perceive, albeit tardily, the trap of  transport designed for cars ... the effect on mental and physical health and all that ... and observing my processing pattern of redesigning the world to be simpler, better for people in the whole and not just the atomized car borne units ...

At San Enrique a social call to Russ and from the bus come his old friend Mack, who needs a jack to change a wheel (really ... do let me know when the rhyming becomes tiresome) ... and Gato ... quite a party ... Mack and I head to the Casa in search of a jack from the Disco ... discussing a little on the topic of wishing life were sometimes different ... Eckhart Tolle expresses it well: change the situation, leave the situation, or accept the situation - all else is madness ...

Claire comes to visit ...

Claire's quest for the Truth ... sometimes described as the search for Reality ... Enlightenment ...led her to Stanhope some months ago ... Stanhope is a bit like that ... having had some insights into the worlds beyond the mundane, hungry for more ... keen to explore inner space ... she came along to sit, share, walk and talk ... and during some lighter talking told of her friend and Pilates student, working at the university in Durham, whose childhood home in Spain needed someone to look after it ... the Casa del Puente ... intrigued, your blogger signed up for the assignment and abandoned the paradise of Stanhope ... recklessly ... Claire, unsure how much her quest was served by Stanhope, how much by the reckless blogger seduced away to the sun, possibly feeling slightly responsible for the situation ... spent a few days here finding out ...

Claire is currently convinced by Krishnamurti's core teaching ... Truth is a Pathless Land ... and we spent many hours exploring what that means for the seekers ... advised by K not to follow gurus ... and a trip away from the shallow Costa, into the mountains, to Ronda, seemed to elevate the thinking as well as nurture the soul ...

And whilst that is true, paradoxically, as always, Truth may be found anywhere (and especially nowhere) ...the sun is lovely, the mountains uplifting ... but the quest is an inner journey ...

A visit to Russ, who lives on a bus, on a field in the middle of San Enrique, leads to more enquiry on various themes ...including where freedom lies ... a bus, a rucksack, a house? The blogger's current experiment with ultra light living is fun and whilst the temporary base at the Casa is more than is needed, it is easily enough put down in favour of another wander (responsibilities to Poppy the ancient cat and Juliet the Casa owner given due regard, of course) ... Russ's bus is slightly heavier, but serves his needs for now .... and buses are his thing, his embraces him, he says ... Claire, younger and with more responsiblities has her house, partner, son, cat and dog ... which is not going to fit in a bus or a rucksack ... she has created her sanctuary and is  rearranging her work-life balance ... each of us taking our own path ... 

Next a trip to Susie down the road at Torreguidiaro. .. long time resident of these parts ... pack leader of six canine friends and gifted inter-species communicator  ... she and Claire bond immediately ... Susie, at 76, is about to embark on new adventures ... in Ronda ...

So, as for the questions around the visit ... the blogger is energised, the visitor finds new information and unexpected expats to discuss with ... all sorts of topics are explored and Claire is reassured that the blogger's reckless relocation is unfolding as it should ... even though he still has no idea why he's here!

And you, dear readers, have met three new characters in the drama ... plus a bus ... and a great view of the beautiful town of Ronda. ..

Expatery

Conversations with Juliet, Julia, Susie and Russ, along with last year's wandering with the expats set me musing about a book on the subject of the British diaspora in Iberia … after all, I find myself here in San Enrique for no apparent reason, so perhaps it is best to create a purpose … not as a cage but as a frame …

The Costa del Sol is perhaps the epitome of the the traditional expat colony, so where better to start?

These four informants are well qualified and not typical, since they speak Spanish and socialise with the locals …. integration apparently being uncommon … “home” conceived as Britain, however long they have been here …

The evolving story will of course discover and describe Northern Europeans of many nations, along with other immigrants … the term expat seemingly reserved for a particular type of immigrant. Language is such a tricky customer ... purporting to explain, posing as a neutral medium, yet, upon examination, its very structure dividing up the world into subjects and objects, nouns and verbs, rich and poor ... as if that could help us understand what is going on ... Newtonian languages for a quantum world.

Susie tells the story of her Spanish friend and her family …. impoverished vegetable growers in the fertile flood plain of the Guadiaro back in the 50s before tourism took off … surviving and connected to the land, Nature and each other. .. they became wealthy from selling their land for development … villas, apartments, hotels, golf courses and polo pitches … a frenzy of activity with scant regard to planning or building regulations … corruption endemic as usual wherever easy money arrives … the infrastructure followed, accelerated by the European Union as the industrious North ensnared and colonised the laid back South with loans ...

So, who will define the difference between immigrant, invader, slave, guest ... and expat? Looking closer we can see that power plays a part and perspective varies the name ... a brief while ago in 11th century England uninvited visitors from across the English Channel or La Manche took power, redistributed the land to the Norman expats ... not a narrative playing these days ... 

Expatery implies ties to a country other than the one currently lived in ... not home ...not where the heart is ...curiously, notwithstanding the tendency of travel to broaden the mind, part of expatery is a reluctance to fully embrace the new country ... to hold to an idealised version of home .... one of the great ironies discovered in random research is the North East Spain branch of the English Defence League ...

Back to purpose and where it comes in to the story ... sitting in the warm evening sun, listening to Placido Domingo, editing today's blogging, maybe the shallow coastal strip is not the point at all ... perhaps expatery is not the subject after all ... maybe inland, to the sierras is where the Beautiful New World grows ...away from the mainstream madness, the separation, the fear ...

Purpose, in any case, will turn up along the way ... meanwhile life is led lightly ... as Russ eloquently explained, "sitting by a river, spotting a passing log, hopping on it for the ride ..." 

To Be or ...

...is that the question?

How to be free? That's a seductive question and it's led up some blind alleys ... your blogger took up communism in search of freedom ... like many before, in many countries, inspired by heroes like Che Guevara, who had the sense to leave the stage before the polar switch ... freedom in revolt morphing into repression in power ...

The hungry and dispossesed of decaying Europe sought their freedom in the virgin lands of the Americas ... African slaves came along to help, themselves cruelly captured commodities ... source of capital for Empires ... wandering locals lived lightly on the not quite virgin land ... in tune with Nature ... but this was freedom's dark period ... Nature was to be tamed ... great wealth ensued ... for some ... and then the polar switch ... the Land of the Free rings hollowly now ... subtler forms of repression convince us that we are freely choosing these ways which separate us from Nature ... who reasserts her power ....

So, is the question to Be ... pawns in a game ... players in a dystopian drama, authored by aliens, directed by quislings, cheered on by the hypnotised .... or not to Be ... to decline to energise it ... to be aware of the futility and step out of it ... to Be instead co-creators in a new game, which serves us better ... a Utopia long dreamt of, where Nature and we cooperate ... see we are not separate from Nature or each other ....

And after that?

One drama at a time!

Life is full of spaces to rest from playing the various parts, to review performances, try different roles ... all the world's a stage ... apparently ....

Seaside Sunday

It's 11.15 am on a warm Sunday in May, at one of the two chiringuitas, or beach bars, at this pretty bay just round from Torreguidiaro ... the season not in full swing ... the campers making their own coffee ... folks up late last night ... maybe all of that ... grateful for the tranquility anyway ... and some fun rock scrambling and exploring off-road routes ...

Suspecting lunch is the main event ... that's 2 pm round here .. ...

Rewinding ...

The first trip to Spain, indeed the first trip off the island of Britain (except the Isle of Wight, which was the local "abroad" for us, growing up quite close to Lymington where the ferry docked )... was from Southampton to Bilbao in 1967 ... following a daring escape from the mind control and enculturation institution where I had been incarcarated since the age of eleven ... Dad was very keen on this process, since he had aspirations to intellectual achievement without the opportunity ... times were hard, his parents' own escape to Canada ended in his father's premature passing and his mother, daughter and son's return to Southampton ... work was hard to find ... his tales of the humiliation of standing daily outside the dock gates begging for work led him to find a trade, create his own work ... create a narrative to fit the life that emerged ... Protestant Work Ethic ... not that he was religious ... but he encouraged his children to study hard to have an easier life ...

All this was at that brief moment between history and herstory, when children expected higher living standards than their parents and women were just preparing to restore their rightful roles ... it takes a while when viewed in 3D time frames ... in this blogger's lifetime big changes have happened ... the Age of Aquarius dawned, dimmed for a while, is now settling in for a time of simpler living, softer values ... though like the butterfly, wrapped in its chrysalis, imagining its new form and feeding off the decaying old one, the process is not always pretty or clear ... and maybe there are choices of emergent possibilities  ... in this scenario to choose the butterfly and note the passing of the caterpillar with compassion but not too much focus is to energise The Beautiful New World Our Hearts Know is Possible of Charles Eisenstein ... not to be confused with The Brave New World of Aldous Huxley, pharmaceutical pioneer and inner space voyager, whose cheerier and final novel, Island, has been much less discussed up to now ... 

After a brief spell building a road (well, someone has to hold the post so the surveyors get the bends in the right places), it was off to Scotland to be a waiter ( a job already practised in Dorset, which is another tale) then enthused by Kenny from Aberfeldy, off to hitch-hike round Spain. Hitching was tricky at the best of times in Franco's Spain and two blokes together is harder still, so we soon parted company and your blogger discovered the joys of solo wandering... wonderful!

Hitching along the coast and over the French border, to easier lifts along the Pyrenees and over to Andorra, then down to Barcelona and across to Majorca ... back via Almeria, Algeciras and the only way to visit Gibraltar - a ferry to Tangier, since the land crossing at La Linea was closed ... a wander down to Marrakesh and back with complete culture shock, a flirtation with kif and a mild temptation to bring some back through Spain (maybe one of those key moments in a life) ... easier communication since my school French was passable and recently polished ... back along the Costa, just beginning to take shape and up to Andorra with a couple of pounds in my pocket and a possible job at El Faisa, an English pub then and a posh restaurant now ...

So, rewinding over four decades and the drug trade is still going, eased a little with the re-opening of the La Linea border perhaps .... Spain is a sophisticated country, notwithstanding the economic difficulties .... and the Costa del Sol has blossomed into the paradise one might expect from its founders and supporters over the years ... the poverty of the peasantry transformed by economic activity and tourism driven development ... the old ones still look a little dazed by it all ...

[insert pic of dazed looking peasant here]

Sunny jail ...

Since this house sitting is voluntary, it may seem silly to characterise the Casa as a prison ... but the picture might give that impression ... it's a theme explored before with expat life ... when the fear forces such security that the inmates create their own jail ... as it turns out, the insurance companies play a part, though it has been noted that fixed bars like these protect property whilst undermining personal safety in case of fire ... different department perhaps ...

And fences, alarms, bars, dogs all reinforce the fear ... call it in ...  luckily here at the Casa the roof terrace gives a feeling of freedom, the fences are few and Poppy the ancient cat is not aggressive. ..
Maybe the house had need of some security in the past. .. valuables to protect and children too ... some activity bordering on illegality. .. attracting not just police but also other players in the game ...

All is peaceful now ... the bars mostly ignored ... and if I owned the place (purely hypothetical )?

There would be no bars ...

Guests ...

.... guests arrived one month on from Stanhope departure ... ex-neighbours Lynda and Neil from three doors along Wear Terrace plus Neil's son and Barcelona artist Reece ... useful for quick sanity check, since they know me well enough ... and it appears that a month of solitude in a surrealish house has not unhinged me ... and plenty of time for philosophy ... always helpful to leaven the thinking, reading and writing with some conversation ... back to Marbella with them today ready for their temporary return to Stanhope and Barca ... Spain has seduced them and they are on their way in a couple of months ... so, if anyone is looking for teachers of English, maybe around Valencia, post a comment on here and they will be in touch ...

The promised photograph never materialised ... maybe one of them can post one on so readers can see them ... the blog is thin on pics, an omission to be addressed.

Speaking of which, and getting back into cynical vein ... taking the Toll Road to Marbella afforded some new views of urbanisations ... let's see what beauties may be captured .... think Holywood taste ... the Land of Oz keeps popping into mind ... all fur coat and no knickers ... a quantum physics view of cement and plastic as materials from Danah Zohar, suggested that such brutalist structures (albeit fancified) were inert, not wearing and weathering with the house, the elements and the inhabitants.

Photo expedition on the way!

As for guests, the first ones have been fun and enabled a review of the facilities as well as some heavy lifting to clear more space. Since one looks differently when others are present, it may be an idea to dust in the corners and even move ornaments a bit ... or move the ornaments into a cupboard ... these are not their expressed observations, they may wish to comment ... like trip advisor for house sitters ...

A week to recover from the excitement, then Claire arrives ... the one responsible for landing me here in the first place ...

Disco ...

Aficionados of Land Rovers will know the nickname for the Discovery ... it's a new word in my vocabulary and one to be avoided ... along with any similar kind of gas guzzling monster ...

However, on this assignment, a battered Land Rover comes with the house and cat and may be useful for researching under cover on the Costa.

Musing on a first encounter with such a vehicle when you have no intention of driving off road ....and considered whether the driver feels safer ... those outside the vehicle are not in the equation of course. .. yet since the vehicle is the size of a small minibus, it is reducing manouevrability for little benefit in passenger or freight ... hmmm

In its favour, the name does suggest finding new places, unlike similar tank-like monsters which add to the superiority complex of the driver with a dash of aggression with, names like Warrior, Shogun and Killer (may have made the last one up) ...

Anyway, there are buses and walking routes (albeit dangerous), and the Disco will be used gratefully ... and sparingly ... suggestions for a pet name as well as a nickname ( my last car, a powder blue Nissan Micra, was called Rosy and very feminine ... seem to have missed the point of having ego enhancers as vehicles ...)

Boys and their balls

Since humans partake in the creation of the world in relation with each other as well as all the other entities, bits and pieces, energy and all that ... and since the male of the species is less evolved emotionally than the female, he finds special games to play to ease the pain of having to emote with other chaps (emoting with the other gender is a far more complex subject for another post and possibly another blogger) ...

Lots of these more obvious games involve balls, mostly round, of different sizes ... the games played with each particular ball indicate national and class preferences ... and as humanity has evolved temporarily to be spectators more than players, the games are played by taking sides and talking endlessly about the details of the games watched either at the games or on the mind conditioning machine. Sometimes the spectators get bored just watching and commentating and have a good old fight with the supporters of the other team ... actually there was even a small war in South America sparked by a football match (in 1969 between El Salvador and Honduras)... on the plus side one of the few redeeming features of the horror show which was the 1st World War (known for a brief period as the war to end all wars), were the widespread Christmas truces of 1914, including football matches .... this was strongly discouraged in subsequent years, since it was deemed rather early for sentiments of peace and goodwill, Christmas or no Christmas ... and yes, since you ask, the main protaganists were mostly signed up to various branches of the eponymous religion ... Jesus must have been most confused who he was supposed to be supporting...

Back to the balls and the Costa ... known also as the Costa del Golf ... this has been commented on during the Algarve walk last year and for any readers unaware involves walking or riding a milk float round a manicured piece of countryside, taking it in turns to hit a small hard, ball into a small hole with a big stick. Of course, as with all the ball games, the real reasons are multi-layered ... golf being one of the preferred locations for business talk, complaining about the other gender and a known hang-out for freemasons ... at the end of the ball holing (usually 18 times each) is the clubhouse, where the drinking happens...

Down at this end of the Costa is a posher ball game which requires horses and humans (mostly blokes again) recklessly rushing about swinging big sticks to hit hard, small (but not as small as golf) balls into goals. They call it polo and it is apparently popular with royalty ... and Argentines ...

In case any readers are interested, your blogger's preferred ball playing involved football and squash, both far too active for a pensioner (well this one anyway) ... more leisurely games like golf and snooker never appealed, which may explain my rather asocial nature ...

Nuance

Friends have pointed out a lack of nuance in commentary on the Costa ... and it's true ... so, in a spirit of half-hearted balance, here goes ...

Firstly, the broad brush strokes are offering a particular perspective ... in some ways it seems a shame to go overboard with detail ... and the blog is not setting out to judge folks who want to live their lives in misery or indeed to pronounce on what constitutes a good and happy life ... (through another prism make that "good" or "happy", since whole tribes subscribe to the idea that "good" requires suffering) .... hmmm ...

And clearly the Costa del Sol is not just Brits abroad, whether package holidaymakers, retired wage slaves, fleeing gangsters, all the support tradesfolk .... there are also all kinds of  nationalities  from Northern Europe ... South America ... Spanish middle classes and Spanish locals ... latest arrivals are Russians looking for warm, but not too warm, investments ...

To be clear also, just because the writer loves a simple life does not mean others don't love whatever they do in their gated communities .... maybe some first hand experience is required, or some reports from folks living life in that parallel universe anyway ... slipping across dimensions may be unwise.... like time travellers getting stuck in past or future, misguided researchers could be trapped in a hedonistic sun, sex and booze pit in Marbella ... or golf, spending eternity lost on the fairway ...

... which leads neatly to the next topic on boys and their balls ...

Jesus ...pioneer of gated communities ...

Names are funny things, Catholics commonly call their boys Jesus in Spain, and one of the commonest on the Costa was Jesus Gil ... a colourful character, now dead, an admirer of the also dead Francisco Franco, military usurper of the democratic government after the bloody Civil War of 1936-1939 and dictator of Spain until his death in 1975 ... more on him later maybe, though the memories are only now fading and maybe best set to rest ... although as a Brit perhaps helpful to admit the perfidious role of "our" government, fence sitting while British activists joined up with the elected government and the International Brigades ... a warm up for the slaughter of 1939-45 across the rest of Europe while Spain and Portugal licked their wounds and helped their fascist pals as much as they could as neutrals and Switzerland looked after the money ...

Back to Jesus, who turned out rather less peaceful and compassionate than his namesake ... and seeing the opportunity on the Costa del Sol ... already known for famous and notorious visitors, like Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra, various fleeing Nazis, and due to strained relations with Blighty over Gibraltar a haven for retiring British gangsters ... shifted his gated community operations from its initial base in Segovia, in his homeland, to Marbella, after being pardoned by his pal Franco after 54 people were crushed to death in a development free of architects, planners, quantity surveyors and all those pesky regulations which hinder free enterprise.

The tranquil beauty that resulted along the Malaga coast lies in a parallel universe ... this was tasteless tat and only recently being brought to book ... as long as money was being made it survived, however dubiously ... now it is changing ... gradually ... the Costa del Soul has some way to go, but things can change quickly when the time is right ... Jesus Gil is long gone and remembered as a figure of fun, albeit sinister ... more Mussolini than Franco perhaps ... the British gangsters are seeking other bolt-holes ... the inflated property market is having a temporary boom, with Russian money of unknown provenance seeking a haven ...

And what of the future of gated communities? Are we to continue to separate - keep the others out? It is still an option in the old world ... perhaps the re-opening of public spaces will prevail ... better for all of us in the end ... shall we try it?

Wear, Dao and Guadiaro

Settling for now by the Guidiaro, it seems right to acknowledge the third river in the blog ... having wandered from the Wear in the North Pennines of England around Spain and Portugal, with the Dao in central Portugal as a direction of travel as well as a nod to the ancient and timeless philosophy ...and back to the Wear for a while before being drawn to the unlikely Costa del Sol with the intriguing invitation to take care of this once luxurious villa overlooking the old bridge over the Guidiaro ... far enough from the coast ... just ...

Starting a new blog with a new title was considered, but it all hangs together somehow ... not sure how and trying not to force it or drop into familiar patterns ... yet, having irresponsibly abandoned Stanhope by the Wear, the base for A Place to Be as well as the Wheels to Meals project, for a second time, it seems worth examining if there is any purpose for any of it ... and collaborators come and go in the story and stories .... some encourage the writing, and writing itself is worthwhile if there are readers enjoying it ... the question of form is open ... a book is suggested, but a blog is a valid contemporary form too ... if writers could be persuaded, a wiki has always been tempting ... was certainly tried in the days of Du design and animation ... writing has indeed restarted after a year of rest and was suggested as the ideal occupation by Juliet when she imagined her caretaker ... a comfortable, peaceful location with internet and material with which to work ... maybe ...

Another theme returning is the intentional community ... and where better for an extreme contrast than the horror that is the gated communities along the costa ... where fear reigns ... security tries to protect the inmates, but only reminds them of their fear ... and then the frightening folks are often locked in the sunny ghettos with you! Best leave the details for another post ... the sunny place for shady people quip from Graham Greene about the French Riviera surely applies here ...

Having landed here, tempted by Claire, a recent connection through A Place to Be via Joe via the festival at Burnlaw via via via .... who knows how these things link up ... the heart goes for it anyway and lets the purpose follow ... the point about these places in the sun (maybe even the gated ghettos) are to insert some soul ... remove the fear ... the climate and the Spanish psyche are propitious ... the old world of toxic money is crumbling ... technology harnessed for good, allied to permaculture, and of course aligning to love meets the needs of the new earth ... and research shows intentional communities all over the Iberian Peninsula ... so ... is Casa del Puente wanting a community for its current three bedrooms, potential fourth and fifth, plus land for growing, seasonal yurts and so on?

Maybe it's a launch pad for places more rural? Both? Neither?

Let's see ... meanwhile the crumbling casa has a custador and guests are welcome ...

Mutuality ...

Part of the progressive economy is mutuality ... this is not new, of course ... history and herstory move spirally. .. coming round looking a bit the same, but in contemporary forms ... the good old 60s. .. the dawning of the Age of Aquarius had lots of examples of peace, love and co-operation ... then the spiral turned awhile  ... the 80s reminded us of separation, hatred, competition, greed ... easy to get caught up in all that with fear the driver as always ...

The beauty of mutuality in its purest form is its escape from the money system .... dancing with life and open to its desires, what one requires serves the other ... though playing this game  demands different rules ... calculating minds are out and trusting hearts are in ...

Which brings us to the Casa del Puente ... a place in the sun which has seen better days ... heirs seeking other ways ... a market place overcrowded with luxury villas, let alone ones in need of serious attention ... and while this situation prevails, the house needs someone to take care of it ... maybe one of the many security firms, though they cost and there is an ancient cat ... who would do that? Maybe a writer, wanting time in the sun? Perfect for a pensioner! The deal is done ...

Friends and family welcome ... 3 double bedrooms and 3 bathrooms too ... crumbling around the edges, but all in working order (the house and the caretaker) ... writing resumed, walking, reading and preparing for visitors  ... owners relieved .... what could this place be?

Embracing impermanence is key ... who knows when a buyer will arrive ... a polo player wanting a seasonal pad and a million euros to fund it? If so, good luck ... on with the next ... what's clear is all is for the best ... and the Costa, along with the Casa, is in need of a makeover ...

Technical stuff ...

In case readers are confused by the random re-posting ... reviewing old posts revealed some spelling mistakes and other typos ... blogger may have a way to allow the post back in its proper place ... if so please comment with advice ... and on the subject of comments, do feel free to add your thoughts on the topic ...  the interactive internet is a game changer and collaborative creation is encouraged ... maybe move on to wiki working and be democratic !

Estepona ...

... is one of the more typically Andalusian towns on the Costa del Sol, said Tony, who lured me in to his ambiguously  named establishment, "The Spanish Estate Agent" .... with a combination of heavy showers and a longish wait for the return bus home from this rather awful town ... and the opportunity to research the Costa del Merde with the help of a local ... and since there were no other timewasters, your correspondent had his full attention, along with support from a friendly, female colleague ... she understood the requirement to be off the Costa, whereas Tony kept promoting its proximity as a plus .... good information, because it is important to understand other points of view and avoid judgement ... readers may have judged my occasional judgment  and found it rather jaundiced ... plenty more where that came from, the theme of Brits abroad has some way to go, whilst trying to avoid national self-hatred ... perhaps compassion is the goal, with a perception that separation serves none of us .... and today's snarky observation that the newspapers on sale are a good indication of the demographics of any area, be that UK or expat land .... round here the well known compassionate and liberal minded journal "The Daily Mail" prevails ... enough said ....

Back to Tony and his observation that Estepona is somehow authentically Andalusian .... and wondering at what stage authentic around here will be all those gated communities and their private security ... also if he is right then there is no need to go further north up the coast ... it's all relative and Estepona seemed soulless, albeit with shops ... sorry there are no photos ... those tasteless and ubiquitous urbanisations affront the lens ... the spring flowers up the track behind the casa are easier on the eye ... and San Enrique, in contrast to surrounding areas, is looking rather splendid ...

By bus to La Linea

If it's too far to walk, the bus is next favourite ... a chance to see the less direct route and to be in a public space ... the Land Rover does not really appeal, though will be handy for off-bus routes and dropping the rubbish (for friends used to having your rubbish collected at the the door this is one of the minor inconveniences of Andalucian life ... along with not flushing your toilet paper) ...

The Estepona to la Linea bus stops at the roundabout by the bridge, which is very handy for La Linea ... the return is slightly trickier, along with the Estepona trip, since the bus stand is not safe on the other side of the road at that point (though safe enough a little further along ...  these safety folk, however,have covered their backs and are not responsible for pedestrians' movements when not actually boarding or alighting buses).

La Linea has an interesting history, if not an ancient one ... its location at the junction of Gibraltar and Morocco making it a mecca for traders between three nations and their various customs ... when your blogger first visited Gibraltar it was closed at La Linea (which caused much economic upset to the town and created families separated by fences) ... the Spanish government resenting the presence of a foreign country on a small but strategic corner of their territory ... and the trip entailed a ferry via Tangier, which was far more interesting ... and evidence of the source of much contraband making its lucrative, if perilous, way to eager customers in Northern Europe.

Today's trip to La Linea made a change from the typical Costa towns ... somehow more authentic, with an indoor market, lots of shops and bars ... and a Tourist Information Centre staffed by the very friendly and helpful Raquel, giving me a break from my attempts to speak Spanish.

Reviewing the blog, it becomes clear that it misses the direct contact with friendly folks like Raquel ... all along the walking routes these images popped up ... not so much so far here ... with subjects rather reticent ... fewer subjects encountered ...

The writing itself is stuttering a little and, not being a serious writer, there is no urge to force it ...

Meanwhile, a call from England from Juliet's friends who know the villa well and are coming over in June for a while ... a break for your blogger, though who knows where ...?

exploring ...

After yesterday's loop east, north, east then south and back into San Enrique through the very opulent Club Ayala polo estate .... followed by a stroll into Torreguadiaro, a chat with Antonio at the beach .... a retired local looking for a chat and happy to indulge my attempts ... then back to Brit Breakfast Bar the Beach Box (though not actually on the beach) ... full of Spaniards enjoying Workers' Day ... back to San Enrique for more language practice at the bar where Gato enlists his pal Frank, the owner, who worked for eight years in London ...

... today's expedition is more ambitious .... east, north and up the track to gain a great view over the sea and Gibraltar ... with mountains further north, polo estates south and a path off the hill into Secadero for a coffee and three choices for the return trip: bus five minutes down the road, two and a half hours stroll back the same way or a swift walk along the rather risky road .. which takes forty minutes since the bus time is not entirely clear ...

This road through orange groves and polo fields has its hard shoulder line right on the side ... mostly cyclists and walkers have a metre or two to play with,which gives some chance even on the Route of Death... although this one is a little quieter, so feels safe enough as long as two vehicles are not approaching from opposite direction, in which case evasive action in the ditch must be considered!

Sunday stroll ...

Torreguadiaro is first stop ... coffee with breakfasting Brits and a 1.20 cafe con leche including the local English language rag ... a whimsical editor with some amusing stories ..,including some belated interest in a very OTT mansion once owned by a pop star recently deceased ... just 5.6m and a bargain if you share Prince's taste .... and have 5.6m of course ... in other news geriatric expats are terrorising the community with mobility scooters ...

Tempted by this off-road route, it's eastwards again and onto the beach, which is heavy going, then a nature reserve with a fine footpath to tempt Sunday strollers of all nationalities .... cyclists too, though the serious Spanish chaps are zooming along in lycra and peleton formation dominating the main road ... urban planning catching on to the idea that gated communities steal our souls and promoting public spaces in which to meet new people ... to exercise in the fresh air and sunshine ... radical stuff!

And having walked quite a way, tempted to catch the bus back ... the 240 from Estepona to La Linea stops right outside the brothel and the very pleasant driver is relaxed about running nearly 15 minutes late ...at 1.36 it's a bargain and another social good ... a chance to learn the language, see the passing scenery and leave the gas guzzling Land Rover at home ...